@lovriki - Tumblr Blog

before fame and looks, ni-ki was the shy, awkward guy you managed to become best friends with. the boy who willingly watched 3 hour michael jackson documentaries during free periods, the boy who still made time to hangout with you even after long days of dance classes with his sister.

even throughout the entire survival show process, he called you every night before the show aired, promising you that he’ll return the gratitude you gave him once he’s accomplished his dreams. you both made a promise to never forget each other, no matter how long he went without contacting you or his family.

a few months later, here you were, still cheering him on behind the screen, turning on the newest episodes as soon as they aired just to see the boy you once used to jokingly tease turning into a global star right infront of your eyes.

however, there was still that sting in your heart, the sting of knowing that if his debut was successful, the chances of ever speaking again were barely likely to be anytime soon. but of course that didn’t stop you from supporting his every milestone.

the months slowly turned into years. he’s blown up into a global sensation, and here you were still in japan focusing on med school. you didn’t have time to keep giving yourself false hope of him reaching out, you just let him live his dream life while you lived yours. the promise being long forgotten by the both of you.

one night QUICKLY changed everything . . .

to you, it was just a regular day of saturday studying for your next exam. but your best friends had completely different plans for you. they knew how hard you worked, maybe a bit too much for your own good. and so they promised to do something special to finally get you out the house.

“c’mon y/n, it’ll be soooo fun!” sakura exclaimed, her grip on your arm forcefully pulling you away from the piles of unsorted notes and medical books. “when was the last time you stepped outside apart from walking to your classes?”

you groaned at the idea of even being in a large crowd with overly loud music. it’s just wasn’t your thing, you’d rather lay in bed and listen to brittany broski prodcasts. you and big concerts? the compatibility was in the negatives. but the way sakura and giselle pleaded made you want to go just to shut them up, despite dreading the entire situation.

“fine! but only if you two don’t drag me to stupid ass events again until my exams are over.” you groan, caving in as your two best friends cheer and high-five out of successfully ruining your day.

by the time you finally give in, sakura and giselle are already ransacking your closet like women on a mission.

“you’re not wearing sweats and a t-shirt again, y/n. this is a reward night, not grocery day,” giselle says, holding up outfits you swear haven’t seen daylight in over 2 years. can you even fit these?

you roll your eyes, slumping back onto the bed as they toss options left and right. sheer. backless. mini. the options becoming too much. way too much. until Sakura holds up one dress you forgot you even owned:

a black, strapless, short slip dress. simple, clean, and so not you.

your stomach knots a little at the sight of it. not because it’s too revealing — it's not. it’s because it’s… intentional. you’ve never dressed for attention. but this dress? it demands it without even trying.

“y/n, you have to try it on,” sakura says, eyes gleaming.

“hell no, it’s too much.”

“it’s literally just a black dress. let your curves do the talking.”

with a grumble and a half-assed warning about “not getting used to this,” you shut your bedroom door and slide it on.

the fabric glides over your skin like water, hugging you in ways you didn’t know a basic dress could. your hair’s messy, your eyes are still bare, but something about the way the dress moves when you walk—

you freeze in the reflection of your bedroom mirror.

you don’t look like a straight-a med student right now. you look like someone who lives, someone who was born to go to these big events.

as you slowly run your hands down your curves, turning to the side slightly to admire the way your ass suddenly looks ten times better than usual, even when your just in shorts and a sweater it didn’t look this good. you can’t help but smile, maybe tonight could work you out of your shell after all.

once you opened the door, sakura and giselle’s doomscrolling went on pause. their eyes and bodies magnetically pulling towards you as they beam out ego-rising compliments left and right.

“holy shit! is this even y/n?” giselle gasps, shaking sakura by her shoulders.

sakura beamed at you, jumping up and down. “y/n! you are so unreal.”

“can we do your hair and makeup please? just this once.”

ONCE YOU ARRIVED . . .

the lights overhead pulse with electric reds and oranges, bouncing off every body packed shoulder-to-shoulder in the crowd. bass rumbles low through the floor, not quite music yet — just anticipation. pre-show energy. the kind of nervous electricity that crawls up your spine even if you’re not fully invested.

you’re not screaming like the others. not checking your phone for the setlist leaks. you’re just… there. swaying gently to the warm-up mix, half empty drink in hand, trying to enjoy the fact that you’re not in the house studying — which, in itself, feels very strange.

especially when you’re standing front row, eyes locked on the darkened stage, heart racing for reasons you refuse to fully admit.

“okay but if they open with ‘fever’ i’m going to cry,” giselle blurts, practically bouncing on her toes. “like ugly sobbing. you’ve both been warned.”

“they have to,” sakura jumps in, eyes wide. “that or ‘criminal love.’ i swear i’ll pass out.”

you half-listen, tuning in and out like background noise. the kind you don’t mind — comforting, even. but not enough to drag you out of your head. your hips keep moving, soft and slow, to the beat humming through the speakers. you let yourself sink into the sound. it’s not a bad feeling. just detached. in your own little world.

