riki had always been the bad boy. dark clothes, sharp smirks, a cool, effortless swagger that screamed rebellion. but then you happened: spoiled since birth, a princess in your own right. and suddenly, his bad boy act took a back seat to... well, peeling grapes.

it started innocently enough. you wanted an apple. riki handed it to you, whole and untouched, expecting you to just take a bite like any normal person. but no, you blinked at him, horrified.

“it’s not washed.”

“so?”

“what if there are pesticides? or dirt?”

the next thing he knew, he was at the sink, scrubbing the apple like it owed him money.

soon enough, it became routine. you didn’t ask him to cut the apple into perfect slices or remove every seed. you just... looked at him with those expectant eyes, and riki, the self-proclaimed bad boy, couldn’t say no.

then there were the raisins. riki made the grave mistake of offering you a muffin once.

“there are raisins in this,” you said, voice laced with betrayal.

“yeah?”

“i hate raisins.”

so there he was, sitting at the table with a toothpick, painstakingly plucking out every single raisin while you lounged on the couch, scrolling on your phone like royalty.

fish night was the worst. “there are bones in this,” you said, wide-eyed.

“it’s fish. of course there are bones.”

“what if i choke?”

and just like that, riki spent fifteen minutes meticulously deboning your fish while you scrolled tiktok.

he grumbled about it sometimes, muttering under his breath about how he used to be cool, how people used to respect him. but then he’d look at you, happily munching on your bone-free fish or seedless fruit, and his bad boy facade would crack into a soft smile.

because, truth be told, riki had never been more whipped in his life. and honestly? he didn’t mind one bit.