#“I lost something precious to me that day.”

[tranquilreign]

the next step | oneshot

- © tranquilreign - all rights reserved | DO NOT STEAL, TAKE, or COPY any of MY WORK without MY PERMISSION.

pairing; jungkook/reader genre: fluff, smut, boyfriend!jk virgin!reader warnings; sexual themes, soft sex, oral (f. receiving), protected sex, awkward moments (it's normal), discomfort, slight pain, swearing, jungkook is so precious in this word count: 5.4k synopsis: you and jungkook have been dating for nearly four months, yet have never taken it to the next step. with valentine's day on the way, you try to fight your nerves and make an attempt to seduce him, with the help of your best friend, seokjin.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

You sat with your face in your hands, peering out through your fingers. Seokjin, your best friend, had dragged you into Victoria's Secret, tossing every piece of lingerie he could find in your size into your hands. You had told him that you were finally ready to take the next step with Jungkook, your boyfriend.

You had been dating for four months, and he couldn't have been more patient with you. He never pushed you to do anything you didn't want, even when you noticed his bulge straining in his trousers.

"Don't worry, baby. I can sort myself out."

He would reassure you that you didn't need to do anything for him, simply because he was turned on. You always felt guilty when you pulled away from his kisses, growing shy at the thought of it going further.

So, who better to go to than your best friend, Seokjin? You had asked him to meet up for coffee and have a catch-up. You had then dropped the question on him.

"No."

"Seokjin, please! I really need your help," you pleaded.

"No offence, Y/n, but you're a lost cause."

You frowned, pulling out 200,000 won. Seokjin stared at you for a moment. He snatched the money out of your hand and quickly counted it through. He hummed, nodding.

"Fine."

"Jinnie, you know red isn't my colour," you whined, holding up a matching set of crimson lingerie.

The sight of the revealing clothes made you blush. You felt mortified at the thought of Jungkook seeing you in something so minimal. Tossing the outfit to the side, you noticed Seokjin standing in front of you with his hands on his hips.

"If you're going to discard every one of my suggestions, I may as well not help you."

"Seokjin, you've thrown everything in this store at me. I don't really know what to do with all this. And I certainly can't afford it all," you explained.

"Well, obviously you're not going to get them all," Seokjin stated as if it were obvious.

You shrank in your seat, feeling embarrassed by his scolding. You were clueless about how to wear the extra pieces. Simply put, you didn’t understand.

Seokjin moved, grabbing one of the sets and holding it up to your chest. After a moment's thought, he threw it at one of the store assistants.

"These are simply no good," he scoffed, throwing another set at the assistant. "Samantha, we're going to need these set in black, white, green and red."

The woman nodded and hurried off to the back of the store. You watched in awe at how quick she complied with his request. You leaned forward slightly, placing your head in your hands.

"Seokjin, I told you red isn't my colour."

"Trust me, Y/n. Red is your colour," he reassured. "Come with me."

Seokjin pulled you up and escorted you to the changing rooms on the other side of the store. Samantha stood, waiting for you to arrive and handed Seokjin the items he had requested.

"Thank you, Samantha," Seokjin muttered, pushing you into one of the changing rooms. "Here." Your friend handed you every single set Samantha had found. "Change. And when you're done, show me."

"W-what?! I'm not going to show you," you stammered, subconsciously covering your chest as if you were already exposed to him.

"Honey, how am I supposed to know what is best for you if I can't see it. Besides, I've known you since we were kids. And the fact I'm gay."

You huffed, drawing the curtain and began to undress. Pulling your top over your head, you glanced at yourself in the mirror. Your bra dug into your sides, and your breasts were spilling out of the cups. You never could find the right size.

You unclasped your bra and picked up the black lingerie beside you. Staring at it, you felt confused about where the extra straps were meant to sit.

"Um, Seokjin, I don't really know how to say this," you confessed shyly. "I don't know how to put this on."

You were quick to cover yourself when the curtain flew open. Samantha had walked in and stared at you. She helped guide your arms into the bra and adjusted the straps, making it more comfortable for you.

"This part sits here," she explained, sorting the extra strap that sat underneath your bust. "And the other ones," she pointed to your breasts. "They are just for decoration; they don't serve any purpose."

"Right, thank you."

Samantha smiled and left the room. You turned around to look at yourself in the mirror. You were surprised at how beautiful your figure looked. Your breasts were perfectly positioned in the cups, and you appreciated that the straps didn't pinch or dig into your skin.

You were quick to put on the underwear, calling on Seokjin when you had finished. He entered, placing a hand under his chin, examining you. You looked around the room, awkwardly waiting for him to say something.

"Good. Next!"

You smiled gleefully, your confidence growing by the second. Seokjin walked out and waited for the next set.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

Two hours had passed by the time you finished trying on lingerie. After going through the many sets that Seokjin had picked out, he finally decided on three: green, black, and red. You attempted to argue with him about the red set, but to no avail; Seokjin's decision was final.

"They are already bought," Seokjin mentioned as you exited the changing room.

"Jinnie, you really didn't need to do that," you pouted.

"It's no big deal, besides, I just used the money you gave me. So really, I wasn't paying for all of it." You rolled your eyes, knowing that would be something Seokjin would do.

"So, where to next?" you asked as you both left the store.

Seokjin stood for a moment, pulling out his phone and texting someone. You were silent, watching him patiently, until he closed his phone and brushed his hair out of his face dramatically.

"We will continue tomorrow. We need to boost your confidence. So I've booked you in for a boudoir session."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't worry, Taehyung will be doing your photoshoot, so he said it was on him," Seokjin casually responded. "I'll see you tomorrow, Y/n."

With that, Seokjin left you on your own, mouth hanging open. Of all the things to help, he had to book you into the most extreme of them all.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

The following day had come around quicker than you had hoped. You were sitting in the waiting area of the boudoir studio while Seokjin was speaking with the receptionist. You fiddled with your cuticles, trying not to pick at them from nervousness.

It was nearly 2:00 PM when Taehyung walked out from the back of the studio to greet Seokjin.

"Hello there, Jin. It's been a while, hasn't it?" Taehyung greeted, giving his friend a tight hug.

"Tae, it's always good to see you. I apologise for this being so last minute, but Y/n here," Seokjin gestured to you, "is having a little trouble having some confidence in herself at the moment."

"I see," Taehyung said softly, observing your posture. "Don't worry, love. By the end of this session, you'll feel like a new woman." Taehyung was gentle and encouraging with his words as he guided you through the back.

You were surprised to see the various toys displayed on a small table to the side of the room. In the centre, multiple sets were arranged, showcasing a bedroom and a kitchen.

"We don't have to use any of the items I have here if you're not comfortable with them. However, once you get started and build some confidence, I think you'll want to give them a try," Taehyung explained.

You remained silent, your eyes scanning the room, absorbing everything. You felt uncertain about how to respond. This situation was so far outside your comfort zone that standing there made you feel foolish.

"Here, love, if you get changed into your lingerie behind the curtain there, I can get the camera set up. And if you'd prefer, there's a robe in there for you to put on over the top of your lingerie, okay?"

You only nodded, shuffling to the small room and glancing around. You were hesitant to change, trying your best to stall the situation at hand. It was only when you heard Seokjin's voice that you started to move.

"Y/n, you can't be wasting Taehyung's time like this. He has other clients today as well."

You had wrapped the robe around you, just as you moved out from behind the curtain. Taehyung smiled at you, placing his hand on the small of your back to bring you to the centre of the room.

"Now we typically do a full face of make-up. But from what Seokjin has told me, you prefer it light. Minimal foundation. However, I would like to do a skin-tint and a smokey eye if that's alright?"

"S-sure."

With that, Taehyung brought you over to a make-up chair and spun you around to look at him. He was quick with his work, but gentle. Applying little pressure to your eyes when he applied the eyeshadow. Not even ten minutes later, you were finished and ready for your photoshoot.

"Now, would you prefer your photos taken in the bedroom or kitchen first. Most ladies who are a little more on the shy side prefer the kitchen to begin with, as it's not as... intimate a room," Taehyung explained.

"We can go to the kitchen."

"Perfect," Taehyung beamed, gently taking your hand and escorting you to the kitchen. "Now, I just want you to relax, okay? I'll help you get into positions so you aren't overthinking anything."

You stayed quiet, trying your hardest to let yourself relax. Taehyung sighed slightly, seeing your stiffness. He approached you and gently grabbed your arms.

"I know this is difficult for you, Y/n. But it will just be harder if you don't work with me. Trust me, I'll take good care of you. That, I promise."

With that, you let your arms drop completely to your sides, nodding. Taehyung smiled, gave you a quick thumbs up, and handed his camera to Seokjin. He motioned for you to take off your robe, and you did so, reluctantly.

"First, we'll get you up onto the counter and have you lying down."

You climbed onto the countertop, following Taehyung's instructions. He asked you to prop yourself up on your elbows, bending your leg furthest from the camera while keeping the other leg straight.

"Perfect, now finally I want you to just let your head fall back, okay? Look straight up at the ceiling," Taehyung finished.

You looked up, staring at nothing in particular. You started to laugh at the awkwardness, but Taehyung loved it.

"Brilliant!" he praised, snapping as many shots as he could.

Over time, your confidence grew as you began to enjoy the photoshoot. As the session continued, you moved from the countertop to one of the chairs, sitting backwards with your legs spread wide.

"Beautiful, Y/n. Beautiful!" Taehyung beamed. "Your partner sure is lucky indeed."

"I would like to take the rest of the photos in the bedroom set, if that's okay?" you asked, smiling hopefully.

"Of course, love. Just make your way over and we'll get the lighting moved for you."

You walked over to the bed and sat down, waiting for everything to get set up. Taehyung once again, instructed you into position, sitting you on the floor to begin with.

"Now, if you could bring your arms up over your head, and bend one across the way. Yup! Perfect."

The camera flashed repeatedly, capturing your beauty from every angle. You had caught sight of Seokjin, who was giving you the thumbs up.

"Great, now if you move onto the bed. Would you like to try some of the toys? Maybe if we have you put on the handcuffs and maybe a blindfold?"

You nodded eagerly, showing your enjoyment. Taehyung and Seokjin laughed as they gathered the necessary items. Taehyung carefully tied the restraints around your wrists, checking in with you from time to time to ensure they weren’t too tight. Lastly, he placed the blindfold over your eyes gently, being careful not to mess up your hair.

"Right, I'll need to move you myself into position. Is that alright with you?" Taehyung asked.

"Of course," you responded.

Taehyung was careful where he touched you, making sure not to touch anywhere above your knees when moving your legs. He stepped away once he had finished, and you heard the snapping of the camera once again.

A few more positions and toys later, you had finally finished your session. Taehyung allowed you to get dressed back into your regular clothing and called you over to look at the photos.

You were stunned by how beautiful you looked. Your confidence shone in the images, and it was clear you were having fun.

"I'll print all of these and send them to you in a couple of days. I just need your address." You wrote your address down on a notepad Taehyung had handed you.

"Thank you so much, Tae. I really appreciate you doing this for me. Are you sure there's no way I can pay you for this?" Taehyung laughed.

"Don't worry about it, Y/n. Working with you was payment enough. You would be an incredible model." You smiled shyly at the compliment. "I'm sorry to rush you both, however, I have another client due in five minutes."

You hurriedly hugged Taehyung and bid him farewell as you and Seokjin exited the building.

"I'm really proud of you, Y/n," Seokjin smiled. "You've already come a long way."

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

A few days later, Seokjin got in touch with you again. This time, dragging you to a salon, having you booked in for a manicure, pedicure and getting your hair styled.

"Jimin~" Seokjin cooed upon entering the salon. You followed behind quietly, allowing the two men to greet each other before introducing yourself.

"Seokjin!" a man beamed. He was shorter than your friend, but a very beautiful man. Shimmer glittered his eyelids and cheekbones, enhancing his features. "And you must be Y/n. I've heard so much about you!"

"It's lovely to meet you," you said, holding out your hand.

"Oh, honey, we don't do that here," Jimin teased, pulling you into a hug. "And I most certainly don't bite."

Jimin escorted you into the salon chair and fluffed your hair, examining it. He hummed quietly to himself, pulling strands of your hair in front of your face, trying to imagine the perfect style for you.

"First, we will get your mani and pedi done. Then I'll have you back here for your hair. Sound good?" You nodded, hopping out of your chair and into one at the manicure section of the salon.

When you returned to Jimin, you had a new set of French-tip nails that matched your pedicure. He beamed upon seeing the matching set, praising his co-workers for their expertise.

"Now, honey, if you just sit tight, I'll get your hair looking brand new. Trust me, you'll love it."

Jimin had begun his work when your phone buzzed. Looking down, you noticed a message from Jungkook. A smile crept onto your face upon seeing his name. You unlocked your phone, opening the message.

'Hi baby, I know you know I don't do Valentine's Day, but I booked us a table at that Japanese restaurant you love so much. xx'

You smiled reading the message. Normally, you would be ecstatic about this reservation. But this time, you wanted to focus on him only.

'Hey. I actually have something planned for us already. Would you mind cancelling the reservation? xx'

Ping. He responded immediately.

'Oh? What are we doing?'

'It's a surprise. xx'

You giggled a little, catching Jimin's attention.

"Is that the boyfriend, honey?"

"Yeah, he's asking what I have planned for us on Valentine's Day," you laughed a little when Jimin grinned.

"Jin informed me of your boudoir session yesterday. He mentioned how well you had done, despite you being so nervous to begin with," Jimin smiled warmly.

"Yeah, I wasn't expecting to have so much fun with it, and to enjoy feeling myself? I guess?"

"Well, from what I've been told, you expressed confidence Seokjin himself had never seen from you. That's a big achievement," Jimin explained, pulling your hair in different directions, making small cuts.

"I honestly wouldn't have any confidence if it weren't for Seokjin and Taehyung. And you, of course."

"Your confidence comes from you. No one else. Taehyung and Seokjin just helped you realise your potential. It was you who made it happen."

It was only ten minutes later when Jimin had finished your hair. You gasped, impressed by his styling and his swiftness.

"You're very lucky, Y/n. You're hair is already so luscious and healthy. I just needed to shape it a little bit," Jimin explained, placing his hands on his hips.

"Thank you so much. I appreciate you doing this for me." You moved to take your purse out when Jimin stopped you.

"Oh no, honey, this is on me."

"I can't have you do that. Taehyung did this yesterday, please. If you won't take a full payment, at least let me tip you," you pleaded, holding out 30,000 won.

"Fine, but that's all you're allowed to pay," Jimin scolded, playfully tapping your head with a magazine. "Now go, enjoy the rest of your day, and have a lovely Valentine's Day."

"Thank you, Jimin. I'll be back next week for my haircut, and all the details," Seokjin called, earning a smack on the arm from you.

"Jinnie!" you frowned.

"Oh, like you won't tell me everything that happens the next day," Seokjin fired back, making you go quiet. "That's what I thought. I am your best friend after all." You laughed lightly.

"That you are Seokjin."

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

Valentine's Day had finally arrived. You paced back and forward in your bedroom, waiting for Jungkook to arrive. Everything that Seokjin had taught you had gone out the window. You were overthinking. It was one thing to be confident in yourself and even find yourself sexy.

But having your partner think that of you was completely different. You had spent forty minutes deciding on what lingerie set to wear, calling Seokjin frantically.

"Y/n. The red one," was all Seokjin said before he hung up, leaving you to yourself. You didn't agree with him, but still put it on nonetheless, trusting his judgement.

Your makeup was simple, yet sultry. A robe was tied loosely around your waist, and your hair was as perfect as the day Jimin had styled it. You looked perfect, but you didn't feel it.

Your head snapped to the sound of the front door opening, indicating Jungkook was home.

"Baby? I'm home."

"Now's not the time to get scared," you told yourself.

Quickly, you tightened the belt around your robe and grabbed the envelope on your bedside table, which held the boudoir photos. You quickly pushed your hair out of your face, sitting down on the bed and crossing your left leg over your right, making sure to expose your thighs.

"Baby?" Jungkook asked, opening the bedroom door.

He stopped when he saw you, surprised to see you the way you were. You attempted to use the envelope to fan your face slowly, but with your nerves getting the better of you, your fanning was becoming more aggressive.

"Are you okay, Y/n? Did you not hear me come in?" Jungkook asked, pulling off his jacket and placing it onto the bed.

"I-I'm fine," you stammered. "Just a little warm," you added.

Jungkook looked at you quizzically. He went to unbutton his shirt when you suddenly stood up. He halted, watching your movements closely.

"I actually have something to show you." Your attempt at sounding sexy was backfiring, making you feel foolish.

You went to untie your robe when you ran into a problem. It was too tight. With your back to Jungkook, you fiddled and tugged at the belt, a poor attempt to untie it. You cursed un your breath.

"Baby? Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine," you responded, your voice failing you as tears began to well in your eyes.

Jungkook recognised the tone of your voice immediately and made his way over to you. You shrugged off his hand when he placed it on your shoulder, growing more frustrated.

"Darling," Jungkook cooed.

You stopped, allowing tears to cascade down your face, accepting you had messed everything up. You spun around, burying your face into Jungkook's chest as you cried. Jungkook was confused, but he stayed silent, running his hand through your hair lovingly.

"Tell me what's wrong, baby," Jungkook comforted, leading you over to the bed and sitting you down. He knelt down in front of you, his heart breaking at your tears.

"I-I just wanted this to be perfect," you choked.

"What did you want to be perfect?"

"I was finally ready. I wanted- I wanted to fully give myself to you," you sobbed, your head hanging low.

Jungkook finally realised what was happening. He couldn't help but smile at your efforts, finding it cute that you would go to such lengths for him. He placed his fingers under your chin and tilted your head up to look at him.

"You don't need to do any of this for me, baby. I love you just the way you are. You're nothing short of perfect."

"But I had done all this for you. I just wanted it to go right," you sighed, wiping away your tears with the sleeve of your robe.

"Well, how about we start again? I'll help you get this untied, and we can go from there. But only if you are sure you want to do this," Jungkook stated, seriousness in his eyes.

"Yes, I want to."

With your verbal consent, he pulled you to your feet and allowed his hands to move from your shoulders to your belt. With ease, he untied the belt. He looked at you one more time, silently asking if he could continue.

You moved your hands to the opening of your robe, pulling it back and allowing it to fall off your shoulders to the floor. Jungkook bit his lip, looking at how perfect you looked.

"You look breathtaking in red," he breathed, his eyes landing on your breasts.

He watched as your chest rose from your nervous breathing, the sight almost making him lose control. He moved his hand up, lightly tracing the back of his forefinger down your cheek. You shivered at the contact, making him smirk. Moving his hand down to your bra, he gently tugged at one of the decorative straps lying over your breast.

"God, you are stunning," he whispered, moving to wrap his arms around your waist.

He pulled you in close, letting his lips ghost yours, leaving you breathless. He moved to your cheek, planting soft kisses down to your shoulder. He moved further down, just above your breasts and kissed the same spot. You let out a quiet moan, feeling him suck and nibble at your skin.

When he pulled away, he smirked at his work. A small hickey was now placed above your left breast. His gaze moved up to your face, taking in your expression. Your eyes were closed, breathing heavy, biting your lip to suppress your moans.

"Can I lie you down on the bed, baby?" he whispered. You nodded.

"Yes."

He lifted you with ease, bringing your round to the side of the bed and lying you down. He stripped himself of his shirt, giving you a moment to stare at him. You had seen him shirtless plenty of times. But now, it was different. You took in every inch of him, admiring every muscle and tattoo. Without thinking, you sat up, placing your hand at the hem of his trousers, sliding upwards toward his neck, kissing his torso as you did so.

He let his head fall backwards, muttering quietly under his breath. Your touch drove him crazy, and he couldn't explain why. How soft your skin was, and your delicate touches. All he wanted was for you to constantly be touching him.

You had pulled back, noticing the bulge in his pants. You brought your hands to his trousers, unbuttoning them slowly, teasingly. He watched you, his gaze intense. Only when you leaned back down onto the bed did he move, removing his trousers in a shift motion and climbing on top of you.

"Please, let me kiss you," he pleaded, his tone taking you by surprise. You had never heard him so needy.

"Of course, Kook."

Jungkook wasted no time closing the gap between the two of you, letting your lips mould with one another. Your breath caught in your throat when his hand traced down to your waist, gripping it tightly. He pulled away, looking over you to make sure you were okay.

"Don't stop," you whispered, pulling his back down.

You felt him slowly begin to grind into you, adding to your excitement. He moved from your lips and peppered kisses down until he reached your stomach. He looked up at you, hooking his fingers around the band of your underwear. You nodded eagerly.

In one swift motion, your underwear was pulled off and discarded on the bedroom floor. He lay flat on the bed, wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling you closer to him.

"If there's anything I do that doesn't feel right, let me know, baby," he reassured. You silently agreed. He moved his face closer between your legs. His breath tickled your thighs, making you giggle slightly.

You gasped when Jungkooks lips wrapped around your clit, sucking gently, while his tongue moved up and down in a rhythmic motion. Your hands moved to his hair, back arching as a moan escaped your mouth.

"I-I'm sorry," you panted, flustered.

Jungkook pulled away, chuckling softly at how cute you were. He gently kissed up your inner thigh, then back down.

"There is no need to apologise, baby. If anything, it gives me confidence that I'm making you feel good. So let me hear you moan for me."

Jungkook moved back down between your legs and continued. A string of moans left you as Jungkook pleasured you. Every now and then, he would change his pace, slowing down or speeding up. You grew frustrated with his teasing, whining from the pleasure.

"Please."

Jungkook stopped.

"Please, what?"

"Please, make me come," you pleaded, looking down at him.

His eyes were filled with lust and love, grinning mischievously. He moved back one more time, this time keeping the same pace. He flicked his tongue against your clit, feeling your grip tighten in his hair, he knew you were close.

Jungkook felt you come undone against his tongue, your body shaking in ecstasy. He moved down to your entrance, licking from the bottom up to your clit, tasting you. You jerked at the sensitivity. He breathed out a laugh, the cold air hitting against you.

"Did that feel good, baby?" he asked while kissing your thighs.

"Fuck, yes."

Jungkook took the opportunity to move back up, so he was hovering over you. You avoided eye contact with him, becoming shy at how easily you came. He waited until you looked back at him.

"We can stop here if you-"

"No," you answered a little too quickly. "I-I want to go the whole way."

"That's a good girl," Jungkook smirked, standing up and pulling his boxers off.

You couldn't help but stare as he did so, unable to take your eyes off his size. You swallowed a little, your nerves beginning to return. He reached over to his bedside table and opened the drawer, pulling out a small silver packet.

He tore it open with his teeth, pulling out a condom from the foil. He pulled it over his cock and rolled it down, making sure it sat securely at the base. Jungkook then crawled back on top of you and grabbed hold of himself.

"I'm going to ask one more time. Are you sure?" he asked, noticing how your face changed.

"Y-Yes, I'm sure. I'm just nervous," you replied shyly. Jungkook planted a soft kiss against your forehead.

"It's okay to be nervous, baby," Jungkook soothed. "But I will say, with you still being a virgin, this may hurt a little bit. Okay?"

You nodded in response, wrapping your arms around his neck. Jungkook rubbed his tip against your entrance, coating himself in your wetness.

He was gentle, slowly easing in and out a little bit at a time, getting you used to the feeling. Your eyes scrunched shut when he began to push further in, the stretch becoming painful. Your nails dug into Jungkook's shoulders. He took that moment to stop, allowing you to adjust to his size.

"Please tell me you're almost in," you winced.

"I'm afraid we're only halfway," Jungkook informed. You laughed a little, trying to take your mind off the pain you were feeling below. "You're taking me so well, baby. Just a little further."

Jungkook's words filled you with reassurance, and you gestured for him to move again. With one final push, Jungkook was all the way in. You let out a quiet grunt in pain at the feeling. Like before, Jungkook stayed still, waiting until you were ready.

He kissed your face, attempting to take your mind off the ache. You breathed heavily, trying to allow yourself to relax a little more. Jungkook whispered praises in your ear, telling you how good you were doing.

When you felt that you were finally ready, you nodded, signalling for Jungkook to move. He moved his hand behind your back, raising you up slightly. Slowly, he pulled out and slid back in, making you both moan in unison.

"Fuck," he whispered.

The feeling of you tightening around his cock had him fighting not to finish. He often fantasised about how you felt, but he had never thought you'd feel this good.

"Oh my God," you gasped, feeling him stretch you with every thrust.

He continued his steady pace, sweat beginning to form on his forehead. He moved his hand from your back to your face, making you look at him.

"Will you-" he grunted, "will you come with me?"

You couldn't speak, only nodding in response. He took the opportunity to pick up his pace a little, thrusting deeper. The feeling had you in a state of euphoria, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your orgasm grew closer.

"Fuck, Kook- I'm gonna-" you couldn't finish as you reached your high. You pulled yourself up to his chest, needing to be close to him as he came shortly after. His breathing was uneven, hair sticking to his forehead as he rode out both your highs.

He finally stopped, slowly pulling out of you, and moving to lie on the other side of the bed. You closed your legs, pouting at the sudden loss of contact.

Jungkook rolled off the bed and made his way to the bathroom. Confused, you sat up and waited for him to come back. He returned shortly with a damp washcloth and sat at the bottom of the bed.

"Open your legs for me, baby."

You complied, slowly spreading your legs again. Jungkook brought the cloth to your entrance, gently wiping away any excess saliva and sweat, being careful not to brush your sensitive clit.

"I did rip you a little bit. I'm sorry," Jungkook apologised, wiping away a little bit of blood that had mixed in with your orgasm.

"It's okay," you replied. "Was I- was I okay?" you asked sheepishly.

Jungkook pulled back from you, tilting his head, giving you a knowing look.