“honestly though…” sakura pauses, nudging your arm, “ni-ki’s been insane lately. i swear he levels up every comeback.”

that name.

ni-ki.

it breaks through the music like a pinprick of static.

almost too familiar.

your brows furrow, but you play it off — lifting your drink to your lips as you pretend you’re still deep in the rhythm. you don’t turn to them. you don’t say anything. just let the name hang in the air.

you’ve heard and said it so much before.

of course you have.

you don’t really connect it. you don’t let yourself.

it couldn’t be your ni-ki.

not the one who used to let you quiz him on anatomy flashcards between dance rehearsals. not the boy who once fell asleep on facetime while listening to your favorite true crime podcast just so he wouldn’t miss your voice.

their ni-ki is a global star. an idol. someone with platinum hair and designer rings and millions of eyes on him every night.

your ni-ki? he was quiet. awkward. loyal.

he wouldn’t remember you now.

the bass shifts. the lights dim again.

and then — it starts.

a ripple of screams surges through the crowd like a wave. the intro track drops, thick with synth and heartbeat percussion. the stage floods with light, silhouettes starting to appear through the fog.

your breath catches — maybe from the sound. maybe from something else.

and for the first time all night, you stop swaying. you stand still. something in you says look closer.

but you don’t. not yet.

you don’t know all the fan chants. you don’t even know the setlist. but as the beat kicks in, and the silhouettes of the seven members walk into place…

he appears.

your breath catches.

he’s the last one to walk into position. shadowed by smoke and strobe lights, head down, one hand gripping the mic as the other flexes loose at his side. the moment the beat drops, he transforms.

the boy you remember? he’s gone.

this version of ni-ki — the one standing under spotlights and pyrotechnics — moves like the stage was made for him. his body is water, snapping into waves, lines sharp enough to slice through the bass. every motion is deliberate, hitting beats like his body was born to sync with sound. he doesn’t just dance — he commands.

and then he opens his mouth. he sings.

it’s not the voice you remember — not at all. it’s deeper now, a lot deeper. smoother. polished by vocal training, matured by time. but there’s still something raw in it. something familiar. like hearing a childhood lullaby through new speakers. you don’t recognize the lyrics, but you feel them anyway. especially when his voice lingers in the low notes — soft, almost intimate. like he’s whispering directly into your ears, despite the sea of fans around you.

your chest tightens.

have i heard him sing like this before? or have i only ever imagined it when we were kids and all he did was try to mimic the stims of michael jackson’s adlibs?

he’s dressed in all black, platinum blonde hair damp at the ends, eyes just sharp enough to catch the light when he turns his head. he’s not the boy from the old videos anymore. he’s taller. sharper. more intense. his stage presence swallows the space around him, eyes low, jaw set, movements cutting clean through the music like a blade.

amidst all your emotions, you try to find the boy you knew in this version of him. the one who used to hum under his breath while walking beside you on empty sidewalks. the one who’d laugh with his entire chest when you made fun of his dance practice fails.

but this version? he’s too powerful. too untouchable.

you find yourself in your head way too much, so focused on the fact that the boy you once called your best friend is now an unfamiliar superstar, that you didn’t manage to catch the first time ni-ki had also spotted you.

until—

he sees you.

mid-routine. mid-breath. mid-step.

his eyes scan the crowd like they always do — controlled, professional, detached. but then his gaze lands on you. and he stumbles.

it’s subtle. barely a missed a count. a tiny stutter in his footwork that no one else would notice — except the two members on either side of him who know his moves like muscle memory.

but you notice it too. because when his eyes lock on yours, they don’t move away. not for a full beat. not even as the music crashes into the next verse.

and suddenly, you see him. you see the memories.

the real him.

the boy under all that fame. the one who used to send you random voice messages you at 2am just to talk about a new shinee choreo he learned and school lunch drama. the one who promised he'd never forget you — even when the world started screaming his name.

now he’s staring at you like he can’t believe you’re real.

and you…

you’re still standing there, in a black dress you didn’t even want to wear, feeling like everything has changed in one blink.

he rolls his neck. shakes out his hands. breathes.

‘focus, ni-ki.’ he thinks to himself. ‘hit your counts. control your breathing. don’t overthink the bridge.’

a black dress. a shape that doesn’t fit the chaos. she’s not waving a lightstick. not filming on her phone.

she’s just standing there.

still.

his steps falter for a millisecond — so brief even the camera doesn’t catch it. but he feels it. like a skipped beat.

his eyes snap back. there’s no way. no fucking way.

and even through the flashing lights and fog machines, he sees her — really sees her.

same eyes. same mouth. same expression she’d give him when he said something dumb and tried to cover it with a bad MJ impression.

y/n.

his chest pulls tight. his body keeps moving — pure muscle memory — but his mind? his mind is short-circuiting.

is that really her? why is she here? does she recognize me?

his voice comes in late during his next line, half a beat behind jake’s. sunghoon glances over, catches the mistake — then follows ni-ki’s gaze.

and smirks.

now he knew why. because she came. after all this time, she actually came.

he doesn't remember the rest of the verse. just the rush of memories crashing into him all at once — late-night phone calls, vending machine snacks after dance practice, her laughter echoing off empty sidewalks.

she’s here. and he doesn’t know if he should feel sick or grateful or like crying or all three at once.

but one thing’s for sure: meet her after the show.

even if it wrecks him. even if she doesn’t remember.

