#SHAKING MY SCREEN SHAKING MY SCREEN SHAKING MY SCREEN
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✶ : NONSENSE ❪ 日语 ❫ DOE-EYEING ENHYPEN 備考────𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇' 𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗂𝗇' 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾
⠀❛ 𝖠𝖫𝖳 ㅤ when you give them pretty doe eyes
𝖣𝓲𝖠𝖱𝖨𝖤𝖲 ⦂ enhypen x fem ! r 1OOOwc. ˊᯅˋ fluff head canon && skinship petnames kissing established relationship . . CLiCK
다니 : it took me a while to find a good layout TT but i finally did so guess who's happy now hehe
LEE HEESEUNG
"what?" heeseung drawls, lips curling as he leans in, gaze dropping to your mouth before flicking back up."why are you looking at me like that?" his voice dips, teasing, but there's something in the way he tilts his head, slow, lazy, like he already knows the answer. you don't say anything, just blink up at him, wide-eyed, lips parted, and he exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "you're so obvious," he murmurs, thumb grazing over your cheek, "you think i don't know what you're doing? giving me those doe eyes like you want something." he pauses, studying you, and then he smirks. "if you want a kiss, just say it, baby. you know i’d give you anything."
PARK JAY
"you’re not slick, you know that?" jay chuckles, the corner of his lips quirking up as he watches you from across the store, arms crossed over his chest. he steps closer, eyes softening as they meet yours. "saw you staring at that dress," he teases, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering against your skin. "and now you’re looking at me with those big, innocent eyes like you didn’t just silently beg me to buy it for you." his thumb grazes your cheek."you’re lucky you’re cute," he murmurs, voice warm with affection as he glances back at the dress. "go try it on, princess. it’s yours." there’s a smug tilt to his grin as he nudges you forward, his gaze never leaving you, already imagining how beautiful you’ll look in it.
SIM JAKE
"no, no, no—wait, that’s cheating," jake says, eyes flickering between the screen and you, his hands gripping the controller like his life depends on it. he's this close to winning, completely focused, but then you turn to him, all wide, glistening eyes and a tiny pout, and his brain short-circuits. "oh, come on, that’s not fair," he groans, voice laced with disbelief, but you see the way his grip loosens, the way his character suddenly stops moving. "you—" he exhales a laugh, already knowing he lost, because you know exactly what you’re doing. "you’re evil." he barely gets the words out before he drops the controller, turning to you instead, cupping your jaw as he leans in, kissing you, like you just won something way more important than the game. "there," he mutters against your lips, breathless. "happy now?"
PARK SUNGHOON
"—and then he just randomly paid for my coffee today? like i didn't even ask, he just did it, which was kinda sweet—" "no." you blink, looking up at sunghoon, confused. "huh?" "i said no. don’t like him. don’t like this story. don’t like that he paid for your coffee." you pause, staring at him before your eyes go wide, lips parting slightly as you tilt your head. doe eyes. you didn't even do it on purpose, but the second you do, he curses under his breath as he looks away. "you’re so unfair," he mutters, ears turning red, and you grin, leaning closer. "hoonie, you jealous?" "not jealous," he mumbles against your shoulder. "just don't like other guys thinking they have a chance with my girl."
KIM SUNOO
"come on, just let me do it once," sunoo whines, practically bouncing on his knees in front of you, hands already reaching for the brush. "i’ve watched you do it a million times. i got this." you sigh, handing over your makeup bag, watching as he fumbles with the foundation before applying it surprisingly well—though he squints in concentration. the eyeliner is a little wobbly, and the blush? generously applied. but when he gets to the lipstick, he gently tilts your chin up, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "okay, now just—" but you blink up at him, wide, innocent doe eyes locking onto his, and his brain promptly malfunctions. the lipstick smears past the corner of your mouth. "oh my god," he glares, "you did that on purpose."
YANG JUNGWON
"and then, right when i thought i was finally done, they dumped even more work on me," jungwon huffs, leaning back against the couch, arms crossed as he talks about his day. his brows are furrowed, lips pursed in frustration, but you just sit there, quietly listening, eyes locked onto him. big, wide, soft. he doesn’t even notice at first, too caught up in his rant, but then his words start to slow, his voice faltering as he finally looks at you. "stop looking at me like that," he mutters, shifting under your gaze. you blink, tilting your head slightly. "like what?" you ask, all innocence, even though you know exactly what you're doing. jungwon groans, throwing his head back. he peeks at you from the corner of his eye, lips twitching like he's trying not to smile. "like that,"
NISHIMURA RIKI
riki grins, mischief dancing in his eyes as he dangles your phone just out of reach, swaying it between his fingers like a prize. “come on, work for it,” he teases, laughing when you huff in frustration. you step closer, tilting your head, lashes fluttering as you look up at him with the softest, most innocent gaze you can muster. wide, pleading eyes, lips slightly parted, pure desperation. his smirk falters. his fingers twitch. “oh, hell no,” he mutters, already crumbling. you blink once—slow, deliberate. riki groans, dramatically clutching his chest before shoving your phone back into your hands. you giggle, triumphant. he narrows his eyes. “don’t think i won’t steal your stuff again.” but you both know he’s lost this round.
#ʚ( ៸៸ ´ `) 𝑜𝑓 : 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 ︐#enhypen imagines#enhypen scenarios#heeseung#enhypen x reader#enhypen fluff#enha x reader#enha fluff#enhypen au#enhypen#jaeyun fluff#park sunghoon fluff#sunghoon fluff#heeseung fluff#jay park fluff#enhypen soft hour#jake soft hours#enhypen soft hours#heeseung soft thoughts#enhypen soft thoughts#jungwon soft thoughts#sunghoon soft thoughts#sunghoon angst#enhypen angst#park sunghoon angst#sunghoon x reader#jaeyun imagines#sunghoon imagines#park sunghoon imagines
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𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/af881026440df5e828e962bd6443c460/8428894b75eaf53d-c5/s540x810/b857cb2d4475417ee91d16369983f81e3705f87c.jpg)
•°. *࿐ PAIRING ― riki nishimura x fem!reader •°. *࿐ SYNOPSIS ― in which riki is smitten with you and your sharp tongue. •°. *࿐ GENRE ― one-shot, ????-to-lovers, fake dating, angst, fluff, crack, rich kid au, highschool lacrosse au •°. *࿐ WORD COUNT ― 22k •°. *࿐ CONTENT WARNING(S) ― violence(one fight) and threats of it, lots of tension, mc is a horndog what's new, i meant to make this slow like the first part but im a weak woman, weed, mc is her own worst enemy, mc is stupid before she is smart <3, attempted unwanted touching, riki is the jealous type but in a green flag way, don’t ask where the teachers are, riki has bigger hands than mc, kissing(many a time), once i got the angst out of the way it turned into crack js •°. *࿐ EXTRA NOTES ― thank you all for being so kind and giving me such helpful feedback and love! shoutout to my hg @1ntaks for once again holding my hand and basically beta reading this for me, you're the best queen. •°. *࿐ SOUNDTRACK ― busy woman by sabrina carpenter, don’t smile by sabrina carpenter, big girls don’t cry by fergie, better than me by doja cat, diet pepsi by addison rae, what a girl wants by christina aguilera, positions by ariana grande, he could be the one by hannah montana, bmf by sza
part one.
AT THE BEGINNING OF FEBRUARY you realized how easy it was to get over Eunseok at the same moment that it sinks in that you can’t get over Riki.
Maybe it's the fact that he’s still friendly despite the ‘breakup’, or that he still makes sweet comments that feel too genuine to be taken as flirting anymore. He hasn’t changed much of his behavior at all since the end of January, actually.
The news of the short-lived relationship spread around school. Though it was clear that you both were still friends, most of the rumors were dispelled. However, some were still infuriatingly present.
Now, you’re not the type of person who gives a shit about what other people think of you—especially not a bunch of pubescent teenagers with so little going on in their own lives that they find entertainment in yours. But your patience is wearing thin. If you hear another freshman whisper about you not being over your cheating ex, you are going to go insane. (Despite your reputation, you are above throwing hands with 14 year-olds.)
“So you want something like this, right?” Julie taps on her phone screen from across from you, showing the nail inspiration photo you had sent her just last week. When you only nod, she tilts her head with a curious raise of her brows, “We can do something different, hon’.”
Quickly, you shake your head and straighten your posture in the chair across from her, “No, sorry. I just—I’m just thinking about shit. I still want a set like that.” You force a soft laugh, and she nods with a soft ‘okay’.
“So? Anything new?” She asks with a pretty smile as she plugs in her nail drill and turns on the dust collector.
You lay your hands onto the rest between the two of you, humming and then sighing, “I’m still single.”
Julie begins working at removing her work from three weeks ago with the drill, though the pink mask keeping her from inhaling the dust doesn’t hide her face of baffled confusion, “I thought you were dating that lacrosse guy, though.”
The sound of the drill and fan are like white noise to the both of you as you sigh and drop your head forward, “Didn’t work out.”
Julie gasps softly, clearly upset for you, “What’d he do?”
While you love that her first instinct was to ask what he did and not what you did, the latter is more fitting for the situation. “He was too perfect and I got scared?” You admit softly with a guilty shrug.
Julie pauses in her work and deadpans at you, “Ho.”
“I know!” You whine softly as she resumes, using your free hand to grab the chilled can of Dr Pepper she’d grabbed for you before your appointment started, sipping from the pink straw before you continue to whine, “I fucked up.”
“I never got to see a photo last time, either.” Julie recalls as she progresses to removing the hard-gel off your other hand, “You hadn’t picked anyone for your little plan, yet.”
Julie knowing about your genius plan to ruin Eunseok and Nayeon’s day, everyday, with your tall, hot, and sweet ‘boyfriend’ was inevitable. She had dropped the traitorous bitch as a client the moment you and Belle told her about it, equally as disgusted by Nayeon as the both of you. Not to mention, Belle always yapped her pretty head off during her appointments, so as previously stated, it was inevitable.
“You’re gonna hate me,” You say, grabbing your phone with your now dusty and bare fingers to quickly tap to a photo of Riki that Jake had sent you. He’s got his helmet tucked under his arm and seemed to be captured in a heated argument with another boy on the team. The first thing you noticed was his hands, though.
When she pauses to look at your screen, she looks at you again and sighs like a disappointed mother, shaking her head and turning the drill back on. You whine, “Don’t sigh at me, I’m in mourning.”
“I thought you said you weren’t worried about catching feelings.” She reminds you, and you roll your eyes.
“Bitch, look at him.” You sass, picking up your phone to show the still-lit screen before placing it facedown in your lap again, “and he was just so—sweet. And he liked when I was mean to him.”
“As he should.”
“—and his smile made me want to stick my head in an oven Sylvia Plath style.” You say with a soft pout on your lips, “It was so much so suddenly, and I freaked out.”
Julie turns off the drill and grabs the brush to clean off the dust from your hands as she nods slightly to what you’re saying, “And Eunseok was so recent.”
“—And Eunseok was so recent!” You repeat in vehement agreement, groaning up at the ceiling as you slump slightly, “Why do boys ruin everything?”
You spend the next few hours of your nail appointment ranting about everything. Riki, your ex, your ex best friend, your dad (who had texted you a long message after you left him that you promptly responded to with a ‘that doesn’t look like an apology so im not reading that’).
mommy dearest 🩷: can you pick up some groceries for me? just a few things
The text from your mom as you swipe your card on Julie’s reader is paired with a chime you recognize as your bank app. Your new nails tap on your screen as you open the notification, grinning at the sight of a hefty transfer of funds into your account.
The small list your mother sends doesn’t come close to costing the amount she sent you to pay for it, so you decide to stop at Sephora while you’re out too.
You choose the highest percentage to tip and sign her phone screen with your knuckle before bidding her a happy farewell and exiting the salon. The drive to the strip center is barely ten minutes long, your BMW filled with Christina Aguilera and the trip slightly delayed by your admiration of your new nails at every red light.
When you get into the Sephora, which you decided to visit first since your mom’s list included produce, you b-line to the skincare section.
You’re debating between oil cleansers when you’re tapped on the shoulder.
The woman before you looks around your mother’s age, a bit shorter than you but with a beautiful smile on her face. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but are you Y/n?”
You blink, caught off guard, but nod.
Her grin widens. “I’m Riki’s mom!”
Your stomach drops. Every instinct screams at you to panic, but instead, you paint a pretty smile on your face, the kind your mother taught you to perfect at charity galas. “Oh my god, hi!”
Before you can react, she pulls you into a hug, warm and tight, smelling faintly of lavender and vanilla. You reciprocate, though your arms are stiff and hesitant.
“I’ve heard so much about you,” she gushes, pulling back to hold you at arm’s length. Her eyes, as sharp and bright as Riki’s, scan you with something between approval and curiosity. “You’re just as lovely as he said.”
“Thank you,��� you manage, your voice light despite the whirlwind in your chest at the sudden and information that Riki talks about you at home. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
“I can’t believe I ran into you like this!” she says, her excitement bubbling over. “You’re like a doll, honey. The photos he’s shown me don’t do you justice.”
Your brain short-circuits at the word photos. Plural.
“Oh?” you manage, keeping your smile intact even as your heart feels like it’s trying to escape the confines of your chest.
“Of course! He’s always talking about you,” she continues, as if she didn’t just drop a bomb on you in the middle of Sephora. “He showed me the cutest one of you two at the bowling alley—said it was his favorite night in a long time.”
Your breath catches, but you quickly cover it with a soft laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “That’s so sweet of him.”
“It is, isn’t it?” She beams like she’s talking about a national treasure instead of her son. “He’s always been so shy when it comes to girls, but with you, it’s different. I can tell you mean a lot to him.”
The words land like a stone in your chest, heavy and impossible to ignore. You can’t tell if she’s trying to hint at something or if she’s just being a proud mom, but either way, you suddenly feel very out of your depth.
“That’s nice to hear,” you say lightly, though your throat feels tight. “He’s a great guy.”
She places a hand on your arm, her touch gentle but firm. “You’re good for him, you know. He’s happier these days, more confident.”
Your mind flashes to Riki’s easy smiles, the way he leans into you during conversations, the soft look in his eyes when he thinks you’re not paying attention. You swallow hard.
“Thank you, Mrs. Nishimura,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel . “That really means a lot.”
Her smile softens, and she gives your arm a little squeeze. “Oh, call me Rin, honey. And if you ever want to come over for dinner, just let me know. I’d love to have you.”
“Dinner sounds lovely,” you say with a polite smile, already running on autopilot. “I’ll have to check with Riki, but I’m sure he’d love that too.”
“Oh, good! I’ll talk to him about it tonight,” Rin says brightly, her excitement only adding to the internal chaos brewing in your chest. “You two are so sweet together—I can’t believe he didn’t tell me you were this gorgeous in person.”
You blink, momentarily stunned, and force out a soft laugh. “That’s really kind of you to say.”
“I mean it.” She gives you an approving once-over before leaning in conspiratorially. “You know, he’s usually so tight-lipped about his personal life. I had to drag it out of him that you two were dating in the first place.”
The air leaves your lungs like you’ve been punched. He hadn’t told her.
“He—uh—didn’t mention that we’re…” you start, the words catching in your throat.
“Together?” she finishes for you with a knowing smile. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t embarrass him too much about it. I just want him to be happy, and it’s so obvious you make him happy.”
You feel your face flush, your carefully constructed composure threatening to crack. But instead of correcting her, you nod, your smile tighter now. “That’s really sweet of you to say.”
She reaches out and pats your arm warmly. “It was so nice meeting you, sweetheart. I’ll let you get back to your shopping. Tell Riki I said hi, okay?”
“I will,” you promise, your voice light despite the storm in your head.
As soon as she disappears down another aisle, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Reaching for the oil cleansers again, you try to steady yourself, replaying her words over and over.
He didn’t tell her.
A part of you is…warm with the information. The other part wants to puke your guts out.
You stare blankly at the oil cleansers in front of you, your grip tightening around the bottle in your hand. The woman’s words replay in your mind like a broken record, each one sharper than the last.
“He’s happier these days, more confident.”
“It’s so obvious you make him happy.”
“He didn’t tell me you were this gorgeous in person.”
Your chest tightens, a mix of guilt and something softer—but no less overwhelming—clawing its way up your throat. The whole point of fake dating was to not make things messy. Yet here you are, feeling like a lead character in a rom-com whose life is falling apart. Right now would be an amazing time for Matthew McConaughey to come out and sweep you off your feet.
(You realize with borderline humiliating speed that you would much prefer if Riki swept you off your feet. Seriously, there must be something wrong with you.)
The bottle trembles slightly in your hand, and you force yourself to set it back on the shelf with a shaky exhale. You’re not the kind of girl who lets this sort of thing get to her. You’re confident, decisive, in control. Except when it comes to him.
The thought makes you pause, your fingers brushing absently over your nails as the memory of his smile creeps in—the one he reserved just for you, warm and easy and dangerous.