"You know you were more than okay. You were perfect. I'm glad you were confident enough to show me all of you," Jungkook praised, leaning forward to cup your cheek in his hand.

"I love you, Kook," you hummed, closing your legs and moving slowly to him. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into him. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, taking in the mixture of your scent and sweat.

"I love you, too, baby."

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

hey there! thank you so much for reading! i will say, I am really proud of this piece, as it's the first time I've wrote smile in a while! please let me know what you think and if I should do more in the future!

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tranquilreign~

[22ayla21]

Hi! First time doing this so a bit nervous lol

How would Anaxa help/react to his s/o having insomnia? To the point where they cover their blatant eye bags with face powder, get 4-5 hours of sleep a night, etc. Maybe they can only sleep comfortably when very relaxed (with head rubs or just being close)

Ty ty for reading

When insomnia departs with the night

Anaxa's wife was utterly exhausted by insomnia, but his calm care and tenderness gradually brought her sleep back.

Scientist, heretic, philosopher, man, one who defied the gods, magician... Anaxa was all of these. And yet, there were moments when all his titles lost meaning—she was beside him. His wife. His world. His silence.

But lately, something had disturbed that silence.

At first, he noticed it in small things, seemingly insignificant. Shadows lay under his wife's eyes, which she diligently tried to conceal with powder. The makeup was light, almost imperceptible, but he knew her face too well not to see this artificial freshness. The coffee cup appeared more and more often, the third or fourth of the day. She had become absent-minded, spoke in short phrases, and her smile seemed to fade, veiled by a haze of fatigue.

He was in no hurry to ask questions. He watched. Studied her like a fragile, rare element, touched with caution.

But one morning, when she dozed off right at breakfast, he realized he could no longer remain silent.

"Did you sleep last night?" he asked quietly, evenly, as if inquiring about the weather.

"A little," she replied just as calmly and went to the bathroom.

He didn't follow her. He heard the door close and the water running. She would probably stand under the shower for a long time again, trying to wake up. Probably apply powder again. Probably smile again.

But he wasn't going to leave it like this.

That day, he canceled everything. Meetings, letters, appointments with young scientists, even a visit to the Goldweaver. If anyone could afford to miss an audience for personal matters, it was Anaxa.

He prepared a decoction for her. Without a sharp smell, with a light aroma of lavender and something like honey.

When she returned to the room, already made up and with her usual straight back, he simply handed her the cup.

"Drink," he said briefly.

She looked at him questioningly, even with a slight suspicion.

"It's not medicine," he added. "It's care."

She sat down opposite him. Remained silent. Took a sip. Another. A warm, soothing heat spread through her body.

"I'm not weak," she suddenly said.

"I know. But you're not a machine. Even the gods get tired. And you are more precious to me than all the titans and all the truths combined."

He stood up, walked over, and sat down beside her. His hand rested on her knee. Lightly, gently.

"You're not sleeping. You're hiding your tiredness. I see it. Everyone sees it. The children too. Your shoulders have become narrower, and your gaze—quieter."

She turned away.

"I'm just… trying to be strong. Not to be a burden."

He smiled. Softly.

"A strong woman is not one who breaks in silence so that no one notices. A strong one is the one who allows others to be near. Allows herself to be loved even when weak. Especially then."

That evening, he didn't let her cook dinner or clean up. Instead, he sat her down on the sofa and covered her with a warm blanket.

He put his arm around her shoulders. Remained silent. Just was there.

Later, at night, when she lay as usual, staring at the ceiling with sleepless eyes, he lay down beside her and gently began to stroke her hair.

"I'm with you," he whispered. "I'm here. Don't think about anything. Just breathe."

He didn't even notice how he began to count her breaths, how their breathing became one, how his palm lay on her hand, pressing it to himself, as if protecting her from insomnia itself.

And that night, for the first time in a long time, she fell asleep. Deeply. Calmly.

From that day on, they had a new ritual. No serious conversations before breakfast. A warm decoction every evening. Embraces before bed. And words—rare, but always precise, like formulas behind which his heart could be felt.

And she began to change. First—a little less powder. Then—more smiles. More sleep.

He didn't try to break her defenses. He simply showed that in a house where love lives, insomnia doesn't last forever.

And most importantly—she no longer felt alone with it.

[scribblecon]

Your latest Megatron x Reader fic is stuck on my head, thinking about it repeatedly. I love if so much.

I am excited for the next chapter

The wait is finally over!! Here’s part two :)) also want to thank my buddy @peachypede for letting me bombard her with ideas for this and sharing her thoughts on them 💖

SFW, GN reader

part 1

Cultural Exchange Part Two

—

It’s time for another meeting with Megatron. Yesterday ended with you impulsively forming a book club for two and now you get to find out if he actually read a romance novel on your recommendation or not. You take a deep breath and enter the room, taking your usual seat near the doorway, body tense. He’s already sat in his corner of the room, of course. Waiting.

“I read the novel.”

“You actually read Pride and Prejudice?” Blinking in surprise, you weren’t expecting him to keep his word.

“Yes.”

“… What did you think?”

“The fixation on ‘marriage’ makes little sense. Surely there are more important things for the Bennett sisters to focus on than finding a sparkmate.”

“That’s a pretty dismissive reading.”

“What else is there to say? It’s a frivolous story about a group of people with too much time on their hands, shamelessly chasing romantic relationships.”

You stare at him open mouthed, trying to think of a response. He can’t be serious. His expression gives away nothing as he waits for you to speak and you can feel your face heat with frustration. You offer up a potential conversation topic because he isn’t willing to come up with one himself and this is all he has to say? Rude. Extremely rude. The tension in your body increases as you shift from nervousness to indignation.

“I suggested you read one of the most well-known novels in human history and you’re writing it off just like that? Did you actually read the story or did you download it into your brain module and call it a day?” You glare at Megatron, voice sharp. “Because it sounds to me like you didn’t even try to understand the point of the story.”

The corners of his lips quirk upwards in amusement at your reaction, wondering if it’s normal for humans to get so precious over a mere work of fiction. He’s never known his fellow cybertronians to act this way, though he struggles to recall the last time any of his kind published a novel in the first place, let alone one worth fussing over.

You know that getting angry isn’t going to make interacting with him any easier. Reminding yourself that you’re doing a job, that it’s only for an hour, you turn his words over in your mind. Need to think of something constructive to say. It’s true marriage and romance are the main themes of the story, but calling the entire cast shamelessly obsessed is a bit extreme. Either he’s a total prude or there’s a cultural difference getting in the way. You exhale, letting go of your remaining frustration before speaking again.

“Can I ask you something?”

“By all means.”

“I’ve been told that conjunx endurae are your species equivalent to marriage, but is there anything legally binding about entering that sort of relationship for cybertronians?”

“No.” His expression turns to a frown.

“And how common is it for cybertronians to become conjunx?”

“Most of us never do.” Megatron’s frown deepens, the line of enquiry at risk of becoming too personal too fast for his liking. Needs to shut it down. “More importantly, those kinds of relationships are considered private affairs. It isn’t usually something to be discussed openly.”

Come to think of it, you’ve been part of the Lost Light’s crew since before Megatron joined and romance hasn’t cropped up in conversation much, if at all, since you’ve started hanging out with cybertronians. Maybe romance just isn’t a priority for a race that doesn’t reproduce? At least this gives you something to work with.

“That’s so different to humans… a lot of us see getting married as the ultimate symbol of romantic love, but really it’s just a legal contract and the ceremony part is optional.” You can feel yourself relaxing as you continue. Somehow it’s easier to talk when you have something you can teach. “Back in the regency period, marriage was about financial security and social standing over and above anything else. Due to laws at the time, if a woman didn’t find a suitable husband she’d be at risk of becoming destitute. You didn’t pick up on that at all?”

“That’s why Mrs Bennett was so insistent on Elizabeth marrying Mr Collins…”

So he was paying attention after all… you allow a small smile to grace your lips. “She didn’t want her family to be rendered homeless upon her husband’s death, so, yeah in her eyes it was the best case scenario to marry Elizabeth off.”

“By that logic, Elizabeth was naïve and a fool to reject him.”

“Yes, but would you be happy spending the rest of your life attached to someone like that? Their personalities were a terrible match. They’d have been extremely unhappy together.”

Megatron thinks for a moment, snippets of dialogue from the book coming back to him. Something about Mr Collins’s sycophancy towards Lady de Bourghs does feel familiar... He knew there was a reason he stopped communicating with Tarn directly millennia ago.

“In a way, I already have…” He mumbles to himself, barely audible from where you’re sitting on the other side of the room.

“What was that?”

Megatron clears his intake, ignoring your question. “So which is more important to a successful marriage, security or happiness? This is unnecessarily complicated.”

“It depends on the person? I hate to break it to you, but much like cybertronians, humans are very complicated creatures. Consider Charlotte…”

—

“… now do you understand why marriage is so important in this story?”

Megatron nods in confirmation, appearing deep in thought. Having just spent the better part of the hour going over every relationship in Pride and Prejudice with him, you’ve been attempting to make him understand some of the myriad reasons as to why humans might get married. It became fairly obvious to you while discussing Mr Collins that he had, in fact, read the novel more closely than he initially let on. You don’t care if you’re just explaining things he’s already figured out though. A conversation is happening and you finally have something to say to Ultra Magnus. It’s not much, but he’ll probably be pleased with even a millimetre of progress right now.

Megatron is mildly impressed by you. Granted, he’s not exactly trying very hard, so naturally you’d be the one leading the conversation. But with a little provocation and something to focus on, you seem to lose any sense of fear towards him — watching you flare with indignation at his dismissive remarks before shifting to curiosity was nothing short of amusing. So small, yet more than willing to stand your ground, even over something as inconsequential as a work of fiction.

He also has to admit that this Jane Austen’s writing was of a better quality than he expected. The continuous discussions of relationships were initially jarring and uncomfortable, so completely different to cybertronian customs, but the prose and humour were enjoyable enough. He’d even go so far as to call the main dynamic between Elizabeth and Darcy compelling, though he has no interest in voicing these opinions out loud for the time being.

The sound of an alarm goes off, interrupting his thoughts.

“Well,” you say, standing up and stretching your arms above your head. “Time for me to go.”

“Not going to suggest I read another human novel before you leave?”

You pause, nose crinkling as you turn to look back at him. “I did pretty much all the talking today so… you pick something.”

Without waiting for a response, you walk out the room. When the door closes behind you, he can hear your footsteps break into a run until they fade into the distance. Clearly, as much as you enjoy talking about literature, you still dislike being around him more. And that’s fine. He hardly knows what to make of you either.

[starrihan]

hi beautiful!! i be thinking about jo so often it’s concerning

right now it’s him being precious and turning all of your plushies to face the wall before he destroys u bc “he doesn’t want their opinion of him to change” 😣

→ Pairing: Jo x fem! Reader

→ Genre: smut, fluff, spit exchange, Jo being filthy on purpose,

→ Warnings: none!

→ Word Count: 1,185

→ Notes: Beautiful 🥹🥹🤧🤧HELLO GORGEOUS HOW ARE YOU??oh my god I think my pussy just did a backflip because the thought of this 😩😩 AND THE FACT THAT I HAVE SO MANY PLUSHIES ON MY BED I CAN JUST IMAGINE HIM TURNING THEM AND SAYING THEIR NAMES TOO HOLD ON LET ME COOK

→ Here's a link to all my other masterlists!

༄ ༄ ༄

NO BECAUSE THIS IS SO JO!!!

He’s been to your house before and has even slept over many times. He’s gotten to know your house like it’s his own, and that includes knowing the names of the all stuffies you keep on your bed. He finds your habit of naming them cute, and even refers to them by their names if he has to. He’s even helped you name some of them before, making his bond with your stuffed animals that much stronger. And you find it so cute that he indulges in this hobby with you without shaming you for it or calling you childish for naming and caring so greatly about your ‘children.’

Usually when you guys have sex, it’s at his house because there’s always people at yours, and you’re worried about getting caught. But his roommates are almost never there when you two are, so it always ends up working out. But one day, you’re alone for the day and decide to call Jo over.

He’s there soon after, waiting at your door with ice cream that he bought from the store. As per usual when you guys hang out, things start off tame with little fleeting touches here and there, but they eventually take a turn into something much steamier.

Here you guys are, making out on the couch, you’re sitting on his lap and slowly grinding into him, hands lost in his hair as his hands squeeze at your waist from underneath your shirt. He’s matching your grinding, rocking his hips back and forth against your clothed clit as you moan into his lips.

“Bedroom…”

You moan out, lips still moving against each other’s as he picks you up. You instantly wrap your legs around his waist, hoisting yourself up. He lays you down a little rough, a small ‘sorry’ slipping past his lips as he continues to move his lips down your neck. His hands move up to unbutton the flannel you were wearing (his btw) smiling down at you.

“You’re so beautiful…”

And even though he says that every time, you still can’t help but blush at his words. You’re quick to fiddle with his shirt, slipping it past his head and quickly pulling his pants down right after. He laughs at your eagerness, touched at thought of knowing you need him that badly. He continues kissing you, working his way down your shorts and into your panties, running a finger down your slit and dipping it in for a second before moving to rub your clit. You nibble at his bottom lip, his small laughs making you needier by the second.

Your back is arched, signaling that you need more, and he happily obliges when he sticks two fingers into your hole, slightly hissing when you bite his lips a little harder than you had intended too.

“Sorry mmm… just feels… s-so good!”

And how can he worry about his own pain when your pleasure is much more important to him? He knows you won’t be able to hold out much longer before you’re begging for him. He pulls away from you, looking to the side to see the 5 plushies in the corner of the bed, watching, staring at what he’s doing to you. He takes the chance to turn them over, one by one, making them face the wall instead.

“What are you doing?”

You ask, curiously.

“I wish I could cover their ears too. What would they think of me if they saw what I’m about to do to you next? Especially little Jojo, his poor eyes don’t deserve to be scarred.”

And you find his actions so endearing you almost cum right then and there. He quickly pecks your forehead, flashing you a bright smile before lining himself up with you, slowly thrusting into you. You're already moaning with just the head, clutching his bicep at the intrusion. Your legs spread wider, waiting to wrap around him when he fully bottoms out.

One hand is squeezing your waist, the other going down to circle his thumb on your clit to ease the pain of the stretch that you feel every time. You try your best to keep your moans down, playing into his joke, not wanting your collective children to hear your lewd moans. But it's like he's pushing you on purpose, despite being the one to turn them around, saying he wishes he could cover their ears too.

He fully sheathes himself inside you without warning, a loud scream of his name ripping from your lungs and out into the small bedroom. You can hear him giggle, slowly pushing in and out as his thumb continues to work on your clit.

"F-fuck... Jojo... too... much..."

You pant between each of his thrusts, unable to comprehend the pleasure coursing through your body right now. Moans are spilling out of your lips just as grunts are pouring out of his, each thrust delivering a new wave of pleasure to you both. Your tongue is lolling out of your mouth, drool dripping down the side of your lips. Jo notices, dipping down to lick up the trail of drool down the side of your face before pushing it back into your mouth.

"Good thing they didn't see that..."

You don't have it in you to respond, too far gone by your approaching orgasm. He picks up the pace, unwrapping your legs from his waist and throwing them over his shoulders to hit what little room you had left inside you before he was actually rearranging your guts. Your moan is almost silent with how high pitched it is, reaching thresholds you didn't think you could achieve.

Normally, Jo is really good about pulling out, but today, he was lost in the way you were moaning so loud, forgetting to pull out and keeping himself buried between your legs.

“I’m sorry Y/N! I forgot to pull out…”

You just shook your head ‘no,’ smiling as you panted, trying your best to catch your breath. You pulled him in for a short, sweet kiss.

“ ‘s okay… I’m on the pill anyways…”

He pulls out slowly, quickly grabbing the tissues on your desk to clean you up with before throwing them in your trash can, laying beside you with his hand draped over your waist. You take some time to sit in silence, look over at your little plushies that are still facing the wall.

“Do you get off knowing that you subjected them to hear all that? You’ve never went that hard before!”

You laugh, hand lightly tapping his chest.

“I don’t know what came over me… it felt too dirty to have them watch…”

“…but not dirty enough for them to hear?”

You laugh as his cheeks flush red, embarrassed by how turned on he got at the thought of shielding your stuffed animals from your actions, like they could actually perceive you both. You lay your head in his chest, snuggling into him softly as you hear his heartbeat settle into a steady rhythm.

“It’s okay. I like it when you go rough~”

༄ ༄ ༄

→ Here's a link to all my other masterlists!

[missust3l3vision]

Orange Sunglasses - Arthur Frederick fluff

Description: Arthur is allowed the very rare chance to wear your sunglasses, too bad he's as forgetful as the day he was born.

Word count - 712

"I swear to god if you steal my sunglasses again I will kill you"

Arthur pouted dramatically as I spoke. He was already eyeing my favourite pair. Rather than offering them you crossed your arms.

"Baby pleaseeee" he begged "I don't have any to wear" which was true. Only due to the fact he lost all his pairs.

"Look, you can borrow a different pair, and only for the day. I don't want to be late to the beach. You know what Chris can be like" Arthur let out a laugh before grabbing a particularly ugly pair of glasses, earning an eyebrow raise from you.

They had thick orange rims and low quality shades. Did they go with any outfits? Not even a little. But they were a go to pair, they you packed everytime.

Finally at the beach the group were all there, Chris filming some video that you weren't apart of. Rather you sat off to the side either tanning or going into the ocean. When they finally wrapped up Arthur immediately joined you.

"Ughh its almost dark!! I thought it would’ve been a shorter shoot" he complained as he slid the sunglasses off his hair to his eyes.

You simply stood up in the water, the waves reaching your waist. It was not a surprise to you, his filming always took longer than he expected.

"Its okay, you have the day off tomorrow right? We can come back" Arthur smiled wide before giving you a tight hug, your wet bikini top soaking his shirt

"Ack! Now my shirts wettt" he cried out, gaining laughs from his friends who were only a few feet away. All of them in just their swim trunks. Letting go of you he ran to the shore, taking off his shirt.

"Hey Y/n can I ask you something?" George asked standing only a few feet away. Once you had nodded he went on to ask "Is there any reason Arthur's wearing those glasses?"

Turning pink you explain, the boys all getting a kick out of their forgetful friend. Once Arthur returned them all taking turns teasing him. Arthur took it in stride, struggling to walk in the water he trudged to you.

"You're all just jealous my girlfriend shares her most precious accessories with me" earning groans as he kisses your cheek. The glasses nudging against your cheekbone.

"Nah mate I'm jealous that you can pull them off so well" Chris says teasingly.

"Don't worry Chrissy, I'm sure they make sunglasses in your size" you say earning gasps from the group before the others piling onto short jokes.

Arthur's hand slid down your arm and squeezed your hand. A silent thank as it directed attention off of him. He was never one to shy away from pda, rather he hated putting you on the spot.

Squeezing back his smile was small but earnest. The group spent another hour on the beach before packing up and leaving to go back to their hotels. Y/n and Arthur being the last on the beach, as they walk along the shoreline.

The sun was setting beautifully and the two walked with light conversation being a background noise to the crashing of waves.

Turning to face Arthur he took your hands in his and brought them to his lips to kiss. You could feel yourself melting before noticing something.

"Arthur" Your tone snapped him out of his daydreaming look "where are your sunglasses?"

Terror washed over him. His hands slapping to his hair where as he had dreaded, the glasses were missing. His mind raced trying to think of where he could have lost them. Maybe the water?

"Fuck" he said exasperated. Not only had he done exactly what you asked him not to do, he lost your glasses. "Can I buy you a different pair?"

"How about you buy me dinner instead" you said with a sigh, as much as you were disappointed he lost them, you knew in your heart it wasn't his fault.

"Deal...and I can sleep in the bed right?" Letting out a bark of a laugh you reached up, kissing his lips quickly. Him closing his eyes like he always did.

"Let's see how well you do at dinner and we will go from there"

[estrellawicz]

“I’ve got you”

In which: Chris’s dad has passed away which made his mom super Abusive (she took all her anger out on him) and she hated when Chris was with you but you guys were best friends and you always defended him.

—————-—————-—————-—————-———

FIRST FIC!

“Chris?” you called, breath catching in your throat.

He turned slowly. His eyes were tired, hollow—but they lit up just a little when he saw you. You didn’t hesitate. You ran straight to him, wrapping your arms around him so tightly you could feel the beat of his heart through your chest.

“God, I missed you,” you whispered into his shoulder. “My mom’s here,” he murmured, barely audible but before you could say anything more, her voice shattered the moment like glass.

“What did I tell you about hanging around that little pest?!”

You felt Chris flinch and his whole body stiffened in your arms. He didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. Just stared past you like a ghost. Your heart broke in two. you turned, keeping him behind you. “He’s not doing anything wrong.”

“He never listens!” she snapped. “Every time he’s with you, he becomes more disrespectful and much more useless! You’ve ruined him!”. You didn’t yell. You didn’t raise your voice. You just stared at her, voice shaking with quiet anger. “You lost your husband. But he lost his dad… and instead of holding him close, you gave him every reason to feel unloved. Don’t you dare blame him for trying to find comfort where you refused to give it.”

Her mouth opened to fire back, but you didn’t give her the chance. You turned and wrapped your arms around Chris again, shielding him like he was something sacred.

“Go,” you said over your shoulder. “He’s not going with you today. Not like this.”

She stormed off, muttering insults and curses, but they felt distant now like background noise in a storm that was finally passing.

Chris didn’t say a word. He was shaking, eyes glassy, breathing shallow.

You sat down with him in the quietest spot you could find, pulling him into your lap, arms wrapped around him like armor. His head fell against your chest, and that’s when the tears came—silent at first, then crashing like waves, youu held him through all of it. You didn’t speak right away. Just stroked his hair and whispered things he should’ve heard every single day:

“You are not a burden.” “You’re allowed to feel.”“You didn’t deserve any of that.” “You’re safe now.”

His fingers gripped your hoodie like he was afraid you’d disappear. You shifted, gently pulling him fully into your arms, cradling him like something fragile and precious. “Why does she hate me so much?” he choked out. “She doesn’t see you the way I do,” you said, kissing the top of his head. “But I do. You’re strong, Chris. Not because you pretend everything’s okay, but because you survive it anyway. And I’m so proud of you.”

He buried his face into your chest, curled up tighter the two of you sat there as the sky turned darker, your body his shelter, your love the quiet in the storm.

And for the first time in a long time… He didn’t feel alone.

A/N: THIS IS SO BAD IM DYING EW 😭

[wishchip106]

he went into labor the second after Erik left

that’s going to be one sandy newborn 😿💔

[humanjarvis]

forever boy

synopsis: you used to tell caleb everything. so why doesn’t he know about your new tattoos?

tags: fluff to angst to fluff, you get tattoos without telling caleb and he freaks out and you argue, he guilts you into showing him, surprise reveal (guess what the tattoos are), references to the fleet stuff and his bionic arm, caleb has nightmares, pathetic puppy caleb is back, he’s in the doghouse (ha get it) for less than a day, groveling, happy ending word count: 2.3k

a/n: i am proud of this i think. i made up some dates bc idk the timeline in this game. i also have no tattoos if you were wondering. there are allusions to a beloved recent drabble of mine in here can you guess which one

“Get off of me!” you squeal, gasping through chortles as Caleb's fiendish fingers dance over your belly.

“No can do, pips. Tickle monster doesn’t let his victims off that easy.”

He’s had you pinned down on the couch for almost 10 minutes now, poking and prodding at your sides until you’d grown nauseous from laughter. 

But still, Caleb won’t relent. Each time you swat his chest, try to bring your knee up between his legs—cute—he only moves his hands faster. For all the months he’d spent starved for your smile, he’s making up for lost time, he thinks. 

“I’m not…laughing because I’m having fun,” you wheeze, wriggling under him unsuccessfully. “This is basically torture. When I get free…I’m making sure you get a dishonorable discharge.” 

“What?” he smirks down at you. “If this is so torturous, why don’t you just push me off? Waitttt,” he gasps, leaning in conspiratorially. “It can’t be because I’m stronger than you, can it?” 

As his infuriatingly smug, annoyingly handsome face looms over you, Caleb doesn’t realize he’s flown too close to the sun. Before he can react, you capitalize on the opening. Squirming out from beneath him, you take advantage of his surprise and use the momentum to flip him over, your hips now on his waist in a straddle. 

“What were you saying?” you ask sweetly, the triumph in your voice slightly dampened by the way you’re still gulping down oxygen.

“Huh,” he shrugs, voice entirely too cheery for someone who’d just been bested. “I guess I stand corrected. Looks like someone’s been getting their reps in.” 

“Won’t you admit defeat, then, Mr. Monster?” you smirk. And as you lean over him to assert your victory, Caleb can’t help but gawk at the way your lips part, your shirt rides up, your tattoo shines in the warm light of the—Wait. Your tattoo?!?

No matter how many times he blinked, there was no mistaking it. There, right on the side of your once-bare ribcage, lies the prominent, pitch-black ink.

You’re still hovering over him, your light, playful chuckles fanning his face, but they slowly fade out when his muscles go rigid. Perplexed, you follow his gaze down your body until you finally spot your exposed skin, and with the way you go rigid, Caleb can tell an argument is brewing between you. 

The tense silence permeates the air, as if erasing the precious laughter he’d so giddily won from you just moments before. 

Like usual, you break first. You couldn’t stand his silence, you’d said the last time. The way it makes you feel small, like you’ve done something wrong, like you’re in trouble. “So help me God, Caleb, I’m an adult and I can make my own decisions. Whatever you’re about to say, drop it. You can tickle me until my sides bleed, just—don’t.” 