AFTER THE SHOW . . .

ni-ki yanks off his in-ear, chest heaving. he paces like he’s burning holes into the floor.

“she’s here,” he mutters.

“who?” jake says, still gulping down water.

“y/n.”

jake freezes.

“wait, that y/n?! the one you never shut up about in trainee days? the girl who made you cry when you left japan?” sunghoon grins like he’s about to have the time of his life.

ni-ki runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands.

“she’s in the front row. in this—this dress. i messed up the choreo during ‘loose’ because i saw her.”

sunghoon is absolutely delighted. “damn, baby riki’s entering his lover-boy era.”

jake steps in, calmer but just as shocked.

“okay chill, breathe. do you want to talk to her after the show?”

“i mean yeah? wait no. i don’t know! what if she doesn’t want to see me?” ni-ki runs his fingers through his damp hair once again, pacing dangerously fast around the dressing room.

“she’s literally front row,” jake says gently. “you don’t camp out in front row for someone you forgot about.”

ni-ki swallows hard. there’s color in his cheeks now, bright under the dim backstage lights. he’s sweating — and not from the hours of dancing with no breaks.

sunghoon leans in.

“just don’t do anything dumb like cry during our closing. the fans already think you're too mysterious. let’s not make it worse over your childhood crush.”

“she was not a crush, sunghoon.” ni-ki glared, shoving his shoulder in a playful, yet rough way. “just.. an unexpected childhood friend.”

“sure sure.” he didn’t sound the slightest bit convinced.

the energy shifts when they return to the stage.

the sharp stage lights and stylized black outfits — replaced now by hoodies, joggers, and newly styled hair. the air is calmer, the screaming softer, more affectionate than frantic. it’s the kind of moment fans live for — when idols look like real people again. sweaty, smiling, glowing from the aftermath of a show well-performed.

you’re still standing there. still holding your drink in one hand, the other curled loosely around the barricade like it’s the only thing grounding you.

you don’t say much. you can’t. not when your heart’s still pressed up against the inside of your ribs like it’s trying to get out. not when ni-ki is just there, on stage, laughing and nodding along as jay (who’s surprisingly really good at japanese) translates something sunghoon said that makes the entire front section giggle. as if you two didn’t just stare in shock at each other for a good few minutes.

he’s glowing.

and yet… his eyes flick toward your side of the crowd just once more — subtle, fleeting, but deliberate. like he’s still making sure you’re real. still making sure you’re there, and watching.

he knows. he saw you.

“okay!” jay says brightly into the mic, turning back toward the fans, “time for a few quick questions before we say goodnight.”

sakura, beside you, screams. she waves her hand like she’s trying to take flight. and somehow — by sheer luck or divine chaos — one of the staff notices and jogs over to hand her a mic.

“hello! uhm,” sakura says loudly, voice already shaking from adrenaline. “my question is for ni-ki!”

a murmur rolls through the crowd. ni-ki lifts his mic, cocking his head.

“what was your childhood like?” she asks, still grinning. “like, before you became a trainee? what kind of person were you?”

the boys react with exaggerated laughs, teasing him already about the stupid stuff he did during i-land. sunghoon mainly.

ni-ki chuckles under his breath — and for a second, something shifts in his eyes. that usual playfulness drops, just slightly, and something gentler slides in.

“uhh…” he starts slowly, voice low, thoughtful. “i was pretty outgoing, honestly. i danced a lot, so i didn’t really do normal stuff.”

he continued. “but… i had one good friend. someone who really stuck with me through that time.”

your stomach tightens.

“they kept me grounded,” he adds simply. “even when things got kind of crazy, or we fought.”

he doesn’t elaborate. he doesn’t say your name. but he doesn’t need to. because he’s not looking at sakura when he says it, or the crowd.

he’s looking straight at you.

the mic passes on. the boys laugh at how suddenly sappy he got, say their goodbyes, thank the fans for coming — and the lights begin to dim for the final time that night.

and still, you’re standing there.

sakura and giselle are still buzzing beside you in the backseat, scrolling through their blurry videos and screaming every time they hear themselves on the audio.

but you’re quiet. staring out the window. that black dress suddenly feels heavier on your skin. like it knows it’s been seen.

there’s something in your chest you can’t quite name — not sadness, not exactly. not closure either. but… maybe something like peace. like you finally know he’s okay. like the version of him that used to chase after vending machine snacks and hum michael jackson between math tests didn’t vanish — he just grew.

and you’re proud.

even if you’re not part of his life anymore. even if you’re just one face in the crowd now.

you unlock your phone, checking the time. and that’s when it lights up.

ki 🖤 [11:41 PM]

you came.

you stare at the message a second longer than you should. the screen illuminates your face in the dark car, sakura still talking a mile a minute beside you, completely unaware that your pulse has started to race.