“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, grabbing the Sulwhasoo cleanser you were debating spending so much on and beginning to mindlessly fill the black Sephora tote as you walk through the aisles. Real therapy has nothing on retail therapy considering you know what your problems are and how to fix them. Paying someone to tell you those things seems counterproductive when you can make yourself feel better by treating yourself.
By all accounts, it’s been a good day for you. Getting out of the school parking lot was exceptionally easy despite the traffic you encounter more often than not. You got your nails done and love how they turned out. You’re currently splurging at Sephora. And now you have reason to believe Riki doesn’t secretly hate you for breaking his heart.
riki 🙈: just got out of practice
riki 🙈: are you coming to the game tomorrow?
You look at your phone as you tap your card on the reader and accept the large black and white striped bag from the girl at the counter. Thanking her with a smile before beginning to make your way out to your car again. When you settle into the driver’s seat, the heat turns on as you place the bag into the passenger seat.
Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, nails tapping against your case as your phone automatically hooks up to the bluetooth, ‘After Hours’ by The Weeknd beginning to play. “Oh, shut up.” You sigh as you pause the music and finally muster up the right response.
pretty girl 🪩: depends on how nice you are to me tomorrow
riki 🙈: i’ll bring you a gift rn
pretty girl 🪩: im not home
As soon as the text is marked as Read, your screen is replaced by his caller ID, a photo of him at age ten in a Michael Jackson costume lighting up your screen. You can’t help but chuckle before pressing the green button, reaching to turn the volume up as you ask with a playfully suspicious tone, “Can I help you?”
“Mhm, where are you?” His deep voice and hum makes you bite your fist.
You begin pulling out of the parking lot to make it across the street to the grocery store, “Getting groceries, why?”
“I wanna see you.”
Lord have mercy—
“You sure you don’t just miss Gus?“ You hesitate to mention the revelations made by his very kind mother in Sephora, but decide to hold off.
“Oh, I do miss Gus, but I miss his mom more.”
Oh, you hate the soft laughter that leaves your mouth the moment you hear it, “I won’t be long at the store, it’s just a few things.”
There’s a shuffle on the other side, then he says, “What store?”
“Riki, it’s literally like four things.” You laugh at his shameless eagerness, “I’ll text you when I’m home.”
He chuckles softly before humming again, “Okay, bye pretty.”
“Bye.” A beat passes and ‘What a Girl Wants’ by Christina Aguilera blares through the speakers so loud you jump, “Jesus Christ.”
By the time you pull into the grocery store parking lot, you’ve replayed his voice in your head at least five times. I wanna see you. It wasn’t just what he said, but the way he said it—soft, easy, like he wasn’t asking for anything out of the ordinary. Like it was natural for him to want to be around you, and for you to want the same. You’re...friends.
You curse the thought away as you grab your keys and step into the cold evening air, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder. You don’t need to be thinking about Riki Nishimura and his stupid, perfect face and voice the whole time.
The grocery run is quick—milk, eggs, a few vegetables, and a bag of Gus’s favorite treats because you can’t resist—and you’re back in your car in record time. You text Riki that you're on the way home and find yourself smiling when he loves the message. It drops a second later when you realize what you’re doing and curse again, tossing your phone into the cup holder like it’s on fire and covering your face to self-reflect.
When you pull into the driveway of your home, it isn’t hard to spot Riki’s black Jeep parked at the curb. What is hard is hiding the grin that forms on your lips as you park your car and get out to grab the groceries in your trunk. The lacrosse player is already exiting his own vehicle and jogging over to help you.
“You didn’t have to come,” you say as he reaches for the bag of vegetables in your hands, but there’s no bite to your words.
“You said you’d text me when you were home,” he replies, his voice light and teasing as he takes the other bags with ease. “I figured I’d save you the trouble.”
You shake your head, grabbing your Sephora bag and locking your car. “So damn impatient.”
“Only when it comes to you.” His response is so casual, so effortless, it knocks the air from your lungs. You glance at him, but he’s already halfway up the path, waiting for you at the door like he hadn’t just said something that made your knees weak.
When you catch up, you unlock the door with the code and nudge it open with your foot, paising once you’re inside to shut it behind him. You kick off your shoes and pass Riki to get to the kitchen, placing your Sephora bag on one of the island’s chairs and watching him place the few grocery bags on the counter.
“Gus~” You call out as you begin to unpack the paper bags, and there’s a soft warbled meow in response in the direction of your room. The plump tuxedo cat appears around the corner, rubbing his body against the wall with another soft cry for attention that has Riki cooing and lowering himself to the ground to oblige him.
Once you’ve got groceries put away, you watch the 6’ something lacrosse player pet your cat with gentle scratches under his chin that he leans into with slow blinks, “Are you happy?”
Your softly giggled question has Riki smiling up at you, “So happy.”
With a soft huff of amusement, you grab your Sephora bag and walk in the direction of your room, choosing not to glance behind you to see if he’s following. Just act natural, bitch.
You leave your door open as you enter your room, thanking the lord that the cleaning lady had visited while you were out and your room isn’t as dirty as you left it this morning. Walking into your bathroom to start putting away your new skincare, you ignore the sound of him entering your room.
“You have a lot of perfume.” You hear him comment, glancing over your shoulder to see him admiring the organized collection on your open vanity.
“Yeah, I...have a problem” You say with a soft laugh of slight embarrassment at your habit of buying yourself anything pretty or relatively cutesy. “I have more in my closet.”
Riki whistles lowly, seemingly a bit impressed, “Which one’s your favorite?”
With a hum of thought, you step out of your bathroom to walk to your closet. You don’t mind the open door as you enter, reaching the island in the center working double as storage and where you keep your perfumes. Riki follows just to the doorway, leaning against it as his eyes move from you to the expanse of your walk-in closet. The floor-to-ceiling shelves in the back displaying heels and boots of different luxury brands, the pretty runner rug beneath your feet, it all screams you.
You’re plucking your favorite bottle from the display when his eyes land on the corner of something flat and white hidden behind a woven hamper. The easy smile on your face drops the moment you see him pull it out from its hiding spot, a boyish grin on his face. “You sneaky fuck.”
He laughs at your immediate cursing, holding the white board out of your reach as you hasten towards him to take it from him, “Pros and Cons?”
“Oh my god.” You give up on taking it from him, hands moving to try and cover his eyes, “Riki!”
“It’s about me, pretty girl.” he argues playfully, still laughing while trying to dodge your hands, “C’mon, just a peek!”
“Boys aren’t allowed to peek—Riki!” You fight laughter as his arm hooks around your head, his hand covering your face as he begins to read out the words you wish you had erased when you had the chance.
“‘Nickname kinda dumb’, you think my nicknames dumb?” He asks in an offended tone, laughter seeping into his words.
“That wasn’t me, that was Jongseob—“
“Cut his hair—Why is cutting my hair a con?” He asks incredulously, finally letting you push his hand away from your face to look down at you. Your back is still half-pressed to his chest, and the moment you can look up at him your heart skips like it’s playing hopscotch in your chest.
You catch the glance his eyes take down below your nose and find yourself pulling away quickly, grabbing the whiteboard from him to haphazardly use your sleeve to wipe the marker off, ignoring his laughed ‘hey!’ and sighing in relief when you erase enough for the rest of its contents to look like random pink lines across its surface.
When you spin around with a playfully pointed finger to curse him out, your words catch in your throat at the look in his eyes.
How a look could be both heavy and so soft, you do not know, but it's the best way you can describe Riki’s gaze.
“Wh—“ You stammer with hesitation, face heating up as his soft smile turns into a smirk of amusement, “Stop looking at me like that.”
“How am I looking at you?” He questions in a light tone, almost soft. If you didn’t know better you’d think him genuine in his innocence, but the slight twitch of the corner of his lips and the way his eyes flit to yours gives it away.
“Riki.”
His name leaving your lips draws his gaze away from them, and his smirk turns into one more wry. “I left your gift in my car.”
Your chest clenches painfully as he turns to exit your closet, your lips parting yet no words leaving them as he walks out. You follow after him, abandoning your perfume on the closest surface, “Riki, wait—“
“It’s okay—” he starts, turning just in time to stop you from crashing into him. His hands find your forearms instinctively, steadying you, but the sudden proximity freezes you both in place.
You blink up at him, startled, your breath hitching at the closeness. His fingers are warm through the fabric of your sweater, his touch gentle, like he’s afraid to hold on too tight.
“I—” You start to say something, anything, but your voice falters when you meet his gaze. There’s something there, something unspoken and unbearably soft that makes your chest ache.
Your words catch in your throat when he gently steps back, his hands slipping away as though he’s suddenly aware of the space—or lack thereof—between you. “It’s fine,” he says, a faint smile tugging at his lips, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. His voice is soft, but there’s a distance in it that wasn’t there before, and it only makes the knot in your chest tighten. “I’ll go grab it.”
You take a step forward before you can stop yourself, “Riki, I didn’t mean—”
“Really, don’t worry about it.” His voice is light, too light, as he cuts you off with a small wave of his hand. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
You hesitate, watching as he turns toward the hallway, his movements just a little too deliberate. His usual ease is gone, replaced by something quieter, more careful.
Your heart sinks. Is he upset with you? He doesn’t seem angry, but there’s a tension in the way he carries himself that wasn’t there before.
“I wasn’t trying to make things weird,” you blurt out, desperate to bridge the gap forming between you.
He pauses mid-step, his back still to you. For a moment, it seems like he might say something, but instead, he exhales quietly and turns just enough to glance over his shoulder.
“You didn’t,” he says, his tone softer now, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression—regret? Frustration? “It’s not you. I just… I need a second. That’s all.”
His mother’s words ring in your head again, “It’s so obvious you make him happy.”
Yet, you feel like the opposite is all you can see. You ask him to be your fake boyfriend to make your ex mad, not even considering his feelings. You tell him you can’t date him despite him treating you with more respect and care than Eunseok ever did. You let him kiss you. You kissed back.
Clearly, you have royally fucked up a few times now.
Confronting him about not telling his mother felt like it would only make things worse between the two of you. Maybe, it’d be better for him to hear it from his mother instead of you.
Your stomach twists, guilt gnawing at you even though his words tell you otherwise. You nod, unsure what else to say, and he offers a faint, almost apologetic smile before disappearing down the hall.
“And then what?” Belle questions with a vehemence that startles you slightly. Eunchae, Hiyyih, and Jongseob are all listening intently from their normal spots in your room, your oldest friend of the four standing with her hands on her hips.
When you had informed the group chat you were staying home the next day, you definitely did not expect the four to show up to your house after piling into an Uber. One look at your tear-streaked face was enough for them to ask the questions that brought you to now.
You stammer slightly, “He—He came back with the gift and made up an excuse to leave.”
“You let him leave?” Belle asks incredulously, and you shrink under her gaze, “Bitch.”
“I don’t know, okay!” You say with your face in your hands, frustrated tears burning your eyes again as you groan, “It’s all so complicated.”
Jongseob raises his hand, waiting for Belle to motion for him to speak before he asks, “Do you like him? Also, is this a bad time to say I have a joint in my bag?”
Eunchae punches his arm, and your hands slide off your face, mind too preoccupied by your current dilemma to even insult the only boy in the friend group for his lack of ability to read the room as usual. Hiyyih leans forward to let the youngest reach over her to get to him, “That was a good question until you ruined it.”
”Do you like him, though?” Eunchae asks once Jongseob’s arm is surely to bruise and his hands are up in surrender.
You look up from your hands, “I don’t know—“
“You’re pissing me off.” Belle sighs, palm moving to her forehead, and while you know she means well. “You like him.”
“I can’t.” You argue, voice shaking as you fight tears. Eunchae moves from her bean bag to sit next to you. “All that shit with Eunseok was barely a month ago—“
“Who gives a shit about Eunseok anymore?” Belle snaps, throwing her hands up in frustration, “Just because you dated that asshole for two years doesn’t mean it’ll take that long for you to move on.”
“It still feels like I’m using him.” You finally let the tears fall, and her frustration seems to dissipate. She sighs softly, kneeling in front of your sitting form at the edge of your bed.
Her hands move to cover yours, “Do you still have feelings for Eunseok?” The face you make answers her question and she adds, “Do you still think of Riki as a way to get back at him?”
“Of course not.“
“Then you aren’t using him.” She finishes. “He went into this knowing your plan, and you said he even told you it wasn’t you that was the problem.”
You shake your head, tears falling as you blink them away, “He looked upset—“
“Then that’s his problem.” She argues again, “It’s his job to communicate how he feels if he likes you.”
“He does communicate. I’m the issue!” You cry pitifully, “I don’t want him to think I’m not over Eunseok because—I’m still so angry.”
“He cheated on you with your best friend, you don’t have to forgive him to be able to move on to a healthy relationship.” She states.
“But it feels—“ You can’t find words for why it feels wrong to want to date Riki, because the thought of it makes your heart race, “I don’t know! I’ve known him for barely a month and I just—“
“You like him and feel like it’s not real because it happened too fast?” She reads you like a damn book, but you’re almost thankful for it.
“Yes!” You cry, “And he deserves better than that.”
“So, you like Riki?” She repeats her question, her tone matching yours.
You find yourself answering before you can even think, “Yes!”
Your stomach drops as Belle stands like her work here is done.
It isn’t you realizing you like Riki that has your stomach filling with dread and guilt, it's the fact that you like him more than you have ever liked anyone.
You liked Eunseok, even told him you loved him, but that seed hadn’t grown in your chest no matter how many times it left your mouth in the form of ‘I love you.’
Yet, you imagine yourself with Riki—loving him—and it all sounds so…easy. The mundanity you dreaded having to live with Eunseok sounded like a dream with Riki. Falling in love with him sounded like something you wouldn’t mind experiencing.
Which, all things considered, is fucking terrifying to you.
Hiyyih, who had been silently watching the interaction, pats the shoulder of the boy beside her, “I think she’s gonna need that joint now, Seob.”
The shaggy-haired producer straightens up, nodding and quickly reaching for his bag to pull the baggy from the front pocket.
Belle moves toward your closet, “Manchae, Hiyyih, help her wipe her face while I find her an outfit for the game tonight.”
Your eyes widen, and you shake your head in a panicked way that makes Belle grab your face in her hands, uncaring of the fact she’s squishing your cheeks, “Do you want Riki to be your boyfriend, yes or no?”
“Yes.”
“Then you are going to this game, and you are going to look hot.” She walks you through it like she’s talking to a child, “And when he scores the winning home run, you’re going to run onto that field and jump him, got it?”
Jongseob raises his hand again, though doesn't wait to be called on as he interjects, “Home runs are baseball—“
“That isn't the point, dipshit.” Eunchae sasses before turning her attention back to you, “Can I ask what the gift he got you was?”
You nod as Belle releases your face, sniffling softly as you hold up your hand to showcase the charm bracelet on your wrist. Two charms hang from it, your birthstone and a tiny lacrosse stick. “He said he got it before…everything happened.”
“He bought you a charm bracelet after a week of knowing you?” Jongseob asks in a suspicious tone, and when the three girls besides you shoot him a dirty look, he holds his hands up in surrender, “Sorry—it’s just I think I’ve…connected some dots.”
“You haven’t connected shit.” Eunchae says, before promptly adding, “I just wanted to say that, you can continue.”
Jongseob shoots her an annoyed look, before looking at you and beginning, “Well, I was talking to Soul the other day—y’know the one that goes to music club with me— and he said he and Riki were friends in Freshman year.”
His hesitant pause has you looking at him and saying, “What does that mean to me?”
He continues, “He mentioned him having a huge crush on a girl then—“
“Why would I want to know this, Seob?” You question with exasperation.
“Let me finish!” He insists, and you sigh, motioning for him to land the damn plane, “I did some digging—aka asking his teammates about it—and while most of them didn’t know or wouldn’t tell me, Jake kind of insinuated it was you.”
You blink, “How did he insinuate it was me?”
“Well, I asked him what he thought about your breakup and he got all weepy about it. Said he was rooting for you guys to be endgame.” Typical Jake. “Then, I mentioned you guys not knowing each other for long and it sounded like he almost said that Riki’s been into you for years.”
The four of you blink at the boy’s retelling of events, and Belle is the first to snap out of her surprise, “And why didn’t you tell us this when you found out?”
“You guys never let me talk. Plus, that seemed like the last thing she wanted to hear.” He argues, then motions to you, and none of the girls in the room can really argue back. He doesn’t seem all that bothered about the truth of his own statement, though, as he holds up the bagged joint once more. “Now, are we smoking this or not?”
Parking your car has never left you with such a dreadful feeling in your gut, which Jongseob swore a hit of his shitty joint would ease, yet all it did was jumble your thoughts more.
The temperature sensor reads a biting 30°F, and as you zip up the thick teddy puffer jacket you shiver with pure nerves. “Fuck.”
Flipping down the sun visor, you check your reflection in its mirror. The warm light reflects off the gloss on your lips, which you fuss over with the pad of your finger even though it’s as perfect as it was when you applied it.
Stalling. You’re stalling.