But Caleb, as much as he loved hearing your voice, wasn’t listening. While you were begging him to drop it, to leave it alone, he was too busy simmering over you doing something so drastic, so permanent to your body without his knowledge—like you didn’t trust him with the information. Didn’t trust him to hold your hand through the pain, to drive you home from the parlor, to wash and treat your tender flesh.

That awful feeling he thought you’d both moved past—had worked so hard to move you past—made him suffocate in his skin. 

“Were you ever going to tell me?” he asks lowly, gravel filling his voice. “Were you…hiding it from me?” 

As he rises to lift your shirt and get a clearer view, you intercept his hand in uncompromising resistance. He’d reached for you with his right arm. But somehow, your touch still manages to sting. 

It’s Caleb’s turn to laugh, now, but the sound is hollow. “You won’t even show me,” he chuckles humorlessly. “Not even when I already know.” Firmly, but gently as ever, he lifts you off of him and onto the opposite side of the sofa. 

You scoff at him, and the look of incredulity on your face would cause a less devoted man to back down. “Don’t lecture me about keeping secrets. I have a tattoo, Caleb. You have a double life.” 

“It’s for your own safety that I—”

“Is it for my own safety that you treat me like a child?” 

He pauses, and before he can stop it, he feels his face shift into the mask molded for him against his will. The face—his own, but somehow not—that plagues his nightmares. Cold, unfeeling, uncaring, indomitable.

“You don’t have to trust me anymore. But I’d appreciate it if you said it to my face instead of making me believe you did.” 

He hears the soft gasp that escapes you, but he refuses to look—too consumed by his emotions, too ashamed to face yours. It’s when he turns to leave that he hears your quick footsteps, and almost immediately, you’re whipping him around to look at you.

Your shirt is raised to the base of your sternum. 

And in the warm light of the living room, the soft glow of the summer evening illuminating the streaks on your skin, Caleb sucks in a breath. 

VIII IX MMXLVIII

August 9, 2048. 

The date your lives had changed. The date he’d broken his promise to always be by your side. The date part of him—physical, or something more—had died. 

With a bold, decisive line striking through it.

His eyes dart to the space below. You had another one, he realized. This was the one he’d glimpsed earlier, then—the one that’d made him question your faith in him.

IV XVIII MMXLIX

April 18, 2049. 

The date his life had been revealed to you. The date you’d fought your way back into it. The date your shattered souls had met again and vowed to mend each other. 

This one is different from the last. The numerals are pure. Pristine, clear, unmarred. Unapologetic.

An insidious, deserved pang spreads through his chest. You’d wanted to remember both dates, to etch them into your skin. You’d needed to move past the first. You’d needed to savor the second. 

A space on your sacred body, dedicated to him—to you both. To your tragic end, to your new beginning. Forever. 

“Are you happy now, you jerk?” You seethe, yanking your shirt down and snapping him out of his reverie. 

And as your voice wobbles, Caleb is anything but. 

“Pip-squeak,” he starts hoarsely, feeling anxious bile scald the back of his throat. “I didn’t think…If I’d known….”

“But you didn’t know, Caleb. You didn’t need to know,” you stress. The pained inflections in your voice seem to sync with your steps as you walk to him, your head level with his shuddering chest. “I will bare my soul to you. Happily. When I am good and ready. But forcing me to do it before then? Just so you can convince yourself that I trust you? That gives me all the more reason not to.” 

The bite in your tone numbs him to the way you push past him, shoving his shoulder hard enough to bruise. When you retreat to your bedroom, he hears the sharp click of the door lock and allows a wry grin to cross his face at the irony. And he thought you’d been shutting him out before. 

You wake up with swollen eyes. An uncomfortable reminder of last night’s humiliation. 

With a sigh, you roll your way out of bed, your limbs sore from being hunched in the fetal position for so long. You usually slept with a human-shaped back pillow, but you supposed that arrangement was on pause for the time being. 

You wonder how he’s doing. How he’d spend the night, if he’d left in the middle of it. As much as you hate to think it, you wouldn’t blame him. 

As you exit—or try to exit—your bedroom, though, it seems your worries are unfounded. 

There, slumped against the wooden door, is a sleeping, miserable-looking Caleb. Eyebrows drawn, nose scrunched, hands twitching—he must be having a nightmare.

With a resolute swallow, you push down the pain from the night before and, against your better judgment, prop the door open just enough to slip out. 

Kneeling beside him, you stroke his hair gently and hold his left hand in yours. “Caleb,” you call softly. “Wake up, please.”

At the sound of your voice, his eyes flutter open—slowly, at first, until they focus on you. In an instant, surprise, regret, and a flicker of hope flash across his face. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, tightening his grip on your hand. “I shouldn’t have—even if you hadn’t gotten them for us,” he breathes shakily, “I shouldn’t have pried.”

He’s sitting up now, having pushed himself off the door to get as close to you as you’d allow. The next time he speaks, the rasp in his voice suggests he’d slept about as well as you had. 

“You should…” he begins, swallowing thickly. “You should only tell me your secrets when you’re ready. I’ll wait. I’m lucky to know anything about you at all.”

Your chest constricts, and the ghosts of mortification and unwarranted guilt are the only things stopping you from forgiving him. With a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, you remove your palm from his grasp, pretending not to notice when he chases your touch. “You should stretch your legs.”

The day is slow and awkward.

Your top-floor apartment is sweltering in the summer heat, so you don a loose crop top—it’s not like you have anything to lose anymore—and Caleb tries not to stare at your ribs.

It’s Sunday, the day you usually reserve for chores, and you try to ignore the way he follows you through every room: dusting your bedroom fan, mopping the kitchen floor, cleaning the bathtub while you wipe the counter. It’s a wordless process, but a seamless one—evidently, even a stalemate can’t jeopardize your synchrony. 

He disappears when you’re finishing up, and as you wonder if he’d gotten sick of your anger, the scent of your favorite food wafts through the air. In curiosity, hunger, and abashed dependence—you couldn’t boil an egg without starting a fire—you warily make your way to the kitchen you’d both left spotless. 

It still is, for the most part; the only hint of disturbance is the freshly cooked meal sitting on the island. One plate, one glass, one set of silverware. And Caleb sits in the living room, pretending to busy himself with a diagram, forlornly glancing over to you every few seconds. There if you need him, but not daring to intrude.

It’s nighttime when he tries again. 

You’re reading on the couch, instinctively avoiding the cursed spot from the night before, when Caleb shuffles into the room. In utter dejection, he makes room for himself on the floor between your legs and hugs his knees to his chest. The action tugs at your dwindling resolve, weakened by the care he’d shown you today, and before you know it, you’re running your fingers through his hair. 

He stiffens and relaxes at your touch before leaning back into you, enveloping himself in your embrace. As he presses innocent, lingering kisses to the inside of your knee, you feel the quiet tension in the room begin to build. 

This time, he breaks the silence.

“I never would have imagined those days meant so much to you,” he begins softly. “Wasn’t sure if you thought the first was a blessing in disguise. If you thought the second was some kind of curse.” Your hand falters in his tousled locks, and he exhales shakily. “I was just…surprised, pips. And hurt, I guess. You doin’ something so serious without tellin’ me—it never would’ve happened before,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean to guilt trip you into showing me, I just…” 

“I didn’t tell you because I was embarrassed,” you whisper, saving him from the struggle of finding the right words. “Not because I don’t trust you. I do, if you can believe it. More than anyone.”

Caleb stills against you, and you place a hand on his shoulder before continuing with a sigh. “I basically saw those numbers in my sleep, at one point,” you chuckle in self-deprecation. “They flashed in my head over, and over, and over—the day I lost you, the day I found you. So I figured the only way to stop it was to carry them with me, always. And when the clarity hit…I thought I was silly. Immature. Like, I had something etched onto my body for you, Caleb. I felt like I was too attached. Too dependent on you.” 

“Is it bad if I say I’d like that?” he quips with a tired smile. “Pip-squeak,” he sighs. “You could never be too attached to me. When I saw those dates—when I realized what they meant,” he swallows, “I wanted to hold you to me ‘til I couldn’t breathe. Wanted to tattoo your tattoos inside my eyelids so I could see them every time I blink,” he jokes, kissing your palm. “That’s too attached, by the way.” 

As you giggle at him—your first in almost 24 hours—he brightens slightly. “I really am sorry for forcing your hand. Makin’ you feel like your only choice was to tell me. But, for the record, those are the least embarrassing tattoos I’ve ever seen. Gideon has one of a monkey, you know.” 

And after you duck your head into his shoulder to stifle your laughter, you haul him up and into your bedroom—no door for a mattress, this time. You’re both due for some much-needed sleep. 

The next day, you stand in front of your bathroom mirror while Caleb hugs you from behind, admiring the inky black lines on your exposed waist. Leaning in to kiss your cheek, he whispers into your ear: “You know, they say rib tattoos hurt a lot. You shouldn’t have had to go through all that alone. Why don’t I get matching ones so we can share the pain?” 

[mangooes]

The Case of the Missing Anniversary Ring

(Name) had never panicked so hard in her life.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my GOD.” She frantically tore through their bedroom, flipping pillows, tossing blankets, crawling under the bed—nothing.

Her anniversary ring was gone.

The ring Sylus gave her.

The one he had designed himself, made with black and crimson gemstones, infused with a small piece of his Evol so it would always stay warm against her skin.

And she lost it.

“I’M A TERRIBLE WIFE.” She groaned, flopping onto the floor, gripping her head. “I don’t deserve him. I don’t deserve love. I should just exile myself.”

Staryus, their husky, watched from the corner, tilting his head at her dramatics.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sylus walked into the room only to find absolute destruction.

Blankets on the floor. Closet doors wide open. Drawers overturned. And his wife, face-planted into the carpet, sobbing.

He blinked. “…Kitten?”

She sniffled, whipping her head up. Her eyes were red, glossy, and filled with pure distress.

Sylus’s heart immediately clenched. “What’s wrong? Who do I need to kill?”

“I—” she hiccupped, “I lost my ring.”

Sylus stilled. “…Ring?”

She held up her bare finger, her lower lip trembling. “I lost my anniversary ring. The one you gave me. I—I don’t know how, but it’s gone.”

Her voice cracked at the end. Tears welled up in her big, shiny eyes again.

And Sylus?

Oh, Sylus had never been so weak in his entire life.

He sighed, crouching beside her, cupping her tear-streaked face. “Sweetie, it’s okay. It’s just a ring.”

“No, it’s NOT,” she wailed, sniffing and rubbing her nose against his chest. “You gave it to me, and now I LOST it. I should be banned from jewelry FOREVER.”

Sylus bit back a chuckle.

God, she was so cute when she was crying over him.

He stroked her hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’re adorable when you’re dramatic, you know that?”

She hiccupped, glaring at him. “I’M SERIOUS.”

Sylus chuckled, wiping her tears with his thumb. “I know, I know. But I also know that ring wouldn’t leave you so easily. We’ll find it.”

“But what if—”

Before she could spiral again, Mephisto, swooped into the room, dropping something into Sylus’s palm.

A familiar black-and-crimson ring.

Sylus grinned. “Told you.”

She stared at the ring. Then at Sylus. Then back at the ring.

“…WHERE WAS IT?”

Sylus tilted his head. “According to Mephisto, under the couch in the main hall.”

She froze.

Then slowly covered her face. “…Oh my god.”

Sylus raised an amused brow. “Something you wanna confess?”

She groaned. “I—I was midnight snacking there last night. I must’ve taken it off and—OH MY GOD, I LOST MY RING BECAUSE OF A BAG OF CHIPS.”

Sylus grinned, twirling the ring between his fingers. “That’s a very ‘you’ reason to lose something so precious, sweetie.”

“Can you please not, I'm so embarrased.”

Still smirking, he took her hand and slipped the ring back onto her finger, kissing the back of her hand.

“There. All is right in the world again.”

She pouted. “You’re not mad?”

Sylus arched a brow. “Mad? Kitten, you were crying over losing my gift. If anything, I’m very flattered.”

She scoffed, wiping the last of her tears. “…I feel stupid.”

Sylus grinned, pressing a soft kiss against her lips. “You’re adorable.”

His wife, still flustered, mumbled into his chest. “…I’ll never take it off again.”

Sylus chuckled, holding her closer. “Good. But if you do, don’t worry—I’ll always find you, and I’ll always find it.”

I feel like i need to include mephisto even more on my fics, i love this lil birdie, such a queen omg, anyways ITS 11 MORE DAYS TILL MY BABY BOY'S BDAY!! SAKJDNASKJDAS JESUS HELP ME

[tojisteddy]

Sweet Ride | smut, 18+ MDNI, 1.2k words, softdom!Toji x sweetheart!reader

You’d been 3 months into your relationship when Toji Fushiguro finally realized that you, for some odd reason, loved letting idiots fuck you.

It must’ve been where that very minuscule masochism kink came from. Had to be.

He’d noticed the way you’d get shocked when he went to pay for— well- everything. Didn’t matter if he lost a shit ton from gambling and losing that day, didn’t matter if you went over your own set budget, didn’t matter that you didn’t ask because you didn’t want to look money hungry or if you quickly pulled out your card and paid. He’s sending $300 to you to make up for it. The man. Was going. To pay.

Toji also noticed the way you’d shy away when you realized he was actually listening to the words that came out of your mouth. Informing you that he hated that coworker of Sherl just a little bit more than you did. Plainly telling you ‘no’, he didn’t just want to see just your hair bone straight- he wanted to see your curly hair that framed your face (when you wanted to of course) and that he thought you would look good with any hair color not just the jet black. Or when you only went to make food that he liked,

“But this is what my ex-“

“—Mama, what do you really wanna eat? Tell me or we’ll both starve tonight.”

Truthfully, it irritated the fuck out of the man.

He didn’t get it, how someone so precious got treated like shit on multiple occasions. He kept reminding himself that you weren’t the problem, those fucking dick wads were.

But the irritation jumped back out when you rode him. He knew after that first time (just a week ago) that those fucking idiots didn’t know what the fuck to do with you. He’d cock his eyebrow up at you because he simply couldn’t hide the vexation of it all.

“You don’t like it Toj?” Your voice was hoarse, curls falling over your face, a pout forming.

It was clear the way you moved your hips back and forth, held yourself and didn’t use him for leverage, you rode your ex’s to get them off and nothing more.

More sins against God.

There had to be a scripture about it somewhere, “Never let thou spouse ride-ith you in cowgirl without her cumming.” Or something— the man didn’t know. He knew for a fact, only a bitch would never let a woman cum while she’s riding him.

“Toji? ‘M sorry, it must not be good.” You let out a shaky breath, trying to relax, not be too touchy. “ ‘S just harder cause you’re so… so big. ‘Nd I- fuck- mmm- don’t think I’ve ever had time to relax like this. I must be takin too long.”

Shit, you frowned, big brown puppy eyes looking down at the green eyed monster and his heart ached. He nuzzled his head in the crook of your neck, his poor pretty baby. Sweet doll, don’t you worry your little head. Your Toji would fix this little problem tonight.

And when you two were done, he’d beat the fucking breaks out of each and every single one your exes.

It would cleanse the soul.

“ ‘S okay baby, yer doin good. Need you to relax f’me. Want you to take a little bit more though, hm? You can take it, right? You’re a good girl.”

You bit your lip, nodding in agreement.

Such a good girl. Toji’s sweet ‘nd good girl.

Tojis hands pulled you closer. “How do I get ya to relax then? Can you tell me?” You felt your cheeks heat up, shaking your head and attempting to hide yourself in his neck. But Toji kept you still, playfully bumping your foreheads together with a chuckle.

“Let’s find out then,” His hands wandered, up and down your sides, then one staying at the small of your back, the other making its way to your pretty tit in his hand. Slowly massaging it in his palm. “Maybe you like it here?”

You whimpered in his mouth and Tojis scar moved upward in amusement, green eyes low. He left a trail of kiss from your cute cheeks, down to your jaw. “Or here?” Down to your neck, taking a few nibblies here and there. “Or here?”

You let out a soft moan, finally nodding your head.

“Words, mama.” He was stern but you felt the grin against your neck.

“T-there feels— feels so nice Toj.” The man hummed at your words, being sure to praise you with an array of kisses and hickeys for the world to see tomorrow on your neck.

“I-I can move now?” You asked. You felt so full with what he was giving you, but you felt so good with every little kiss the aching tip and veins of his member gave to your walls.

“Course doll.” He enterwinted your fingers, “Gotta take it nice ‘nd slow baby, don’t gotta go fast.”

You gulped, gradually lifting yourself up and down and rocking your hips back and forth, then repeating the motion. Your hands left his large ones, starting to use his shoulders as leverage, “There you go ma, there you fuckin go.”

He hissed, you were a god damn waterfall down there. Toji didn’t even know how the fuck you were still managing to keep him insider everytime you’d move up so just the tip was in, and slamming back down. When you tried to go faster a large calloused hand came down to your ass.

“B-but Tojiii,” you whined, slowly swiveling your hips one time to get a curse out of him. “Wanna make you feel good too.”

“ ‘Nd I ‘ppreciate Doll, I do. You feel so fuckin good too ma, but it’s not about me tonight, ‘s about you. Need you to really feel it deep in your pretty pussy.” He gave you a few thrusts, matching your rhythm creating the most beautiful smack smack smack your bedroom has ever heard.

“Take what you need babygirl.”

Toji had a way with words, he’d gotten a pornographic moan from it alone. Your nails dug into his shoulders, the meat of your thighs jiggling every time you came down. Slick drenching Toji’s cock, your thighs were burning but you kept moving. Chasing your high with every bounce on his fat fuck.

“Goooood girl, now you got it doll.”

“I can— I can take more Toji.” You stammered out.

“I’d loooove that sweetheart— shit ma- but not tonight. Ngh— This is just enough.”

“But—“

“-Aht,” he grumbled, helping you move your hips as you got just a tad too slow for his liking, “don’t bite more than you can chew. Come on, you can make yourself and your boyfriend cum, can’t you?”

He didn’t have to tell you twice, you were grinding and slamming yourself down what you could take as hard as ever getting a loud from Toji. You were such a good and fast leaner, the man would have to keep you. Train you to do other things, soon enough you’d be able to take all of him. You were fucking pulsing like a over worked heartbeat around him as a wave of emotions smacked you over the head, a string of fuck fuck fuck and Toji Toji Toji leaving your mouth.

The man growled, giving your ass a few harsh smacks as he rapidly thrust into you. You never knew when you were cumming so you never vocalized it.

You’d work on that too.

Quickly pulling out, spurts of his cum hit your stomach. You both were panting messes, Toji’s pink lips meeting your temple, then your soft full lips.

“Good fuckin job, mama.”

a/n: ride the dragon by fka twigs

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[gghostwriter]

You’re the Risk, I’ll Take it

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

Summary: The three times Spencer followed advice and the one time he didn't (or as I'd like to better explain it, the three times Spencer fails to flirt and the one time it worked)

Warning: fluff! Just fluff!

A/n: I wanted to write something cute this time with Season 1 Spencer in mind--one of the best eras if you ask me. Hopefully I did him justice in this. The idea of this cute baby boy trying to flirt is too precious honestly. Also, if a guy did the last act for me, I'd fold like a lawn chair, yep. Risk by Gracie Abrams was on repeat while I was writing this and no proof reading was done. Let me know what you think!

Main masterlist

The first move Spencer tried was advised by Derek Morgan, the renowned ladies man

“Kid, admit it. You like her,” Morgan pestered him with a slight smile on his face. 

Spencer scoffed, trying to throw him off from the truth but monumentally failing. “S-she’s my closest friend. We joined the team at the same time, of course I feel most comfortable with her,” he noted his companion’s eyebrows raising higher and higher with each word. “Plus, she likes hearing what I say even if it has no relation to the case. She asks me questions and genuinely remembers.”

Now it was Morgan’s turn to scoff. “You could be talking about Star Trek and it’s physics mistakes and she’ll still hang on to every word you say.” 

“Actually, there aren’t that many scientific errors in Star Trek. Especially considering—”

“Reid.” 

“Right,” he nodded once, trying to push away the urge to continue further. “That still doesn’t mean I like her.” 

Morgan tapped the wheel twice before turning to face his partner. “Then answer me this. How do you feel when she walks through the office doors?” 

“Happy, I get the same feeling when I see you or Elle come in too,” he found his fingers very interesting then. Like they held the key to unlocking the mysteries of Dark Matter and the answer to the controversial scientific theory ‘Do parallel universe exist?’. He wasn’t telling the whole truth—didn’t want to because how could he, a man of science, explain the other bodily reactions he has when you walk in a room. How he hears his heart stutter in his chest with just a glimpse of you—the first time it happened, he thought nothing of it, but by the third, he considered making an appointment with a specialist for possible heart arrhythmia. How he sees the room brighten when you smile in his direction—perhaps light sensitivity, and how he feels his body heat up when you utter the words ‘Good morning, Spence.’—possibly hot flashes. Self diagnosis that he ruled out once he found you to be the common denominator. That left him with a riddle, a personal conundrum he lost countless of sleep over trying to solve.

“That’s a lie, Reid. You can’t be that happy to see me. You never blush like a tomato when I enter the room. For Greenaway, I could see it but for me, nu-uh,” he argued back. “Okay, what about when she’s not there, what do you feel then?” 

“Sad, similar to how I’d react with you and Elle,” he blurted out another half truth. Another surface level answer that doesn’t fully cover how lost he feels without your comforting presence beside him, how gloomy any room he enters in without you in it, and how incomplete his days were without hearing your voice. 

Morgan snickered. “Lies, you have to learn how to lie better to fool an FBI profiler, Reid. You don’t think I—the team, notice that you’re quieter when she isn’t on the case with us?”

“Wait. Wait, the whole team?” His voice goes up an octave. You were part of the team, did that mean you knew of the effect you had on him too? “D-Does everyone have the same idea as you do? Everyone?” 

“Not everyone, kid. Your secret is still safe,” He smiled wide like a cat that caught the canary. “So it’s true then, you like her.” 

Spencer knew there was no escape from trap, he was just glad that his secret still remained classified from the other party involved. His shoulders sagged as he nodded to confirm Morgan’s findings.

“So what’s your play then?”

His head whipped to face his companion so fast he felt his meticulously styled hair escape the confines of his ears. “Play? There’s no play. Nothing. I’m not going to do anything and this conversation stays between us.” 

“Oh c’mon lover boy, you have to do something,” Morgan challenged. “Y’know she likes you back, right?” 

“No she doesn’t! I mean, why would she?” Spencer rambled on, unable to comprehend what Morgan was saying. “She’s her—beautiful, smart, and cool. Every case we get, there’s at least one police officer hitting on her. And I’m me—I talk too much and get awkward in every situation. The exact opposite!”

“Reid, don’t sell yourself short. She likes you, trust me on this.” He paused, listening to the update on the intercom before continuing on. “So here’s what you’re going to do. Compliment her outfit, girls appreciate that. Easy enough, don’t you think?”

Spencer really didn’t think so after all he had the tendency to go off on a tangent whenever he talks to you but he agrees nonetheless. If Morgan believes he could do it then he couldn’t mess it up, right?

———

Wrong. It was wrong to take Morgan’s advice. Never mind he can recall everything he has ever read, never mind he has an IQ of 187. What good were his talents if he, Dr. Spencer Reid, couldn’t string the proper sentences along?

It started when you walked into the office wearing this light yellow blouse that made you more radiant than he thought possible. It was as if the a ray of sun had graced the bullpen and stunned his mind into silence, rendering him tongue-tied. All his monologues and hypothesis bouncing around his overactive brain fell away and the only thing he could think of was how pretty you look.

Morgan cleared his throat, bringing him back to the living. Spencer averted his awestruck gaze and busied himself with an imaginary lint on his red sweater. 

“Hey Y/N, did anything good this weekend?” Morgan asked as you settled into your desk adjacent to his.

You shrugged nonchalantly and teased back. “I bet it wasn’t good as yours, Morgan. Picked anyone up last Friday or are your charms no longer working?”

“Huh, i see where this is going. Somebody woke up on the wrong side of bed today.”

Morgan chanced a peek at Spencer and internally groaned. How you didn’t notice the kid’s crush on you was beyond him—all the staring and blushing he does when you’re near was a dead giveaway.

“Reid. Reid,” Morgan called out.

He closed his mouth and gulped. “Hm, what?” 

Morgan pointedly stared at him and titled his head towards your direction. A movement lost to you as you noted Elle leaving Gideon’s office.

Spencer opened his mouth to catch your attention but before he could even utter your name, Elle intervened. “Question for you, the foot path killer. Why’d he stutter?”

You swiveled to face her, not having caught Spencer’s intent to speak to you. The unit chief then called them in for a case—an arson case in a university campus. His shoulders drooped as they rushed to the jet afterwards with no chance of small talk. 

When there was a lull in the plane—case discussion finished, he steeled his already apprehensive nerves and took the chance, quickly wishing he hadn’t.

“S-so, your shirt’s yellow,” he stated out loud like it was some sort of revelation. 

“Yes,” you drawled out, unsure as to where he was going with this. “That’s right, Spencer.”

He drummed his fingers on the table and continued on. “Did you know that airplanes tend to avoid the color yellow as it causes dizziness and nausea? A number of studies have shown those exact results and that’s why it’s almost never used in interiors of various forms of transportation and rarely use in advertising. It’s like how the red is the most common color used by restaurants as it psychologically makes the viewer hungry.”

You looked down on your top. Yellow was one of your favorites and you specifically chose this as Penelope said and you quote, it looks good on you, brings out your eyes. Boy genius would probably react to it too so naively you splurged on it. But this—this wasn’t the response you were hoping for. “Spence, are you saying my shirt is making you feel nauseous?”

He blushed and stammered out a strong refusal. “What, no! No! I—I meant to say—you, you look nice.”