two words. that’s it. but it cracks something open in you. because it’s not just an observation. it’s acknowledgment. he truly remembers you.

you still matter to him.

you stare at the screen, thumbs hovering, pulse racing. and for the first time in years — you don’t feel like a stranger to him anymore.

you type. you delete. you type again.

then finally, you send it.

you [11:43 PM]

wasn’t planning to lol, my friends dragged me

... but yeah. i came :-)

ki 🖤 [11:44 PM]

i thought i imagined you

for a second i really thought i was losing it on stage 🫠

you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips.

your heart's doing that thing it hasn’t done in years — where it skips before it races. you never realized how much you missed the small bickering between you two.

you [11:46 PM]

well, you weren’t imagining it

though to be fair i almost didn’t recognize you either 😅

ki 🖤 [11:47 PM]

yeah… i get that a lot now lmao

then a pause.

ki 🖤 [11:48 PM]

but you looked exactly the same 🙂‍↕️

like everything i remember.. and then some..

your breath catches.

you glance out the window, tokyo lights streaking by. suddenly the night feels surreal — like something in you has been waiting for this conversation for years without ever admitting it.

biting down your bottom lip out of habit, you hesitate…

you [11:51 PM]

you remembered me?

even after all this time?

a longer pause this time. you began to get nervous. should you have even asked?

ki 🖤 [11:53 PM]

i never stopped.

that’s when the noise of the city outside fades.

the giggling in the car becomes background fuzz.

because now it’s just you and him — suspended in the space between what was and what might still be.

your hands are shaking a little.

you [11:54 PM]

..what are you doing now?

he replies instantly.

ki 🖤 [11:54 PM]

going back 2 the hotel

& thinking about you.

you freeze, not really knowing why you even asked him what he’s doing as if he doesn’t have a plane to catch the day after tomorrow. you sound so incredibly desperate. but right now, you didn’t mind. you just missed your best friend.

you turn to sakura and giselle, who are halfway asleep now, curled up against each other in the backseat.

and then another flood of texts comes in:

ki 🖤 [11:58 AM]:

can we meet?

we have a lot of catching up to do 🫠..

i can buy u a meal if ur hungry

before you manage to respond, the car pulls to a quiet stop outside sakura’s apartment first. you help her and giselle gather their things, forcing yourself to laugh through the tightness that’s been building in your chest since that last text.

you haven’t answered yet. because what do you even say to that?

you slide back into the car alone, heart thudding, phone still buzzing faintly in your palm.

you [12:08 AM]

are you sure no one will see me if i go to the hotel..?

i don’t want to end up in some blurry dispatch photo with a clickbait title like “enhypen member caught sneaking girl in at midnight” 🙁🙁

ki 🖤 [12:09 AM]:

lmfao don’t come to the hotel???

just wait ‘til you get home

i’ll call you 🫡

you toss your keys on the counter, peel off the jacket you bought from the concert stadium, and sink into your bed without even changing out of the black dress. your skin’s still warm from the night air, hair a little messy, heart still unsteady.

your phone vibrates.

Incoming FaceTime: ki 🖤

ACCEPT | DECLINE

you swiped and answered.

the screen flickers to his face — soft, golden-lit from a hotel lamp, hair messy and damp from a quick shower. he’s in a hoodie, leaning against what looks like the hotel couch. tired, but alert.

your breath catches for the hundredth time tonight.

“hi..” he says softly, like he’s afraid to break something in your voice.

“hi.” you echo, fingers tightening around your phone.

there’s a pause. not awkward — just heavy.

“you… you really came,” he says again. “still can’t believe it.”

you give him a small, tired smile.

“still not sure i do. i mean… do idols usually facetime their childhood friends after arena shows?”

he laughs under his breath — and it’s the first time all night he sounds like himself again.

“no,” he admits. “but nothing about you ever felt like the rest of the world.”

the screen shifts slightly as he sits up straighter, more serious now.

“y/n…”

you meet his eyes through the screen.

“i-i wanted to call you. so many times. right after the finale. during the tour. at night before bed. but they took my phone until i went though media training. our whole schedule was locked. we weren’t allowed to contact anyone, they wiped our contacts clean of everyone except our family, especially people from before.”

your throat tightens.

“i get it,” you whisper. “really. i just—”

“i didn’t want you to think i forgot you,” he cuts in gently. “i never forgot you.”

his voice is quieter now. vulnerable.

“you were the only one who knew me before all this. before the cameras and the dyed hair and the fame. you were real when everything else felt fake.”

you blink fast, swallowing the lump rising in your throat.

“i missed you,” he says finally.

and you know he means it. you can feel it. through the screen, through the silence, through every unsent text and unheard voicemail that never got made.

“can.. can i come over?” he adds suddenly, voice low. “just to see you. no cameras. no one else. just to clear everything up between… us.”