With a deep breath, you snap the visor shut and cut the engine, grabbing your purse and phone before stepping into the biting cold. The frigid air slashes through the layers of your outfit, your jacket doing little to stop the chill. You already regret picking the cuter option over something more practical, but you’d made your bed. Now you had to lie in it.
Ain't that the truth.
The field is already alive with movement and muted chatter. Teams are warming up, their voices cutting through the chilly air as balls thud against lacrosse sticks and cleats crunch on frosted grass. You can’t see Riki yet, but the sight of the players in their jerseys stirs the knot in your chest.
Decelis Demons v. YG Pirates
As you near the bleachers, a familiar voice calling your name stops you in your tracks.
“Over here!”
You turn, spotting Riki’s mom waving at you with a warm smile, flanked by two young girls bundled in matching puffer jackets. His sisters. The younger one is tugging impatiently at her scarf, while the older stands with her arms crossed, looking vaguely unimpressed by the entire ordeal.
“Mrs. Nishimura, hi!” you manage once you’ve climbed the bleachers to join her side, hoping your smile doesn’t betray the whirlwind of emotions brewing beneath the surface.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she says, her voice as kind as you remember. “Riki didn’t mention anything, but I figured you’d be here for him.”
Your face heats at her words, but you force a nod, gripping the strap of your purse tighter and attempting to ignore the cold nipping at your fingers. “Of course, even if it's colder than a Yeti’s ass out here.”
You almost regret your colorful language before the older girl snorts softly, “Preach.”
Mrs. Nishimura chuckles, “It is freezing,” she agrees. “I told Riki he should’ve picked an indoor sport, but you know how stubborn he is.” She jests, and then proceeds to add, “Oh, and these are my daughters, Maki and Runa
You smile at the two of them, Maki’s a bit more subdued but Runa’s bright as she waves. At the mention of Riki, your eyes scan the field for a glimpse of his number. The players are still warming up, running drills and shouting plays back and forth.
And then you see him.
Riki stands near the goalpost, casually balancing his stick across his shoulders as he chats with a teammate. Even in the midst of the pregame chaos, he moves with the same effortless confidence that always draws attention, his tall frame impossible to miss.
The sight of him stirs something unfamiliar and electric in your chest. It’s not the usual comfort you’ve come to associate with him—it’s sharper, more restless, like an itch you can’t quite get to.
You tear your gaze away from him when you hear your name called once again, finding Gaeul quickly climbing the steps of the bleachers to get to you, her free gloved hand catching your arm happily, “I was hoping you’d be here!”
You smile, part of you relieved that she isn’t acting differently despite everything, and your eyes fall on the poster board in her other hand, “Is that for Jay?”
She follows your gaze and nods, unrolling it to reveal ‘Go Jay!’ with a big 19 under it, which you assume is his jersey number. The dark red sweatshirt under her puffer reads the same number as well. “Cute, right?”
“Very cute.” You reply with a soft laugh, smoothing a crease from the corner of the poster board as you add, “I’m sure he’ll love it.”
“He better,” Gaeul huffs in a mock seriousness, “M’freezing my ass off for him.”
Mrs. Nishimura, who seems to have been listening in from her spot beside you, chimes in with a knowing smile, “He still insists you come to every game?”
You momentary confusion is quickly shaken off as you remind yourself that Gaeul and Jay have been dating since sophomore year, of course Riki’s mom knows her, and the girl in question nods fondly, “He says I’m his good luck charm—“ She gasps, and you blink, “—I forgot to kiss him before I left earlier!”
Your brief panic induced by her gasp subsides as you giggle softly, “Oh, no!”
She playfully smacks your arm and grabs it, “You’re coming with me for that.”
Your laughter doesn’t subside, only grows, as she motions to the Nishimura’s that you’ll ‘be right back’ and begins tugging you along down the bleachers, “Where are we going?”
“To kiss my man.” She answers, but pauses in her step to look at you and clarify, “I’m kissing him, you…can kiss Riki.”
“I will not be doing that, but I respect the effort.”
She groans melodramatically as the both of you continue walking down the bleachers, “Aww, c’mon, you guys were so cute together!”
You thank the lord that it’s too loud for Rin and her daughters to hear the girl from this distance, both for your sake and Riki’s, but laugh softly, “I don’t think kissing him a week after breaking his heart is the right move to get him back.”
Gaeul pauses on the last step to look at you with an unhinged jaw as soon as you realize your mistake, opening your mouth to deny before the accusations leave her pink lips, “You want him back?”
Her words are shrill with excitement and you have the sudden urge to shrink into nothingness as you hover a cold shivering hand over her mouth and avoid the gazes of those around you both, “Bitch, shut up!”
She flattens her lips in an attempt to compose herself but fails to muffle the excited squeal and bounce of her gait as she tugs you down the side steps of the bleachers to get to the field.
The lacrosse field feels bigger up close, the expanse of frosted grass sprawling out under the big lights on either side of it. Gaeul marches ahead with purpose, her poster now tucked under her arm as she scans for Jay. You lag behind slightly, your thoughts still buzzing from the last few minutes.
“Gaeul, slow down,” you mutter, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself as the cold nips at your ears.
She ignores you, her focus locked on a cluster of players by the bench. You spot Jay among them, laughing at something one of his teammates says. Gaeul picks up her pace, her excitement palpable, leaving you to follow at a more hesitant shuffle.
You scan the group of players, not recognizing any of them as Riki. When you do find him, you exhale heavily at the sight of him deep in conversation with Jungkook, the coach clearly getting on his ass for something.
“Hey there,” a voice calls out, smooth and laced with a confidence that plants a murky feeling in your gut. You glance up to see a guy in a YG Pirates jersey standing in front of you, his helmet tucked under his arm and a cocky grin on his face. 32 is bold and dark green on his chest.
“Lost, sweetheart?” he asks, his tone dripping with mock concern.
You take a step back instinctively, your eyes narrowing. “Do I know you?”
He raises a brow, his grin widening as if you’ve said something amusing. “Feisty, huh? Just my type.”
Your stomach twists at his boldness, irritation bubbling under your skin. You glance over his shoulder, hoping to spot Gaeul, but she’s already halfway to Jay, oblivious to your predicament. “Ew,” you blanch curtly, trying to sidestep him, but he shifts to block your path again.
“C’mon, don’t be like that,” he presses, leaning in slightly. “I’m just trying to be friendly. What’s your name?”
Before you can muster a surely bitchy reply—or a curse—a presence appears behind you.
“I don’t think this is your side of the field,” a familiar voice cuts in, light yet edged with authority. You glance up to see Heeseung standing at your side now, his lacrosse stick casually balanced over his shoulder, his expression calm but his gaze sharp. “Can’t you tell by the colors, dude?”
The opposing player stiffens slightly, his grin faltering as he sizes up Heeseung. “Just talkin’, man,” he mutters, his tone defensive now.
Heeseung doesn’t flinch, his smile remaining intact as he tilts his head slightly. “Right. And now you’re done.”
The player hesitates for a moment before shrugging and backing away, muttering something under his breath as he turns and jogs off. Once he’s gone, Heeseung turns to you, his easy smile returning. “You good?”
You refuse to utter ‘that was hot,’ so you settle for a, “Yeah. Thanks for that, though.”
Heeseung shakes his head, “Nah, you had that handled.”
You barely miss a beat with your response, “Yeah, but it was sweet of you.”
He shrugs with his hand up and that same grin, “What can I say?”
You make a face, “Not that.“
He goes to defend himself, but Gaeul appears with smeared lipgloss and a pretty grin to happily say, “Coach is kicking us off the field.”
“Joyful.” You say with a playfully stiff smile that has Heeseung whining. A soft giggle from you has his frown turning into a grin again and he shoots you a salute.
“I’ll tell Riki you wished him good luck, ma’am.”
“Don’t get concussed, say that too.” You call back as Gaeul tugs you back toward the bleachers, poster under her arm creased. She’s beaming, and you giggle at her glowing smile, “I think I know what you and Jay got up to while I was harassed.”
Her smile drops as she gasps with concern, “Harassed? What happened?”
“It’s not that serious.” You quickly assure her, “Heeseung kinda scared him off, he was a guy on the YG team.”
“Ew.” She makes a face as you both arrive at the bleachers, and you nod.
“That’s what I said.”
As you both arrive back to your seats, and you gasp and happily accept a hot chocolate Rin had thoughtfully gotten for you with a sweet side hug. God you hope Riki still wants you and you can keep this saint of a woman in your life.
As if on cue, the referee blows a sharp whistle, and the players jog to their respective side of the field. Riki is dismissed by Jungkook and pulls his helmet from under his arm as the other members of the team crowd around the coach, his head turning just enough to scan the bleachers.
Your heart skips as his gaze locks onto yours for a fleeting moment.
He doesn’t smile, not exactly—but his expression softens, his eyes warming like he’s relieved to see you there. The corner of his mouth twitches just enough to feel like a secret, like something meant only for you.
And then he pulls his helmet over his head and focuses on Jungkook’s words, it almost feels like a shock to your system but the lingering warmth in your chest makes it hard to feel the cold anymore.
You watch the team huddle, Jungkook’s game face amusing enough to you that you snicker softly before your attention falls back to Riki. Heeseung, who if your memory serves you right is 01, catches Riki’s shoulder in a brotherly way.
Your brows furrow as you see Riki’s head tilt slightly at what Heeseung says, glancing in your direction and then the opposing teams, and you assume his eyes search for a jersey that reads 32.
The players move onto the field with another whistle, and you watch with dread as two opposing jerseys approach the center of the field. 10 and 32.
Now, you know very little about lacrosse despite it being your school’s biggest sport and your brother playing it, but you know that Riki is a midfielder. You know this through his excited play-by-plays of practice to you on the phone whenever he was finally out, as well as the basic knowledge of how a lacrosse game starts. Two midfielders wrestling for the ball.
It couldn’t be called wrestling, however. Riki swipes it barely millisecond after the ref blows his whistle, tossing the ball to 05.
You gasp softly as his shoulder slams into 32s chest hard enough to send him stumbling back, but his body moves quickly toward the opposing defense and away from the startled enemy. If you didn’t know any better you’d assume he was only doing so to keep him off Jake’s back. “Geez, what did you feed him?”
You ask Rin softly, eyes trained on her son and your brain attempting to wrap itself around the difference in his body language and…aggression on-field, when he had barely risen above a loud speaking volume in your presence. She chuckles, “Would you believe me if I said his diet largely consisted of taiyaki and ramen growing up?”
“No.” You awe at her words, eyes still on him but flitting to meet hers for a brief second, “That’s just unfair.”
“Tell me about it,” The elder of his sisters huffs, “I ate my vegetables and have glasses an inch thick, but he gets to eat sweets all his life and has perfect vision.”
“That’s your fathers genetics, not mine.” Rin clarifies, offering you an explanation like it’s second nature already, “That man can’t see something coming straight at his face until it’s already hit him.”
“My brother has horrible vision, too.” You snicker softly, your eyes rarely leaving Riki but only doing so to look between the three Nishimuras, “Refused to wear contacts, even for lacrosse.” You motion in the general direction of the field, and the older woman seems intrigued.
“Your brother plays?”
You shake your head with a soft laugh at your brother’s expense, “Not since highschool, and he was benched most games because he couldn’t see the ball,” your words have Rin laughing and Maki snorting, “plus he generally sucked. He really only joined because his friend was on the team.”
Jake scores a goal and the crowd around you goes wild with cheers, mainly higher in pitch. You let out a supportive cheer and immediately act like you didn’t when his helmeted head turns your way. You’re almost positive a shit-eating grin has formed behind his helmet.
The game continues, the scoreboard leaning toward Decelis’ victory as the first two quarters come to a close and half-time ensues.
“No.” You reject Gaeul’s suggestion almost as soon as it leaves her mouth.
“Aww, c’mon!” She whines, tugging your arm closest to her, “His face would be so funny!”
“He’s wearing a helmet, you can’t see his face. And it’s small enough for you to hold up by yourself.” You point at the poster-board in his hands, which she had happily held up for a good portion of the game until her arms got tired.
“But my arms are gonna fall off.” She groans melodramatically, “Please?”
“Buy me another cocoa and I’ll think about it.”
As half-time comes to a close, your right arm is screaming for relief while you hold your side of the poster up and nurse a cup of steaming cocoa in the other hand. Gaeul shamelessly screams in support of her boyfriend, who you see hunch over slightly like he’s holding back laughter of amusement.
Your hand feels like it’s about to fall off, and you curse yourself for refusing the mittens Eunchae had offered in favor of showing off your new nails. ‘They’re too pretty to cover up,’ you had whined, yet now you wouldn’t be surprised if your fingers started breaking off like a vampire’s from Twilight.
The scoreboard reads heavily in the home team’s favor, and you pray to every deity that the game finally ends for your arm’s sake (and your crippling anxiety). Though, watching Riki slice through YG’s defense and score points like they're nothing doesn’t look like it’ll be getting old for you anytime soon.
“You’re drooling.” Gaeul teases as you suck in a sharp breath at the sight of Riki once again shoulder 32 off balance, hard enough for him to fall onto his ass this time. Tensions are high as the time counts down, though part of you’s hoping this never ends.
“I don’t drool.” You retort in a soft grumble, yet you rub the side of your wrist over the corners of your mouth self-consciously. “I’m a fucking lady.”
“Right…” Gaeul agrees with playful doubt in her tone that’s punctuated by giggles as you playfully shove her shoulder.
The final whistle slices through the winter air as Riki launches the ball into the goal, accompanied by an uproar of cheers and groans from the crowd. Decelis has won, 12-7, the scoreboard glowing with the decisive win. The players pour onto the field, some celebrating, others trudging off in defeat. Your eyes dart instinctively toward Riki, helmet under his arm, hair damp with sweat as he exchanges fist bumps and quick words with his teammates. The way his expression softens to a grin when Jake slings an arm around his shoulders makes your stomach twist.
You clutch your empty cocoa cup, suddenly desperate to find a reason to approach him. Before you can muster up a plan, the chaos swallows him—players crowding, parents flooding in from the sidelines, and Gaeul’s excited tug on your sleeve pulling you back to the moment.
“Let’s go find Jay!” she beams, and you immediately look toward Rin, Maki, and Runa.
The woman smiles warmly and pats your shoulder, “We always wait in the parking lot for him. You two can have a moment.”
Gaeul is dragging you down the bleachers the moment you softly thank the woman. Your heart thrums as you scan the chaos for Riki, but he’s nowhere to be found. Gaeul bounces ahead, her attention locked on her boyfriend.
Her hand slips from your arm as you’re both swept into the excitement, and her curls disappear in the crowd.
The field feels like a warzone, buzzing with shouts, laughter, and the rhythmic stomp of cleats against frozen grass. You’re jostled in every direction, bodies pressing and colliding as parents swarm to congratulate their kids, and the players themselves disappear into the fray. Your fingers curl around the half-empty cocoa cup as if it might ground you, your pulse hammering in your ears.
Where is he?
You catch glimpses of Riki’s teammates—Jake’s unmistakable blonde head bobbing as he jokes with Heeseung, Sunghoon hoisted onto someone’s shoulders—but Riki remains elusive, swallowed by the tide of bodies.
“Riki!” His name slips out, barely audible over the noise, and you feel a flush creep up your neck. What are you even doing? Someone brushes past you, hard enough to make you stumble. “Watch it,” you mutter, turning to see a player in a YG jersey, helmet off and grin too familiar.
32.
He doesn’t say anything at first, just gives you a once-over that makes your skin crawl. His shoulder brushes yours again as he angles toward you, his smirk sharper now. “Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he drawls, voice low enough that it’s almost lost in the noise.
You make a face of disdain, like speaking to him both disgusts you and is beneath you, “Is that supposed to be cute?”
“C’mon,” He says, tone dripping with what you assume is his attempt at charm, “Don’t be like that. You’ve been watchin’ me the whole game.”
“I don’t even know you.” You respond with the same look on your face that reads you’d rather be anywhere else than where you are, listening to him.
He steps closer, undeterred by your tone and clear disgust, “That can be remedied,” His voice is low, and you see his hand move from his side to reach for your waist.
Your anger takes over your motor control, and the half-empty, long chilled cocoa in your hand splatters over the front of his jersey, “Don’t fucking touch me.”
The cocoa splashes onto his jersey in a satisfying arc, the dark liquid seeping into the white fabric. His grin falters for a moment, replaced by a stunned look that quickly twists into irritation. “Are you fucking serious?” he snaps, brushing at the stain, but it’s a futile effort.
“Yeah, I’m fucking serious,” You retort, mirroring his tone, “Who the fuck told you that you could fucking touch me?”
The players around you have started to notice the commotion, a few stopping to watch as Number 32 bites back, “You’re not even worth half of what that bitch offered me.”
If what boiled within you was anger, then what it morphs into at the player’s statement must be seething fury, “Excuse me?”
“What’s goin’ on here?” A hand clasps over your shoulder but the voice calms any volatile reaction brewing in your gut, Jungkook stepping between you and the YG player.