You giggled under your breath, finding his long-winded route to giving you a compliment cute. “Nice nice or airsickness nice?” 

“Nice! Just nice!” He defended on, his voice cracking at the end. He caught Morgan’s wide eyed gaze then as if he couldn’t believe what train wreck he just witnessed. 

Cheeks heating up further, Spencer slouched in his seat and busied himself with the files wishing that he could build a memory eraser so he could wipe the events from his and the team’s minds or better yet, a time machine to redo the whole thing all over again.

The second move Spencer tried was advised by Elle Greenaway, the new recruit

“Do you think it’s weird that I knew that ballad?” He questioned during one of their cases in San Diego. It bothered him since the start of the case. How Morgan had teased him about his incapability of asking out the opposite sex. Never mind that you defended him right back, that’s a lie, it made him feel special that you did but the joke was still true. A cold stone truth. 

Elle laughed, flipping her phone repeatedly on the table while waiting for the unsub to take the bait. “I don’t know how you know half the stuff you know, but I’m glad you do.”

“Do you think that’s why I can’t get a date?” He asked as he fiddled with the unfinished Rubik’s cube in his hands.

“Have you ever asked her out?”

There was no need to ask who Elle was referring to, everyone knew of his innocent—well maybe not so innocent at times specifically during his state of dreaming—crush for the second youngest member of the team. He shifted his eyes to focus a few tables before his—at you, sitting beside JJ. “No."

“That’s why you can’t get a date.” 

One of the precincts phone then rang, it was the unsub, causing him to table that conversation in his vast memory. 

———

There’s an English saying that states ‘the second time is the charm’ and Spencer was hoping there were some truth to the idiom even with no scientific explanation to back it up. 

A few cases after San Diego, he got an opening that he was unexpectedly looking for. The team was on their way back from a case in Virginia. It was late and the profilers were all tucked in their little corners of the jet decompressing while you and Spencer were huddled on the sofa quietly discussing Doctor Who. 

“How could you say your favorite is the Ninth Doctor when you haven’t even seen the older episodes?” He rambled, clearly he would have to do something about your limited knowledge in the great universe of Doctor Who. He’d like to explain it all, 695 episodes of the classic era to you. He’d take any topic really just to have your interest.

You stared into his hazel speckled eyes and smiled, amused by his reaction. “It’s a bit hard to catch up on a show that’s been around since the 70s. Plus, it’s a challenge to look for copies.” 

“Actually, the show started in the 60s—1963, to be exact,” he clarified. “Garcia has copies we could borrow and watch together. If that’s—” he cleared his throat and clenched his fists closed, feeling his nails dig into his palms. “—that’s alright with you. If—if not, there’s a convention happening this weekend. I have an extra ticket, if you want to come with—only if you’re not busy, I mean.”

“And risk you spoiling every episode to me? I’d rather watch it alone, if you don’t mind.”

That dragged his optimism to a crash as if a twenty ton weight landed on his chest, rendering him immovable. Of course you were going to say no. There was no proof that you’d reciprocate his interests—he inwardly cursed himself for believing otherwise.

“But, I’d like to go with you to the convention,” you said and silently added as your date to yourself, shifting in your seat with a blush blooming on your cheeks at the thought. “Always wanted to go to one. If you’re fine with me not being in a costume. I think it’ll be too late to find one, don’t you think?”

Just like that, the weight on his chest lifted, making him feel weightless with glee. A wide smile grew on his face, threatening to burst his cheeks as he shook his head. “That’s alright! But you—you can always dress up as Rose!”

You titled your head to the side. “Rose?” 

“You know, the Ninth Doctor’s companion?”

“I know who she is, Spence. I just thought you didn’t watch the revived series?”

He softly scoffed. “I never said that! I watched it too, mainly to compare it to the classics but I’ve seen it.”

You leaned in, wanting to ask about his opinion on it. “Well, what do you think? I happen to be part of the minority who think the actor who reprised the role did alright.”

He liked seeing you like this. It made him feel like a puppy who had his owner’s undivided attention. All wide eyed and interested in his conjectures as to why the actor was alright himself but the problems were his short stint—making people vilify him over that decision—and the material some of the writers came up with. He appreciated you nodding along and supplying your own thoughts on the subject. It warmed his heart that here was a beautiful, smart, and cool person—way out of his league, he might add—giving her precious time away to discuss a nerdy sci-fi show that he could not rant and rave to about to anyone on the team, except for Penelope, and she’s rarely on the field with them. 

Your show of interest made him feel seen. Not as an agent with 3 PHDs, not as a genius with 187 IQ, but rather as a person with a right to express himself and occupy space. He wasn’t Agent Spencer Reid with you nor Dr. Spencer Reid, he was just Spencer who likes to watch Doctor Who and read literature in their original language. 

The third move Spencer did was proposed by Penelope Garcia, the spirited tech analyst 

“What do you mean you took her to a convention? For a date?” Penelope squeaked out, unable to comprehend the logic behind the genius’ actions.

“She said she always wanted to go,” Spencer stated as the elevator stopped on the fourth floor. He had fun over the weekend. Going around booths with you, listening to invited guest panels talk about the behind the scenes, explaining the reference every costume that you’ve pointed out, and just basking in your presence beyond cases. It was a memory he had replayed over and over after it had ended. It occupied his whole mind, and that’s saying a lot, causing him to do nothing and sit in his leather sofa and smile like a lunatic during the rest of the weekend.

“Well yeah, but that’s not date material! A date is supposed to be intimate—you and I go to conventions together, do you count that as a date?” 

“What? No! No, of course not!” 

“Exactly, boy wonder. Then what makes you think she’ll count that as a date?” She countered back as she entered her office with Spencer in tow. 

Silence. Oh.

Penelope sighed, having read the despair painting his face. “Did you at least dress up as the Ninth Doctor?”

“What? No. No, I went as the Fourth Doctor. I even hand-knitted the scarf myself.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before repeating what she just heard. “You didn’t dress up as her Doctor?”

“No,” he paused, unsure where she was going with this. “Should I had?”

“Yes! Yes, you should have!” Penelope slapped his arm out of frustration. “Why didn’t you call me once she said yes? We could have talked game plan or strategy or at least have gotten you a leather jacket to match her choice of companion.”

“Oh, I messed up then, didn’t I?” He slumped despondently on the office chair. “You—you don’t think she thought of it as a date at all?”

She played with her feathered pen, trying to find a way to salvage it for Spencer. “Did you take her out to dinner after?”

He shook his head, finally realizing his mistake.

“Oh Spencer,” she approached gently. “I can scoop for details with Y/N later on and report back to you?”

He shook his head. It didn’t feel right to have Penelope betray your trust and go behind your back over a mistake that he made. You were a honest person and you deserved to be treated with respect and reverence even though all he wanted now was peer into your viewpoint of the date—not date—and figure out once and for all if you saw him as anything beyond a co-worker and a friend. 

“Hm, I think I might just a solution,” Penelope blurted out of the blue. 

He looked up with a sliver of hope blooming in his chest. Maybe third time’s the charm. Besides, Penelope was the colleague you spent most of your time out with. You once mentioned that you considered her your best friend, besides from him of course. 

“You can bake her a batch of cookies! No one can say no to that,” she excitedly explained, believing it to be full proof—except for the fact that he doesn’t know how to bake. He wants to ask you out on a date but not to the expense of burning his whole apartment building down. 

“I can’t—I can’t bake, Garcia,” he squeaked out. “Did you know that 44% of all reported home fires are caused by cooking and baking. Those fires have resulted in an average of 470 civilian deaths and 4,150 civilian—”

She interrupted. “I’ll give you my recipe and detailed instructions to follow. That’ll make it easy peasy for you, boy genius.”

“C-can’t I just buy from her favorite bakery instead?”

“No can do, Doctor. Her favorite cookies just so happen to be my creation. She told me so herself.”

“Well, can’t I just ask you to make it for me? I’ll buy the ingredients!”

“Nope,” she dragged out her refusal. “Think of it as an act of service to her. Plus don’t you think it’s highly romantic when she finds out that you baked them yourself?” She swooned just thinking about it.

“Romantic? It won’t be romantic when I burn my apartment down, Garcia.”

She sighed. “Fine, I’ll supervise if you want. This weekend, granted if we’re free. But you—” she pointed her feathered pen at him. “—better be prepared and I’m just supervising, okay? I’m not baking it myself.”

He sighed. At least having Garcia around would make it easier.

———-

It did not in fact make it easier. Spencer burnt two batches before six pieces were considered edible. Garcia couldn’t understand, hell, he also couldn’t. Baking was precise and from his scientific viewpoint, it was a lot like chemistry. He loved science and anything academic, so how is it that he failed miserably, twice, when it came to baking? 

He shook his head as he entered the office. The first one—he stole a glance at Hotch’s office and saw movement—correction, the second one arriving early. Sometimes he wondered if the unit chief ever goes home, first in and last out.

He settled in his seat before promptly fidgeting from anticipation. Statistically speaking, you arrive earlier than Morgan or Elle which gave him enough time to gift the paper bag of cookies sitting hidden in his satchel without bringing attention to and embarrassing himself. He’d like to have little to no audience if he ever does mess it up for the third time. 

He brought out the cookies, afraid they’ll get crushed between his hardbound books, and placed them on your desk before standing to wash his clammy hands and make coffee. Counter intuitive of him to do as he was already a bundle of nerves and by drinking caffeine he was doubling that but maybe the smell would calm him before shooting up his energy by drinking.

As he exited the mens room, Penelope stepped out of the elevator and squealed. “Is she here? Is she? Did I miss it?”

He shook his head vigorously, trying to silence her excited glees. “No, she’s not here yet. She’ll—” he looked at his watch and ran the numbers. “—be here soon. I’m about to brew coffee. Do you want some?” He opened the door for both of them to enter the bullpen.

“Ick, no thanks,” Penelope said, scrunching her nose at the thought of drinking even a sip before scurrying away to her cave. “I’d rather not ruin my taste buds on bad coffee.”

He laughed and turned towards the kitchenette. With the coffee brewing, he drummed his fingers on the counter and mentally rehearsed what he would say to you. If he practiced, there’s less chance of messing it up like the first time, right? In his state of concentration, he missed you entering the office in all of your beautiful glory.

“Ooh cookies!” you exclaimed as you opened the unknown package on your table.

Spencer abruptly turned, hitting his side on the corners as he did. His eyes widened as he registered you holding the unsigned paper bag of treats on your desk. 

“They must be from Penny,” You continued on, oblivious to his presence and the devastation your remark caused him. Of course, he’d find another way to mess it up. You glanced around and your smile widened as you took in his handsome presence. “Oh hey Spence! Look, Penny made me cookies!” You tip-toed out of excitement. 

He smiled at your enthusiasm for something as simple as treats in the morning. The giggle you gave out as you entered the kitchenette was enough for him to slightly care less for the truth. He loved bringing out the happiness in you. It was like his own personal sunshine shining down on him, soaking him with vitamin D and boosting his overall sense of wellbeing. “Do you want coffee with that? It’s still hot,” he offered. 

You tapped the side of your hips with his as a sign of good will. “Thanks, Spence! This is turning out to be a great day, don’t you think?”

He watched as you busied yourself with putting cream and sugar in your of cup and sighed wistfully. “I think so too.”

And the last move Spencer did was recommended by no one but himself, the awkward 187 genius

With all three acts not delivering, he promised to try one last time without any outside interference besides from yours in his memory. You always did tell him to be himself in any situation, no matter how much he stumbled through any awkward situation—always there giving him a pat on the back for encouragement. 

Over the weekend, he spent his time reading two of your favorite books—which didn’t take much but he did read them again and again, regardless of his eidetic memory, trying to understand why these specific books were your comfort. Always pushed within the confines of your go bag, dog-eared and brown from age. He wanted to know how they’ve become an extension of you and how it had shaped you to the woman he has fallen in love with. 

He found himself hunched over his dining table, underlining sentences that made him think of you, scribbling away on the margins (and sometimes on post its too), and tabbing the written pages with a variety of colors that each represent an emotion. The act in it of itself made him feel closer to you than he thought possible. Lines in the books that made him think, ah so this was what formed your kind spirit. This is why your empathy knew no bounds. And this is why your beauty is inside and out.  

Spencer laid down to rest, anxious for the next day, Monday, to come. His heart threatening to beat out of his chest but his mind oddly calm as if it had a precognition that everything would turn out just right.

———

You arrived earlier than he did, throwing him off balance. 

“Hey Spence!” You greeted with a smile. “I got you a croissant and some coffee from that shop near my place.”

He blushed and stammered out a thank you. You were wearing a deep purple blouse that matched the scarf around his neck—the birthday gift you’ve given. He was no believer of the mystics but he took all of these as a sign from the stars. There was no way he would mess this up now.

“I—I got you something too,” he looked inside his satchel, hands shaking from it all. Gods, he wished this would go well or else, he might just die from embarrassment. “It’s nothing much but—I read your two favorite books and just—I wanted to discuss it with you,” he brought out the tabbed copies and presented them to you. “These are for you. I know you have copies of your own but I-I put my own notes on which lines reminded me of you.”

Your face turned red at the notion behind it all. Here was the BAU genius, the certified lover of the classics and the academia, the man who had your affections since day one, reading two contemporary literatures just for him to present you a gift like no other. You reached out and hugged the precious copies to your chest. 

“Thank you, no one’s ever done this for me before,” you breathed out, falling deeper into attraction with the perfection in front of you. “ Hey Spence, I may sound delusional asking this and you can say no if you want to but—” you visibly gulped, unaware of the audience nearby. “—would you like to have dinner with me? I make a mean lasagna.”

He turned red and vigorously nodded. “Y-Yes. Yes, I’d love to have dinner with you.”

You giggled, sounding like wind chimes to his ears. He did too, giggle I mean, from the triumph of finally knowing that his feelings were willingly reciprocated.

“Finally, you love birds!” Morgan shouted as he swung his arm around Spencer. “Didn’t know how much we could take from this pretty boy—” pointing at him “asking for advice and you—” pointing at you “—pretty girl is as dense as a rock. Tell me again how’d you end up as profiler with those observation skills.” 

A hand whacked him at the back. “Way to ruin the moment, Morgan.” Elle chided before turning to Spencer with a smile. “See told you, you could get a date.”

[heedeungism]

𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧.

•°. *࿐ PAIRING ― riki nishimura x fem!reader •°. *࿐ SYNOPSIS ― in which riki is smitten with you and your sharp tongue. •°. *࿐ GENRE ― one-shot, friends-to-???, fake dating, angst, fluff, crack, rich kid au, highschool lacrosse au •°. *࿐ WORD COUNT ― 20.9k (yeah, i went kinda crazy) •°. *࿐ CONTENT WARNING(S) ― violence(fighting), cursing, high school, mc has a shitty ex-bf, cheating(not riki obviously), almond grandma(mentioned), a singular cigarette is smoked, mc is shorter than riki, riki can also pick mc up, suggestive jokes, kys jokes, mc has hair (texture and length unspecified, but can be put up), objectification of girls(not riki tho), mc objectifies boys back, dreamy riki, not suggestive or smutty but mc is absolutely a horndog, mc is her own worst enemy, mc using riki to get back at her ex but he likes it, i did not edit this lmao •°. *࿐ EXTRA NOTES ― inspired by euphoria and my hs experience, riki is a loser and a lover, implied that mc is 18, eunseok(riize) is an absolute asshole in this sorry guys i needed a villain, enha are all in the same grade, mc wears makeup and has a manicure of an unspecified length, mc has sick lore, also shoutout to my hg @1ntaks for digitally holding my hand thru this <3 •°. *࿐ SOUNDTRACK ― busy woman by sabrina carpenter, hiss by megan thee stallion, low by sza, i did something bad by taylor swift, without you by lana del rey, agora hills by doja cat, girls like me don’t cry by thuy, only girl (in the world) by rihanna, safety net by ariana grande, snooze by sza

part two

AT THE BEGINNING OF 2024, you lost for the first time in your life.

Finding your boyfriend of two years making out with a girl you know too well as Lee Nayeon, your best friend, on the Carrara marble countertop of your family home that you had trusted her to take care of for eight days while you were in New York was not on your New Year’s resolution. You had planned to stay to see the Times Square Ball Drop with your mom and stepdad, but you realized you’d prefer to spend it with your boyfriend.

He didn’t seem to share the same sentiment, considering he has his tongue down the traitorous bitch’s throat. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

She screams, both of them startled by your appearance and scrambling off of each other. You feel an urge to slam her face into the precious marble they were defiling, but you stay where you are. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“It isn’t what you think, babe—“

The speed at which Nayeon’s eyes filled with guilty and horrified tears fuels your rage, and behind you, Bahiyyih appears.

“Look who’s back—oh?” She stops beside you, arm hovering to wrap around you until she sees what you’re seeing. “Eunseok? Since when were you back from Stanford?”

“Since he’s been fucking Nayeon, apparently.” 

The barbie-haired girl’s eyes widen, and as she looks between the two she notices the same things you’re painfully aware of. Nayeon’s smeared lip gloss, her tears, Eunseok’s undone jeans, and the sparkly residue on his mouth. “Oh…”

Nayeon’s whimper as she slides off the counter snaps you out of your daze, “You’re crying?” The angry tears forming in your eyes go unshed as you walk closer to her, “You fuck my boyfriend, and you’re fucking crying?”

Anger turns to fury when the boy in question gets between you and her, pleading to let him explain, his hand grabbing your elbow to pull you away, only for you to jerk away, “Okay, I won’t touch you, just let me explain—“

“How long?”

“What? Babe, this isn’t-“

“How long have you been fucking him?” Your question is directed at who you thought was your friend, who avoids looking at you as she silently weeps. Scoffing, you realize you won't get a straight answer and choose to reel in your urge to beat her face in with one of your stepdad's bowling trophies that’s on display a few steps away. “Get out.”

“Babe, let me—“

The attempts at holding in your temper are lost on you, quickly forgotten as you walk over to the fireplace, grabbing the fire poker hanging up and holding it up. Nayeon lets out a scared, oh my God, while Eunseok tries to calm you down, demanding you put down the weapon. Instead of that, you walk past them, out the front door, ignoring Bahiyyih’s, “No, no, no—”

Eunseok’s red Mustang sits prettily in the driveway, and you can hear him realizing what you intend to do, but it’s too late for him. You slam the poker down onto the hood of his car, “Get. Out!”

“You crazy bitch, what is wrong with you?!” He screams, and you find yourself screaming back.

“Take your side piece and get. Out!” You slam the poker down again, and in minutes he’s got Nayeon in the passenger seat and is peeling out of your driveway like it’s on fire.

If rage had a physical human form, you would be it. Clenched jaw, a deadly weapon in your hands, and a white-hot fury in your eyes that promised to make those two regret crossing you.

The amount of junk food you have consumed in the last week would’ve sent your almond grandmother into an early grave. Your other friends had been visiting as often as possible to keep you from being alone in your thoughts for too long, offering to take you out or go shopping, yet the thought of possibly seeing either of those backstabbing fuckers in public made you sick to your stomach.

Pride didn’t allow you to cry, so instead of sadness and heartbreak, which you definitely felt but would never admit to, you felt pure seething fury.

“So I’ve been thinking,” You take a drag from the cherried slim between your fingers, exhaling towards the sky as you lean against the side of the pool.

From her spot on the lawn chair sunbathing, Belle says. “You can’t kill them.”

“I can, you’re just a party pooper.”

“The party should not include going to prison for murder.” Her statement makes you roll your eyes, “You aren’t built for prison, babe.”

“Well, that I can agree with,” You sigh, the water shifting around you as you turn to face her, arms resting on the edge, “but that wasn’t what I was thinking about.”

Pausing, you take one last drag from your cigarette before smothering it into the stone, “One of the things about him that pissed me off to no end was his temper, right?”

Remembering the many conversations and rants had and heard, Belle nods, “Mhm.”

“So what if I date someone I know will piss him off?”

“If that’s what you think will help you heal, then…” She trails off, and you groan.

“Why can’t you just say it’s an amazing idea?” 

“Girl…” Sighing, she asks, “I just don’t think a third party should be involved.”

“He already got one involved, so why can’t I?” 

Making a face that screams, well you’ve got a point, Belle then adds, “I think you should find someone who pisses him off but they should be aware of your plans. Don’t lead someone on.”

A cunning smile grows on your glossy lips, “I’m not.”

“Oh, so you already have someone in mind?” She gathers with a growing smile of disbelief, “Please tell me it isn’t one of his frat brothers.”

You grimace at the thought, “Ew, no. The only one of them remotely dateable is Wonbin and that’s meeting the bare minimum standards.”

Shrugging, Belle offers, “At least they're hot?”

“Hot does not equal dateable, plus I hardly believe any of them would date their friend’s ex anyway.” Shaking your head, you push yourself out of the pool and sit on the ledge to let yourself drip dry, “What about one of the lacrosse guys?”

“You say no to a frat boy but not a lacrosse player?” 

“I know, I know, but at least I have eyes on them instead of hoping they're being loyal in another city.” You put a hand above your eyes to block out the sun, “Me knowing the coach kind of helps, no?”

“If loyalty is your goal then good luck, bitch.” Belle snorts, sipping from the pink bendy straw sticking out of her Dr Pepper bottle, “Lacrosse players are mansluts.”

“I know that, but…” You push yourself to stand, grabbing the towel Belle holds out when she hears the sound of your feet leaving the water, her eyes still closed and covered by a pair of Prada sunglasses, “I have a few options.”

“The only, as you put it, ‘remotely dateable’-“ she emphasizes those two words with quotations using her perfectly manicured fingers, “-lacrosse players are Jay and Sunoo. Jay is taken and Sunoo friendzones every apretty girl he meets.”

“I don’t know, Jungwon’s cute.” You think aloud, placing a hand on your hip, “He’s just a tight ass.”

“And therefore undateable.” She finishes for you. “What about the baseball team?”

“Eunseok plays, I’m trying to not be reminded of him.”

Belle hums in acknowledgment, “Let me look at the Lacrosse team's insta.”

You pull the claw clip out of your hair as you wait, patting your body dry until she holds out her phone for you to look at. Taking it with your dry hand, you examine the team photo.

You recognize the majority of them, rolling your eyes at a few familiar ones before your eyes land on one particular member of the team you don’t recognize. “Who’s number 10?”

Handing it back, you walk over to the oversized Hall & Oates shirt you’d stolen from your brother’s room(he left a lot of his clothes when he moved out, something about ‘finding his style). You hear the tap of her nails on the screen a few times before she answers, “Some guy named Niki? Or Riki? He doesn’t have any posts on his profile but in the photos he’s tagged in he’s called either of those names.” She gasps, a cackle escaping her lips, “Some of these are his mom tagging him in baby photos, please come look!”

Leaning over, you peek at her screen, “Oh my god, I would die.” You can’t help but giggle as she scrolls, this woman’s Instagram is a gold mine of childhood photos of this guy. “Okay, I feel weird looking at his baby photos, show me the other ones he’s tagged in.”

“On it.” Belle affirms, “Let’s go inside, too.”

“Okay, so-“ Belle stands before a whiteboard, one that your stepdad used to use before upgrading his office to have a massive one mounted on the wall, a pink dry-erase marker uncapped in her hands as she looks down at her phone for reference. After a quick text to the group chat, a brief summary of your plan was explained when everyone got to your house, and it seemed that everyone was invested. “-are we all in attendance.”

Jongseob is eating cereal in the white tufted chair in the corner of your room, Eunchae is in the bean bag, and Bahiyyih is on the floor between them, lined up like a good audience. 

“We’re making a pros and cons list for Riki Nishimura,” Belle announces, writing his name on the whiteboard as ‘Niki’ between the two names, “feel free to interject when you have a pro or con to list.”

“Con,” Jongseob raises a finger with his mouth half full, swallowing before saying, “His nickname is stupid.”

“Opinions don’t count, stupid.” Eunchae rolls her eyes, earning the finger from the boy in the chair.

“But like, why is his nickname Niki?” Hiyyih asks, and Jongseon lets out a nearly intelligible ‘thank you!’.

“I assume it’s because there's another Riki on the team,” Belle guesses, and the three nod. You sip the Baja freeze you’d had them pick you up on the way to your house and hum.

“Make an ‘unsure’ column,” you instruct, and she does so, writing ‘nickname kinda dumb’ under it.

“Pro, he’s on the Lacrosse team so he’s fit,” Belle starts, writing it on the board under its labeled column.

“Con, he’s on the lacrosse team.”

A chorus of agreement accompanies it to its column.

“Pro, from the photos he’s tagged in and the team photo, he’s at least 6’.” Eunchae adds, Belle nods and writes ‘tall’.

“How can you tell?” Jongseob asks, and she rolls her eyes like his question is the most idiotic thing she’s ever heard.

“Because I pass Heeseung in the halls from 5th to 6th period and in these photos, this guy looks a little taller than him.” She explains, and you hold a hand up when Jongseob opens his mouth to insult her.

“Con, no instagram posts.”

“Pro, I just found a pic from Jake’s insta and I can see him in the back. He’s got abs.” (Thank you, Bahiyyih.)

By the time the sun has set, the whiteboard is packed, the pros heavily outweighing the cons. You had even searched the large group chat you were added into on Snap in freshman year full of girls you barely know who dated around and kept each other informed, and found his name zero times. 

“I think he’s the one.” You sigh.

Jongseob snorts, pulling the cherry soda vape from his lips and asking, “Why do you think Eunseok will hate him?”

“He hates Lacrosse guys ‘cause he didn’t make the team, I figured it would hit a soft spot.” You smile and shrug.

“Hold on, the plot thickens,” Bahiiyih announces, eyes on her phone screen. “Do you guys remember that guy Nayeon had a crush on in freshman year?”