“ki, i don’t think—“

“just ten minutes,” he interrupted. “ten minutes to talk to my best friend, please.”

you sighed, the tremble in his voice making you cave in.

you nodded.

you open your front door, now in a oversized college sweatshirt and loose pajamas shorts, barefoot on the hallway tiles. and there he is.

ni-ki.

no makeup, no idol mask, no mic pack. just him.

hands in his pockets, hair tousled, eyes scanning you like he’s trying to memorize everything he forgot.

you say nothing. neither does he.

he steps forward, slowly, like if he moves too fast, the moment might burst.

and then—he pulls you in.

his arms wrap around your waist, face tucked into the crook of your neck, and you don’t even hesitate before hugging him back. like time didn’t stretch years between you.

like he never left.

“i-i’m sorry,” he murmurs against your shoulder, voice stammering. “for every message i never got to send.”

you close your eyes, fingers curling into the back of his hoodie.

“you’re here now, and you still remember us,” you whisper. “that’s what matters, ki.”

and in that small, still space — with nothing but a porch light glowing and the quiet hum of a sleeping city — you feel something settle.

something that had been buried deep in between the cracks for years.

you don’t know how long you stand like that. his arms around you. yours around him. the hallway stays still, warm from the midsummer night. even the shadows feel softer with him standing here, close enough for your breath to sync without trying.

eventually, ni-ki pulls back slightly, his hands brushing gently down your arms before he looks at you.

“can i.. come in?” his voice is quiet. careful.

you step aside, nodding.

he’s sitting on the edge of your couch now, head tilted back, eyes scanning your ceiling like it might whisper back the answers he never found.

you hand him a glass of water and sit beside him — not too close, not too far. just enough that your knees brush when you shift slightly.

“you know.. i thought about this a million times,” he says after a long sip. “what i’d say if i saw you again.”

“anddd?” you smile faintly. “is this what you pictured?”

“honestly?” he laughs lightly. “i thought you’d be pissed.”

you glance at him sideways. “i was. for a while. but then you kept showing up after you debuted.”

“on your screen?”

you nod. “i couldn’t stop watching. even when it hurt.”

he exhales. “i used to wonder if you were.”

“i used to scream at the tv when you dyed your hair oreo,” you tease.

he grins, eyes flicking to yours, that familiar warmth settling into his features again.

the air quiets again, but not uncomfortably. it’s the kind of quiet that only happens between people who know each other too well — people who don’t need filler words to exist in the same space.

you look at him fully now. not as the ni-ki on the stage. not as a distant memory.

but the boy who once sat on your bedroom floor copying your flashcards. the one who danced in convenience store parking lots. who cried during that one michael doc without admitting it.

“i missed you too,” you say softly.

his eyes meet yours. and something shifts.

the kind of shift you feel in your chest. like a wire snapping loose. like gravity pulling you closer.

he leans forward a little — elbows on his knees, water glass in hand, fingers fidgeting with the rim.

“do you ever think about how close we came to never seeing each other again?”

you nod. “i think about it all the time.”

he lets out a breath — not frustrated, just full. and then, without speaking, he reaches for your hand.

it’s hesitant at first. careful.

but when you don’t pull away — when you let his fingers thread through yours — he lets out the quietest breath you’ve ever heard. like he’s been holding it for years.

“i don’t want to lose this again,” he says.

“well you won’t,” you whisper.

his hand squeezes around yours.

“you sure?” his voice cracks just slightly. “i’m not who i was back then.”

you smile, squeezing back gently. “neither am i. but i still recognize you, ki.”

there’s a pause. the soft hum of your fridge kicks on in the kitchen. a car passes outside. but here, in your small, dim apartment, everything stands still.

he leans in a bit more. his eyes wandering your face, checking for any uncertain expressions that might show a sign of discomfort.

not rushed. not impulsive. just close enough that you can feel his steady breathing.

“can.. i kiss you?” he whispered, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear.

your heart stutters — but your head is steady.

“yes,” you breathe. “you can.”

and then he does.

the kiss starts soft.

like falling into a song you used to love. his lips are warm, tentative, and so, so careful, like he still half-thinks you might vanish if he touches you too much.

but when your hand finds the side of his jaw, thumb brushing lightly over his cheekbone, something in him gives.

ni-ki deepens the kiss.

he leans in like he’s starved for you — like this has lived inside him far too long, festering under every schedule, performance, and sleepless night on tour. his hands slide to your waist, firm but unsure, as if asking for permission with every movement.

you don’t answer with words. you shift, slowly — knees sliding over his lap as you ease into his space, straddling him on the couch. his hands still at your sides, breath hitching, eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to memorize every inch.

“y/n…” his voice breaks.

you pull back just enough to look at him.

“yeah?” you whisper.

his hands tighten at your waist, grounding himself.

“you have no idea how long i’ve wanted this,” he says, voice raw and low. “how long i’ve wanted you.”

your heart thunders. yet he continues.

“i couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he breathes. “even when i was supposed to forget everything. i’d hear songs and think of you. see cities and wish you were there. i—"

he cuts himself off, eyes locked on yours. “i tried to bury it, convince myself we were just kids… but i’ve never felt this with anyone else.”

you don’t answer right away — because the truth has been sitting in your chest for years, caged in silence, afraid to speak.

until now.