Jungkook’s presence immediately shifts the energy around you. His broad frame looms between you and Number 32, the way his body blocks out the other player like a wall of stone, calm yet unyielding. The cocky grin fades from the YG player’s face as he holds up his hands in mock surrender, shooting a glare at Jungkook.
Jungkook doesn’t even glance at the YG player, his focus entirely on you as he steps closer, his gaze softening slightly when he sees the tension in your shoulders and the shift in your jaw. “You okay?” he asks, his voice surprisingly gentle in the midst of the chaos.
You nod, even though the heat of anger still lingers in your chest. “I’m fine,” you say, but your voice shakes just enough that Jungkook catches it.
His eyes flick briefly to the YG player, who’s clearly not in the mood to test Jungkook’s patience any further. “Walk with me,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. You want to protest, to stay and search for Riki, but something about the way Jungkook stands there—tall, unshakable—tells you it’s not worth resisting.
He guides you through the crowd and off the field with his hands on your shoulders. When the two of you arrive at the edge of the field where the bleachers drop off and the parking lot comes into view, he releases you. “Do I need to go talk to that kid’s coach? Or parents?”
“No, I think the shit-colored stain on his jersey says enough.” You retort swiftly, the implications of his words stick with you, though. ‘You’re not even worth half of what that bitch offered me.’
It isn’t as if you woke up yesterday, you know he’s talking about Nayeon. Whether it be some kind of intuition or you’re just that fucking familiar with her thought process from years of what you had thought was friendship, you know it.
“Hey.” Jungkook’s gruff but somewhat gentle call snaps you out of your stewing, and you blink at him, “Don’t do anything I’m gonna hear about, okay?”
Your immature response is interrupted by the loud cheers and chatter morphing into shouts and hollers of a more alarmed tone that has the both of you looking in the direction of the field. Jungkook doesn't seem eager to let you involve yourself in whatever it is that’s going down on the field, you know this because he’s shooing you off toward your car in a dismissive but authoritative tone.
If you cared at all about anything except beating Nayeon’s face in at the moment you would be protesting and following after him as he jogs toward the commotion, but you don’t. Instead, you walk to your car, toss your Prada bag into the passenger seat as it begins to warm up, and plot.
Watching your friend group’s grins fall while learning that you did not, in fact, kiss Riki after the game but left without even speaking to him in a fit of blind rage was not how you wanted to start your weekend. You blame their soured moods for the fact that all four of them were avidly against your plan to beat Nayeon’s face in the next time you see her, but begrudgingly decided to not jump to conclusions.
The only proof you have that Nayeon was the one to sic that cretin on you may be his words, which aren’t worth much, but you refuse to believe anything else.
Monday arrives with not a singular text or call from Riki, and while Belle has already talked you off of the metaphorical ledge about it, you feel the urge to disappear off the face of the Earth every time you imagine seeing him again after leaving the game he asked you to attend without so much as a word.
Part of you figures the silence on his end is payback, or him deciding to finally let his alleged crush on you go. The other part of you really hopes he was just busy.
Jake is…silent in your second period. Not that you’d mind the silence on any other day, but it’s definitely not normal. Well, he’s silent until he catches sight of the charm bracelet on your wrist as it clinks softly on the desk. His grin is back in seconds and he takes his phone out.
“Want a picture?” You offer sarcastically. When Jake eagerly nods and holds his phone up for the picture, you shoot it a mock smile and manicured middle finger as your charm bracelet catches the light above.
With giddy giggles, Jake takes the photo and practically bounces in his seat in joy as he taps his thumbs on his screen hastily. You’re rolling your eyes and looking down at your worksheet when he asks, “Wanna know who I’m texting?”
“If I wanted to know I’d ask.” You respond swiftly, tapping the eraser-end of your pencil on the desk absentmindedly.
“It’s Riki.” He states with a smugness that pisses you off.
Looking up from the paper, you raise your brows, “Okay?”
“He needed proof,” He adds on with his arms crossed as he leans back in his seat, “Wanna know why?”
“I feel like you’re gonna tell me anyway.”
He’s still smirking as he proves you right, “He thinks you hate him.”
You blink, annoyed nonchalance pushed aside by genuine confusion, “Why would he think that?”
Jake shrugs, though his face seems anything but clueless and you hate that he knows more than you do, “Maybe ‘cause you left the game without saying anything to him.”
“Jungkook made me get off the field.”
“You could’ve waited with his family in the parking lot.”
“Well, I didn’t.” You snap, growing frustrated with the conversation despite it being your own damn fault, “Why are you telling me this, Jake?”
“‘Cause he’s my friend and he’s been miserable.”
“Then he should talk to me.” You retort with a sigh, guilt filling your gut despite your defensive words, and he tilts his head with a nod of agreement, “If I hated him he’d know. I don’t exactly keep that shit a secret.”
Jake, who had bore witness to your fight with Jaclyn Delvacchio in junior year, hums, “Well, can you do us all a favor and talk to him, please?”
“We have fifth period, I’m not gonna ignore him for an hour when he sits next to me.” You roll your eyes and focus back down at your worksheet.
By the time the bell rings, you’re halfway between plotting your own demise and debating if you should actually try to talk to Riki. The idea makes your stomach twist. What if Jake was wrong, and Riki doesn’t want to hear from you? What if your silence solidified something in him—pushed him away for good?
But then you remember how he smiled at you that day in the hallway, the soft tug of his lips like he couldn’t stop himself, and how his eyes lit up when you agreed to come to the bowling date. You remember the way his voice faltered ever-so-slightly when he asked you, like he was bracing himself for rejection but couldn’t bear not to try.
The thought makes your stomach hurt and your chest heavy, and you realize something that makes you want to kick yourself: you don’t want to lose that. You don’t want to lose him.
Yet, you so easily brushed him aside in your list of priorities to stew in your anger about someone who shouldn’t even be a thought in your mind at this point.
You screwed up. Again.
At this point, you feel like you’re winning the losing game. Not only do you hate losing, but you hate the feeling in your chest and gut that makes you want to go home and rot until Riki forgets you ever existed. Belle’s voice screams in your head to talk to him, to make the effort to speak to him and throw away your pride.
So, instead of staying in your old Latin teacher’s class for fourth period grading papers, you persuade her to let you spend your fourth period ‘at lunch with your friends’.
Your friends all share the same lunch period; sixth, when you’ve already gone home. So you lied, yes.
But Riki has fourth period lunch.
You slip through the cafeteria doors, the clang of trays and the murmur of conversation fading as you scan the room for him. The place is packed, and your heart beats louder than the chatter around you. It’s ridiculous—Riki isn’t hard to find. But your anxiety builds anyway, sending a slight tremble through your hands.
You spot him by the window, his profile framed by sunlight, his usual quiet demeanor marking him as an island in the chaos of the cafeteria. His friends surround him, but they’re not your focus. Your eyes zero in on him, his long sleeves pulled up to his elbows, his hair messy and covering his forehead like he didn’t feel like styling it this morning, the rings on his hands that glint in the cafeteria light.
But before you can make your way over, the sound of a voice you loathe cuts through the air, sharper than glass.
“A couple hundred bucks and he was practically my dog.” Nayeon muses at the two girls you barely recognize that sit across from her at a table not far from you, “Sucks that he failed, though. Would have spent my money on someone else.”
“So you…had him hit on her?” The girl on the left asks, a bit confused as she exchanges a look with the girl beside her.
Nayeon seems eager to relay the details, “I told him she liked playing hard to get,” She shrugs disinterested, yet you see a sliver of the smirk on her face from your angle, “made him all the more eager to knock her down a peg.”
The two girls seem peeved by what she says, like any sane person would be, but anything either wants to say dies on their tongue as they catch sight of you. “Girl…”
One trails off as you begin your approach, the same lightness in your gut that has your vision clouded with seething fury.
She looks over her shoulder just enough for you to see her smirk drop into wide-eyed fear.
Your hand catches the back of her head, slamming the side of her face into the table with little care for the eyes that immediately find you, “Sorry, I didn’t hear you, bitch. What was that?” There’s ‘ooo’s and ‘oh shit’s from the wuickly forming crowd as you pull her up by her hair, launching the flailing girl onto the ground. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
She scrambles off the ground, immediately getting in your face as she hisses, “You don’t deserve him.”
“Oh, fuck you.” You curse as your hand meets her face, and she shrieks as her head snaps to side.
Nayeon recoils for a moment, eyes wide with shock, but the anger on her face quickly replaces any hesitation. "You think I'm scared of you?" She spits, moving toward you with a snarl. She may not have expected this, but now that it's happening, she seems desperate to prove herself.
Grabbing her by the shoulders, you shove her into one of the metal chairs, the clattering sound of it screeching across the floor as she stumbles backward. The two girls hasten to get out of the way, faces a mix of fear and ‘oh shit’.
Nayeon picks herself up with blind fury guiding her actions, hands flying out as she lunges forward to shove you back. Your hands grasp her hair again, and the crowd surrounding the scene roars.
Her nails claw at your wrist as you yank her forward. She’s small, but her anger makes her stronger than she has any right to be. The fight is a mess of hair pulling and shoving, curses from you and shrieks from her.
You shove her hard into the table again, the force sending a tray of half-eaten food crashing to the floor, and the crowd goes wild, hooting and cheering. The heat in your chest ignites with every movement. The adrenaline rush is undeniable.
Nayeon's attempts to push you back only seem to fuel your anger further. Her breath is ragged, and you can practically taste the bitterness she's been carrying since the moment you stepped into her world. Every movement of hers is desperate, like she's trying to claw her way back to a victory she's long since lost.
"Get the fuck off me!" she yells, her voice barely audible over the chaos. But you don't listen. You slam her against the chair again, hard enough that she falls onto her ass, eyes wide with disbelief. Nayeon's face contorts in pure anger as you approach again, her hands flying up in a futile attempt to strike you. Her nails scratch at your arms, but the pain barely registers.
But then, someone grabs your waist, lifting you off the ground effortlessly. The world tilts as you're pulled off of Nayeon, feet leaving the ground. For the split second that you’re struggling against them, thinking it’s one of her friends or a teacher, you curse at them too.
Then the cologne hits your nose and the voice hits your ears, “Alright, that’s enough, pretty girl.”
Your heart stutters in your chest as Riki’s voice cuts through the frenzy, low and soft in your ear, but with a sharp edge of firmness that you’ve never heard from him before. His grip on you doesn’t waver, and despite the anger still coursing through your veins, you freeze for a second, thrown off by the ease he had pulling you off of that traitorous bitch—who’s being held back by Jake and Jungwon.
“Skank!” Nayeon shrieks, clawing at Jake and Jungwon’s arms that keep her from lunging at you again.
Any calm that Riki’s presence brought you is washed away, but he pulls you back by the waist as you move to have a go at Nayeon again. His arms wrapping around you to keep your arms at your sides as you bite back, “Says you, bitch.”
“Easy, easy,” He eases, your back hitting his chest as your jerky and angry movements force him to pick you up again, “Cool it, baby. You got her good.”
“Get her out of here before the teachers get here,” Heeseung orders in a hushed tone as the other members of the lacrosse team grab at phones and shove the crowd back.
“I’m not—hey!” Your defiant statement is interrupted by the arm around your waist tightening and your feet lifting off the floor once more. “Riki!”
“I know, I know.” Riki’s hold is firm as you struggle weakly against him, his voice deep and low like he’s easing a wild animal, his touch warm. You can’t bring yourself to fight back the way you did with Nayeon as he walks you out of the cafeteria building. His presence, the warmth of his chest against your back, it all has your defense mechanisms easing up and your anger softening to a low simmer.
When he finally sets you back down, the cool chill of the air eased only by the sunlight hitting the two of you, you turn to face him with a charged glare, “I can walk.”
He holds his hands up in good faith, or maybe an attempt to calm you down, “I know, baby.”
“And she deserved that.”
“I know, baby.”
The way he repeats himself so softly, how he’s letting you take out the remnants of your anger on him, it only makes the ache in your chest worsen. You exhale sharply, “Stop that.”
“Okay.” He says, voice soft but no pain or hurt to be detected in his voice, only in his eyes.
Your own sting almost automatically with both frustration and anger at yourself and no one else, “No, not—“ Taking a deep breath, your hands move to your face, “This is all wrong.”
“What is?” You try not to notice how he doesn’t attach ‘pretty girl’ or ‘baby’ to the end of his question. You fail.
“Everything.” You mutter, exhaling another soft, “Fuck.”
“You’re bleeding.” He points out, his hands pulling yours from your face to examine the scratches up your arms.
“Nails are intact, though.” You mumble softly, trying to make yourself feel better. Riki looks at you in slight disapproval, brows furrowing, and you add, “I’m okay.”
He sighs, shaking his head, “There’s a first-aid kit in the locker room, let me clean you up.”
“Ew, I’m not going into the boys locker room.” You reject his offer with an obstinance that would usually amuse him, yet he shows a sliver of frustration in his body language. “And I told you, I’m fine.”
“Okay, you can either walk or I can carry you.”
“As if.”
Your challenge is met with him raising his eyebrows and lunging for you a second later. You flinch and swat at his hands, “Okay, fine!” He pulls back again with a ‘that’s what i thought’ look, “I’ll walk.” you add with a defiant ‘hmph’ as you walk past him.
He doesn’t press the issue, following you towards the athletics building and holding the door open for you to enter first, to your utter fury of course. Stupid boys. Stupid emotions.
When you find the boys locker room, you pause as he pushes the door open, “I’m not going in there.”
He sighs with a nod like he expected as such, “I’ll be right back, stay here.”
You sigh and cross your arms, rolling your eyes and leaning back against the wall across the locker room entrance.
Riki returns with a first aid kit and his hoodie, “Let’s go to the bleachers, no one’s got practice today.” You assume the hoodie is for you, and you’re proved correct when he tosses it into your face and snickers when you curse at him. “C’mon.”
You begrudgingly walk with him out of the athletics building to the school field not a far walk from the entrance.
You hear the bell ring from where you sit on the bleachers minutes later as your chilled fingers are tended to by the lacrosse player, “You’ll be late, you know.”
“We’ll both be. It’s fifth period now.” He states as he delicately cleans the raw skin streaking up your wrist with an alcohol wipe.
“Ow.” You mumble, and he tsks with a growing smile.
“Don’t be a baby.” He teases, and you mock his words in a higher pitched voice back to him.
“Fuck you.”
He snickers softly, gently rotating your hand in his to clean the visible lines tainting the delicate flesh, “Baby.”
His statement isn’t the beckon or fond coo you wish it’d be, but it causes flutters in your gut all the same. You mock him again and he huffs softly in amusement, refraining from continuing the back and forth to focus on your scratched up wrists and forearms.
As he moves to your right hand, his touch lingers on the charm bracelet hanging off your wrist as he dabs at the skin. The metal chain catches the sunlight, twinkling faintly against your wrist as Riki pauses. His thumb brushes over one of the charms absentmindedly before he speaks, voice softer than you expected. “You’re wearing it.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” you reply, trying to sound casual despite the way your pulse stutters. His touch, even as fleeting as it is, sends a warm shiver through you.
“I just…” he trails off, dark eyes flicking up to meet yours briefly, his gaze filled with something tender. “I wasn’t sure if it was your style.”
“Why’s that?” You ask with a slight furrow of your brows, and he snickers softly.
“I’m sure it’s not the luxury you’re accustomed to.”
“Everything I wear isn’t expensive. I’m not a snob.” You huff in slight offense, though he finds it amusing.
“Never said you were a snob, princess.” He clarifies, discarding the alcohol wipe to grab the ointment from the kit, “Nothing wrong with being spoiled.”
“I’m not—“ you go to argue, but the amusement on his face has the words dying on your tongue as you look away from him, “You’re such an ass.”
“Aww, I’m wounded.” He pouts softly, before it turns into that pretty smile again and he laughs softly, “It looks good on you.”
It takes a half-second for you to remember he’s talking about the bracelet, and your instinctive reply comes in the form of a weak, “Fuck off.”
His head falls forward as he laughs at your weakly aggressive statement. His touch is still gentle as he continues, hands unbelievably warm around yours. How unfair.
“Your hands are freezing.” He states softly, tube of ointment placed aside in favor of engulfing your hands in his. You watch him rub at them, your nails clicking against his rings with every movement until they catch his attention, “These are nice.”
“I know.”
He huffs in amusement, biting his bottom lip before he says, “‘Course you do.”
The tension between the two of you shifts, delicate and tenuous, like a thread stretched too tight. Riki’s touch is warm and steady, and you hate how easy it would be to let yourself relax into it. His thumbs keep brushing over your knuckles, slow and deliberate, and your chest tightens with every pass.
You clear your throat, trying to focus anywhere but his hands, but when you look up, his gaze is already on you. It’s not intense, exactly. Not piercing or overwhelming. Just…soft. Patient, even. The kind of look that has your fight or flight instincts kicking in to protect the
“What?” you snap, defensive and unsure, your voice sharper than you mean for it to be. You regret it instantly when his brow furrows slightly, though his hands don’t pull away.