A chorus of confirmation causes her to grin, “I’m pretty sure it was this guy.”

You push yourself off your bed to peek over her shoulder at record speed, “No fucking way. How do you know?”

“I backread in the group chat, and she sent a picture of him, look!” She turns her phone for everyone to see, and from the slightly blurry and oddly angled photo that she obviously tried to take secretly, you can certainly see a resemblance, “Am I hallucinating, or is that him?”

“No that definitely looks like him,” Belle agrees, turning her head to face you with her jaw slack and a look, “He’s the one.”

“How are we gonna convince him to fake date you, though?” Jongseob asks, and you roll your eyes.

“Leave the planning to those qualified, Seob.”

You, all things considered, would call yourself a professional at annoying men. From years of experience before your brother moved out, you learned every which way to annoy him, and more importantly, boys in general. You are also smart enough to understand that his best friend, Jungkook, is your ticket to getting closer to the lacrosse team, aka Riki, even if you have to deal with Jake’s flirting and Heeseung’s annoyingly beautiful smile, you will get through it purely out of spite. 

When you get to school extra early the day before the semester is set to start, parking your car and turning your sights to where you knew he took the team to practice in the mornings, and where you knew he would be even if he and your parents got back from New York just last night. “A hoe never gets cold.” You mumble the chant to yourself over and over as you turn off your car’s engine and the warm air stops blowing. 

You curse rather loudly when you open your door and are met with a frigid breeze that makes your body clench to preserve its warmth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

With your school bag on your shoulder and a thick white puffy jacket lined with fleece that keeps your torso warm, you speed walk toward the field, which the student parking lot happens to be in relative close proximity to. 

The sight of you approaching is enough to stop a good half of the players in their laps around the field, a typical start to Jungkook’s diabolical training regimen. The distraction you pose catches the man of the hour’s attention, and when he turns to face the source, he seems shockingly displeased. With a barked order to keep running thrown at the stopped players, he turns to you again and asks, “What are you doing here?”

Your lips part in dramatic offense, “You seem unhappy to see me and I don’t appreciate it.”

Rolling his eyes and pulling two hotpacks from his bag on the ground and handing them to you, he repeats, “What are you doing at school so early?”

Shrugging, you shove your hands into your jacket pockets and glance at the team, catching the eye of Sunoo and winking as he passes by. “I’m bored and single. What better way to spend my time than watching lacrosse players train in frozen hell?”

Jungkook’s face tells you he’s far less than impressed, and he seems at a loss for words. You decide to let him in on your plan, not seeing any harm in doing so.

“Okay, I’m trying to ruin Eunseok's day, every day, by reminding him I have a hotter, taller, and more athletically skilled boyfriend than he ever was or could be,” You start, “And I’m calling in a favor.”

“What favor? You don’t do shit—“

“Okay then, tell me more about him or I’ll tell my brother about what really happened to his Audi last Christmas.” The Audi in question had a large scuff on the back bumper that Jungkook had paid you three hundred dollars to take the blame for, which while your brother was upset, you knew he’d be far angrier if he knew the truth. Jungkook knew that too.

If the cold wasn’t already doing the job, you would say he lost all color in his face. A sweet smile forms on your lips, and you take the moment of his speechless horror to take another glance at the team. 

When you meet the eyes of the familiar boy in a dark red hoodie with the number 10 on it you feel your face warm up involuntarily. Instinctively, you swallow the nervous lump in your throat, something that’s never happened to you, and quickly turn back to the coach (not before catching sight of the slight tug at the corner of #10’s plump lips). “So?”

Jungkook sighs, “Which one?”

“Number 10.”

Immediately, the man shakes his head, “Nuh-uh.” At the raise of one of your eyebrows, he quickly explains, “He’s one of my best players, I don’t need him being distracted by my best friend’s kid sister.”

You roll your eyes, “If you have a better option for me, then please, do share.”

“What about Jungwon?” 

“Tight ass,” You say barely a breath later, eyes watching said player jog past, lingering on his backside as he moves away, “In more ways than one.”

“Okay, stop.” Jungkook says, disgust on his face, “What about Taehyun.”

“He’s Dr. Evil and Jungwon is his mini-me, they’re both so strict they’d never agree.”

He makes a face, point heard, before suggesting one last player in a last-ditch effort, “Jak—”

“If the name Jake Sim leaves your mouth I’m setting your Mercedes on fire.” 

His mouth shuts automatically, and he sighs. 

“So, tell me about him.”

“Why don’t you go ask?”

You give him a look that read, don’t be fucking stupid.

“Ugh, fine. What do you wanna know?” Jungkook caves, blowing the whistle around his neck, signaling the team to start the next warmup, pushups. 

“What’s his favorite color?” You ask, obviously pulling his leg considering the grin on your face.

“Nishimura!” He immediately calls, and number 10 looks up from his position on the ground. You don’t look longer than a moment, your spine straightening up automatically when his eyes meet yours once again, “What’s your favorite color?”

You don’t look, but you can bet money that he probably looks confused considering your brother’s best friend tells him to ‘just answer the damn question’, and then you hear his voice. 

“Black.”

Fuck, this is bad. The little shit in you wants to say that black isn’t technically a color, that it’s the absence of such, but the thought of looking at him and saying something like that makes your palms go clammy and your heart beat out of your chest. His voice is deep, and with the exertion in it from the warmup, you think you might just have to throw yourself into an active volcano.

“Mine is green, coach!” 

“I didn’t ask, Huening.” Your lips flatten, your hand flying to cover your mouth as you try not to giggle. Instinctively, you look at Kai, whose ears have gone red in embarrassment, and you take pity.

“I like green too, Kai.” You say loudly for him to hear, and his head perks up to look at you.

“I like blue!” Jake pipes in, all too eager to include himself.

“Nobody asked, Jake.” Jay grunts, on his hundredth push-up and losing patience.

Jungkook blows the whistle again, “Burpees.”

“You’re a monster.” You muse, watching the team lose all faith in a heavenly being as they do what he says. Every jump grants you the sight of rock-hard abs, so you're not really complaining. 

“Stop ogling the team, it’s gross.” Jungkook hisses, “What else do you want to know?”

“Girlfriend?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Type?”

He makes a face, “I don’t know. He’s a teenager, probably anything that breathes in his direction.” 

“Age?”

“Turned 18 in December, the team threw him a pizza party.”

“Beginning or end of December?” You ask quizzically.

Rolling his eyes, Jungkook huffs, “Why does it matter?”

“I need to know if I’m dealing with a Sagittarius or a Capricorn. Please, please, tell me he isn’t a Capricorn.”

“Jesus Christ…” Thinking about it, Jungkook answers, “I think it was in the first week?”

A sigh of relief leaves you, “Thank god. I cannot stand an earth sign.”

“I’m an earth sign.” 

“And it took me ages to forgive you for that.”

“Okay, go away.” Jungkook shakes his head, obviously annoyed and desperate to get rid of you.

“But I’m not—“

“Nishimura.” Dread fills you, and before you can stop him from opening his mouth again, number 10 stands up.

“Yeah, Coach?”

“Walk this one to her car.”

Confusion is etched on his pretty face, but he nods, jogging over as you curse at Jungkook quietly enough for him and the lord to hear but not the approaching lacrosse player.

When he stands just a few feet away, waiting for you to start walking with him, you turn to face him and feel a jolt in your stomach. He’s tall. 

You already knew this but seeing it with your eyes is a different experience than seeing photos of it. Get a grip, bitch.

Offering him a condescending smile, a defense mechanism to keep yourself from humiliating yourself by showing how affected you are, you shoot your brother’s friend the finger and begin to make your way off the field.

You pass Riki, not even sparing him a look as you do so, but listening to make sure he’s following. With his much longer legs, it isn’t long before he’s walking just slightly behind you, not at your side but close enough for you to sense his presence. When you make it to your car in what felt like awkward silence to you but was probably nothing to him, you heave a sigh of relief when she unlocks and you open the door. 

Not sitting yourself inside yet, despite the cold and the fact your body hurts from it, you turn to face him.

“This yours?” He asks. God, that voice again.

You hum in confirmation, “Her name is Manon.” 

“Nice name.” He compliments, and you tilt your head, looking between his eyes and glancing down to his mouth every so often. He swallows almost unnoticeably, “What’s yours?”

Resisting the urge to ask if he truly didn’t know, you conclude that would sound far too conceited, and tell him your name. 

He tries it out, and you can see the tip of his tongue flick across his teeth before he says, “I’m Riki.”

“I know.” You say shamelessly, “You can go back to practice, now.”

If you didn’t know any better, you would think the slight smirk that tugs at his lips is of annoyance, but with the way his eyes look down your face every other second, you know exactly what you’re doing. He blinks, turning his body slightly to walk away, “Yeah.”

You wait until his back is to you to slide into your driver’s seat, quickly pulling your phone out to text the group chat.

bitchqueen: guys this is bad

bitchqueen: he’s HOT

bitchqueen: i can’t do this 

Glancing back up to see if Riki left, you sigh in relief when he’s nowhere to be found. You look back down when your phone dings. bellenotdelphine: eunseok bought nayeon a van cleef bracelet

bitchqueen: okay bitches im back

myrootcame2005: ur resolve inspires generations

Going back to school wasn’t so bad, or at least it isn’t as bad you thought it would be. You were the only licensed driver in your friend group, and as such you expected to have a full car every morning, picking up Belle first as she lived down the street, and then Jongseob and Eunchae, who grew up neighbors in a neighborhood you pass on the way to school. Bahiyyih usually gets a ride with her brother, though she does complain his truck still smells like the musky car freshener he spilled back when he got it.

After parking and putting on your shoes that you’d taken off because you hate driving with them on, you had Belle hand you your backpack from at her feet and the four of you exited the car into the frigid weather. “Jesus fuck, why is it so cold?”

Belle huddled by you as you sped walked to the school doors, where you finally took notice of the stares directed your way. Ignoring the staring was the easy part, having a freshman walk up to you and ask, “Hey, is it true you destroyed your boyfriend’s car with a crowbar?” was hard to avoid.

Belle seems ready to tell them to fuck off but you smile sweetly, “It was a fire poker, actually, and destroyed is a strong word. Also, who the fuck are you?”

You got in enough trouble with your parents when they found out, these people could at least get the facts right. When the 14 year old boy opens his mouth to answer, you make a face, “I don’t actually care.”

Ignoring that encounter, you would say it was a relatively normal day. AP classes already gave you packets and mounds of homework, but with the semester classes you took last year you only had 5 periods of the day before being allowed to go home, perks of being a senior, you guess. The fact almost every class you had was an AP class was a definite downside, though.

The only AP class you didn’t have happened to be Medical Microbiology, which you had dreaded to take but it was the same teacher you had last semester for A&P who loved you enough to exempt you from the final without you having to submit the form like everyone else, and luck was on your side it seemed because while you were seething to find that Nayeon was in your 5th period class, the sight of the seating chart and the name labeled next to yours made you decide to postpone ingesting whatever deadly chemical Mrs. Wilson had in her locked cabinet.

Nishimura, Riki

The short curly-haired woman seemed overjoyed to see you, of course, and like clockwork you handed her a small pink box containing her favored cookie from the shop down the road, earning yourself a nice sidehug. 

You know a way to a teacher's heart, which had made your high school experience better than most could imagine, though Mrs. Brooks from Pre-AP English freshman year was a cunt and you gave up on making her like you within the first month. Sitting down at your seat, which happened to be somewhat close to her desk, you were looking down at the packet she’d left stacked on the table by the door for students to take from as they came in when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Growing up with a brother gave you a good understanding of how boys worked, and when you saw no one in your periphery, you looked to the opposite side, seeing the familiar lacrosse player. You dread small talk, though when the late bell rings as he sits down, you thank the heavens you don’t have to. 

Moving your hair off your shoulder, you took a pink mechanical pencil from your matching pencil case as Mrs. Wilson started speaking.

“Hey.” He leans ever so closer, whispering to get your attention, “Can I borrow a pencil?”

The raised eyebrow you send his way makes his raise his own, and you roll your eyes, grabbing one of the orange ones you never used and handing it to him, when you notice his look between the two pencils, you say, “Can’t risk you taking one of my good ones.”

He rolls his eyes this time, but starts writing his name with it anyway. At first, he uses his right hand, but ten minutes into the lecture about the staining process, he switches hands.

It isn’t annoying until he starts intentionally brushing your elbow with his own, and you know it’s intentional because when the word you’re writing comes out jagged and you look at him, he has a smug look on his face while avoiding meeting your eyes, snickering softly when you erase the word you deemed too ugly to continue writing. You turn in your seat, facing away from him and rotating your paper with you as you cross one leg over the other, it was easier writing this way anyway.

With your new angle, you can see Nayeon glancing over every now and then in the corner of your eye. 

Now, to say your reputation wasn’t ruined but in fact reinforced by everyone finding out about what you did to Eunseok’s car, was a factual statement. You didn’t like the term ‘anger management issues’ which is what the therapist your mother made you see last year used to describe your behavior. 

In your humble opinion, Jaclyn Delvacchio deserved the bruise you left on her brow bone and is honestly lucky you didn’t get a good enough hit in before the history teacher pulled you off of her, maybe she should’ve kept her mouth shut about Eunchae’s braces.

Then, there was Kaley Graham in your freshman year, a sophomore who told you to stay away from your then-situationship, Eunseok, to which you responded to her threats by grabbing her head and slamming her face into the window of an active classroom. You thought the photos of her face smashed against it were funny, the school and your suddenly-present father did not.

So really, you’re already labeled a crazy bitch, violent, ‘untameable’(as you'd heard uttered by boys you wouldn't touch with a twenty foot pole). You might as well act like it.

When the bell rings 45 minutes later, you breathe a sigh of relief, finally time to go home.

You don’t notice he’s waiting for you until you’ve gathered your things and taken your keys out. He leans against his desk, waiting for you with observant eyes that land on the key-fob in your hand before moving up to your eyes. “Free period?”

You nod, “as are the next two.”

He whistles low as the both of you walk out, “I didn’t get any free periods, you’re lucky.”

“Lacrosse?” You ask, and he nods with a small grimace.

“And I failed Chem last year, so I’ve got to take it again.” He sighs, “I’m not great with all the math.”

“AP?” You ask innocently, and he snorts.

“God no. Regular.” He states, raising a brow as he adds, “Did you take AP?”

You hum, nodding, “Yeah.”

“So, if I come to you with a radiation equation, would you help me?” He asks in a way that almost feels teasing.

“It’s called a nuclear equation, and I suppose I could be persuaded.” You stop in front of the double doors at the front of the school, and from how others are rushing through the halls you assume the bell is going to ring soon.

“Could I try to persuade you after lacrosse practice? I’m gonna be late for Chem.” He says, though his tone is anything but worried, just like the smirk on his face.

“There’s a cafe next to the nail salon down the road, I might be there when lacrosse practice is over.” You hint, before turning to leave without another word.

After texting the group chat about the plan to meet up with Riki after his practice ends, you felt good. Flirting came easy, especially when you wanted something, which obviously was the case with him, but you weren’t oblivious to the fact he was flirting back. 

hueningbarbie: damn u act fast

bitchqueen: i'm just a girl who knows what she wants and gets it ;)

hongchae: do you think he’ll agree?

bitchqueen: if he doesnt i think jake is my only other option

bitchqueen: killing myself means i let them win

bellenotdelphine: jake is NEVER the only option

bellenotdelphine: hang in there queen

You sit in a worn out booth facing the big wall of windows lining the front of the hole-in-the-wall cafe. Part of you regrets choosing it considering Gloria, the old lady who always takes your order and brings you your food, seemed all too excited when you said you were waiting for a boy that wasn’t Eunseok. 

You try not to look up every time you see a car pull into the strip center of cafes and food joints, only glancing when you see a black Jeep pull into the parking spot next to your car, quickly acting like you weren’t looking when the familiar lacrosse player hopped out of it with wet hair and the same sweatshirt with his jersey number and name on it.

It isn’t until he slides into the booth across from yours that you look up from the menu you weren’t even reading, “How was practice?”

He sighs, leaning back into the booth and you feel his shoe brush yours, “Coach had me on offense,” he says, rubbing his side with a wince.

“Want some tiger balm?” You ask nonchalantly, reaching into your purse to pull out the small container of it you keep to help with the pain you get from looking down and taking notes, not to mention scrolling through social media, too.

He takes it with a whispered please, and you try not to watch as he moves his hand under his shirt to rub it in. Bahiyyih was right.

“Any drinks, mija?” Gloria appears beside your booth with a knowing look on her face as she looks between you two, “and you?”

“Dr Pepper, please.” You order with a smile, and she affectionately rubs your arm with a nod before looking at Riki, who repeats you.

When Gloria walks away to get the drinks, Riki seems curious, “I come here a lot.”

Nodding, he says, “I figured. What’s good, here?”

“Oh, everything is good. Do you recognize anything on the menu?” When he shakes his head, you try not to act offended, and say, “The enchiladas are really good, but if you’re picky I would get the tacos.”

“Mm, I’ll get an enchi-“ he struggles to mimic your pronunciation of the word, and you laugh quietly.

“Enchiladas?” You ask with a cheeky smile, and he scrunches his face up in shame, “It’s okay, it’s hard to say.”

“You’re good at it.” He states, not an opinion, a fact.

“I am.” You agree, and the smile on his face is enough to send your heart into your throat. Get. A. Grip. “Like I said, I come here a lot.”

“So, what do I have to do to persuade you to help me pass Chem?” He asks after Gloria sets down your drinks and takes your orders(sending you a hidden wink as she turns to walk into the kitchen), and you realize now's the time to bring up your plan.

“So, I actually have a proposition for you.” You admit, and he leans forward a little, curious to hear it. When you say it, albeit a slow and awkward version of what you intended to say as the nerves got the better of you because of that damn look in his eyes, you swear you almost see his face drop a little. 

“So you want to…fake date? To make your ex jealous.” He sounds unsure, and you quickly shake your head.

“Not jealous, I kinda just want to ruin his day...everyday.” You state, “I’m the crazy bitch, you’re the hot athlete. Match made in heaven, right?”

He seems to take the ‘hot’ comment well, crossing his arms and tilting his head, “So, what are the rules? If we’re dating, do we have to go all out or just spread the word?”

“Spreading the word only works for so long,” you say, pleased by his question, “Kissing is a bit much, especially since it’s only been a few weeks since I dumped him. If we move too fast everyone will think you’re my rebound. We should take it slow.”

“So…” he thinks for a second, “Holding hands?”

You hum in agreement, “Get me flowers, too.”

“What’s your favorite kind?” The question shouldn’t throw you off, but it hits you rather suddenly that you’d never been asked that by a guy, especially not Eunseok. 

“Lilies.” You say, “And baby’s breath.”

He nods, taking a mental note of that just as Gloria comes out with your food. The enchiladas were a win, he devoured them like he hadn’t eaten for years, though there was a pause in the process when he insisted on trying the salsa you had poured generously over your own food, which was far too spicy for him, to your delight.

You exchanged numbers outside of the restaurant after paying(he had picked up the bill before you could grab it), and as you were putting a name to his number, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

Laughing at the look on your face, he subtly motions behind you, and when you glance back you find about five girls no older than 16 piled into a Corolla and staring, but snapping their eyes away and hiding when you meet their gazes.

Turning back to him, you swallow the sudden lump in your throat when you see he’s already looking at you.

“Good catch.” You cough, ignoring the smug smirk growing in his face, “I’ll text you.”

“Okay.” He says, waiting for you to move away before he does, and you find yourself sucking in a deep breath and turning to get into your car.

“So he agreed?” Belle asks from the passenger seat of your car, “I told you, teenage boys are easy.”

You pull into your parking spot in the school lot, pulling down the ugly parking pass they make you hang from the rearview mirror that you always tuck back up when you leave because it's an eyesore, “We tried to work out the technicalities last night but I fell asleep on the phone.” 

Eunchae gasps as if scandalized, “You fell asleep on the phone with him? That’s so cute.”

You groan, “I know, it’s embarrassing!” Getting out of your car, you try to withhold a groan when you immediately spot Jake practically skipping over, a cheeky grin on his face. Shit.

You don’t hide your displeasure when he calls your name, shooting a giggling Belle the finger before turning to give him attention you know you’d regret, “You and Niki?”

“Is that any of your business?” 

He starts giggling, the grin on his face widening as he starts hopping around like an excited puppy, “No way! You gotta tell me how he fi—“

“Jake!” A girl from the cheer squad calls his name from across the courtyard, and he whirls around to wave with a flirty smile.

By the time he turns back to you, you’re already walking away with the girls. “We’re talking about it in 2nd!”

“No we’re not!” You call back, waving your hand dismissively. Eunchae snorts, hooking her arm with yours as the three of you walk through the entrance. Jongseob had come in early with his other friend group for club prep, so his presence is sorely missed. 

“Do you think he’ll get you flowers?” The junior on your arm asks, and you shrug.

“I mean, maybe.” Your answer makes Belle roll her eyes.

“Manifest it, or…” She stops in front of your 1st class of the day, ready to drop you off, and a grin overtakes her face, “Bitch.”

You step closer to see when she sees, and at your assigned seat is a bouquet of the same flowers you told Riki you liked, pink and white lilies with baby's breath sprinkled in. Habitually, you bite your lip to withhold the smile, sliding your arm out from Eunchae’s and walking in.

The girl who sits next to you, Hikaru, has an almost fox-like grin on her face as she sees you finally arrive. She says a few things that you hum in response to as you pluck the tiny folded card from between the blossoms, opening it and allowing Belle and Eunchae to peek over your shoulder to read it with you. “Shut up!” Belle practically squeals.

For: Pretty

“God.” You sigh, closing the note and grabbing the bouquet from Eunchae who had picked it up to smell them, “I wonder where he got these.”

“I don’t know but they look expensive.” Belle muses with a grin and you hum in agreement with a smile.

A text tone dings from your phone, a familiar one that makes you groan. When you look at your screen your jaw clenches and shifts.

spermdonor: lunch? we need to catch up.

You suspect your mom told him about how you get off early now, cursing the woman mentally as you send back a simple thumbs up to her ex-husband. 

Between 1st and 2nd period, you had put the bouquet in your car to avoid walking around with it, and you’re so very thankful you did with the annoying grin on Jake’s face as you sat across from him in College Algebra.

“You and Niki.” He repeats with a cheeky raise of his brows, his grin unaffected by the look of utter distaste on your face at his presence.

“What about Riki and me?” You ask monotonously, clearly unimpressed with the prompt.  

“You guys datin’?” He asks cheekily, clearly already aware that you went on a ‘date’, but wanting to hear it from you.

“If I say we went on a singular date will you leave me alone?” You ask with a sigh, using your knuckle to massage your temple.

Jake shakes his head with a shit-eating grin, “Not a chance.”

You groan softly as the bell rings, and the sigh of relief is quickly smothered with your hopes of escaping this period without having to answer a question as a familiar substitute walks in, Mr. Morrell, a nice old man who usually just lets everyone do their own thing. He’s your mortal enemy now, you’ve decided.

The moment he announces those wretched words, ‘free day’, your fate is sealed.

Jake is snickering like a freak, leaning over his desk as if you aren’t just a few feet away from him, “You and Riki.” He giggles, and you look at him as if he’s possessed and it disgusts you.

“Please, leave me alone.” You say with a bit more emotion than your last few words.

Jake is too busy giggling like a little girl to listen or even hear what you said, nearly cutting you off as he asks, “Where was your first date?” 

“The Mexican place next to the nail salon down the street.” You answer monotonously, just wanting to get it over with at this point.

“Did he pay? He paid.” Jake asks then nods to himself as he says the last statement.

“Yes, he paid.” 

“Ooo, did he kiss you? Nah, Niki’s way too pussy to do that—“

You cut him off with an invisible twitch of your brow, “He gave me a solid kiss on the cheek.”

It’s as if you’ve broken the already clearly leaking dam of pure giddy delight. He’s practically squealing with a breathy and high-pitched ‘naur way~’, whipping out his phone you assume to text their group chat. He’s bouncing in his seat, and you make a face as you pull your desk an inch away from his desk to stop feeling the movements.

You open your coloring book you bring with you to classes when you have no other work, you have other work but you’d rather not do that while Jake giggles and grills you.

The rest of the period is filled with him asking questions you either answer shortly or choose to not answer at all. (“Do you think he’s the one?”)

You of course could not see was that across the campus Riki was hiding his phone in his lap wanting to sink into a hole and die as Jake spams the team group chat like a live tweet of his, though strongly condemned by him, weirdly thorough interview like your barely started kind-of-relationship is his favorite sitcom.

“Thank you, lord.” you sigh as the bell rings, freeing you of your torment as you grab your gathered and organized bag to pull over your shoulder and hasten out of the classroom before Jake can get you. (Yes, like a boogeyman.)

It seems you can’t catch a break as you find out Park Sunghoon is in your 4th period. Park Sunghoon, jersey number 23, goalkeeper of the Decelis Demons. Also, you’ve decided, another mortal enemy. 

You don’t even know how you hadn’t noticed him all semester or the semester prior, given how awkwardly talkative he is. Sitting beside you with a cute but unsettling smile, holding out his hand like he was meeting a celebrity, which you weren’t exactly complaining about but the smile was weird. He was almost just as bad as Jake, if not worse simply because he freaked you out a bit. Seriously, why is someone so beautiful so fucking weird. His moles look like constellations but something about his vibes unsettle you.

It isn’t like you don’t have weird friends, you’ve watched Jongseob stuff fifty chile-coated gushers into his mouth purely because Eunchae told him he couldn’t. Weird usually isn’t the issue, except it is in this scenario. 