“i felt it too,” you whisper. “but i was scared. scared that if i told you back then, i’d lose you. i couldn’t afford to ruin everything over some... stupid kiddie feelings.”

his gaze softens. “they weren’t stupid.”

“i know that now.”

there’s a pause — the kind that hangs in the air like heat lightning, all tension and unsaid things ready to strike.

suddenly, ni-ki kisses you again. harder this time. desperate. like he needs to catch up on all the years he lost.

his hands run up your back, underneath your sweatshirt. your hips press forward instinctively, and he groans — a soft, unfiltered sound he buries in your neck as he trails slow kisses down your jaw.

“you drive me insane,” he murmurs. “always did.”

your fingers thread into his hair, tugging lightly, pulling another low groan from his chest.

“you used to look at me in class like you didn’t even know what you were doing to me.”

you smirk breathlessly. “maybe i didn’t.”

“you do now.”

you rock your hips forward again — gently, teasing — and the way his hands grip you tighter in response is everything.

the couch is quiet except for the sounds of kissing, quickened breathing, whispered confessions that keep spilling out of him like he’s waited too long to stop now.

“i missed you.” he blurts mid kiss. “you still feel like home, no one else ever felt like this.”

you lean your forehead against his, nose brushing his.

“then don’t leave this time,” you whisper.

and when he nods, eyes glassy and full of want, full of you — you know he won’t.

the air between you is thick now. not just with heat — but with years of silence and glances that once meant too much, too soon. every brush of your fingers against his skin feels like rewriting history, like you’re slowly, carefully peeling away the layers of time that tried to make you strangers.

you’re still straddling him, his hoodie bunched up in your fists, his breath brushing over your collarbone.

ni-ki’s hands slide under your sweatshirt again — slow, reverent, like he’s learning the shape of someone he already knows by heart.

“you don’t know what you’re doing to me right now,” he mutters against your skin, voice husky and uneven. “i thought i could just talk to you. just see you. but now—”

he trails off, groaning softly as you press closer.

“now what?” you whisper, teasing.

he looks up at you, eyes darker than before, jaw clenched in restraint.

“now i don’t know how to stop.”

your pulse skips.

you lean in, brushing your lips over his — just enough to make him chase it. “then don’t.”

that’s all it takes.

his lips crash back onto yours — no longer tentative, no longer cautious. just hungry. his fingers find your hips, pulling you down harder against him, your bodies perfectly in sync like muscle memory.

your hands slide beneath the hem of his shirt now, tracing the warmth of his skin. firm, toned, real. you feel his stomach tighten under your touch, hear his breath catch when your fingers graze too low.

he pulls back just enough to study you — eyes half-lidded, lips swollen from kissing.

“you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “i don’t think i ever stopped thinking about what it’d feel like to touch you like this.”

Your heart pounds in your throat.

“and now that you can?” you breathe.

his grip on your hips tightens, eyes flicking down, then back up with quiet desperation.

“i’m not gonna rush this. not tonight.” he claims. “but if you tell me to stop, i will. just say the word.”

Then you shake your head, slowly.

“please don’t stop, ki.”

ni-ki leans in again — controlled. but everything in his kiss screams finally. like he’s waited so long for this moment that he doesn’t want to waste a single breath of it. you can feel it in the way he holds you — like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

you tilt your hips again, deeper this time, and the growl that slips from his throat makes your stomach flutter.

“fuck, y’gonna be the death of me…” he breathes, lips grazing your ear.

“guess we’re both dead then, hm?” you whisper, half-laughing, half-losing your mind.

and then his hands slide beneath your thighs, shifting slightly until you’re lying beneath him on the couch. the room is dark now, moonlight slicing through the blinds, painting him in soft shadows as he hovers over you — hair falling into his eyes, hoodie pushed up, hands cradling your waist like you’re something sacred.

he leans in again. kisses you slower. deeper.

and this time — there’s no more holding back.

the couch creaks under your shifting bodies, but neither of you notices. not when his hands are exploring you like he’s tracing memories with his fingertips. not when your breath hitches with every slow kiss that lands somewhere new — your jaw, your neck, the curve of your collarbone.

his touch is slow. focused. like he’s not trying to seduce you, he’s trying to memorize you. you tangle your fingers in the back of his hair, his hoodie bunched beneath your palms, tugging slightly as you arch into him.

“riki…” you breathe.

his name leaves your mouth like a secret, and he stills — chest heaving just slightly as he hovers above you.

your eyes lock in the dark. it’s quiet.

“say it again.” he whispers.

“riki, please..”

the way he looks at you right then, eyes wide, lips parted, completely undone, you know in your gut he’s been waiting to hear that for years.

“you used to say my name like that back when we were just friends,” he says quietly, lips brushing your temple. “i used to lie awake some nights thinking about it.”

you let out a soft laugh, overwhelmed but grounded by the honesty. it makes you bold.

“i used to lie awake thinking about this,” you whisper, fingers curling into the waistband of his hoodie. “what it would feel like… if you ever fucked me on this exact couch.”