“Nothing,” he replies softly, his voice steady. “Just glad you’re okay.”
The simplicity of it almost knocks the wind out of you. You blink, trying to find a reply that won’t give you away, but the words stick in your throat. All you can manage is a mumbled, “I told you, I’m fine.”
“Yeah,” he says, his tone carrying a gentleness that makes you ache. “But I worry about you anyway.”
You don’t know what to do with that—how to handle the sincerity in his voice or the way his touch lingers like he’s afraid to let go. It feels like too much and not enough all at once.
“You shouldn’t,” you mutter, trying to pull your hands back, but he holds them lightly, just enough to keep you there without forcing you.
“Can’t really help it, pretty girl.” His lips curve into a faint smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Especially when you’re getting into fights.”
Your stomach twists, a cocktail of guilt and frustration bubbling to the surface. You want to tell him it wasn’t just a fight. That it was Nayeon, that she deserved it, that you were defending yourself in more ways than one. But that isn’t the truth, is it? Not really.
“I—” You start, then stop, swallowing down the lump rising in your throat. “I don’t—” Your voice wavers, and you hate it. “Riki, I can’t—I’m not good at this.”
“At what?” his hands grasp yours tighter as he leans forward with his gaze so…so attentive.
“This.” You motion vaguely between the two of you, trying to not cry in front of him. You’re failing horribly. “Us. You. Me. God, fuck.”
“Talk to me, pretty girl.” He pleas softly, and your chest feels as warm as your hands are in his.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” You exhale, head dropping back in an attempt to keep your frustrated tears from falling, “And I keep fucking up everything good in my life, and I just—“
His neck cranes slightly to meet your gaze as you avert it to his hands around yours, waiting for you to continue. Listening.
You take a deep breath, “I like you, I really do,” his thumbs slow to a stop against your knuckles, but you don’t look at him, “and you’re so—perfect and I’m not—“
“Don’t say that—“
“I’m not.” You insist, and one of his hands moves to your cheek as you continue, thumb gently wiping away a stray tear, “I’m…messy and mean-“
“I don’t care about that.” He argues gently, but you’re not done.
“-and I can’t even handle my own shit in a mature way so why should I be able to give you anything better—“
You don’t get to finish as his lips press against yours, cutting off your spiraling words with a kiss so sudden and deliberate it steals every thought from your head.
His hand on your cheek tilts your head up toward him, his other remains holding yours. It’s not a hesitant kiss. There’s nothing unsure or tentative about it, not like the first one he gave you. He isn’t suffocating you, or doing anything more than moving his lips against yours like it’s all he’s wanted to do for years but knows to take his time savoring it instead of rushing in with teeth and tongue.
All you know is that you’re leaning into him, your anger, frustration, and self-doubt melting away under the weight of his touch. It’s a good kiss—better than good. It’s consuming, overwhelming, and entirely too much, yet you feel like more wouldn’t be all that bad.
When he pulls back it isn’t far, his forehead resting against yours. You’re breathless, your lips tingling in the aftermath and brain foggier than you’d like to admit. His nose brushes against your as he says, “I don’t care about any of that,” his voice is low and hoarse, “I just want you.”
You exhale shakily, feeling his words hit you lips, “Riki—“
“I’ll wait.” He promises softly, a hint of desperation in his words that has something in your gut fluttering, “However long it takes for you to be ready, I’ll wait.”
Your eyes flutter shut as you shake your head weakly, looking down at your lap. “That’s not fair to you.”
“I don’t care about fair, pretty girl.” He responds with a slight smile, hand moving from your cheek to tilt your chin up and make you look at him. His gaze flits between your eyes and lingers below your nose, a pattern that mirrors your own. “I can wait.”
His words are soft, spoken like an oath as his eyes find your lips again and decide to stay there a while.
“Why?” You ask, barely a whisper.
Riki lifts his gaze to look you in the eyes, a soft smile on his lips as he says, “‘Cause I like you more.”
You roll your eyes, “Is it a competition?”
He hums low, as if apprehensive, “Not much of one.” Your jaw drops slightly as if offended and he laughs softly, “I mean, I have you completely outmatched, pretty girl.”
“Oh, yeah?” You challenge with a slight laugh, “How so?”
He shifts closer as he hums again in thought, “Well, you’ve liked me for how long? A few weeks?” The question is more of a statement, and he seems unbothered by the short time-span with the smile on his face, “Yeah, I’ve got you beat.”
“You didn’t know me until recently, so it doesn’t count.” You argue with defiance, and he raises his brows.
“Are you invalidating my feelings for you right now?” He asks in a mock-offended tone, hand moving to his chest.
You scoff with playful annoyance, looking away from him briefly before your gaze finds him all over again, like a moth to a flame, “How long?”
His smile turns shier, and he chuckles awkwardly, “Nah, it’s not a competition. You’re right.”
“Nuh-uh, you started it,” You laugh, shoving his sturdy chest weakly, “C’mon, I already know. I just wanna hear it.”
Your smug words paired with the shrug you give have his eyes narrowing, “You know?”
You nod, “Jake ratted you out.”
Riki’s eyes widen slightly and he groans, head dropping forward in embarrassment, “I’m gonna kill him.”
Riki lifts his head, still chuckling under his breath as he finally relents, “Alright, fine.” His eyes meet yours again, warm and steady, even as a blush creeps across his cheeks and ears. “Since freshman year. Happy now?”
Despite you being the one to force it out of him, you hold back the urge to giggle and turn away from him. “Very.” You answer with a slightly blissful grin on your face.
“You gonna hold that over my head?” He asks playfully, leaning closer like he wants to kiss you again.
You fight every impulse telling you to close the distance yourself, but let your eyes move between his eyes and smirking lips freely, “I might.”
“Yeah?” He jests softly.
You hum, deciding to be a little mean. “I could also hold over your head that your mom still thinks we’re dating.”
His eyes shut and the hand creeping towards yours again freezes. His head falls forward and you panic for a moment thinking you went too far before you realize his shoulders are shaking and you can hear soft wheezing. “You’re mean.”
His muffled whine makes you snicker gleefully, and you add, “She said I’m good for you.”
You don’t realize the joy behind those words until he raises his head with a teasing but genuine (and flirty) grin on his face as he asks, “You’re happy about that, huh baby?”
You find yourself teasing him back instead of getting hostile at his flirty tone, probably due to the boost he gave your ego, “Mmm, not as happy as you seem to be with me as your girlfriend. According to your mom, anyway.”
Before he can reply, a familiar voice cuts through the moment.
“Nishimura.”
Both of you whip your heads toward the source of the sound. Standing at the bottom of the bleachers with his arms crossed and an exasperated expression is Jungkook. He’s wearing a hoodie and joggers, looking like he just came from the gym with his curls in a bun, but his sharp eyes land squarely on Riki first, then shift to you.
“What the hell are you two doing up there?” Jungkook asks, though there’s no real heat in his tone.
Riki straightens up, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Just…taking care of something, Coach.”
Jungkook’s brows rise, and he gestures toward the field. “And why aren’t you in class?”
“I—uh—” Riki stammers before Jungkook waves a hand dismissively.
“Save it. I don’t need the whole story. Just get your ass to class before I have you running suicides until next week.” His gaze softens slightly as it flicks to you. “And you? ”
You shrink a little under his stare, mumbling, “I wasn’t feeling well.”
Jungkook lets out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You—” He shakes his head before gesturing toward the parking lot. “Go home, kid. And no more fights, please—or distracting my team.”
“Alright, alright,” you mumble as you stand. You glance at Riki, who’s already grinning like this whole thing is hilarious, and shoot him a glare. “Stop smiling, you ass.”
Riki just snickers, his grin growing wider as he stands. “I’ll walk you to your car, pretty girl.”
Jungkook shakes his head, muttering something about teenagers and their hormones. “She can walk herself, get to class.”
Any complaint Riki wants to make is silenced by the pointed finger Jungkook sends him, and he sighs. Your cheeks burn as he leans down to press a kiss to one of them with a soft, “See you later, pretty girl.”
Riki averts his eyes from Jungkook’s judgmental gaze as his star midfielder jogs down the bleacher steps, offering a respectful bow of his head as he passes.
Jungkook then looks over at you, and you’re already arguing, “I have to get my bag from my locker.”
He deadpans, clearly unimpressed as he says, “Ask one of your friends to get it for you.”
Unable to argue with his reasoning, you let out a soft huff and begin patting your pockets for your phone. A relieved sigh escapes your gloss-smudged lips when your fingers brush against the device through a layer of fabric. Silently, you thank whichever of your spirit guides prompted you to button your back pocket before entering the cafeteria.
You suddenly remember another reason to stay a bit longer, “My keys are in my bag!”
Jungkook sighs, “If I see you in the halls in 10 minutes you’re getting banned from my field.”
You grin, bouncing down the steps with a happy, “Thanks, Coach Jeon.”
He makes a face of disgust, hand gently pushing the side of your head as you walk by, “Get out of here.”
It’s almost laughable how quickly the situation disappears, like it never happened. No one snitches—not one person. Even the crowd of students who saw everything miraculously forget when teachers start asking questions. It’s the lacrosse team who spins the story, their collective loyalty so seamless you almost believe they rehearsed it. Nayeon threw the first punch, they all swear. You didn’t fight back. You defended yourself.
The only video evidence of the fight are clips of Nayeon lunging for you and blurry photos, another thing you’re sure the lacrosse team took care of, so the school really have nothing to go off of. By the time the dust settles, it’s like the cafeteria incident is just another school rumor, one of those things everyone knows happened yet every retelling of events sounds skewed in some way.
Your mother hadn’t been informed by the school of the issue, thankfully, but you had endured a scathing voicemail from your father about the ‘stunt’ you pulled with Eunseok’s ‘bright and good’ girlfriend while eating Chinese takeout with Belle Tuesday night. She sat there munching on an eggroll and snatching small pieces of your sweet-fire chicken while your father’s angry ramble drew on and on for a few long minutes before he ended it with a, ‘call me back.’ The laughing fit you and Belle had over that one has become a bit of an inside joke now.
Thursday evening finds you in the kitchen of your home following your Aunt’s slutty brownie recipe with Riki on FaceTime propped up against the egg carton. “Butter, butter, butter…” You mumble to yourself as you reach for the ingredient, making a face as some of the softened dairy gets on your thumb. Riki, who had been silently observing you through the screen, snickers softly. You send a pointed look to the camera, “Don’t laugh at me.”
“M’not, you're just cute.”
“Fuck you.” You lose the fight against the smile forming on your face as you unfold the waxy wrapping of the butter and tip it into the mixing bowl, “I’m always cute.”
He only hums low with that same smirk on his face as he rests his chin on his arm, watching you switch on the mixer and grab a brownie pan from the cabinet beside the stove. A beat passes and he asks, “You don’t have to, you know?”
You glance away from pressing your knuckles into the cookie dough to flatten it along the bottom of the greased pan, “I know, but I don’t want your friends to have anything over me.”
Your joke is received with a soft laugh, “I wouldn’t let them hold it over you.”
“While I would like to see that, this is much easier.” You dismiss as you move to the sink to wash your hands and grab the pack of oreos. “Plus, Jungkook loves slutty brownies so maybe he’ll take the stick out of his ass if he gets one.”
Riki snorts softly on the other end, his bangs messily covering his forehead and eyes, “It’s game day, I don’t think the stick will come out.”
You hum in defeat, shrugging slightly as you begin to place the layer of oreos into the pan, “A sweet treat for good graces then.”
Once you finish the layer of oreos, pour the brownie batter over it, and stick it in the oven, you sigh loudly. Fanning yourself and pulling your hair off your neck as you move toward your phone to grab it. “Jesus Christ, it’s hot.”
“It’s 30° outside.”
“I’m not outside, I’m inside.” You sass with a ‘duh’ look on your face as you hold the phone angled up at your face as you walk toward the living room. “And how dare you try to contradict me.”
“Sorry, pretty girl. It won’t happen again.” He responds after a light chuckle.
You feign another roll of your eyes as you fail to fight the smile growing on your lips once again. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
The next morning, you arrive at school earlier than you’d like—especially with how fucking cold it is. Still, you look cute and feel it too, with a new lip gloss on your lips and a pair of pearls on your ears to match the ones on your eyes.
Exiting your car, you hasten your trek to the field. The bags rustle at your sides as you chant a soft tune of “I’m so fucking cold” under your breath. Your hands are, once again, not protected by gloves as you so vehemently refuse to cover up Julie’s masterpiece. She was very pleased that her hard work stayed intact during the fight, but recommended you treat your hands with care if you want them to last as long as they usually do.
Jungkook notices your approach, tipped off by the high-pitched shiver that escapes your lips as you finally arrive on the field—a sound that doesn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the team either. They seem to all slowly get distracted by your figure’s approach, eyes drawn to either the bags at your sides or cute way you’re walking in the cold.
“What are you doing?” Jungkook snaps in annoyance, his tone almost dismissive.
“Jesus Christ, this violates the Geneva Conventions in some way, I'm sure.” You huff softly, holding up the bags as you arrive at his side, “I made slutty brownies.”
Jungkook’s frown softens as the team parrots your words hopefully, and he then barks, “Single file, maggots.”
You’re almost too cold to enjoy the spectacle the team provides racing to get first in line, yet keeping a respectful distance ahead of you. You snicker softly as you set the bags down, bending with a shiver to grab them to pass out before the one in front of the line protests.
“You’re cold?” Kai asks with worry from the front of the line, and the one behind him, Taehyun, steps out of line with his arms held out.
“I’ll pass them out, you need to warm up.” He fusses with a slight scolding tone, “There are hot-packs over there.” He cocks his head toward the bleachers as he takes your place in front of the bags.
You’re left standing there in confusion as Taehyun takes over your current job, walking towards the bleachers in search of the stated hotpacks before a warm object is pressed to your cheek and you startle.
Riki snickers softly as you look at him in disgust before realizing it’s him, and your face softens to an eyeroll with a soft ‘fuck off’ muttered under your breath. You move to grab the hotpack from him, but he cheekily holds it out of your reach with a boyish giggle.
The look you give him has him flattening his lips to hold back a grin as he silently hands the heat pack to you with a muttered apology.
“Why aren’t you in line?” You question, and he has that same smirk on his face.
He shrugs, “Wanted to talk to my girl first.” You give him a look and he groans, “Can’t you just let me indulge for a second?”
“Patience is a virtue, Riki.” You muse as you cross your arms to tuck your hands away with a hotpack in each hand. “Plus, you said you’d wait.”
“And I will—I am.” He confirms with a shake of his head and a lighthearted grin, “But you could be a little more forgiving, pretty girl.”
“I don’t believe in forgiveness.” You retort with a shrug and a pretty smile.
“Niki!” Jake calls out from the line a few yards away, he’s a few players behind with a grin on his face as he says, “Don’t worry about getting in line, I’ll get you one!”
“Yeah, keep talkin’ to your girlfriend~.” Sunghoon teases, causing most of the team to snicker or whistle.
Riki’s ears go red, but when you point it out with a giggle, his hand immediately shoots to one of the red appendages and he shakes his head, “It’s the cold.”
“Niki, our shy boy!” Heeseung coos from the line, and the rest are all too eager to join in.
“Wow, Niki, you're so cute!”
“Niki, kiss her!”
“It’s giving Romeo!”
Riki groans softly, hands covering his face from your vision as you laugh, a warmth blooming in your chest that eases the chill in your bones. “I’m gonna kill them.”
He’s about to say something else when Taki takes a bite of the brownie in his hand and grunts something sounding like “oh yeah” with his words garbled by the mouthful he’s chewing.
You watch the scene unfold with amusement, leaning back on your heels as the team collectively loses their minds over a baked good. Taki, still mid-chew, looks like he’s having a near-spiritual experience, while Jungkook shouts something about chewing with his mouth closed.
Riki uses the distraction to lower his hands from his face, a grin breaking through his earlier embarrassment as he watches you watching them. His voice cuts through the chaos, low and teasing: “You seem happy.”
Your gaze moves to him, “Is that an issue?”
“Not at all.” He responds smoothly, “You look good when you’re happy.”
“I always look good.” You retort out of habit.
He seems to have expected it, nodding along in agreement before he asks, “So, if I asked you to wear my jersey instead of whatever cute shirt you were gonna wear tonight, would you?”
“Look good? Yes.” You answer with a light, teasing tone, “Agree? Mmm, maybe.”
“You’re killing me, baby.”
“Sweet names will get you nowhere.”
“So, you like it when I call you that?” He asks, stepping closer with a cheeky grin.
You remain defiant, arms crossed as you instinctively lean away from him with a laugh, “I never said that.”
“You didn’t deny it either.” He retorts swiftly, his head tilting and his eyes moving over your face with a smugness that pisses you off.
“No, I didn’t.” You agree, and his eyes narrow slightly at the almost flirty smile on your lips as you turn away from him to make your way back to Taehyun.
