Pairing: ACTOR!RIKI X FEMALE READER
The next few hours blur together in a haze of retakes, stage directions, and muffled chatter through headsets. You’re back in your corner again, book in hand, pretending like you’re not counting every second until the next time he sneaks a glance your way.
And he does—every single chance he gets. Between cuts, between lines, whenever he thinks the cameras aren’t catching it. Quick, fleeting looks that find you instantly, like a compass needle pointing to its true north.
When the director finally calls for wrap that night, the studio erupts with noise—crew members packing up, stylists gathering racks of clothing, assistants balancing clipboards stacked with notes. But Riki’s eyes are only on you.
“C’mon,” he says softly, tugging your hand into his as soon as he’s freed from the final touch-ups. He doesn’t even bother changing out of his costume; he just drags you out of the set and into the cool night air beyond the studio doors.
The sudden quiet feels like a relief, like stepping out of a storm. He exhales hard, shoulders sinking as if he’s finally allowed to breathe.
“Better?” you ask, squeezing his hand.
He nods, a little grin playing at his lips. “Much better.”
There’s a pause, then he pulls you closer, wrapping his jacket around your shoulders even though you hadn’t said you were cold. He always does that—takes care of you in small, unspoken ways.
“Sometimes I forget,” he admits, eyes fixed on the dimly lit street ahead.
“That all of this—” he gestures vaguely, meaning the cameras, the sets, the lights, the endless pretending—“isn’t forever. That once it’s done, I still get to walk out here with you. Still get to be just me. Just Riki. Not some character with lines to memorize and emotions to fake.”
You rest your head on his shoulder as you walk, letting the weight of his words settle between you.
“You’re always you to me,” you murmur.
He smiles at that, tilting his head enough to press a kiss to your hair. “That’s why I need you here. Because you remind me.”
And as the night stretches on, as the city hums quietly around you, you realize that no matter how many roles he takes, how many scripts he learns, or how many sets he walks onto—he’ll always find his way back to you.
Because in a world built on illusions, you’re the only real thing he’ll never let go of.
The hotel is flooded with quietness when the two of you step inside, your fingers still laced together from the walk back. And now it’s just you and Riki, the door clicking shut with a finality that makes the outside world feel very far away.
He exhales immediately, shoulders dropping like he’s finally allowed to set the weight down. His jacket falls onto the desk chair, his bag slumps by the door, and he’s tugging at the buttons of his shirt before the silence has even settled.
You lean against the wall, watching him strip off the costume layer by layer until he’s completley stripped off,from the upper body only,of course. Hair messy, lips tinted with makeup that’s long since dried—he looks nothing like the polished actor you’d been watching all day.
And that’s exactly why your chest feels full. Because this is him.
“You’re staring,” he says, voice low but teasing as he runs a hand through his hair.
“You’re the one undressing in front of me,” you counter, and he grins, sharp but tired.
“What, you don’t like the show?” He steps closer, bare feet against the floor, until he’s right in front of you. His hands slide to your waist, tugging you off the wall and into him, his forehead resting against yours. “Because I could do an encore.”
You laugh quietly,hitting the literal wall.“You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against your cheek, “you love me anyway~.”
Before you can answer, he kisses you. Slow, deliberate, like he’s reclaiming something he’d been denied all day. There’s no script telling him when to stop, no director shouting for another take. It’s just you and him, the softness of his mouth against yours, the faint taste of the lip tint the makeup team had dabbed on hours ago.
You let yourself sink into it, into him, until your back hits the edge of the bed and he eases you down with him, his weight hovering over you but never pressing too much. His hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he’s memorizing you.
“This,” he whispers against your lips, “is what I wanted all day. Not fake almost-kisses. Not some scripted look into someone else’s eyes. Just this.”
You stroke the back of his neck, gentle, grounding. “You have it now.”
He kisses you again, deeper this time, his sigh muffled into your mouth as if he’s finally letting go of everything he’d been holding in. When he pulls back, he doesn’t move far—just enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes closed, breath mingling with yours.
“Do you know how hard it is?” he murmurs.
“Being away from you,” he corrects softly. “Even when you’re right there, sitting by the monitors. It’s not the same. I can’t touch you. I can’t hold you. I can’t—” His voice falters, raw at the edges. “I miss you in the middle of pretending, and it makes me crazy.”
Your chest tightens, but you smooth your hand over his cheek, tilting his face toward yours. “Riki… you’ll get through it. You always do. And I’ll always be here when you’re done pretending.”
His eyes finally open, dark and searching, like he wants to believe it but needs to hear it again.
“Always,” you repeat, firmer now.
Something eases in his face, and he pulls you into his chest, rolling so you’re tucked against him, your head on his shoulder, his arms locked securely around your waist. He breathes into your hair, long and steady, like he’s anchoring himself.
For a while, neither of you speak. The only sounds are the faint hum of the city through the window and the rhythm of his heartbeat under your ear.
Eventually, you shift just enough to look at him. “You know… you’re allowed to enjoy acting too. Even if it means pretending with someone else. It doesn’t make what we have less real.”
He shakes his head instantly, nose brushing your temple. “But it feels wrong. Every time I’m supposed to look at her like she’s my everything, all I can think is—what if you think I’m actually falling for it? What if you think I’m not yours anymore?”
You lift your head, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice. “Riki.”
He meets your gaze, and for the first time all day, he looks almost fragile.
“I don’t care how real it looks on camera,” you say, your thumb brushing over his lips. “I know the truth. I know who you come home to. Who you run to the second the director yells cut. Nothing about that feels fake.”
His throat works as he swallows, then he pulls you closer, kissing you with a kind of quiet desperation, like he’s sealing your words into himself.
It softens after a moment, turning into something slower, tenderer, his lips lingering against yours like he has all the time in the world.
When you finally part, he tucks you against his chest again, one hand absently tracing patterns against your back. “You make it sound so simple.”
“That’s because it is,” you murmur, pressing your lips against his collarbone.
He chuckles quietly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Maybe I just like being dramatic. Gives you more chances to comfort me.”
You roll your eyes, smiling. “You’d fall apart without me, huh?”
“Completely,” he admits without hesitation, kissing the top of your head.
The room falls quiet again, the two of you tangled together on the bed, wrapped up in warmth that doesn’t need words. His breathing slows, eyelids heavy, but his arms never loosen their hold on you, like even in sleep he refuses to let go.
And as you listen to the steady beat of his heart, you realize this is what love looks like with him—not the dazzling lights, not the staged romance, not the picture-perfect scenes for cameras to capture.
Late at night, in a quiet room, where he doesn’t have to pretend. Where he’s not an actor or an idol, just a boy in love.
Smooches on ur fluffy cheeks💓
izzy806
ellievsbear
andulkaphoto
amandla
gamechangershow