“holy shit, y/n..” he groans softly, like he physically can’t handle the truth of your words. his hands roam more freely now, skimming under the fabric of your shirt, the touch reverent — careful, never rushed. he moves as if he’s trying not to break the moment.

your shirt lifts halfway, exposing soft skin to the cool air of the room. he presses his lips there — down your ribs, your stomach, gentle, claiming kisses that make your breath shiver.

his hands slide to your thighs again, spreading them just enough so he can press himself closer — your hips aligned, bodies flush, his boner meeting your cunt through thin fabric. you both gasp quietly at the sensation.

no more teasing. no more pretending.

“do you want this?” he whispers, forehead resting against yours. “not just tonight. us. even after this.”

you look at him — really look at him.

the boy you used to watch documentaries with. the man now kneeling between your legs like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted.

and you nod. “yeah,” you say. “i want all of it.”

you open for him, your tongues dancing in a familiar yet new rhythm. his hands are everywhere, exploring, claiming. they find the clasp of your bra, deftly undoing it. you arch into him as he pushes the fabric aside, his palms rough against your sensitive skin.

"god you're so fucking perfect," he murmurs against your neck, his teeth grazing your collarbone.

you reach for his hoodie, pulling it off in a rush. your hands roam his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his t-shirt. you tug at the fabric, needing it gone. he obliges, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over his head.

his mouth is on yours again, his hands cupping your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples. you moan into his mouth, your hips bucking against his. he groans, his cock throbbing against you. you can feel the heat of him, the promise of what's to come.

his hand slides between your bodies, finding the ribbon of your pajamas shorts. he pulls the strings, his fingers dip beneath the waistband of your panties, finding you wet, a low groan rushing out of him. you gasp as he slides a finger inside, his thumb circling your clit.

"you're soaked already," he whispers, his voice hoarse with desire. "all for me?"

you nod, your breath coming in short gasps. "ki, please." you beg. "i need you.. so bad."

“can’t believe you kept this perfect little cunt a secret from me this whole time.” he whispers, mesmerized as he licked, then bit down on his bottom lip.

he pulls back just enough to shed the rest of your clothes, his eyes never leaving yours. “is this okay?”

you nodded. god, it was so much more than okay. you wanted to strip him and take him right in that moment.

he chuckles low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you. "my good girl." he hooks his fingers in the sides of your panties and slowly drags them down your legs, baring you completely to his hungry gaze.

"fuck." he groans, "cant wait to feel you.."

he smiles as he settles between your legs, pulling his sweats down enough to pop himself free. his cock pressing against your entrance. you wrap your legs back around his waist, urging him closer. he leans down, his forehead resting against yours once more.

"ready?" he asks, his voice a low rumble.

you nod, your heart pounding. "always been."

with that, he pushes into you, slow and steady. you both moan as he fills you, stretching you. he starts to move, his hips rolling in a rhythm that has you seeing stars. your nails dig into his back, urging him deeper. his slow, persistent thrusts had you already crying out his name at the sudden burst of sensation, fingers flying to his hair, gripping tight.

his mouth finds yours again, swallowing your moans. you can feel the tension building, the pressure coiling in your belly.

“such a g-good fucking pussy. all mine, right sweetheart?” he managed to groan out, his voice stumbling as you rocked your hips to match his thrusts. riding him at such a pleasurable pace. enough to make him ache for so much more.

"r-riki mmgh!" you whimper, head thrown into the nape of his neck. "don’t stop, p-please don't stop!"

he truly couldn’t believe this was happening. you were his best friend technically since preschool. from distant buried feelings and confessions, to now you riding him raw. on your couch, just how you told him you imagined it.

as much as he found it crazy. he loved every last second of the way everything played out. the way you’re already looking all fucked out on his cock. clenching around him with those awfully perfect, tight walls. god he was so obsessed with you.

his hands continue roaming as you bucked into him rougher, massaging your tits as they bounced with every thrust you both made. he took the chance to pull you even closer, connecting one nipple to his mouth as he sucked and licked it— pinching and pulling on the other one.

your eyes went wide, the sensation skyrocketing instantly from all the pleasure you were feeling at once. “k-ki! fuck.. p-please!”

the moment he heard your pleads for assistance, he doubles his efforts, spitting on his fingers before slowly driving them into your clit. fucking you hard and fast on both his fingers and cock while he sucks on your nipples.

"what do you want baby, hm?" he grunts, holding still for a moment. "tell me what you want."

"i need y-you," you pant against his mouth. "please, riki. go faster, harder.."