You fight the giddy feeling in your chest as you feel his gaze on you, deciding against sparing a glance back as you hear the crunch of his steps following after you.
As always, you’re right. Riki’s spare jersey looks adorable on you.
“He’s gonna die.” Gaeul practically squeals at the sight of you. It’s a bit warmer than the morning had been when you arrive at the opposing school’s stadium, the long sleeved fleece-lined undershirt protecting you from the chilled breeze. “Bitch, your ass looks fantastic.”
A grin brightens your face and laugh leaves your glossy lips as she fawns over your look, “Right?” You turn slightly to give her a better view of your behind purely out of excitement, because yeah, your ass looks good in these jeans.
“It’s smiling at me,” She gasps, smacking your butt lightly with a laugh before hooking her arm with yours and beginning to tug you along. “I didn’t know if you’d come tonight with everything that happened last game.”
“Why?” You ask a bit cluelessly, before remembering the event clearer and shaking your head, “Oh, that weird guy? No, I’m fine.”
She hums with a slight frown as the two of you get to the concessions, “I’m so sorry for leaving you in all the chaos, I didn’t realize you weren’t behind me until I got to Jay.”
Sensing the remorse behind her words, you find yourself quickly saying, “Don’t feel bad, I’m okay.”
“Ugh, I need your number! That’s been eating me alive all week!” She huffs softly as the line moves up, “I tried to find you at school but you kept evading me.”
“You couldn’t ask Belle? Don’t you two share a class?” You question with a slight tilt of your head and her jaw slacks.
“Why did I not think of that?” She mutters to herself as you both reach the front of the line and she orders herself a soft pretzel before looking over at you, “My treat, an apology.”
You aren’t one to reject free food when offered, so you look at the concession worker and say, “A Dr Pepper and another soft pretzel, please.”
Gaeul pays and a worker in the back pulls out two warm pretzels as another grabs the familiar maroon bottle from a cooler. She starts speaking again the moment the food and drinks are in your hands.
“Food isn’t allowed on the field, but I already gave Jay a kiss before he went on the bus.”
Her smile is suggestive, and you make a face that has her whining, “C’mon, I’ll hold your food while you go—“ She shimmies her shoulders and purses her lips into a kissy face that has you letting out a shrill ‘ew, stop!’
“That’s deplorable.” Your words contradict the laughter seeping into your speech, “I am not going down there.”
“Boring.” She groans, but her face brightens suddenly and she waves ahead. When you follow her gaze and find Mrs Nishimura approaching, you internally freak out until she smiles at you and you remember how lovely of a woman she is.
A lovely woman who seems to zero in on the jersey you wear the moment she’s within arms reach, “Oh, don’t you look darling!”
She pulls you into a warm hug and you accept it keenly, “Thank you! Are Maki and Runa with you?”
Your question comes as she pulls away, keeping you at arms-length as she shakes her head, “No, they stayed home with their father, neither wanted to make the trip.”
The trip being about an hour long car ride to the other side of town, which is fair. Feels shorter when you’re driving, though. You got through SZA’s new album on the way, too.
The three of you make it to the bleachers, finding a spot to watch the game as the ref whistles and the teams start to huddle. The board reads:
STARSHIP ALIENS v. DECELIS DEMONS
You sporadically tear pieces off of your soft pretzel as your eyes follow Riki the entire game, catching his eye at multiple points and having to act like you don’t see he’s got a shit-eating grin on his face under that face-guard.
The Demon’s win 12-8 long past sunset, a chill nipping your nose and the empty paper your pretzel came in crumbled into a ball in your hand. Rin sends you the same look as the last game before retreating toward the parking lot.
The moment you step foot on the field after releasing Gaeul’s arm, Jake appears in your view with a big grin, “Didja see the weaving I did? I looked cool, right?”
You debate breaking it to the boy that you may have entirely forgotten he was even on the team, too focused on his teammate to even notice him.
“I don’t think she was watching you.” Heeseung appears with his helmet off and his sweat-drenched hair sticking to his forehead. He moves to throw an arm around your shoulder and you quickly dodge with an ‘eugh’.
“You’re sweaty and you stink.” You grumble with a grimace on your face, and Heeseung seems ready to complain before he grins again at something behind you and a second later arms engulf you from behind.
“You’re cute from the back too, pretty girl.” Riki muses into your ear, lifting you up held against his chest with his arms wrapped around you.
“Riki, you sweaty bastard, let me go!” You whine, struggling against him as he lets your feet touch the ground again.
He giggles boyishly as he obeys, and as you turn to give him a piece of your mind you find the curses dying on your tongue at the grin on his face.
His smile is wide and unapologetically smug, the kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes your chest feel like your heart is trying to claw its way out. His helmet dangles loosely in his hand now, his hair a damp mess but somehow still looking good.
“You can’t just pick people up like that,” you say, trying to sound annoyed but betraying yourself when your lips twitch upward. “It’s rude.”
He leans forward slightly, closing the gap between you as if he can’t keep himself away. “Oh? You didn’t like it?”
You roll your eyes, stepping back to put some space between you, but Riki matches your movement with an exaggerated pout, clearly enjoying himself. Before you can fire back with something probably aggressive or mean, another voice cuts in.
“Alright, Romeo, stop flirting and help us pack up,” Jungwon calls, dragging the duffel bags of gear toward the bus. He tosses a water bottle at Riki, who catches it without really looking.
“I’ll see you in a minute,” Riki says softly, his grin softening into something warmer that sends an entirely different kind of shiver through you. He leans down and kisses your cheek before jogging off to join his teammates.
Holy fuck.
Your heart is racing in your chest like an old woman whose heart is about to give out, and your long sleeve undershirt is suddenly too damn hot.
You barely manage to pull yourself together before Gaeul pops up next to you, a knowing smirk spread across her face as she loops her arm around yours. “He kissed you~,” she sing-songs, her tone just low enough not to draw attention, but her amusement is blatant.
“Fuck off,” you mumble, pressing a hand to your cheek like it’ll somehow stop the warmth there from spreading like the grin in your face. You hope the shadows cast by the stadium lights are enough to hide your flustered state.
Gaeul doesn’t let up as the two of you wander toward the edge of the field, her giggles like little daggers stabbing at your already tattered dignity. “He picked you up. And got touchy.”
“I’m aware,” You huff, “I experienced it.”
“I mean, I don’t think you get how big a deal this is,” she practically rambles, “Riki’s never been this…confident!”
“Oh?” You question with your brows furrowed slightly.
She nods with an eager hum, “Riki’s shy! At least he was when I first met him.” Everything up to this point hadn’t pointed you in that direction regarding Riki’s personality, too familiar with the smug smiles and nonchalance, “I mean, he’s like a different person now that you’re around.”
“That’s…good, right?” You question hesitantly, “I mean, he wasn’t weird or anything, right?”
Your voice must have failed to convey the jesting tone you intended because Gaeul quickly begins to backtrack as you approach the bus. Jungkook is at the driver's seat of the bus while some of the team boards it with their duffles hanging from their shoulders and others are loading the luggage compartment with gear, free of their shoulder pads and helmets.
Even without the padding, Riki’s back is broad, jersey hanging off muscle. You can barely see Jake past him, who's on the other side of the compartment helping organize it.
You forget about any questions on your tongue when the shorter male cheekily points out your approach from behind and he looks over his shoulder for you with the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen.
Beautiful bastard.
He wastes no time in loading the equipment bag in his hands into the compartment before stepping away from the bus, jogging toward you with that grin. Gaeul begins to pull away with a grin, but leans in to speak quietly enough for him to not hear, “I’ll give you guys a second.”
She shoots a wink at you as she and Riki pass each other, a soft snicker leaving you as she calls out happily for Jay, who’s just stepped off the bus.
Riki slows as he reaches you, his smile turning slightly sheepish now that it’s just the two of you. He lifts a hand to scratch the back of his neck, his other hand gripping the hem of his jersey. “You’re not mad about earlier, right?”
You ignore the fact his movements cause the jersey to ride up, revealing a sliver of his abdomen that makes you feel like a Victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time.
“I haven’t decided yet.” You respond with a nonchalant shrug and a thoughtful tilt of your head.
He chuckles softly, his hand dropping from his nape as he steps closer with the same magnetism as before, like he doesn’t want to be too far, “C’mon, I was happy you’re here.”
“And you just had to pick me up?”
His laugh is warm and full, the sound washing over you and melting away any annoyance you could have pretended to feel. “Yes.” he says with a nod, his eyes crinkling at the corners again as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
This time, you roll your eyes and half-fight the smile naturally growing on your face, “Fine, but that’s your first strike.”
His brows raise in curiosity, his grin turning to a smirk as he asks, “First strike? How many do I get?”
“Three. Duh.” You sass, and he seems to find that just as amusing as your very serious strike system, though you find it kinda hot that he didn’t question the logic behind it. (The answer: if Sheldon Cooper can have a strike system, so can you.)
“And what happens after three?” He asks, leaning closer with intrigue and that stupid smile.
“Let’s hope you never find out.” You retort, having an idea of what to say but not sure if ‘flogging’ is too far. (You know Belle would laugh, though.)
“Nishimura!” Jungkook barks from the open doors of the bus. The last of the team is filing onto the bus, probably eager to get home. “Stop lollygagging and get on the damn bus.”
You snort softly at the word choice, but find that you aren’t safe from the Coach’s annoyance, “You too, go home. Don’t make me tell them about Shadow.”
The gasp that leaves your lips is one of pure betrayal. The audacity. The nerve. “You—”
He raises his brows in a ‘do it, i dare you’ way and your lips fall shut.
Riki is unable to move past the Shadow thing. “Shadow? Like the Hedgehog?”
“No, like my cat.” You snap sarcastically, “Get on that damn bus.”
Your gaze moves to the vehicle in question, and you find the eyes of the Decelis lacrosse team trained on you and Riki. Through an open window, you hear a voice you think is Kai’s saying, “I thought her cat’s name was Gus.”
“Baby, you have to tell me now.” He laughs breathlessly, like he’s not sure whether to let it out or keep it in for your sake.
“It will never leave my mouth, and I swore him—“ Your words shift from defiant to angry as your finger shoots out to point at the tattooed man impatiently waiting at the bus’ door, “—to secrecy!”
Your words are full of betrayal as you vehemently continue with your manicured finger still pointed, “You took the Unbreakable Vow!
“You were eight.” The Coach retorts. “You used a Crayola marker. It was pink.”
You want to argue, but hold yourself back for everyone’s sake as you look back at a heavily amused Riki and say, “Get on the bus.”
“I’m not letting this go.” He warns with pure joy on his face and a laugh in his voice as he begins to slowly walk back.
You simply shake your head and cross your arms defiantly, “I’m not gonna tell you.”
He only tilts his head with ‘really?’ look, too smug for his own good, the bastard.
Jay and Gaeul appear, her lipgloss smudged on his lips and messy on her own. Jungkook notices them with a disgusted frown and chilling glare. Jay mutters a ‘sorry Coach’ after kissing Gaeul goodbye, and she happily begins to approach your side.
Riki takes the brief moment of time to circle back and ask you quickly, “Are you free tomorrow? Or tonight?”
You blink, mindful of Gaeul’s approach but finding his impulsivity endearing, nodding instead of saying something you’ll cringe at later.
His grin stretches wide, lighting up his face like you’ve just made his entire night. “Cool. I’ll text you,” he says casually, though there’s a spark of excitement in his voice that betrays him. Before you can respond, he jogs back toward the bus, shooting you one last look over his shoulder as he climbs the steps.
Gaeul sidles up to you, her arm sliding through yours with practiced ease, the grin on her face telling you she heard the exchange, “Ready to go?”
You’re thankful she doesn’t tease you again, nodding as the both of you begin to walk toward the visitor parking.
With your back turned, you don’t see one of the slightly ajar windows sliding open more, or the boy that pops his head out of it until he calls out, “Hey!”
You stop mid-step, glancing back over your shoulder to find Riki leaning halfway out the window, his hair messy and damp but looking entirely too perfect for someone who just played an entire game.
You raise a brow in silent question.
“You look good in my jersey!” he calls out, his tone playful but tinged with something softer—something that makes your heart skip.
Your cheeks heat instantly, and you can’t fight the smile breaking across your face. Gaeul snorts next to you, gripping your arm like she’s about to combust.
“I know!” you shout back, doing your best to sound casual, though the warmth in your voice betrays you.
His grin widens, impossibly charming, and he shoots you a two-fingered salute before disappearing back into the bus as the vehicle begins to roll away. Gaeul finally releases her pent-up laughter, practically bouncing on her toes.
“You know?” she echoes, mimicking your response and clutching her stomach. “Girl, you’re gonna kill him one day with that play.”
You start walking toward the parking lot again, tugging her along to keep her from lingering. “I wasn’t playing anything,” you say, though the warmth in your cheeks tells a different story. “I do look good in his jersey. That’s just reality.”
“Sure, sure,” she teases, bumping her shoulder into yours. “But you could’ve just said thank you. Or blushed. Like a normal person.”
“Showing that he affects me is embarrassing.” You grumble softly, “I’ll die before I boost a man’s ego like that.”
(Though, you did cry in front of him about how much you like him, so maybe that argument isn’t valid anymore.)
She cackles at that, nearly stumbling over her own feet as you reach your car. “But, seriously, I’ve never seen him like that. He’s so…” Her voice trails off as she unlocks her own car a few spaces down, but the twinkle in her eye says enough.
“So what?” you press, opening your car door but pausing before you get in.
Gaeul grins knowingly, pointing at you with her keys. “So gone for you.”
You spend the next minute acting like the thought of him being ‘gone’ for you, as Gaeul put it, doesn’t make you want to squeal into a pillow and kick your feet, and when the two of you part ways that feeling remains.
The hour drive home feels longer with Riki on your mind, but maybe it’s the fact you aren’t sure if seeing him again tonight is the best idea.
Something you’ve realized about yourself since meeting Riki is that you suck at impulse control. You preach self-control yet the moment he’s around you—or even mentioned—you find yourself wanting to act on every impulse the chemicals in your brain fire.
When you get home, pulling into the garage as your parents were once again out of town, you read a text Riki had sent not ten minutes prior.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/4bc24466e8d65a014802a3689e3e87a4/8428894b75eaf53d-ff/s540x810/078291eba80606f60895beaa04272f2f29c8305d.jpg)
A beat passes before he responds and you huff in disbelief.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/5c082f785dcc6c74b7f3968e187c3866/8428894b75eaf53d-8f/s540x810/8f484fb4b5a1cc394aa98592b834d67cc6f8d96b.jpg)
The response comes in the form of a phone call. His contact photo lights up your screen, and you huff softly in amusement before pressing the answer button and bringing it to your ear as you get out of your car, “Yes?”
“Both?” His voice comes through, playful yet tinged with something warmer. You can hear the muffled chatter of his teammates in the background, he must not be home yet. “You’re really not making this easy for me, you know.”
“You asked,” you counter with a soft laugh, locking your car and slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I just gave you the answer.”
“Yeah? Which door should I be knocking on? Front or back?”
“You’re not seriously coming tonight, stupid,” you say, though the idea isn’t unappealing. You reach the door, cursing softly at how loud the garage is as it closes. Your hand wraps around the door handle.
“Why not?”
“Riki,” you start with a laugh, entering your home and flipping on the light.
“What? You said both,” he teases. You can hear the grin in his voice, and you roll your eyes even though he can’t see. “Besides, Coach is gonna drop us off at the field to grab our cars anyway. It’s not like I’m going out of my way or anything.”
You hesitate, caught between the thrill of seeing him tonight and the logic of how tired he must be after the game. “Are you sure you don't wanna go to bed?”
“Not really,” he says softly, a bit more serious now, warm. “I’d rather see you.”
Your stomach flips, the sincerity in his voice knocking the wind out of you. “You’re annoying, you know that?”
“And you love it,” he shoots back, but there’s a gentleness there that makes you smile despite yourself.
“You better shower before you get here,” You say after a beat, and you swear you hear a whispered ‘yes’ before adding, “Don’t need your stench stinking up my house.”
“Yes ma’am.” He chuckles on the other end, a sound that comes through your phone beautifully. “Just don’t fall asleep before I get there.”
“Yeah, yeah, just text me when you’re on the way.” You walk toward the kitchen, dropping your purse on the counter and unzipping it to grab the eyedrops as you say, “Also, do you have a curfew?”
“Why? You tryna keep me for longer, pretty girl?” His teasing words are unfortunately true, but you refuse to admit it.
“Well, it’s already almost 10:00.” You dodge his question as you unscrew the tiny bottle in your hands, “I didn’t know if your mom would want you home sooner rather than later.”
“Nah, she’s fine with it.” He assures you, and then a beat passes and he asks, “What about yours?”
“They’re out of town, so it doesn't really matter.” You shrug, “So to answer your question, the front door is fine.”
You hear shuffling on the other end, a car door opening and closing, “So, you don’t mind if I stay a while?”