Escaping him and getting to go to your teacher’s aid period was like a shining of heaven’s pure light on you. You find yourself grading papers in the back of the classroom while your freshman-year Latin teacher plays Hercules in New York on the projector, a purple glitter pen in your hand as you go through the stack of exams.

“Hey,” one of the freshmen a cluster of desks away calls to you in a semi-hushed voice, halting the movement of your glitter pen and directing your attention to them, “your boyfriend’s waiting at the door.”

‘I don’t have a boyfriend’, parts your lips before you suddenly remember that Riki exists and halt before it can leave them. Looking to the closed door of the classroom, you find the boy in question peering through the small window in the door, and raise an inquisitive brow.

He only waves at you, a clear signal he wants you to come out and talk to him, part of you wonders why he knew where you were but memories of the phone call the night you both agreed on the whole ‘fake dating’ thing, exchanging school schedules and discussing preferences, come back to you and you nod lightly.

Mrs. B looks up from her laptop as you cap the glitter pen, “Don’t be gone too long.” 

Shooting her a smile and a small ‘yes ma’am, thank you’, you get up from the desk and shoot the snickering freshmen a weak glare as you walk to the door, opening it just enough to side step out of the room and shut it behind you.

“Hey.” is the first thing he says, his voice is deep despite its softness, mindful of the other classes going on in the language hall as well as the other teens clearly trying to get a good look at him as the door closes behind you.

You say it back just as softly, “Hey.”

He smiles just a bit, a boyish quirk of his lips that has your heart picking up, get a fucking grip, bitch. “I’m sorry about Jake and Sunghoon.”

The mention of them has you pressing your lips together with a nearly-sympathetic smile, “It’s okay.”

“No, they’re…a lot.” He chuckles softly, though his words are still genuine, “I don’t want you to get scared away.”

Something in your heart flutters, “Don’t worry about it.” You say with a soft laugh that has his eyes darting to your smile. “Sunghoon was…weird, but I already knew that Jake’s a pest, so…”

He laughs at your words, head shaking slightly, “Still, I’m sorry about them.”

“It’s fine, really.” You say with a shake of your head. A student exits the Spanish class down the hall, pausing at the sight of you and Riki before walking in the direction of the bathrooms. 

Riki spares them little more than a brief glance over at the sound of the door shutting behind them before his gaze is back on you. God, why is he looking at me like that, you think just before he speaks again, “Do you bowl?”

The question catches you off guard, and you tilt your head and ask, “Like do I know how or do I do it often?”

“Both.”

“Kinda and no.” You answer, “Why?”

He brings a hand up to rub the back of his head, your eyes darting to the way the sleeves of his t-shirt stretch to accommodate the movements of his arm and a few veins are visible up his arm, “Some of the guys and I were going this weekend, I…figured I’d ask.” 

His words are finished with a bit of hesitance that you have little time to linger on as you question with a slight laugh, “Did they ask you to bring me?” 

You see a slight pink tinge to the tips of his ears as his elbow drops yet his hand lingers on his trapezius, creating yet another visual that has you wanting to repeatedly slam your forehead into the wall beside you. He shakes his head slightly, “No, I, uh, wanted to bring you.”

The words are said with a soft laugh like he’s a bit embarrassed with himself, and you find your teeth catching your bottom lip to hold in the despicable grin that you know should not be growing on your face right now. You just broke up with your long-term boyfriend, wake up.

If Riki’s eyes dart to your lips, you don’t see it as you glance to the door of your class. “Then…yeah. I’ll come.” 

Your answer has his lips forming a pretty grin that he quickly covers up with a bite of his bottom lip and a nod, taking a step back as he prepares to leave, “Cool. I can pick you up, yeah?”

Yeah, you can. You nod, “Just text me.”

“Yeah, I’ll text you.” He finishes with another nod, and you giggle softly at his repetition. His eyes soften at the sound, another thing you don’t notice as you see the student returning from the bathrooms, glancing your way every so often as they approach the closed Spanish class door. 

Riki sees them too, and as they look over again, he leans down to press his lips to your cheek in a quick but sweet kiss, “See you next period.”

He shoots you a swift wink as he backs up again, and you put it together that he kissed you because of the third party in the hall. You exhale a soft response as he turns to jog off, clearly not meant to be gone from class as long as he has been, “Yeah.”

As soon as he turns the corner and you’re alone in the hall, you close your eyes for a long blink to bring yourself back to Earth. A soft curse leaves your lips as you turn back to the door to re-enter the Latin class, heart racing and hands slightly clammy. 

Clammy. 

The fact that a boy is making you feel so damn juvenile with the way you can’t help but react to his words and face and voice and eyes—

The walk to 5th period fills you with a sense of dread before you remember who else is in that class. Mrs. Wilson greets you happily as she sets up the activity for the day on the projector, which alerts you to the fact someone is standing by your seat who doesn’t belong there.

Riki has a look of confusion on his face as he looks up at Nayeon, clearly a bit confused by whatever is leaving her lips. The teacher’s greeting alerts the both of them to your presence in the doorway, where you paused at the sight of her. The corners of Riki’s lips quirk up at the sight of you, but Nayeon looks like she’s about to puke.

You don’t even speak. Something about the sight of pure panic in her eyes gives you a boost of serotonin but the fact that she’s standing in front of your ‘boyfriend's desk, speaking to him. Oh, you’re pissed. 

Yes, you are aware he isn’t actually your boyfriend and the two of you hadn’t even discussed publicly referring to each other as such, but the principle still stands. You want to punch her face.

Unfortunately, Mrs Wilson would be quite upset if you slammed Nayeon’s head into the whiteboard, and you like your teacher too much to debate starting a fight in her class. 

Your eyes follow Nayeon’s every move as she hastily removes her hands from where they were on his desk, avoiding your burning stare as she moves to her own seat. 

Walking to your desk, you smile at Riki as if what just happened has zero effect on you despite the burning fury in your gut, and sit down beside him. “Hey.”

Your soft greeting has him saying it in kind, shifting in his seat to lean back and see you better, “You know her?”

His question has you tilting your head in a faux innocence, “Mhm. Why?”

Riki has a slight knowing look on his face as he watches your reactions, “She had a lot to say about you.”

“What did she say?” You ask as if it’s a simple question, like you aren’t dying to know and anxiety isn’t clawing at your chest making it harder and harder to make your hands not shake. 

He shrugs with a purse of his lips, a slightly cheeky smile forms on his face as he asks, “You jealous?”

A scoff leaves your lips and your eyes roll before you can even think to hold the sass back, “Jealousy implies she’s better than me in some way.” You say with a defiant cross of your arms, “and she is not.”

“Then why’d you glare so hard?” He asks, clearly amused by both your words and body language.

You think, why did I not tell him about Nayeon?

The answer? Eunseok and Nayeon’s little affair had more of an effect on you than you would like to admit. Anxiety claws at you everytime you even imagine Nayeon interacting with Riki, and the fact that you just walked in on her saying something to him that your pride won’t allow you to ask him about just makes it all so much worse for you. 

The truth is that the irrational part of your brain, the one that often wins the battles against its more logical other half, made the thought of Riki knowing you were betrayed by your best friend all the more sickening to imagine. It’s embarrassing. Humiliating. 

“I wasn’t glaring.” You argue, and Riki raises his brows as if to say ‘really?’ before he huffs softly in amusement and the bell rings.

“Yeah, you were.” He says with a lingering curiosity in his gaze before he looks to the board as Mrs Wilson starts class. Your first instinct is to argue, to be stubborn like you always are, but the lingering anxiety in your chest makes you want to never speak again just to find some kind of peace.

The entire time you take notes you aren’t truly absorbing any information, your brain is stuck on every possible thing that Nayeon could have said to him and how you’re gonna find out without directly asking either of them if possible.

You feel sick and he’s not even your real boyfriend.

Oh, fuck.

Between realizing you want Riki and remembering that you have to go to lunch with your father, you simply didn’t have enough time to achieve as much mental preparation as you’d like before lunch. The Italian restaurant you find yourself sitting inside with a menu in your manicured hands is a relatively ‘fancy’ establishment, at least if the $35 fettuccini alfredo was anything to go by.

Your dad is the one paying, so you aren’t all that mad about the prices considering the look in his eyes is enough to ruin your enjoyment of the basket of breadsticks between the two of you. If you thought it would make a dent in his bank account you’d order another plate of mozzarella sticks just to spend his money, but the satisfaction just wouldn’t be there. 

Punching his face might feel better.

“Am I gonna have to put you in anger management again?” His anger is hushed and composed, but the shift in his jaw and the patronizing look of disappointment on his face belied his composure. Always being hyper-aware of how people view him is one of the things you hate about your dad. His attitude takes a higher spot on the ‘Why You Hate Your Dad’ pyramid, though. 

“You can’t ‘put me’ anywhere.” You bite back as you dip the breadstick in your hand into the small bowl of marinara, “Eunseok deserved it.”

“You don’t get to decide what people deserve.” He argues, still so patronizing.

The feeling of being talked down to is one you're all too familiar with when it comes to your father. The man can’t accept his own faults, one of which being how shit of a father he was and is. You roll your eyes as you take a bite of your breadstick, half-drowning his words out with your own and the other half remembering every single thing coming from his lips to throw back in his face next time he cries about how you never reach out to him. 

“Eunseok is a smart and successful, young man. And you throw it all away for—“

Ah, you almost forgot how much more your father likes your ex than you. Offering him internships, a place at his firm when he graduates, none of which he’d ever even mentioned to you. You wouldn’t ever work for or with your father, but the fact he had never spoken a word about any chances to help you gain experience like he did your ex was as infuriating as it was unsurprising.

“I didn’t throw shit away.” You snap, “He cheated on me, you keep skimming over that detail, father.”

“I’m not skimming over it, it’s irrelavent.” He exhales, trying to calm his slightly raised voice, “And you know I hate it when you call me that..”

“Irrelevant? Oh, I’m sorry, should I have stayed with a boyfriend that sleeps with my best friend?” You scoff, sipping your Dr Pepper, “And if you wanted me to call you dad, you should've acted like one.”

“Hey.” He warns, yet you only roll your eyes. “Reaching out goes both ways—“

“I know you did not just say that to me.” 

“—and I am your father, so you speak to me with respect.” He finishes, voice raising slightly in frustration before he settles it back to a more composed volume.

“No.” You shake your head, “That’s not how shit works.”

“Yes,” He bites back sternly, “If you want me to keep funding your life you’ll—“

Normally, you let your father say whatever it is he wants to say, tell him you really don’t care what he thinks and then for about a month he doesn’t text you. Then it’s ‘I want to improve our relationship’ and ‘I feel like you’re drifting away’. Today was not a normal day, however.

“Then cut me off.” You say with a shrug, “You can’t hold that shit over my head like I ask for the money you send, which you only send because you know you’re a shit father and you feel guilty.”

He doesn't respond, his jaw shifting, so you continue. 

“And considering the fact that you are a cheater yourself, why the fuck would I listen to a word you say when it comes to my own love life?” You ask, not really caring that you aren’t exactly speaking quietly, “Eunseok deserved a fire poker to the face, and I used it on his car instead. Which is what Mom should have done when she found you with the nanny.”

“Quiet down, you’re making a scene.” He hisses, and you tilt your head and look around as if you give a single fuck. “I already took care of Eunseok’s car, which will be taken out of your allowance—“

Your eyes narrow at his words, “You paid to repair his car?”

Your father doesn’t skip a beat as he continues, “—Yes, I did. And you don’t get to throw the biggest mistake I’ve ever made back in my face—“

“Yes, I do.”

“—No, you don’t.” 

“Yes, I do.” You argue back stubbornly, continuing before he can speak over you again, “And you paid for Eunseok’s car, the same boy who fucked one of my best friends for months while actively dating me and you don’t see a single problem with that?”

“His parents were discussing pressing charges—“

“That’s when you tell them to go fuck themselves.” 

He sighs at your words, clearly sick of your temper (which you inherited from him), “You need to start handling your emotions better, you’re graduating this year.”

“I have literally witnessed you throw a chair in anger, get someone else to say that to me.” 

He seems ready to respond, when the waiter comes with the food, and you speak before he can, politely asking if you can get a to-go box for it instead. Your father doesn’t seem to have the guts to speak as the waiter glances between you both unsurely before nodding, “Of course.”

He takes the dish back and the moment he is out of ear-shot, your father says, “We aren’t done talking.”

“I am.” You shrug, clearly not willing or planning on sitting here any longer than you have to.

The waiter is back out with your to-go container wrapped in a bag that has mint-chocolates inside as well as a complimentary box of breadsticks that you’ll probably eat while crying your eyes out later. You ignore the stern orders from your father to sit back down, thanking the waiter with a polite smile and promptly walk out of the restaurant. 

The tears of frustration start falling the moment you’re in the safety of your car, a soft curse leaving your lips as you put the bag of food in the passenger seat and pull out of the parking lot, turning ‘this is me trying’ by Taylor Swift all the up as you drive the highway back home. You ignore the texts from your father, as well as the calls.

You’re at the red light before turning into your neighborhood when Riki’s caller ID shows up on the screen of your console, and you debate even answering, but wipe your eyes and clear your throat as you press the green answer button, “Hello?” 

Your voice is more stable than you expected it to be, and Riki responds in kind, “Hey, I just got out of practice—you okay?”

“M’fine, what’s up?” You say with an attempt at a sneaky sniffle, the thought of him knowing you’re crying is too humiliating. Part of you is disappointed he somehow could tell that something was up. The other part of you, the vulnerable and hurt teenage girl with daddy issues and a yearning to be listened to and understood, begs to just break down. 

He doesn’t seem to buy it, you hear the sound of keys jingling and then a car door opening and shutting, then he’s speaking again, “You sure?”

The light turns green, and you finally turn into your neighborhood, “I’m fine.” It’s almost a snap, one you instantly regret as you quickly say, “Sorry, just—“

“It’s okay,” He assures, and you feel even more guilty, more tears threatening to fall as your bottom lip trembles again. You’re pulling into your driveway as he continues, “Wanna talk about it over lunch?”

“I just got lunch with my dad, actually,” You say with a soft, bitter laugh, voice wavering and a soft curse leaving your lips the moment it does, “Fuck, sorry, this is just weird.”

He seems a bit panicked by the way your voice only turns more tearfilled as you apologize, “Hey, don’t worry about it, seriously—“ There’s a sound like a knock on the other end, and you hear him whisper something like ‘go away’ before he’s continuing, “—sorry I teased you earlier today, I, uh, thought I made you mad so I was calling to make up for it.”

A soft sob leaves you as you laugh with it, “I’m not mad about that, but I did wanna talk about it,” You sniffle, “About Nayeon, I mean.”

“You don’t have to, I was just messing with you.” You can imagine him shaking his head slightly as he speaks, “She didn’t really say much, just asked if we were dating.”

“What’d you say?” You find yourself asking.

He hesitates before answering, “Yeah.”

It sends a weird hot jolt to your stomach and your worried lips turn into a girlish smile that you quickly wipe off your face, “That’s okay, y’know. I’m pretty sure my friends have been telling everyone you’re my boyfriend, so the whole ‘taking it slow’ shit is out the window.”

He chuckles on the other end and it flips your stomach like a fucking pancake, “Great, I’m not that type anyway.”

(There’s a feral voice in the back of your conscience that screeches like it’s a beast gnawing at the walls of its enclosure.)

Your teeth catch your bottom lip and your eyes shut like you’re trying to come back to Earth and not hang up out of pure flustered reflex. You force out a response, “Just means we have to make it more believably genuine.”

“What’s your plan, pretty girl?” 

Oh, you want to bang your head into the steering wheel. “Do you mind coming over? I wanna discuss it in person but I just got home.”

You jaw slackens in shock at your own words, looking into the rear view and mouthing at yourself; Bitch, what the fuck—

“Yeah, sure. What’s the address?” His response is so natural and unperturbed the catastrophizing your brain has done in the last second slips away and you silently scream.

A second later you respond like normal, “I’ll text it to you.”

“Okay, I’m on my way, then.”

When the two of you hang up after a few more words, you realize what you have done and quickly turn off your car, grabbing the food and your purse and hastening into the open garage, struggling with the doorknob and pressing the garage door button before entering. 

Your room isn’t messy, per say, but your duvet is covered in cat fur, and you don’t even know if Riki’s allergic to them or not. “Gus, can you move, please?” You ask your cat as you begin to pull the duvet off your bed but he remains unmoving on the end of your bed.

He blinks at you slowly, and you sigh. 

After taking too much time carefully moving the duvet from under your cat and hurriedly tossing it into the laundry room while grabbing your spare to put on the bed instead, the doorbell rings.

With one(at least three) last look in the mirror to check your appearance, still in the outfit you changed into for lunch with your dad, you open the large iron front door.

“Hi.” You greet softly with a slight smile, and Riki has one himself that almost looks shy.

He bites his bottom lip and says back, “Hi.”

As you let him in, you look down at the door handle, waiting for him to step inside before shutting it behind him.

As his eyes move to assess his surroundings with slow steps, you catch up to him, grabbing his sleeve and pulling his hand from his pocket as you tug him along toward your room with unhurried steps. He lets you, though you hear the chuckle under his breath.

“That’s Gus. I hope you’re not allergic to cats.” is the first thing that leaves your mouth as you pull him into your cleaned room(though you’ll have to un-ass your closet later), and he gasped softly.

The voice that comes out next is higher in pitch and softer as he hesitantly approaches your loafing cat, who sniffs his fingers for a second or two before headbutting them. You witness Riki practically melt as he coos at the feline that happily receives his pets.

“Wanna guess his full name?” You jest, and he hums, looking over at you curiously but not halting his petting of Gus. “Gazpacho.”

Riki looks elated by the information, grinning so prettily you want to use the vintage lotus lamp on your nightstand to beat your head against, and he softly goes back to cooing, “Hi, Gazpacho.”

A giggle laugh leaves your lips that you quickly cover with your mouth and a quick avert of your gaze, eyes landing on the whiteboard against your wall. The fucking whiteboard.

“Oh, fuck.” leaves your lips before you can stop yourself but you’re already moving to grab the object of your doom, “Don’t look, close your eyes.”

Your demands are met with pure boyish defiance, and his eyes follow your movement to your closet door, opening it just enough to toss the whiteboard inside and quickly shutting it. “You saw nothing.”

He slowly pulls away from Gus with a growing suspicious smirk, “I’m scared to ask.”

“It’s just a whiteboard, nothing of consequence written on it, or anything.” You say with a purse of your lips.

“A whiteboard?” He questions with a tilt of his head.

You nod, moving away from your shut closet door and taking the opportunity to change the subject, “My stepdad’s a physicist.”

“Ooh, that’s cool.” He says with a thumbs up, taking the moment to move his eyes around the room as he had been distracted by the cat, “This is a nice house.”

“Thank you,” You respond softly out of instinct, “My mom’s a big lawyer too, so….”

“Ah, right, I think Jake mentioned that once.” He nods, sitting in the bean bag(you’ll have to break the news to Eunchae later).

You hum, sitting on the edge of your bed beside Gus and petting him, “What do your parents do?”

He has a slightly shy grin on his face as he says, “They own a pretty big dance studio.”

“That’s super cool.” You compliment with a tilt of your head, “Do you dance?”

If you could audibly coo at the redness blooming on the tips of his ears as he nods slightly you would, but you settle with a giggle that has him squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment, “I do, yeah.”

“I did ballroom for like, ten years.” 

It’s as if you’ve revealed a hidden treasure, and he asks, “Do you still know how?”

You immediately hold up a defiant hand, “I am not showing you, and it’s been years.”

He whines, hands moving to clasp pleadingly, “Aww, c’mon, I’ll take you to my family’s studio and show you mine.”

This piques your interest and you ask before you can think about it, tone playfully flirty, “Taking me to meet your parent’s so soon?”

He chuckles softly, voice still so low, “Like I said, I don’t like slow.”

It takes a few more minutes of pointless chatter(and many more flirty remarks that make you want to scream into your pillow) before you get to the core of your problems today; Nayeon.

“Okay, wait, so—she and your ex…were together?” He reiterates to better understand, and you nod, and he then asks, “In your house?”

“Why do you think I took the fire-poker to his car?” You shrug, and he has a half-grin on his face.

“I thought that rumor was exaggerated.” He admits, giving you an appreciative once over like he’s impressed, “You’ve got a temper, huh?”

“I’ve never overreacted in my life.” You say with a slight raise of your hands.

He nods with a slight smirk as if he absolutely believes you, “‘Course not.”

“Anyway, she had a major crush on you in freshman year, literally fantasized about your wedding and everything,” You blissfully expose, “And I already had my eyes on you so it all worked out.”

He nods with a hum and slight smirk, “I see, so I’m sweet revenge.”

“The sweetest.” You playfully flirt, and his eyes turn into shy crescents.

“So, who were your other options?” He asks after a few seconds to let the pink on his cheeks fade, and you grin.

“Jealous?” You mimic his tone from earlier in the day and he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, I am.” The admission falls naturally from his lips and your gut flips, “Curious, too.”

“Jungkook didn’t want me to choose you.” You respond with a tight smile.

His eyes widen, “Coach knows?”

“He’s got an idea.” You respond with a slight shrug.

“Did he suggest anyone else?”

“Jungwon,” You answer easily, snickering softly when he groans and throws his head back, “but he’s a tight-ass, he’d never agree.”

Riki snorts, and with a shrug says, “You’re pretty, I think he’d come around.” Your raised brow has him quickly changing the subject with a curious tilt of his head, “You already had your eyes on me, though?”

His question is cheeky and paired with a matching grin that makes you roll your eyes and fight nervous giggles as you say, “I never said that.”

“Really? ’Cause I heard you say it.” He seems much too determined to not let you move on from the subject but your mother loves to compare you to a mule in regards to obstinance.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You shrug innocently.

He leans forward slightly in the beanbag, his elbows resting on his knees, and that grin of his only widens. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“And you’re annoyingly persistent,” you counter, but there’s no real bite behind your words. You stand up, moving toward your desk under the guise of rearranging things that don’t need rearranging, mostly to avoid his knowing gaze.

Riki tilts his head, watching you with amusement. “You know, if you’re trying to throw me off, it’s not working.”

You glance over your shoulder, trying not to crack under the weight of his attention. “Throw you off from what? I’m just tidying.”

“Right. And I’m just here for the cat.”

“Good. Gus loves the attention,” you quip, folding your arms over your chest as you turn back to him.

“But I’m not done yet,” he says with mock seriousness, shifting in the beanbag like he’s settling in for the long haul. “What’s so bad about admitting you’ve been into me? I mean, look at me.” He gestures to himself in a way that’s more playful than cocky, but you still roll your eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck.

“Wow, humble too,” you shoot back, but the warmth in your cheeks betrays you.

“Hey, just stating facts. Can’t help it if you have great taste.” He pauses, letting the silence stretch just enough to make you squirm. “Besides,” he adds, his voice dipping lower, “you’re kind of making it obvious now.”

Your hands find your hips in defiance. “How, exactly?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he muses, standing up slowly, his movements deliberate as he closes the distance between you. “The way you got all flustered when I asked if you still know how to dance. Or how you won’t look me in the eye right now.”

You refuse to back down, lifting your chin as you meet his gaze. “I’m not flustered. And I’m looking at you right now, aren’t I?”

He smirks, leaning just a little closer, his tone teasing. “Sure you are. But you’re still not answering my question.”

You blink innocently up at him through your lashes and you swear you see his eyes dart below your nose. “What question?”

Riki lets out a soft laugh, a mix of exasperation and amusement, as he shakes his head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.” You shrug, trying to look nonchalant, but the proximity is starting to get to you.

He watches you for a moment, his smirk turning into something softer, though no less mischievous. “Alright, fine. I’ll let it go. For now.”

“Oh, how gracious of you.” Your sarcasm earns you a grin as he steps back and flops dramatically into the beanbag again, sprawling like he owns the place.

“Gotta keep you on your toes, don’t I?”

“More like get on my nerves,” you mutter, though the twitch of your lips gives you away.

“Same thing.” He winks, and you hate how charming he looks doing it.

The smirk he gives you as he leans back has your stomach doing somersaults, but you refuse to let him see you sweat. Instead, you turn your attention to Gus, pretending to be more interested in your cat than in the boy currently making himself at home in your life—and your head.

As Riki lounges back in the beanbag, his eyes drift lazily around the room again, lingering on the neatly arranged desk and the wall beyond. “You’ve got a pretty organized vibe for someone who just tossed a whiteboard into a closet like it was a bomb.”

You freeze mid-pet, your hand hovering above Gus’s head. “You’re still on about that?”

“I mean, it’s a whiteboard. What kind of secrets could it possibly hold?” His tone is teasing, but the glint in his eyes says he’s not letting it drop.

You debate lying, but the little smirk playing on his lips tells you he won’t believe you anyway. “Nothing important. Just… research.”

“Research.” He repeats with an arched brow, “Like, ‘solving world hunger’ research or me research?“

You groan, dragging your hands down your face. “I hate you.”

“Now I really have to see it.” He starts to rise, and you spring to your feet, blocking his path to the closet.

“Riki, no.”

“Riki, yes.” He steps closer, towering over you slightly, his grin widening as you try to stand your ground.

“Don’t make me sic Gus on you,” you warn, pointing toward the loafing cat.

“Gus and I are best friends now. He’d never betray me.” Riki gestures toward the cat, who yawns dramatically like he’s staying out of it.

“Traitor,” you mutter at Gus, which earns you a laugh from Riki.

“C’mon,” he cajoles, his voice dropping into that infuriatingly soft tone that makes your heart do weird flips. “What’s the worst that could happen if I see it?”

Your resolve wavers, but the idea of him actually reading the whiteboard is too mortifying, “I’ll have to kill you.”