"look at me, angel." he commands. "i want to see your face when i make you mine."

and you listened immediately, locking eye contact with him. you now can truly see the look in his eyes, the way his eyes darkened with every little noise you made, the way he smirked every time he slowed down to tease you and you whined.

he starts to move more then, spreading your legs wider around his hips as he began pulling out until just the tip remains before slamming back in. he sets a deep, driving rhythm, hips snapping against yours as he fucks you into the cushions. "y’feel so fucking tight and perfect.. like this pussy was made just for me."

one hand slides under your ass, tilting your hips to take him even deeper. the other finds your breast, kneading the soft flesh and rolling the nipple between his fingers.

the pleasure builds again at the base of your spine, each powerful thrust pushing you closer to the edge. "mnghh! p-please r-right there!" you gasp out. "i'm s-so close, don't stop!"

ni-ki couldn’t help but go harder, the sounds you were making just for him driving him way over the edge. the way you sucked him in and clenched with every thrust having him whining. “so f-fucking tight.. shit..” his voice being slightly higher than usual.

the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin and your mutual moans fill the room. though everything was messy, he changes the angle slightly and you see stars, coming with a hoarse scream of his name.

he slams into you with such desired passion, the force of his thrusts jostling your entire body. the new angle has him rubbing against that special spot inside you with every stroke, sending bolts of pleasure coursing through your veins.

"yes! yes! f-fuck yes!" you chant, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck to draw him in even deeper. your nails dig into his back, sure to leave red crescent marks in their wake.

he grunts and growls with each snap of his hips, the filthy sounds falling from his lips spurring you on. "fuck, you're gripping me so tight. like your little cunt doesn't ever want to let me go."

his words send a fresh gush of arousal flooding your core. you're so wet, the obscene sounds of him pumping in and out of your sopping pussy filling the air.

he reaches between your bodies, finding your swollen clit and rubbing tight circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves. "come on baby, i want to feel this greedy pussy squeezing the cum out of me.”

“h-hah~ m’s-so close, ki!” you whine in his ear, your eyes squeezing shut due to the pressure of your climax approaching.

“oh yeah?” he cooed. he grabbed a bundle of your hair and pulled it with just enough strength to force you to look at him. your sweaty, teary eyed expression turning him on all over again. “then milk my cock like you fucking mean it."

his dirty talk combined with the relentless stimulation is quickly pushing you to the brink. your walls start to flutter and clench around him, signaling your impending release.

"cmon, give it to me." he commands, pinching your clit hard. "come all over my dick like a good little slut."

that's all it takes to send you careening over the edge. your pussy spasms almost violently around him, squeezing and rippling along his length as ecstasy crashes through you. "mmngh!~ n-niki!~"

he groans long and low at the feel of you coming undone, your velvet walls milking his cock for all he's worth. with a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt and stills, pulsing as he empties his heavy balls deep inside you.

"f-fuck yes.." he pants, grinding against you and extending your mutual pleasure. "take it all, baby. you're all mine now."

you whimper and writhe below him, oversensitive and trembling with the force of your shared climax. he lets himself collapses onto of you, both of you sweaty and panting as you try to catch your breath.

after a moment, he carefully pulls out, his half-hard cock slipping from your well-filled cunt. a river of pearly white cum follows in its wake, leaking obscenely out of your stretched pussy and down your thighs.

ni-ki slowly flops himself back onto your couch beside you, tucking an arm behind his head and admiring his artwork in between your legs. "mmh, look at that pretty mess i made of you," he muses, swiping a finger through the creamy fluid and bringing it to his lips.

he hums in satisfaction before leaning over to capture your mouth in a sloppy kiss, sharing the lingering flavors between you.

"wow," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

he chuckles, his breath warm against your neck. "yeah. wow."

the room is dim now, your bodies tangled together in the low hum of silence. the only sounds are the faint ticking of the clock on the wall and the quiet inhale-exhale rhythm of two people who just gave themselves to each other without holding anything back.

you’re half-covered by the throw blanket ni-ki pulled down from the back of the couch, your bare legs curled into his. his arms are still wrapped around you, like he can’t quite bring himself to let go yet — not even for a second.

his thumb rubs slow circles against the small of your back, grounding and steady.

every few seconds, he presses the softest kiss to your temple, your shoulder, the top of your head, anywhere he can reach without moving too far from you.

“you okay?” he finally whispers, voice hoarse, warm against your skin.

you nod into his chest. “yeah… more than okay.”

“i didn’t hurt you, right?”

you pull back just enough to look at him — his eyes searching yours with that same mixture of worry and reverence that never quite left him since he stepped through your front door.

you smile, thumb brushing along his jaw. “no, ki. you were perfect.”

he relaxes under your touch, visibly softer now, cheeks tinged pink — whether from exhaustion or your words, you can’t quite tell. maybe both.

“i still can’t believe you’re here,” he whisper.

his fingers run gently through your hair now, untangling it where it’s knotted from his past actions, smoothing it out like it’s second nature. you close your eyes, sighing quietly at how careful he is with you.

“y’know.. i’ve never done this before,” he murmurs.

you glance up. “done what? the cuddling part?”

he gives a breathy laugh, his smile crooked. “no, i mean… all of it. that kind of closeness. that kind of trust.”

you pause — heart pulling tight in your chest.

“i was your first?”

he nods slowly, fingers still in your hair.

“only ever wanted to with someone i felt safe with. someone i knew wouldn’t disappear afterward.”

“… you felt that with me?”

he presses another kiss to your forehead. “i always did.”

your breath hitches again, but you smile, burying your face against him.