You can hear the smile in his words, and with a bite of your nail you say, “I’ll kick you out when I get sick of you.”
He laughs softly on the other end, “I’ll stay till you kick me out, then.”
You exchange a few more words before he hangs up to drive, and you have a window of time to panic(and clean up).
After a five minute debate with yourself about taking off or keeping on your makeup, you decide the former is the better option with how late it is and your track record of falling asleep without doing so.
(You also make a promise to yourself that if you fall asleep in front of Riki, death is the only option.)
So, when you get the text that he's arrived and you open the door with a bare face, you half-expect him to comment on it. You had FaceTimed him late enough for the boy to bear witness to your nighttime routine on multiple occasions, but he’d never shown any reaction to it.
The only reaction you get is the same boyish smile as always, the warmth behind his eyes making your heart lurch in your chest.
“Hey,” he greets softly, hands stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie as he steps inside. He smells like some mélange of citrus and musk, his body wash and cologne you assume, and it makes your head feel funny.
“Hey.” You respond with a light huff of amusement as you step aside for him to enter, closing the door behind him, “I see you showered.”
His damp hair covers his forehead, the same messy style he has everytime he takes off his helmet and sweat saturates each lock, yet a bit frizzy like he towel-dried it before he left.
He chuckles, head shaking lightly in amusement as he lets you lead him toward the kitchen, “I listen.”
His words are playfully defensive, the boyish smile on his face and the way he cranes his neck slightly makes you laugh, “You better.” He hums, dropping himself onto one of the barstools at the kitchen island, eyes flickering over the space as you move to grab yourself a drink. “You want anything?”
“Whatever you have.” He shrugs, so you grab two Dr Pepper cans from the fridge and move back to the island.
Riki watches you pull two straws from the drawer in amusement, his elbows on the counter as you pop open the cans with practiced ease and an unhurried leisure. You catch his eyes with a raise of your brow that has him smirking slightly and saying, “Just watchin’.”
“I’d prefer you didn't stare.”
“Can’t help it.”
You roll your eyes at him, but put the straw in and hold the can out toward him anyway. When he takes it with that almost besotted look in his eyes and his fingers brush yours, you find yourself turning away from him the moment it’s out of your hand, “Are you hungry?”
Riki shakes his head, tapping his fingers against the can before taking a sip. “Nah, we stopped for food after the game.”
You nod, opening the pantry to browse and distract yourself, but it does nothing to drown out the weight of his gaze. This was a horrible idea. When you glance at him, he’s still watching you, straw between his lips, eyes holding something unreadable.
“Stop it.”
Riki obediently averts his gaze, turning in his stool until he’s no longer facing you—though he playfully overachieves, turning his back to you completely. You can’t help but poorly conceal a laugh at his actions, which prompts him to look back over his shoulder for your smile.
You act like you don’t catch the way his gaze follows you, ignoring the way it forms a knot in your gut. “C’mon, let’s sit in the living room.”
He follows without hesitation, the soft thud of his socks against the floor trailing after you. You settle into the couch, tucking your legs beneath you, and he drops down beside you like he belongs there.
He does it so easily—makes himself at home in your space, in your presence. It should annoy you. Maybe it does, but not for the reasons you wish it did.
Riki sets his drink on the coffee table, stretching an arm across the back of the couch. He doesn’t touch you, but he could. If you shifted even slightly, if he reached just a little further.
You pretend not to notice.
You scroll through the options absentmindedly, hyperaware of Riki’s presence beside you—the way his fingers drum idly against the couch cushion, the way his head tilts slightly in your direction when you stop on a show.
“This good?” You ask, your voice quieter than intended.
“Yeah,” he says softly. You get the feeling he doesn’t really care what’s on.
You settle into the silence, the soft hum of the TV filling the space between you. For a moment, it’s almost comfortable, normal. But the stillness makes your mind race, and it’s impossible not to notice how close he is. You shift slightly, your side brushing against his as you settle deeper into the cushions, and the air feels thicker somehow, heavier.
You steal a glance at him, his eyes fixed on the screen, but there’s a subtle tension in his posture that wasn’t there before. His shoulders are a little tighter, his jaw a little more set, like he’s holding something back.
Like a ray of sunshine on a rainy day, Gus appears around the corner with a sweet trill and takes the attention of both of you away from the movie(and each other).
Riki perks up immediately, his gaze shifting from the screen to the small ball of fur trotting toward the couch. “Oh, hey, buddy,” he greets softly, leaning forward slightly as Gus hops onto the cushions with practiced ease.
You watch with amusement as he settles in Riki’s lap, loafing contentedly and blinking slowly at you from his spot. Unable to bear it, you shift slightly closer to the boy beside you to reach your cat more comfortably, muttering a soft and fond, “Traitor.”
The midfielder laughs softly, ringed fingers gently scratching the tomcat on his head near your own, “He loves me.”
“He’s a lovey cat.” You retort, and though your words are true, you’ve never seen him lay in anyone’s lap this fast, much less a boy. He was never too fond of Eunseok, and doesn’t really care much for Jongseob, yet seeks out affection from Riki every time he comes over. “He likes warm laps.”
“Maybe he just has good taste.”
“Or maybe he’s a cat.” You retort, shifting again in your seat to make sure you’re not too close. He comments this time.
“Am I making you nervous?” He asks teasingly, voice low.
“Excuse me?” You ask with a judgemental confusion on your face.
He seems undeterred, only motivated by the tone you give him, “You keep fidgeting, baby.”
“What did I say about calling me that?” You lightly smack his side, and he winces playfully.
“My bad,” he concedes, hands lifting from Gus momentarily in mock-surrender, “it won’t happen again.”
“Don’t lie.”
He chuckles, “It’ll happen again.”
A noise begins to play from the other room, and Gus immediately launches himself from Riki’s lap to run off. You laugh softly at Riki’s slight pout, the boy dramatically reaching after the feline longingly, “That was his automatic feeder.”
“Damn.” He sighs, his hands falling back to his sides on the sofa. The tip of his thumb brushes your knee accidentally, and the tension in the air shifts once more.
Both of you seem to zero in on the simple contact, accidental and barely-there yet electric in a way you’d never experienced such minute touches. The tip of his thumb turns into the pad of it, a gentle tracing of circular patterns on your knee. Then, his knuckles join, as if testing the waters.
When you glance at him he's already looking at you, his eyes dark with something unreadable, something intense that makes your stomach flip and your chest explode with warmth. Like an itch, one you know how to quell but the side of your brain dealing with critical thinking tells you it’s probably a bad idea.
His palm flattening against your knee is enough for you to disregard the advice of your logical brain and act on the only impulse your brain can fire at the moment.
Riki’s other hand moves to your cheek when you’re close enough, long fingers tangling into the hair behind your ear as his thumb brushes your cheekbone. His head tilts to the side, nose brushing yours as he shakes it lightly. He doesn’t use the hand on your cheek to push you away or tease you further, any playfulness gone and replaced by a warmth and desire that makes your chest fill with butterflies.
Your breaths mix, the sound of the TV drowned out by the sheer madness of him. He looks like the last thing he wants to do is pull away, like it’s a struggle to not close the short distance between your lips and his—to not cross any lines. Then, his forehead presses to yours gently and he says, “We don’t have to. I can wait.”
His words are soft, nearly whispered, yet his deep voice makes them heavier on your gut than you’d ever admit. You find yourself speaking in a mirrored tone, “I don’t want you to wait anymore.”
His eyes widen just slightly, and his lips part, just barely, his gaze dropping to your mouth. His thumb continues its delicate path across your cheekbone, his fingers flexing in your hair as if anchoring himself to this moment. You can feel the warmth of his breath mingling with yours, the proximity making your heart race.
“I want you to know,” he begins, his voice a low rumble, “I’m not going anywhere. I meant what I said about waiting…I won’t rush you.”
You take a deep breath through your nose, his words a tender weight against your chest. But it doesn’t change what you’re feeling now or how close he is. How easy it would be to just close the gap and kiss him, to let all the tension and uncertainty dissolve with the space between your lips.
“I know.” You say with a slight smile.
Before you can second-guess yourself, your lips find his in a soft and brief kiss.
Riki’s intentions seem to differ from your own as you move to pull away, the hand on your cheek sliding into your hair as his lips chase yours to pull you back in. There’s no hesitation behind it like before, his lips moving against yours with a building urgency that you can’t help but reciprocate.
You gasp softly against his mouth when the hand on your knee glides up your thigh, fingers pressing into skin and pulling you closer almost desperately. He tilts your head just enough to deepen the kiss, a low sound from his chest setting your blood aflame as you maneuver into his lap.
His hands move as your knees settle on either side of his hips, warm palms splaying over the curve of your waist and fingers digging into flesh to feel you as close as possible. It’s too much, yet somehow not enough.
Your fingers thread into his slightly damp hair, another deep sound escaping his intoxicating lips that has your stomach flipping. His breath is warm against your skin, his lips brushing yours again and again, each kiss deeper than the last. You can feel the way his heart beats beneath your palm, just as fast as yours, and it makes something tighten in your chest.
Riki tilts his head slightly, his nose brushing against your cheek as he exhales softly, his grip on your waist shifting as his hands trail up your spine. He pulls you impossibly closer, a restrained urgency in the way he holds you. He's patient—always—but there's something in the way his fingers press into your skin, in the way his lips part just enough for his breath to mix with yours, that tells you he's feeling this just as intensely as you are.
Pulling away feels like the worst idea in the world, but your lungs ache and something in the back of your mind tells you this is all too soon, too fast. The sound that the disconnect of your lips with Riki’s makes sends a thrill up your spine that the look in his eyes only exacerbates.
His forehead is warm against your own as your breaths mix and his hands slide back down to your waist. His lips ghost yours as you pant softly against him, his head tilting and his nose brushing over your cheek as his lips find the skin there, then your jaw, and your pulse point. You can feel the chastity of his kisses, the type that’s so gentle you’re not sure if you actually felt his lips on you or you just want them there enough to trick your mind into believing it.
“God, pretty girl.” He sighs, burying his nose into your neck to stop himself from kissing you more.
“Riki,” you murmur, unsure of what you want to say, only knowing that you don’t want him to move away just yet.
He hums against your skin, his breath warm, sending a shiver down your spine. “Yeah?”
You hesitate, then exhale softly. “Nothing.”
He chuckles, low and knowing, before pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, but there’s something tender in the way they study you, like he’s trying to commit this moment to memory.
His thumb brushes absentmindedly over your waist, his touch light, reverent. “You good?”
You nod, though your heart is hammering in your chest. “Are you?”
He tilts his head slightly, as if considering, then grins—small and lopsided. “Yeah.”
His gaze drops to your lips again, lingering for a beat too long before he exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “I should go before I do something stupid.”
The admission has your stomach flipping once more, but you find yourself huffing softly in amusement, “Yeah, you should.”
The moment your hands move to his shoulders and you attempt to dismount his lap, his arms wrap around your waist and his nose returns to its home buried in your neck, “Mmm, in a minute.”
A laugh escapes you, breathy and light, as your fingers absentmindedly trace the line of his shoulder blades. “You just said you should go.”
“I should,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your skin. “Doesn’t mean I want to.”
You hum softly, deciding against teasing him and instead settling into the security of his embrace. You feel him smile against your skin, slowly pulling his face from the junction between your neck and shoulder.
Then, his hands move, one sliding up your spine while the other lifts to cup your jaw, and he kisses your cheek. Soft. Chaste.
“Okay,” he murmurs, still so close. “Now I’ll go.”
You don’t stop him this time when he loosens his hold, when he gently shifts you off his lap. You don’t say anything as he stands, raking a hand through his already-messy hair(courtesy of your hands, of course), or when he stretches and his hoodie rides up. When he looks down at you, you almost shrink under his gaze before he smiles that warm way you love and he leans forward to grab your hand in his.
You let his fingers slide between your own, your eyes on him as he tugs you gently and prompts you to get off the couch to step closer to him with a soft huff of amusement, “I thought you were going?”
His hand in yours slips out in favor of joining the other on either side of your jaw, thumbs gently brushing your cheeks fondly as he mirthfully smirks down at you. You have no choice but to tilt your head back to look at him at this proximity, and he doesn’t seem all that eager to widen it.
“I am.” His muttered confirmation is contradicted by the way his lips find yours again, soft yet eager, no longer hesitant to join them as often as he’d like with your prior statement. When he pulls away and you chase his kiss, he hums with amusement in his grin, nose nudging yours. “How am I supposed to leave if you keep making me want to kiss you, huh?”
“I didn’t even do anything.” You defend yourself with a soft laugh.
“Mm, you don’t have to.” He groans softly, eyes shutting as he presses his forehead to yours and sighs, “You’re mine now, right?”
The bluntness of his question has your heart skipping but you hum as if apprehensive, “Maybe. You didn’t ask.”
His eyes open and he looks at you with playful disbelief and a whole lot of amusement, “You want me to ask you out, pretty girl?”
“I never said that,” You retort reflexively, ignoring the way his eyebrows quirk up in challenge and entertainment, “But I might be yours if you ask nicely.”
“Nicely. Right….” He nods in mock understanding, and when he leans in to kiss you again, you meet him halfway. “Will you…” He starts with his voice soft and deep in all the best ways as he pulls away between kisses to continue, “be…my girl?”
He pulls away just enough to see your face as you recover from the dizzying way his lips find yours, and your words are softer than you intended as you breathlessly reply, “I’ll have to think about it.”
His shoulders shake with soft laughter as he shakes his head and mutters, “shut up,” under his breath before he closes the distance once more.
𝒇𝒊𝒏.
©heedeungism : do not rewrite, copy, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission.
#enhypen#nishimura riki#nishimura riki x reader#niki x reader#ni ki#ni ki enhypen#ni ki x reader#highschool au#fake dating#ni-ki enhypen#ni-ki drabbles#ni-ki#enhypen x reader#enhypen fanfiction#enhypen x y/n#riki nishimura x y/n#riki nishimura x reader#enhypen x female reader#enhypen fluff#enhypen fic#longform fanfic#busy woman 💋
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crying on stream (not clickbait) — yu jimin.
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synopsis. you really need to stop playing random horrors at 2 am.
pairing. karina x gn!streamer!reader
warning(s). reader cries at a horror game, emotional support gf karina, this is so silly and sweet, let me know if there's more
words. 639
authors note. 1/2 drafts im posting tn before all the freaky stuff and angst floods my page. this is also based off this tiktok i saw
masterlist. navigation.
you had no idea why you thought playing a horror game at 2 a.m. was a good idea—especially with karina asleep in the next room. but here you were, curled up in your chair, gripping your keyboard like your life depended on it. your chat was loving every second, spamming laughing emojis and "you're so cooked" messages.
then, it happened.
the door behind your character slammed shut. the screen flickered. a deep, guttural noise rumbled through your headphones.
you froze. your breath caught in your throat, hands hovering over the controls, but you could not bring yourself to move.
"no, no, no, no, no..." you whispered, barely making a sound.
username LMAOOO YOU'RE SO DONE username WHY AREN'T YOU MOVING HELLO?? username NAH THIS IS BAD 😂
your fingers twitched over the keys, but before you could even think about getting out—
the screen went completely black.
your headphones crackled. a distorted whisper slithered through the speakers, low and scratchy, like something breathing right into your ear. then, for half a second, the lights in the game flickered back on—
the killer was right behind you.
you slammed the pause button.
your whole body locked up, muscles so tight it felt like you might pass out. chat was going insane, but their messages barely registered.
you couldn't scream. not with karina asleep. you couldn't even let out a proper gasp.
instead, a quiet sob slipped out before you could stop it.
you pressed a hand over your mouth, shoulders shaking as you tried to breathe. tears welled up, but you blinked fast, trying to keep yourself together.
username ARE YOU CRYING BRO?? username NAH THIS GAME REALLY BROKE THEM username this is so sad but funny at the same time 😭😭😭
after a few deep breaths, you forced yourself to unpause.
you needed to get out.
with shaky hands, you turned the lights back on, unlocked the door, and ran. the second you stepped out of that room, you ripped your hands off the keyboard, dropping them into your lap as a deep exhale left you. a few stray tears slipped down your face, and you wiped them away, sniffling.
"oh my god," you muttered, still feeling the adrenaline in your veins.
then—
a tap on your shoulder.
you screamed.
the fear you'd been barely holding in came crashing down all at once. you flinched so hard your chair almost tipped over, another choked sob slipping out as you panicked.
your chat lost their minds.
username HELPPPP username THAT WAS NOT THE GAME?? username DID Y'ALL SEE THEIR SOUL LEAVE THEIR BODY username I THINK THEY JUST DIED IRL
then came the worst part—a soft, familiar laugh.
your head snapped to the side, eyes wide as you saw karina standing there, looking impossibly amused despite being fresh out of sleep. dress in your an oversized hoodie, her hair a little messy, she smiled at you before shaking her head.