His grin only widens at your threat, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “Wow, straight to murder, huh? Didn’t realize you were so passionate about…whatever’s on that board.”

“You have no idea,” you mutter, crossing your arms in an attempt to look intimidating. It doesn’t work. Riki’s grin turns smug, like he knows he has the upper hand.

“Now I really need to know.” He leans closer, and the proximity sends your heart into overdrive. You can practically feel the heat radiating from him as he tilts his head, his voice dipping into a teasing drawl. “What if it’s, like, a shrine to me or something?”

The gasp you let out is equal parts offense and panic. “You think way too highly of yourself.”

“I don’t know,” he teases, tapping his chin as though deep in thought. “I’ve heard people do wild things when they’ve got a crush.”

“Bold of you to assume—”

“You’re avoiding the question again.” He cuts you off, smirking as he steps back just enough to lean casually against the end of your bedframe, his arms crossed. “What’s on the whiteboard, really?”

You hesitate, the words sticking in your throat. There’s no way you’re admitting to the utterly ridiculous pros and cons list your friends talked you into. Not yet, anyway.

“It’s… study stuff,” you finally say, your tone lacking conviction. “School projects, maybe some physics equations. Boring things you wouldn’t care about.”

“Physics equations?” he repeats, clearly unconvinced. “Yeah, because I look like the kind of guy who’d buy that excuse.”

“Hey, I’m trying here,” you snap, which only makes him chuckle again.

“I can tell. You’re terrible at it.” His grin softens slightly, the teasing replaced with something that feels a little too close to genuine. “Relax, I’m just messing with you. You don’t have to tell me.”

You blink at him, surprised by his sudden shift in tone but immediately suspicious of it. “Really?”

“Sure.” He shrugs, though there’s still a playful glint in his eyes. “But now I have leverage. You’ll owe me later.”

“Owe you for what?” you demand, but the smug look on his face says you won’t get an answer you like.

“For letting you off the hook, obviously.” He straightens and gives you a wink before heading back to the beanbag like he didn’t just upend your entire equilibrium. “Don’t worry—I’ll think of something good.”

You stare at him, your jaw slightly agape, as he makes himself comfortable again. Gus hops onto his lap, clearly picking sides, and Riki’s attention shifts back to your cat like nothing happened.

“You’re infuriating,” you mutter, though you can’t quite keep the fondness out of your voice.

He glances up, his smirk softening into a smile that’s entirely too charming. “And you love it.”

You hate that you do.

The week passes by with a dreadful speed, and after four whole days of anxiety-induced stomach aches, migraines, and a few breakdowns in the dark privacy of your room at midnight, it is the weekend. 

It is the weekend, and Belle, Hiyyih, and Eunchae bear witness to a minor crash-out.

“I’m gonna puke.” You mumble, sitting on the ottoman at the center of your walk-in closet with your face in your hands as the older two walk around you, going through your options for an outfit.

“Keep that shit in bitch,” Belle says without looking away from the clothes hanging in your closet, pointing a finger blindly at you in warning, “You puke, I puke.”

Eunchae moves towards your hunched form from her spot on your bean bag(which she moved into your closet to sit on), snickering softly as she sits beside you and brings her hand to rub circles on your back. “There, there.”

A part of you wants to snap at her that she isn’t funny, but the act is weirdly comforting so you let her continue. Bahiyyih speaks from where she is in front of your shoe shelf, “Why do you have so many shoes?”

“My mom gets sent them monthly by some guy she was a lawyer for a while ago,” You exhale as you drop your hands into your lap, eyes still closed as you contemplate opening them ever again, “She hates wearing pumps now so she gives them to me or regifts them.”

“What if you wear these?” Hiyyih holds up a pair of Louboutins, and you open your eyes to see before looking at her like she’s crazy.

“Not only is it bowling and I’m gonna have to change shoes anyway, but I’m not wearing a So Kate for something that isn’t even a date, Hiyyih.”

She pouts her bottom lip as she puts them down, and Belle pulls a top from the collection of them hanging in your closet and holds it up in question towards you. After a few seconds of staring at the article of clothing, debating if you remember looking cute in it or not, you nod and she tosses it into the ‘maybe’ pile. 

Two seconds later, you’re hunching over and blindly grabbing a pillow near you to scream into.

Eunchae pats your back again, her snickering turning into full-blown laughter. “Feel better now, drama queen?”

You lift your head just enough to glare at her over the pillow. “No.”

“Good,” Belle says, tossing another shirt into the ‘definitely not’ pile without even showing it to you. “Because if you puke or scream again, I’m calling your mom and telling her you’re being insufferable. She might take those Louboutins back.”

“That’s not funny,” you mumble into the pillow.

“It’s a little funny,” Hiyyih chimes in, holding up a sequined crop top like it’s the Holy Grail. “Okay, but seriously, what about this? It says ‘I’m fun,’ but not, like, too fun.”

Eunchae tilts her head at it. “It also says ‘I moonlight as a disco ball.’”

You groan, sitting up straight and snatching the crop top out of Hiyyih’s hands. “Why is this so hard? It’s bowling! I should just wear sweatpants and call it a day.”

Belle spins around with the precision of a K-drama villain. “Don’t you dare. Do you want to show up looking like his cousin who just rolled out of bed, or like the mysterious, unattainable enigma that you are?”

“Unattainable?” you ask with a hesitant furrow of you brows.

“Yeah, unattainable, as in: unattainable by anyone else but him,” Belle clarifies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re playing the long game, babe.”

“You say that like this is some kind of psychological warfare,” you deadpan.

Belle shrugs. “It kind of is.”

Eunchae raises a hand like she’s in class. “But what if he’s bad at bowling? Like, gutter ball after gutter ball bad? Do you let him win or destroy him?”

You pause, genuinely considering it. “Destroy him, obviously.”

“Bold choice.” Hiyyih nods approvingly, tossing a pleated skirt into the maybe pile. “What if you’re bad, though?”

You gasp. “That’s not even an option.”

Belle smirks. “So confident for someone who hasn’t touched a bowling ball since middle school.”

“You’re supposed to be helping me, not roasting me!” You grab the nearest pillow and launch it at her. She dodges with ease, laughing as it smacks into the closet door behind her.

“Roasting you is my way of helping you,” Belle retorts, unfazed. “It’s called multitasking.”

Eunchae picks up the discarded pillow and hands it back to you, patting your head like you’re a distressed pet. “There, there. At least you’ll look cute while you embarrass yourself.”

“Why are all of you like this?” You drop your head back into your hands, half tempted to cancel the whole thing.

“Because we love you,” Belle sing-songs, pulling out a denim jacket that you forgot you even owned. “Now shut up and try this on. We’re on a schedule, ho.”

You sigh, begrudgingly taking the jacket as the three of them continue their chaotic brainstorming session around you. It’s not helpful in the slightest, but somehow, it makes you feel a little less like throwing up again.

By some miracle—or maybe just the collective force of Belle’s bullying, Eunchae’s comfort, and Hiyyih’s endless suggestions—you finally land on an outfit. The moment you pull the halter top over your head, the three of them fall silent, which is either a very good sign or a very bad one.

“Okay, that’s cute,” Belle finally declares, hands on her hips like she personally designed the top. “It’s giving effortless, but still hot enough to make him sweat.”

“It’s super cute on you,” Hiyyih chimes in, tilting her head as she appraises the outfit.

“It is,” Eunchae adds, grinning as she slides off the bean bag to circle you.

The cropped halter top clings just right, the rich color complementing your skin tone and making you feel…hot. Paired with the baggy jeans that sit low on your hips, the whole look is casual, but not too casual. You glance at the mirror, adjusting the jeans slightly and eyeing the way they pool at the hems over your socked feet.

“Am I pulling this off?” you ask hesitantly, smoothing the fabric of the top.

Belle snorts. “If he’s not staring, I’ll be personally offended on your behalf.”

Eunchae pretends to swoon dramatically, throwing herself back onto the bean bag. “The mysterious unattainable enigma strikes again.”

“Okay, but shoes,” Hiyyih cuts in, crouching by the pile of options at your feet. “You’re wearing sneakers, obviously, but which ones? The Nikes or the New Balances?”

You glance down, debating for a moment before pointing to the Nikes. “They’re cleaner.”

Belle raises an eyebrow. “Barely. When was the last time you cleaned your shoes?”

You glare at her, picking up a sneaker and threatening to launch it her way. She holds up her hands in mock surrender, moving to pull a jacket from the rack as she says, “Make sure you bring a jacket, though. It’s cold as shit.”

“Or she can not bring one and Riki can lend her his.” Eunchae suggests with a cheeky grin.

Belle promptly tosses the jacket into the back of your closet.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. The nerves are still there, bubbling under the surface, but with your friends around—and an outfit that actually makes you feel cute—you start to think that maybe, just maybe, tonight won’t be a complete disaster.

riki 🙈: im here

“We’re seeing you off,” Belle declares, handing you the Prada bag she just stuffed your lip combo into. Hiyyih trails behind her, spritzing your neck and wrists with your favorite perfume.

The dread must be plastered all over your face because Eunchae immediately starts snickering from where she’s leaning against the doorframe. “We just wanna see his reaction.”

“To me or to you guys making kissy faces at him from the porch?” you deadpan.

The chorus of giggles that erupts from your three friends is all the answer you need.

“Oh, come on,” Belle says, looping her arm through yours as she drags you toward the front door. “We’ll behave.”

“You behaving is a scientific impossibility,” you mutter, trying to resist, but she’s got the strength of someone fully committed to the bit.

“Hold on,” Eunchae pulls something out of her hoodie pocket she must’ve forgotten was there until just now, uncapping the small bottle and holding it in front of your lips, “Open.”

You obey with a slight furrow of your brows, and she sprays it into your mouth, giggling when you flinch slightly in surprise and grimace at the strong mint taste. Eunchae grins, unzipping the bag on your shoulder just enough to slip it in before closing it, “To prevent food breath.”

The moment Belle opens the front door, your breath catches at the sight of Riki leaning casually against the passenger side of his Wrangler, hands tucked into his pockets. The golden light of the setting sun highlights the faint smirk on his face, his jewelry glinting as he shifts.

"Lord have mercy," you mutter under your breath.

You didn't expect him to show up in sweatpants and a hoodie, but you weren't prepared for this either. The necklaces layering his collarbones and the glint of piercings--does he have an eyebrow piercing?—are almost too much. You quickly shove down the spiral threatening to start and glance back at the three traitorous girls behind you.

Their kissy faces drop immediately, though Eunchae barely suppresses her laughter. 

With a playful shove to Hiyyih—who stumbles into the porch pillar but resumes her antics without missing a beat—you flip them all a perfectly manicured middle finger and step off the porch.

As you walk toward him, you swear the faintest blush tinges his ears. He waves briefly at your friends before straightening and meeting your gaze.

"You look good," he says, voice low and easy.

"I know." Your response is swift and confident, though the smile on your face is warmer than intended.

The moment is interrupted when the backseat window of his car rolls down, and Jake's grinning face is revealed. Your smile drops.

"Why is Jake in your car?" you deadpan, your smile dropping.

Riki groans, dragging a hand over his face. "Dude, I told you not to be weird."

Jake looks offended. "I didn't even say anything!"

"Seeing your face is enough," you reply flatly. Jake pouts dramatically while you shoot Riki an accusatory glare. "You could've warned me."

"If I did, you would've come out frowning," Riki whines playfully. "You have such a pretty smile."

From the backseat, Jake's obnoxious "ooooh" echoes, accompanied by giggles that make Riki's blush spread down his neck. Still, he keeps his composure enough to open the passenger door for you.

"What a gentleman~," Belle teases loudly from the porch.

Eunchae waves at you, practically bouncing with glee. You shoot Belle a glare, mouthing "kill yourself" as you accept Riki's hand and climb into his lifted car.

"Bye, Manchae," you call, snapping your attention away from him as he closes the door. You're too aware of his cologne and the lingering warmth of his hand. He looks way too good.

Riki salutes your friends playfully before circling to his door. Through Jake's open window, you hear Hiyyih shout, "She likes Dr Pepper!”

"And winning!" Eunchae adds.

"And tongue," Belle finishes just before the window rolls up.

You cringe. Riki's amused laugh is confirmation he definitely heard that. "I hate her so much," you mutter, pulling the sun visor down to touch up your lip gloss to dostract yourself.

You're halfway through the motion when you notice Riki hasn't started driving yet. Turning, you catch him just as he’s looking back at the road, his hand on the gear shift. (There’s something attractive about the fact he drives stick.)

Jake's giggle breaks the silence. "Oh, shut up, Jake," you snap, not necessarily to defend Riki—though it only makes Jake laugh harder. “Why couldn't your other friends bring him?" you grumble, swiping the gloss over your bottom lip.

"He's my neighbor," Jake says cheekily.

"I would've made him walk," you reply, clicking the gloss shut and shoving it back into your bag. "Or Uber."

"That's just cruel," Jake protests, but you shrug.

"Sucks."

Riki snickers and nods. "Okay, he'll Uber next time."

Jake looks appalled. "Bro."

"You're annoying me too," Riki replies, barely glancing back as he rests his hand lazily on the gear shift.

You pointedly ignore the way his rolled-up sleeves expose a line of muscle up his forearm, a vein standing out as he moves to grab his phone charger. "Play your music," he says, holding the cord out to you.

Jake gapes. "Bro, you never let us play our music."

"That's because you guys have shit taste," Riki says without hesitation.

Your lips twitch, a sliver of pride blooming in your chest.

You connect your phone, Sabrina Carpenter's Taste filtering through the speakers. Jake perks up. "Oh, I actually like this song."

"You better," you reply, humming along as the music plays.

Riki bobs his head lightly to the beat, his usual laid-back energy soothing you as the drive continues.

"Who else is bowling with us?" you ask, turning the music down slightly.

"Jay, his girlfriend, and Heeseung," Riki answers casually.

You hum in understanding and turn the volume back up, inhaling the soft musk of his cologne mingling with your perfume. The scent is annoyingly pleasant, calming in its own way.

By the time he pulls into the parking lot and finds a good spot, the sky has dimmed to a deep navy. Riki is out of his seat in a flash, jogging around to open your door before Jake even unbuckles himself. His hand lingers on yours as he helps you down, his fingers interlocking with yours naturally.

Jake trails behind you two as Riki leads you toward the neon-lit entrance, the muffled sounds of bowling balls and laughter drifting through the glass doors. 

Jay, a pretty girl you are pretty sure was in your art class in freshman year, and Heeseung are standing near the entrance, and you wish you could hide behind Riki from their gazes that immediately find your intertwined hands.

You send a smile to the only other girl reflexively, and she sends the prettiest one back. She grins excitedly as the three of them meet your trio halfway once you enter the door that Riki holds open for you to enter first. 

(You wonder if these are manners his sisters and mother taught him or a previous girlfriend—wait, no you don’t.)

“I told you it was her!” She smacks Jay’s arm, and he winces with a soft laugh, clearly used to his girlfriend’s antics. Her approach is welcomed as she explains, “He was saying Riki was lying.” 

“About?” You question curiously, an easy smile on your glossy lips.

She giggles as she answers, “You being his girlfriend.”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Riki says lowly, clearly embarrassed by the subject as you snicker at his misfortune.

“I’m Gaeul, by the way.” The girl states with a giggle as she pulls you from Riki with her elbow hooked with yours, and you barely glance back at your ‘boyfriend’, who’s being patted on the shoulder by Jay. “They’ll handle paying for everything, let’s get some snacks.”

“Oh, okay.” You say softly before smiling with her, delighted that she brought up food before you had to ask Riki about it. You aren’t ashamed of eating, or shy about doing so in front of him, but having another girl who also seems to prioritize food was immensely comforting to the anxiety in your gut. 

She grins as the two of you step into line at the concession counter, “I’m also glad I got you away from the boys for a second, they’re so…”

“Boyish?” You finish, and she laughs softly.

“Yeah.”

“Girl to girl,” You start, moving up in line with her, “I don’t think I’m gonna be good at bowling.” 

She gasps joyfully, “I suck!”

You laugh at her clear excitement that she’s finally not alone in that aspect, “But that means the boys are better than us.”

She rolls her eyes at the mention of them, “Riki and Heeseung are the really good bowlers,” There’s one more person between you two and the counter now, “I love my boyfriend, but he and Jake suck compared to those two.”

“I don’t want to lose to Jake.” You sigh, “It just doesn't seem ethical.”

“Riki’ll handle him.” She snickers softly, “You should've seen him at practice when Jake and Hoon messed with you.”

Your interest is piqued, but the person in front of you finishes paying for their food and you are forced to put your questions aside as she begins ordering and you realize you don’t even know what you want. 

You’re skimming over the menu above when your phone dings in your purse.

riki 🙈: what size shoe do u wear?

Quickly typing an answer, you glance between your phone and the menu, and Gaeul turns to you, waiting for you to add to the already sizable order with how much the four athletes can eat. “Oh, I can pay for myself—“

“Riki already venmoed me enough to spot you,” She interjects with a soft giggle, and you feel your cheeks burn.

“Oh,” You let out before shaking your head and looking at the waiting cashier, “A large drink and a basket of cheese fries, please.”

Gaeul hands you the stack of cups she’s handed, and you startle slightly when a hand and arm appear in your vision, plucking the cups from your hand. When you look over your shoulder you find a smirking Riki, “I got this. Go sit.” 

You huff softly, fighting your smile that threatens to grow even wider, “I can fill up my own drink.”

“I know, but I wanna do it.” He states with a nod like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and you can’t do much more than glare weakly. He only chuckles softly as Gaeul finishes paying and realizes he’s with you, “Go. Dr Pepper, right?.”

You look away from his cheeky smirk with a shift of your jaw, and you lose the fight against the grin now on your face, “I hate you.”

He only huffs softly in amusement as you walk away with your arms crossed, making your way to where you spot Heeseung’s orange hair. There’s a pair of green bowling shoes beside another bigger pair that are red placed on the bench seating, and Jake has a grin on his face the moment you sit down to put them on.

“I am not above hitting you in the head with a bowling ball, Jake.” You say as you pull the white sneakers off your feet to put on the bowling shoes, not even soaring the Australian boy a glance as his mouth shuts, clearly rethinking speaking.

Heeseung snorts, “Shit, you are violent.”

You look up from your bowling shoes at the Lacrosse captain, who’s grin drops and he quickly looks away, acting like he wasn’t just laughing. Jay shakes his head with a laugh, “Thank you, for shutting them up.”

You give him a smile with a scrunch of your nose, “My pleasure.”

The moment Riki and Gaeul return, you’ve barely gotten your shoes tied. You’re still shooting looks at Jake, who’s pretending to look anywhere but at you while Jay wheezes softly into his hand. Riki raises a brow, setting a tray of drinks and snacks on the table. “What happened now?”

“She threatened Jake’s life with a bowling ball,” Heeseung informs him with amusement still clear on his face.

Riki pauses mid-sip of his drink, glancing at you with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “Already? We haven’t even started the game yet.”

You shrug innocently, tugging the laces on your bowling shoes tighter. “He looked like he deserved it.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” Jake argues with a whine, and you roll your eyes.

“You had that stupid look on your face.”

“Not defending him, but that’s just what Jake looks like.” Jay interjects with a finger raised to make a point, and Gaeul smacks his hand lightly with a disapproving shake of her head despite her snickering.

Riki sits beside you, handing you a large cup full of what you assume is Dr Pepper that you immediately taste to prove your theory, humming happily and smiling as you thank him. His smile mirrors yours as he begins to put on his own bowling shoes, and you grab your purse, which you had initially placed to your left, from between the two of you to place it elsewhere.

“Here,” He says softly, grabbing your purse from you to put on his other side with his jacket, which he had shed at some point between entering the building and sitting down, and you mutter a soft ‘oh, thank you’ that has his soft smirk widening just a bit before he focuses back on tying his shoes.

You’re somewhat thankful that they seemed to have agreed on teams instead of each of you having your own scoreboard, though seeing every ‘x’ between your ‘5’ points was embarrassing enough. 

Gaeul seems wholly entertained by the gutter ball she just achieved as you cheer for her from your seat between Riki and Heeseung, too distracted by the fun of the game to see the goosebumps on your arms. You’re leaning forward to pluck a fry from the basket of them on the table when you feel a warm something draped over your shoulders. 

Riki is standing for his turn before you can even react, but across the table Gaeul turns to hide her face in Jay’s shoulder to poorly muffle the high pitched squeal she lets out. You ignore the heat rising up your neck, catching the fry between your teeth to slip your arms into the jacket sleeves.

Jay and Gaeul seem to be the only team playing purely for fun, because Jake and Heeseung are neck and neck with you and Riki on the scoreboard and your ‘boyfriend’ looks less than pleased about it. 

It’s near the last round when Jake scores a miraculous nine points that you mentally prepare to accept defeat, looking up at Riki who had just gotten back with your refilled cup, “Horrible news.”

He raises his brows, looking at the scoreboard and cursing under his breath. It’s your final turn, and while you hadn’t completely embarrassed yourself with your subpar bowling skills you probably weren’t good enough or lucky enough to score anything higher than six points. At the moment, HeeJake is in first place.

Gaeul is cheering you on with her back against Jay’s chest, and Riki leans down, resting a hand on the edge of the table beside you, his face just close enough to make your heart race. “No pressure,” he says softly, smirking. “But if you lose, we’re never hearing the end of it.”

You roll your eyes, trying to act unimpressed. “Great pep talk. Truly inspiring.”

He snickers softly, straightening back up as you stand with dread clear on your pretty face. Heeseung pipes up, “Give her a good luck kiss, Romeo.” The glare you shoot the Lacrosse captain only makes him snicker with his hands held up in mock-surrender, “Was just a suggestion.”

The feigned smile you give him has your fake boyfriend plucking your drink from your hands (how did he knew you had an urge to throw it at Heeseung’s face, you’ll never know), and his hands move to your shoulders to walk with you to edge of the lane to grab a pink 7lb bowling ball.

Riki’s grip on your shoulders lingers, and he leans down slightly to murmur near your ear, “Just—aim in the middle.”

You glance at him over your shoulder with a withering look, choosing to ignore his proximity, “Like that isn’t what I’ve been doing.”

“Could've fooled me—ow! Okay, okay,” He’s still laughing despite rubbing his chest where your punch landed, much too cheeky for your liking but his smile is too…something for you to want to wipe it off his face, “You’re better than Jake.”

You shoot him a skeptical look, but it’s hard to ignore the encouragement in his eyes. Taking a deep breath, you grip the heavy pink ball tightly, positioning it at your waist. Riki steps back, hands on his hips, his smirk still in place.

“Alright, show us what you’ve got, baby.”

“Oh, shut up.” You grumble softly, shooing him away to get his heart-fluttering grin out of your face, and as you pull his oversized sleeves up your arm to keep it from getting in the way you give yourself a mental pep talk.

Don’t lose, bitch.

It doesn’t help that your nails make putting your fingers in the three designated holes a struggle, and the moment the ball is released into the lane, veering left toward the gutter before God herself takes control and it curves back toward the center and slams into the center pin, you cover your face.

Strike!

Gaeul practically shrieks in excitement as the pins scatter, “Yes, girl!”

You blink, lashes fluttering as you process the cheering as well as groans from Jake, and you gasp, “Holy shit!”

Riki’s joyous laughter is infectious and warm, and you let out a soft shriek that fades into giggles as his arms wrap around your waist and he lifts you off your feet in a hug, “Hell yeah, baby!” 

The moment your feet are back on the ground, Gaeul is before you with her hands up for high fives, practically bouncing in excitement for you. It’s practically second nature to you as you match her energy, too high on your miraculous win to notice Riki’s hands lingering on your waist.

Another thing you fail to notice in your moment of joy is a familiar couple just a few lanes over, one party too distracted by the ruckus to pay any attention to the game her boyfriend and his friends dragged her to join.

She watches you smile and laugh as Riki helps you out of your bowling shoes, and her eyes follow you as you walk toward the restrooms with the light blue Prada bag she had always wished you would give her. It isn‘t fair.

You sigh softly as you place your bag on the sink in front of you, unzipping it to grab your lip combo to touch up in the mirror before going back out. As you uncap your lipliner with a muffled click, you hear the bathroom door open but don’t think much of it at the moment.

It isn’t until you look into the mirror, leaning forward slightly to see your lips better, that you see who it is.

“Can I help you?” You ask her reflection with a tilt of your head, tone less confrontational than it should be, but you’re trying to keep your good mood and Nayeon’s face is threatening to ruin it.

She scoffs softly, yet keeps a safe distance, “Do you even like him?”

You look away from the mirror to really look at her, ignoring the satisfaction that her slight flinch brings you, “Excuse me?”

“You moved on fast.” Nayeon states, and you scoff with a smile of both fury and amusement at her audacity, “Is it even real, or did you use daddy’s money to get him to date you?”

The tilt of your head should have been a sign for her to shut her mouth, but she continues when you don’t respond like usual, “But I guess moving from one guy to another is just like you.”

She’s just trying to rile you up, it’s obvious. 

You shake your head with a soft and bitter laugh, looking back at the mirror to continue what you had intended to do, the lip pencil gliding over the edges of your lips and the pad of your ring finger blending the harsh edges. 

Her jaw shifts in the reflection as you cap your lip-liner and exchange it for your lip gloss, and you send her a condescending smile, “You done?”

“You bitch—“ Her words are cut off by another person entering the bathroom, and as you swipe the gloss over your lips, you pause when you see it’s Gaeul.

She glances at Nayeon, but her main focus is on you as she says, “Ready to go?”

You hide your confusion at her question with a pretty smile, closing your gloss and stuffing it back into your bag before you walk to her, shoulder checking the audacious bitch on your way out, “Yep.” 

Gaeul’s arm hooks at your elbow as you both exit the bathroom, and you sigh in relief at being out of that situation before you remember your prior confusion and she explains without you needing to ask, “Your ex is at our table antagonizing Riki, I figured if he’s here she would be too.” 

Your brows furrow and you quickly pick up the pace of your stride with fury souring your mood once again. When you turn the corner, your gaze zeroes in on Riki, who’s leaning back in his seat seemingly unbothered by whatever it is that Eunseok is saying to him, and Nayeon hastens past you to join her boyfriend’s side.

Eunseok’s eyes land on you the moment his girlfriend puts herself on his arm, and they follow you as you approach Riki without even a glance his way until he speaks, “You move on fast.” He snorts, soft and bitter, “Didn’t expect you to open your legs so fast considering how long it took you to put out.”

You ignore him, though the anger in your gut is boiling hot as your gaze moves to Riki, who you find is already standing now, his jaw shifting yet no other sign in his body language that he’s as pissed as his narrowed eyes say he is. Jay, Heeseung, and Jake all watch, though from their body language you can tell they’re not exactly about to stand by if your ‘boyfriend’ decides to throw a well-deserved punch.

His gaze moves to yours the moment your hand finds his, softening as your fingers intertwine with his and you mutter, “Let’s go.”

He nods wordlessly, his willingness only pissing Eunseok off more as he laughs mockingly, and you feel Riki’s hand tighten around yours, “Already got him trained, huh? He like how mean you are?” 

“I do, yeah.” Riki responds for you with a smug smirk, “She’s got a hell of a bite.”

The second meaning to his words isn’t lost on you, and you find the way Eunseok bristles at the comment amusing enough to not get mad at Riki for it later considering the two of you obviously hadn't done more than hold hands. (You hear Jake choke on his drink, too.)

“Bro, it’s your turn!” Calls a familiar male across the bowling alley, Sohee. 

You take the moment of brief distraction to shoot a pointed look at Jake, who gets up from his seat to play peacemaker with Heeseung.

Jay seems to motion for Riki to leave while they’re distracted by the two, and you shoot Gaeul an apologetic glance that she receives with a shake of her head and a look that reads ‘don’t be sorry’ as Riki leads you out of the building.

The moment the frigid air hits you, you tug the sleeves of his jacket down your arms again and shiver slightly. “He’s such a dick.” You sigh softly, “I’m sorry.”

Riki shakes his head as the two of you stop just a few paces outside the entrance, “Don’t apologize.” His hands move to rub at your arms to help you warm up, and the sight of both of your breaths visible in the cold has you moving to take his jacket off to give to him, but his hands cover yours the moment they start pulling at the open zipper. “I’m okay.”

“Riki, it’s cold as shit.”

“All the more reason for you to keep the jacket.” He argues back with a soft smirk, “Really, I practice in the cold every day.” 

“You’re active, then. Not standing around,” You fuss, and he tilts his head slightly in acknowledgement before a cheeky smirk grows on his face.

“‘You worried about me, pretty girl?”

“Oh, stop it.” You groan with a poorly concealed warm laugh, and he catches your hands as you weakly swat at his chest, pulling you closer. “Riki.”

Your soft mutter of his name has his eyes shutting and his head falling back with a soft groan escaping his lips, “You’re so mean, baby.”

“It isn’t fair to you.” He doesn’t seem pleased by your statement, shaking his head and leaning forward to press his forehead to yours.

“Just a kiss.” He pleas softly, his nose brushing yours and you inhale sharply, “Just one.”

His words flip your stomach inside out, and as you sigh his name again he leans in.

“Oh shit!” The sudden exclamation has you and Riki both startling away from each other, Jake grinning like a maniac at the doors with Heeseung, Jay, and Gaeul behind him. “Fuck, did I just ruin a moment?”

You groan, turning away from them to begin walking to Riki’s Jeep, arms crossed to protect yourself from the cold and your mind in utter shambles because—

What the fuck?

Jake gets a ride from Heeseung home according to Riki, who had unlocked his car for you to get in while he said goodbye to the others. A part of you regrets not saying goodbye to Gaeul, but the thought of spending another second under their gaze at that moment felt suffocating.

The silence in the car is loud. Not awkward loud, but loud enough that every glance out the window and every shift in your seat feels amplified. Riki’s hands stay firmly on the wheel, his fingers drumming against the edge of the leather cover as he fiddles with the turn signal.

“So,” he starts, his voice casual but slightly strained, “you’ve got a mean bowling game for someone who swore they’d lose.”

You glance at him, catching the way the passing streetlights make his jawline look sharper. “That’s because I hustle. Low expectations are a great strategy.”

He huffs a small laugh, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Guess I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

You lean back against the seat, trying to ignore the fact that your heart still hasn’t settled since that moment at the alley—the one where his face was too close, his breath too warm, and you almost forgot this whole thing was fake.

“So… next time?” you tease, arching a brow. “How much more mortifying teasing can you handle?”

“Depends,” he says, keeping his eyes on the road. “How long does it take to make your ex think he lost the best thing that ever happened to him?”

Your laugh comes out before you can stop it. “It’ll probably never happen, I just like to see him squirm.” The weight of his words sits in the air between you, heavier than it should be. You turn to look out the window, feigning interest in the row of darkened houses you pass by. 

“You know,” he says after a beat, his voice quieter now, “I don’t think they’re worth this much effort. Your ex and… her.”

You blink, surprised at his shift in tone. “Well, thanks for that motivational speech, Riki. Really helps my self-esteem.”

He shakes his head, glancing at you briefly. “That’s not what I meant. I just mean… if they couldn’t see how good they had it with you, that’s on them. You don’t need to prove anything.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. You open your mouth to reply, but the words don’t come. Instead, you study him in the dim light, wondering—not for the first time—why he agreed to this in the first place.

“Why are you doing this, Riki?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitates, his fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel. “I told you, I need you to help me pass Chem.”

You narrow your eyes, not convinced but also not ready to push. “You haven’t even asked for help past me giving you my old notes.”

He smirks again, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “They’re just that helpful. Don’t overthink it.”

And maybe you don’t, because overthinking means dissecting the way he’s looking at you now in the faint glow of the dashboard, like he knows something you don’t.

The car slows to a stop in front of your house and you fiddle with the hem of your halter top, trying to figure out how to say what’s been sitting heavy in your chest since the bowling alley. “Riki,” you start, your voice softer than usual.

He hums in acknowledgment, already looking at you.

You take a steadying breath. “I don’t think… I’m ready for a real relationship.”

That gets his attention. His hands shift in his lap, his expression unreadable. “Okay,” he says after a beat, his tone cautious. “Where’s this coming from?”

You shift in your seat, suddenly finding the dashboard very interesting. “It’s just… you’ve been really good to me this past week, and I feel like it’s not fair to you. I mean, you’ve made it pretty clear how you feel, and I don’t want to lead you on or—”

“Hey.” His voice is calm, steady, and it makes you pause. “You’re not leading me on. I knew what I was getting into.”

“Yeah, but…” You trail off, frustration bubbling up because the words in your head won’t come out the way you want them to. “It’s not just about you. It’s about me, too. I don’t think I’m ready to deal with… all of this. Not after everything with him. It’s too much.”

He doesn’t say anything right away, which somehow makes it worse. The silence stretches, and you’re about to apologize—again—when he finally speaks.

“So, what do you want to do?”

“I think we should stop,” you say, hating how small your voice sounds. “The fake dating, I mean.”

He nods, almost imperceptibly. “If that’s what you want.”

“It’s not—” You stop yourself, biting your lip as your eyes burn. “I just… I don’t want to hurt you. You deserve someone who’s all in, and I can’t be that right now.”

His lips twitch into a faint, almost sad smile. “You’re thinking too much about me again.”

You frown, confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs lightly, his eyes moving away from you briefly before they settle back on yours. “It means you’re allowed to put yourself first, you know. I’m a big boy; I’ll survive.”

“But—”

“No buts.” He cuts you off gently, an easy smile still on his face. “If this is what you need, we’ll stop. No hard feelings.”

The simplicity of his response hits harder than you expected. It’s so Riki—quietly selfless, always willing to go along with what makes you happy.

You hate how much you suddenly want to reach across the console and kiss the life out of him. But you don’t. Instead, you swallow the lump in your throat and force a smile.

“Thanks, Riki.”

His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Anytime.”

You watch him exit his car, circle around the front, and open your door for you while holding a chivalrous hand out just like before. A part of your heart aches with the knowledge he’s still doing this despite not technically having to, and you smile softly as you accept his help. His hand doesn’t linger in yours as it did before, though.

The walk to your front door is silent, and he halts just before the step onto your porch, his hands in his pockets, you pause before approaching your door, turning to him. With the few inches that the porch gives you, meeting his gaze is easier. “Tonight was really fun, ignoring the end of it,”

He chuckles softly, “Glad you had fun, pretty girl.” 

If he didn’t mean to let the name slip he doesn’t show any signs of panic or regret, only meeting your nearly-level gaze with warmth.

There’s a moment before you turn your body only slightly towards the front door, “Goodnight.”

His hand catches your elbow gently as you begin to turn away from him, pulling you back yet giving you time to pull away if you so desire, and you don’t.

His lips meet yours in a kiss that’s softer than you imagined it’d be. His hand moves to your cheek yet pauses just before his skin touches yours, lips sweet and slow against yours. 

It’s over before you can kiss back like you want to, his lips parting from yours with a soft smack that makes your stomach flip. 

“Goodnight.” He bids in a low mumble, barely an inch from your lips when the words leave his and he takes a step back with a soft smile that makes your heart twist painfully, “See you Monday.”

You can only nod, forcing a slight smile and turning to punch in the door code with shaky hands and a heavy, aching heart.

part two.

©heedeungism : do not rewrite, copy, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission.

[emmyrosee]

I have an image of this man, leave me alone I sWEAR TO GOD-

——

Geto does this thing with his nose.

It’s something you noticed not too long ago, something he does when he’s lost in thought, deep in his memories and trying to sort out the pieces of puzzles in his head.

His nose, the perfect nose on that perfect face-

Scrunches up.

It wrinkles under the thoughts moving around his head, twitching side to side with with monotone “uhhhhh…” when you ask him spontaneous questions.

It writhes when he tries to choose his words carefully, usually when they’re ones of scolding, and it almost takes your focus from the topic at hand to how absolutely precious the sight is.

And yeah, it wrinkles under the force of laughter that he lets out, when he’s deep in joy and his smile is too big to contain, but that’s a corner of love that’s reserved for his hidden dimples. His crinkled little nose is far easier to activate.

Even right now, as you ask him what dinners he has planned the rest of the week, you’re barely able to keep track of anything he’s listing off because that pretty little nose scrunches between the days of the week.

“I guess I got the hamster wheel going?” You tease, chin resting dreamily on the palm of your hand. He cocks a brow, his lip twitching slightly in annoyance.

Along with his nose, of course.

“What did you call me?”

“I didn’t call you anything,” you snicker. “In your head. You’re deep in thought.”

“…. What?”

You roll your eyes, but the smile stays all the same, “nothing, babe. I just like your thinking face.”

“You should like all of my faces,” he says, wrinkling his nose as if wanting to say more, but fighting it back.

You smirk. Then, you lean up to gently grip his chin and kiss the tip of that wriggling nose.

“You’ve got no idea, Suguru.”

[ivyues]

Dreaming of Peaches - Bang Chan

Bang Chan has a dream of little curls and your eyes.

It had been a strange day. Chris had been acting a bit off, nothing too alarming, but enough for you to notice. He was quieter than usual, his touches lingering just a bit longer, as though he was lost in thought every time he looked at you. It wasn’t unusual for him to have moments of introspection, but today felt... different.

Later that evening, as you were settled in your bed, you felt his arms snake around your waist from behind. He pulled you close, his chin resting on your shoulder. His hand, warm and steady, came to rest on your stomach. It was comforting, and yet, there was a nervous energy about him.

“Chris,” you murmured, placing your hand over his. “Are you okay? You’ve been... distant today.”

There was a pause. You felt him shift slightly, his hand retreating as if it had been caught somewhere it wasn’t meant to be. That small movement made you turn around to face him. His eyes flicked away, uncharacteristically avoiding yours. That alone was enough to make you tilt your head in confusion.

“Hey,” you said softly, taking his hand in yours. “What’s going on? You know you can tell me anything if you want.”

His lips parted, but no words came out at first. He looked almost embarrassed, his ears tinged pink, and he ran a hand through his hair before meeting your gaze. “I... I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s... kind of silly, really.”

Your reassuring look must have encouraged him, because he sighed and began to ramble. “I had this dream last night. You were pregnant... and we had a little girl. She was running around, and she had my stupid curly hair and your eyes. And – I don’t know – it felt so real. When I woke up, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I don’t want you to feel pressured, or like I’m... pushing something on you, or that—”

“Chris,” you interrupted gently, squeezing his hand. He stopped mid-sentence, looking at you with wide, almost vulnerable eyes. “I don’t know what the future holds for us,” you admitted, your voice steady. “But if it’s with you, I’m not scared.”

There was a beat of silence before a smile broke across his face, soft and boyish. “She had your eyes,” he repeated, a hint of awe in his voice. “And the curliest little head of hair, just like mine. And—” He chuckled, his voice warming with amusement. “you had this little baby bump. Like, the cutest little bump I’ve ever seen.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling the tension dissolve into something tender and warm. “The bump, huh? That’s what stood out to you?”

Chris’ ears turned a shade pinker as he grinned sheepishly. “I mean, yeah. You were glowing, and you kept resting your hands on it like it was the most precious thing in the world. I guess it just stuck with me.”

You looked at him thoughtfully, gently brushing a strand of his hair away. “Dreams can be silly, but can also hold wants of the heart. If ours don’t align, we should always be honest with each other. No matter what.”

Chris’s smile widened, and he leaned in to kiss your forehead. “You’re right. And hey, don’t worry, I’ve already got seven kids to take care of,” he said with a mischievous grin.

You laughed then raised an eyebrow, a thought hitting you. “By the way… what did we name the child?”

Chris paused for a moment, then let out a dramatic sigh. “I think we called her … Peaches,” he said, grinning like he had just solved the biggest mystery of the century.

You blinked at him, unable to hold back your laughter. “Peaches? Really?”

“Hey, it was your idea,” he teased, winking.

You gasped, still laughing, and held up your hands in protest. "Nonono, we are not naming our kid something like that," you said, eyes wide with disbelief.

Chris chuckled, the mischievous glint in his eyes never fading as you protested. But before you could argue further, he leaned in, silencing you with a gentle kiss. His lips were soft, a mix of affection and amusement, and the warmth of his touch sent a ripple of calm through you.

Shaking his head he mouthed the words "our kid" – almost as if he was testing the idea out in his own mind, as if it was too surreal for him to say aloud.

masterlist

[stealingyourbones]

Danny, being a halfa, falls under the strange category of people who can converse with the dead and act in their names. Most mediums simply convey messages. It was rare for someone to be able to fulfill a ghost’s dying request and have that act tied to the ghost’s core.

Honestly it’s annoying.

He doesn’t get any alone time anymore for homework or hobbies. The dead are constantly pestering Danny to help with their desires - which, sure, it helps them move on which means they’re out of Danny’s hair, but come on!! Give a guy a break! Just because he doesn’t need as much sleep as a fully living person doesn’t mean he can go without entirely!

“No Scott,” Danny repeated for the fifth time, “I am not flying to California tonight. Do you know how far that is? Literally the other coast of this massive continent. Meet me there in August like everyone else on the list.”

Spending the first spring break of college creating a map and calendar for Last Rites was not something Danny expected when he moved to Gotham.

Why did this city have so many ghosts?! It was ridiculous. And he thought Amity Park was bad? At least the ghosts here were mostly Shades. Not visible to anyone unless they were also dead-adjacent or had The Sight or a bloodline curse or a magical amulet… you know what? There were enough of those in this curse ridden city, why couldn’t these ghosts go find one of those people instead? Danny was exhausted.

So exhausted he didn’t notice the vigilante dropping down from the rooftop.

“Hey there kid, you alri-”

“Yeah yeah,” Danny waved a hand dismissively at the voice without looking up. “Wait in line like everyone else. But honestly you’d be better off coming back tomorrow when I’ve had some sleep.”

“Think maybe you outta get started on that sleep now, bud?” the voice behind him spoke in a calm careful tone.

One Danny had heard all too often since dying.

His head jerked sideways to stare wide-eyed at Nightwing, who tensed just a little as if expecting Danny to run or fight. Instead he let out a groan and slumped onto the park bench, rubbing his eyes to ease the burn of fatigue. He’d been coming out to this park at the corner of campus each night to keep the Shades from mobbing him all day long in classes, but they’d spread the word around Gotham that he was here and his precious spring break had become a non-stop line of requests and arguments. Made sense he’d caught the attention of one of the Bats. Should have expected it sooner.

Danny ignored all the voices around him and looked at Nightwing directly as he prattled off his usual list when someone caught him talking to thin air.

“No, I’m not hallucinating. I got all my Rogue Gallery immunizations the day I checked onto campus. I’m not schizophrenic. The only meds I take are for adhd and the occasional Tylenol. I’m not a danger to myself or others. Unless they attack me first.”

Nightwing nodded along, but tilted his head at the end.

“I’m talking to the dead,” Danny answered the unspoken question in a tired monotone, waiting for the usual skepticism or plea for help with lost loved ones.

“Oh. Okay then.”

“What?” That wasn’t expected.

“No yeah, that makes sense.”

Danny was sure his jaw was on the ground. “You… you believe me?”

“Well sure,” the hero shrugged and chuckled. “I can’t see ghosts myself but I know a couple magicians who work with one, and my little brother Robin has a ghost on his team - she’s actually visible most of the time so I don’t know if that’s a special skill or something else going on. But I’m glad you’re okay and don’t need any emergency medication. I know a couple 24 hour pharmacies that would help but it’s nice when they’re not needed. We don’t get a lot of mediums around Gotham holding court at night so you really can’t fault me for checking in.”

Danny was still floating in the relief of not being questioned or doubted. That hadn’t happened since Jazz found out his secret. She’d had plenty of questions about his halfa status, of course, but never called him crazy for talking to things others couldn’t see. Even Sam and Tucker would forget sometimes and give him strange looks before realizing he was dealing with a Shade, Wisp, or Memory.

He didn’t realize he was wobbling until Nightwing’s arms shot out to stabilize him.

Danny blinked up at the pretty face that was trying not to chuckle, held by strong arms, and so far past tired he might be getting delirious after all because his brain seemed to have lost its filter and he said out loud,

“You actually believe me. I think I love you.”

Then the horrifying embarrassment hit at the same time as Nightwing’s laughter. Which… sounded delighted rather than mean spirited?

“Well now it’s your turn to wait in line, cuz that’s the fourth confession I’ve had this week!” They both devolved into snorts and giggles, Danny still relying on those arms for balance, but when they’d caught their breath the vigilante said, “Come on, you’ve really got to get some sleep. I’ll walk you back to your dorm.”

Ignoring the whispers and grumbles of the Shades was easier with someone walking beside him.

This is so incredibly cute oml. It’s so rare to see the bats actually go with the flow and god it isn’t done enough. 12/10 immaculate, glorious.

The entire plot I can see so clearly in my mind dude:

Danny chatting to Nightwing as they walk to his dorm

Nightwing asking some casual questions about ghosts and Danny asking about vigilante work.

Nightwing informs the Bats of Danny as he might be a valuable asset in the future.

Nightwing helps free shades with Danny and he realizes why Danny is so incredibly tired all the time.

Nightwing managing to stumble into Danny every day of his break, slowly getting to know each other more and more and becoming really good friends (perhaps lovers 👀).

Wonderful stuff man ty for the ask!

[gutsby]

Ruined!

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel is an old man who struggles to cum sometimes. You’ve got time to kill and a tight hole to fill.

Warnings: 18+. Peepaw brainrot + a dash of anorgasmia. Unprotected p-in-v, cockwarming, age gap, daddy kink.

Note: Finals are whooping my ass left & right. This is a quickie.

Word count: 1.2k | Part of the Waiting Game ‘verse

Surely he was hurting you now.

Joel Miller had a kink for many, many fun activities, but splitting a sweet young thing like you over his cock to the point you were almost in tears was just not one of them.

At the same time your poor, surely-bruised walls pulsed around his hardened length, he felt a pang of guilt. His balls were pressed against your ass like two lead weights, soaked with the remains of your third release, and his mind was at war with itself—keep fucking you like this? Pull out and offer his sincerest apologies for not being able to cum? A boy your age would’ve never had you waiting around like that, aching around his cock, much less begging for something as simple as a cumshot.

He decided to go straight to the source. Leaning over your prone body on the bed before him, he was careful not to rut his hips or jostle his dick around too much.

Joel pressed a hot, stubbled kiss to your cheek, then:

“‘S’it too much, baby? She need a break, maybe?”

Joel thumbed at that space where your body ended and his began and nearly lost his mind to the pearly-white slick that had accumulated with time. Two hours time, he had to remind himself while you moaned and writhed and bucked your ass back. Your cunt was choking him.

Crying, too.

Your eyes flew open the moment his words reached you.

“You kiddin’ me, Miller?! I could do this shit all day.”

Sometimes Joel forgot you were only in your twenties. Really, the thought only occasionally crossed his mind in moments like these—or when your father, his best friend, happened to bring you up—but when it did, it hit him hard. You were young. Lively. Surely far too spry and full of life to be messing around with a man as old as him.

Joel’s guilt ran almost commensurate with his pleasure when he felt you anchor your feet on the bed and start to fuck yourself back and forth over his still-throbbing dick.

Almost.

He planted a hand beside your head and grinned. He let you fuck him. Felt you pull off, crawl up the bed a little, then beckon him back to your body, where your ass was now pointing up and your back was arched in invitation.

Almost.

“You know I can’t sleep without your cum inside me.”

And you made a point to spread your knees and look behind you with a smile as sweet as Milo’s tea, fingers drumming a beat against the bedspread in anticipation.

“You do wanna fill me up, don’t you, daddy?” you teased.

Yeah, no. The guilt was gone. Joel could worry about being a depraved old man when he was done cumming.

Then he was back inside you, driving his hips until every last inch of him was wrapped snug within your wet and velvety embrace, and he sighed. A real protracted one, like the kind he was liable to exhale after climbing two flights of stairs, or else just hoisting himself off the sofa. Or lifting you in his arms and fucking you hard against the hood of his Bronco. Any time. Any place. You were kind enough to oblige him with the best cardio of his life, so the least Joel could do now was make you cum again.

He snatched your hands up in one of his own and placed your wrists at the base of your spine. With his other, free set of fingers he took to rubbing your clit gently.

“SON OF A—”

“—good girl.”

You let out a bloodcurdling scream into your pillow and secretly hoped this man’s dick would never deflate again. Not with the way he was sawing his thing back and forth and dragging you to the edge, circling your clit like you were the single most precious thing in the world to him.

“Oh, sweet pea, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Like he could feel the tears staining the cushion himself.

“Mmrooonme,” you cried into it, voice garbled by cotton.

“What’s’at, honey? Can’t hear ya.”

Joel then bent at the waist, pretending to be leaning in to hear you better, when really he knew he’d be digging in your guts with that big, bulbous head of his and making you squeal again. Hands still held captive behind you, you inched your chin back on the pillow so your moans could be heard even louder while Joel sped up.

“You— ruined me,” you repeated. Now clear as ever.

Joel tried to hide his smile and glanced down between your body and his. Then, while his ring finger joined the other two to make their tight, light circles, he returned,

“Ruined? Pussy feels just fine t’me.”

You’d kill him if he wasn’t so good at this. You turned your head more to meet his eyes from the corner of yours.

“No. Ruined me. For anyone else.”

Probably forever.

“Good.”

You knew he liked it that way.

You saw it in his eyes. Felt it in his touch. The hefty, broad, and greying Joel Miller had been loafing around on this earth long enough to know how to claim what was his. When his hips knocked yours to lay you flat on the bed, you already knew what was coming next.

First, his arms came to rest on either side of your body.

“Shit,” you whimpered.

Next, his lips went trailing down to your ear.

“Just a little more, sugar—that’s it,” he murmured while his hips sank in, and you felt that big, delicious stretch.

Then he released your hands so they were free to squeeze the sheets, and when they did, his moved over them—lacing his fingers through your own—and his lips pressed a kiss to your jaw. He held you in a tender grasp. His breath was hot on your neck, and the whole of his body was blanketing yours. Joel knew you liked it like that, which is why he made sure not to leave an inch of space in between. He was grunting, rutting, holding you close while his cock drilled a maddening pace inside you.

“You ruined me too, y’know,” he mumbled into your skin.

His nose was flush with the side of your cheek, nudging inward. Begging you to turn your head just a little more so he could kiss you. Weak as you were, you obliged.

And you moaned against that grey, stubbled chin of his when the thrusts above you had your cunt grinding the bed, rubbing that soft and helpless nub on the sheets.

“C’mon— let daddy have it,” he growled, “Let daddy have it and make it his, huh? That okay by you, baby?”

It was.

More than okay, as confirmed by the orgasm that tore through your body moments later while your teeth sank into the flesh of Joel’s lower lip and your cunt clenched and soaked over him whole. Joel wedged his tongue in your mouth and fucked you through it. His broad and callused hands were like iron around your own, holding you tight and keeping you still amidst a maelstrom of pleasure that combed over your every last nerve.

He licked into your mouth. Licked over it. Took the sick and distinct pleasure of knowing no one but him got to see you like this, with your jaw hanging slack and your eyes rolling back and your whines repeating quietly, ‘Daddydaddypleasedaddyfuckohfuckdontstop.’

Maybe ruined wasn’t such a bad thing to be at all.