"you're so dramatic," she whispered, barely containing her giggles.
you didn't even have the energy to argue. Without thinking, you reached for her, pulling her into a hug off-camera. she easily melted into you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and resting her chin on your head.
username WHO IS THAT???? 😳
username WE CAN SEE THE SHADOW WTF username THE WAY THEY JUST WENT SILENT TO HUG THE AIR LIKE BFFR
karina ran her hand up and down your back, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before whispering, "you okay?"
you nodded against her shoulder. "i hate this game."
she snorted. "then stop playing horror games at night, hm?"
you sniffled. "never."
she sighed, but she didn't let go. for a while, you just stayed there—holding onto her, ignoring chat's growing curiosity, letting your heartbeat finally slow down. eventually, she whispered, "wanna sleep now?"
you exhaled. "yeah."
with a final squeeze, she pulled back and grabbed your hand, and you turned back to your stream, rubbing your eyes before clearing your throat.
"alright, chat," you muttered, voice still wobbly. "i'm ending stream. i need therapy."
the last thing chat saw before you disconnected was your teary eyes, ruffled hair, and hand out of frame, fingers curled like you were holding onto something—someone.
then, you were gone.
#bytemee works#aespa karina#aespa x reader#karina x reader#jimin x reader#yu jimin#yu jimin x reader#aespa#karina x y/n#karina x fem reader#karina x you#aespa fluff#karina fluff#jimin x you#kpop x reader#idol x reader#aespa fanfic#fem!reader#jimin x y/n#yu jimin x you#karina aespa#karina#aespa x fem reader#aespa x you#aespa x y/n
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𝑴𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒂 𝒅𝒂𝒚/𝑴.𝑳𝒆ó𝒏
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Mapi was slumped into her chair, arms crossed, eyes heavy with exhaustion. She had barely spoken a word since you both left the house which was concerning in itself because Mapi never shut up. Normally she’d be teasing you or complaining about how early it was, or making some ridiculous joke that only she found funny. But today? Nothing. Just the occasional sniffle and a dramatic sigh every five minutes.
You nudged her gently. “You okay?”
Mapi turned her head slowly, eyes half-lidded, and pointed to her throat before dramatically pretending to cry.
“Oh no, poor baby,” you cooed, biting back a smile as you placed your hand on her thigh and squeezed softly.
She glared at you and grabbed her phone, typing something before holding it up. There, in big capital letters, read,
THIS IS YOUR FAULT.
You gasped. “How is this my fault?”
She sniffled loudly and typed again.
You stole my blanket. I got cold. Now I am dying.
“That is not how sickness works, amor, and you’re not dying, just dramatic.”
She squinted at you like she was contemplating murder, but thankfully, before she could, the media team called her name and she let out the most pathetic attempt at a groan before pushing herself up from the chair. You followed, because you knew she was going to need help. She was supposed to film an interview, answer questions, be her usual charming and slightly ridiculous self. But that was hard to do when she sounded like an eighty-year-old smoker.
As soon as the cameras were ready, Mapi cleared her throat and opened her mouth to speak. Nothing. A horrible, scratchy wheeze came out instead, making her sound like a broken door hinge. The crew exchanged glances, and you pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. Mapi looked horrified.
One of the interviewers hesitated. “Uh…do you want to reschedule?”
Mapi shook her head quickly, grabbing her phone again.
No, I am professional.
You snorted. “Yeah, okay.”
She sent you a withering look and started typing furiously. Then she handed you the phone.
You do it. Be my voice.
You blinked. “Wait, what?”
She nodded firmly, crossing her arms.
The media team seemed amused by the idea. One of them spoke up. “So…you’ll answer her questions for her?”
Mapi pointed at you, then gave a thumbs-up.
You sighed. “Fine. But if you make me say something stupid, I swear-“
She grinned,,which was probably the first real sign of life you’d seen from her all morning since you’d dragged her ass out of bed.m
The interview began, and the first question was a simple one. “How are you feeling today, Mapi?”
You glanced at her, and she immediately typed on her phone before shoving it at you.
You read it aloud. “I feel amazing. Very strong. Possibly the strongest I have ever been.”
The interviewer looked at Mapi skeptically. “You…don’t sound amazing.”
Mapi scowled, typing furiously for a second.
You glanced at the screen again.“I am perfect. I am unstoppable. Only weak people get sick.”
Mapi nodded sagely.
You rolled your eyes. “She’s literally dying.”
Mapi nudged you sharply with her elbow, and you yelped.
“Okay, next question,” the interviewer said, clearly entertained. “Who is the funniest person on the team?”
Mapi smirked and started typing.
You took the phone and read, “Me, obviously.” Mapi grinned,and you continued reading. “Also, my girlfriend is very funny, but only on accident. Most of the time, she is just dumb.”
You looked up in outrage. “MAPI.”
She was shaking with silent laughter, and the media team too, was losing it. The interview went on like that, with Mapi answering every question through you, except half the time she was using it as an opportunity to make fun of you.
Finally, the interviewer asked, “Okay, last question. What’s the best part about being in a relationship with your teammate?”
Mapi’s smirk softened slightly, and she typed slower this time.
You took the phone and read, “She makes me happy. Even when she is annoying. And even when she steals my blanket and makes me sick.”
Your heart melted a little. “Oh, Mapi.”
She gave you a tired smile.
Then she grabbed the phone again and typed one last thing.
Also, I am much better at football than her.
You groaned. “I take back every nice thing I was about to say.”
Mapi just laughed well, wheezed- and rested her head on your shoulder as the interview wrapped up.
**
Tags:
@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult
#soft mapi leon#mapi leon x reader#mapi leon#maría león#woso community#woso x reader#woso appreciation#woso imagine#fluff#woso fanfics#woso one shot
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Okay so I saw an early screening of 28 Years Later the other day, and no spoilers because I signed an NDA but. The SHOCk I experienced seeing Young Royals icon Edvin Ryding.
This message is for Edvin: Edvin Ryding you are the best part of that movie and everyone I talked to in line to get our phones back afterwards thought so!
#the english speakers are about to lose it over this man#i'm so excited to watch he killed it#truly i like grabbed my friend and started shaking her when he appeared on screen#edvin ryding#28 years later#young royals#melissa og#melissa on pop culture
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STRONG BAD: Well, since you're here, let's talk about your pants. {crosses legs, resting one hand on his knee.} Or your lack thereof... Daisy Dukes aside.
HOMESTAR RUNNER: What are you talking about, Strong Bad? {shakes leg} I—I wear long pants.
STRONG BAD: Um... no, from what I can tell, you wear no pants {gestures with hand} and have blue soles glued to the bottoms of your feet. {indicates Homestar's feet}
HOMESTAR RUNNER: {looking shocked} W—Well, that's simply not true. I have long pants, I wear long pants. I'm a long pants man, long pants, long pants!
{Homestar starts getting upset and dances around}
STRONG BAD: Okay, calm down... I didn't mean to—
{Homestar jumps high into the air and convulses on Strong Bad's desk.}
HOMESTAR RUNNER: Long pants, Strong Bad! The longest pants! Everybody everybody! Longest pants!
{He starts teleporting around the room to a different place after each word he utters. He first appears in front of Strong Bad, then leaning in behind him, then hanging upside down from the ceiling, then pixellated on the Lappy's screen as Atari Homestar, then blurred in the scene's foreground, then upside down under the desk, then back to his original position, looking exhausted and out of breath, all while chanting the following.}
HOMESTAR RUNNER: Long long long long long long pants!
STRONG BAD: Oight! Ah! That's it! We need to get you some serious clown care, man!
HOMESTAR RUNNER: But I was told long pants! Long pants! They said long pants! Always long pants! {leans toward Strong Bad, and the camera zooms in on the two} Long, my pants! {zoom in on the two again} Gleaming pants! {zoom in on the two yet again, this time with a red background} Glorious pants!!
Carefully arranging my TV show's scene compositions and camera angles to see for how many consecutive episodes I can preserve textual ambiguity regarding whether or not the protagonist is wearing pants.
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Proud to report its only slightly broken
#case isn’t flush i ripped a cable for the speaker the replacement screen is lopsided?#but its the lcd itself not my placement…#i lost one of my oem buttons (of course it was the littlest one)#the shoulder button is still broken (though i didn’t bother addressing it lol)#the screen is being held in with gorilla tape and only time will tell if that was a bad idea#but its all together………im still shaking from the stress of the ribbon cable LOL
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FURIOUSLY SHAKES THE SCREEN OH HOW I MISS MY DECEASED WIFE
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Entry 19: The One Where I Perform Mis-Directed as a Three Act Comedy, Act II
“Before you started the bumpers cars act, for the record unless you’re eight years old trying to make your dolls kiss, smashing your teeth together is not an ideal approximation of romance.”
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“And [Hattie’s] gaze fell to [Anthony’s], felt as if somehow it was attached to his, as if there were filaments between them hooking together every time their glances connected.”
“Maybe there had already been the faintest glimmer of this horrifying attachment even then. His first steps on a map to a very unexpected destination but somehow it still felt as if there’d been no warning at all. As if a thousand insignificant moments and incidents had quietly woven together until one day he’d turned and he’d fallen and he’d been caught by a net of those impossibly unbreakable threads which he hadn’t realized existed.”
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“…[Anthony] was not a touchy-feely person… But when he and Hattie, when their characters had kissed each other into the wall, he’d almost purred against her like a damn cat.”
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“It was a closed set this morning so thankfully a very minimal number of crew personnel…On the flip side, the team reserved this level of set closure, basically a skeleton crew, for only the most explicit scenes and semi-nudity.”
“But she never had to worry in the past about being more involved in the dance than she ought to be. Not once had she arranged herself in a castmate’s arms and felt as if they were doing something truly, genuinely intimate…"
“Quite clearly the issue here was her scene partner and the potential for an amped up repeat of what had happened last time. Hard nipples, damp thighs, and a heart trying to burst out of her chest, all from a fully clothed screen kiss. This time, they’d both be all but naked, writhing on a bed, gasping, grinding, sighing.”
“This mattress feels very sturdy.”
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“The moment Iris bounces him into the mattress in episode 8..."
“If millions of people were going to watch her ride Anthony like a mechanical bull…”
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“Stevie pointed at the ornate mirror near the bed. Her gesture a spectacular symphony of sarcasm. ‘As your pre-seduction routine appears to involve a great deal of hair flicking and smokey glances at yourself, have at it.’”
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“Are you looking for something?”
“‘Falling buckets,’ Hattie said. ‘Or collapsing bedframes or beams coming loose…’”
“…when the floorboard beneath [Anthony’s] boot performed a preemptive strike. The wood tilted inwards, just enough to throw off his footing…and his full body weight surged forward. She could see later in hindsight that he had attempted to both shield her head and not crush her underneath him…"
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“Anthony landed on his knees with a painful grunt but had barely hit the floor before he was at her side, touching the back of her head and her shaking shoulders. She just had time to register a little too much cool air on the backs of her thighs, then he was smoothing her skirts down protecting what remained of her dignity in an automatic gesture.”
“’Gentle, this bit,’ [Stevie] said. “Romantic, soft.”
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“But in the ways that mattered, especially in the context of an intimate scene and the scripts that they all dreaded most, he’d been surprising. If she wanted to expand into the territory of actual truth, he’d been the most confusing, unsettling, and fun scene partner she’d had in four years.”
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“They were still holding hands. They realized this simultaneously and let go immediately.”
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“’She’s my baby,’ [Cassidy] explained as she turned the key in the ignition. ‘The first thing I ever treated myself to with my own money, and she’s been with me for the whole crazy ride.’ She patted the gear box fondly. ‘I could never part with Penelope.’”
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When discussing the underdog love story on Leicester Square, Hattie commented, “If she were a viewer, she’d be shipping them hard.”
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While Anthony and Hattie were looking at gravestones, one caught Hattie’s eye…
“The dates here coincided with the time period of Leicester Square… Below the words was a symbol of a V-shaped flying dove. At first glimpse, it strongly resembled two raised fingers.”
While reminiscing about growing up, Hattie recalled, “...her mother reading aloud to her from a battered old copy of The Magic Faraway Tree.”
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“’Do you remember the day we first met,’ [Hattie] asked suddenly."
“In all honesty, no. His early days on various TV and film sets had all blurred into an archived jumble of long hours, interchangeable costars, despised hotel living. As difficult as it was to imagine now, he had no distinct memory of the very first time he had ever seen Hattie. Although, he might have a vague recollection of earrings shaped like miniature garden gnomes. He did, however, have a crystal-clear memory of the first time he’d actually seen Hattie with all that the emphasis on that word implied.”
“She’d obviously read the ‘no’ in his expression, and her smile widened.”
“’It was a Tuesday morning at Malvern Abbey.’”
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“And now she felt excessively wrong sharing close whispering breaths with Patrick especially with Anthony sitting on a folding chair a few meters behind the camera awaiting his queue to slip in for the daydream portion of the scene, and currently watching their every move. His pose was typically lazy, one boot crossed over the other, his fingers tapping on the arm of the chair, but he hadn’t looked away from them once. Something in his demeanor had the usually easy-going Patrick antsy as hell, probably the twitching eyelid.”
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“’A definite improvement,’ Stevie’s voice came from behind them, very dryly. ‘And if we’d actually started shooting yet, we could probably call it a day.’”
#lukola#nicola coughlan#luke newton#my thoughts#my opinion#speculation only#my humor#mis-directed#lucy parker
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playing with asahi azumane's hair
ahhh an original for a change woo! hope this finds the right crowd
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warnings. sfw :0 minors still DNI
details. afab!reader / fluff / sprinkling of suggestiveness / crushing on asahi / validated crush / platonic?touch / mutual!crush / sweet!asahi / sensitive!asahi / love language: physical touch / sleepy, feel-good fic / 1.4k words
links. masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3. requests OPEN.
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Asahi's shoulder had been rubbing on your calf for three hours now. It was warm, pleasant, but not indicative of a damn thing.
You craved more.
The only evidence you had, equally falsifiable as it was, was the fact that he had not moved away from you.
You gave a disinterested sigh at the colorful, flashing TV. Smash Bros was fun for the first hour, but you soon gave your controller to Nishinoya and had no stake in the fight.
You glanced down at Asahi's handsome face for the umpteenth time tonight.
He held a soft frown, his brow naturally heavy and set like he was frustrated at whatever he focused on. Asahi didn't play much. He liked to watch, and gave some commentary, but you figured out that he must have simply enjoyed the inclusion, the company, of a close sleepover such as this one.
When he reached across the floor in front of you to grab another sour gummy worm from its bag, you forced a fake interest in the screen again. He lingered a moment or two too long. Then, he found what he was looking for and sat back upright, chewing on it, color by color instead of all-in-one.
Your fists tightened. Morbid curiosity, mixed with a bit of sleep deprivation, and compounded boredom, fueled a stormy, boundary-crossing question.
It was a mutter, but anyone not paying 100% attention to the game could probably hear you, "Could I play with your hair?"
As soon as the last syllable left your lips, you grew hot with regret.
That was the kind of question that could make things too weird, too quick, and things might never be the same. You could spare that embarrassment with just about anyone else in this room, but not him.
It was innocent, but didn't sound like it; not out loud. You just wanted to touch him. That sounded awful, but the feeling was so strong and pure, you couldn't fully believe that it was as wrong as its near-guaranteed perception.
Asahi raised his brows, honey-brown eyes made intentionally softer for you.
He returned your exact volume, "Sure!"
Your expression remained still, a little wide-eyed, still polite, as you digested his too-easy yes.
Suga gave you an ultra-soft nudge, your queue, in a way, to come back to the land of the living. You glanced to him, unable to hide your shock, and he chuckled at you.
"-Haven't brushed it in a few hours--," Asahi was pulling his hair out of the clip he had it confined in.
It all cascaded down his shoulders in a dark, rich, shade of brown. His fingers racked through it, close to the scalp, a few times, with a little shake. His curls came loose and you couldn't see his face as he leaned, settling onto the carpet in front of you.
"Let me know if there's too many tangles. I can get those- uh--,"
You both realized your knees were not a comfortable surface to lean back on.
In an awkward, shaky adjustment, you spread your knees apart to make room for his shoulders on the back of the couch, closer to you. He took the liberty of grabbing your ankles and placing your legs in front of him.
Your body was frozen, unsure of what to do, with the sensation of his warm, warm body on your legs- his hands easily wrapped around your ankles. You could feel his bulky, muscular shoulders on the back of your thighs and had to collect yourself for a few moments.
His hair was so soft. It slipped through your fingers like water.
Coconut oil. You caught a whiff of it and almost melted. You desperately hoped he couldn't sense the tremble in your fingers.
Every twitch, every movement, you made mental note of.
It took minutes to get adjusted to the act of being this close to him, without overanalyzing every breath. He kept the bag of gummy worms in his lap, and ate more frequently now that he didn't have to try as hard to get to them.
But you couldn't stay so nervous forever.
Fatigue, if anything, overcame your anxiety and helped you slowly relax. You paid half-attention to the screen, half to the braids you began, brushed out with your fingers, then restarted with muscle memory.
You would take your time parting his hair at the scalp, using your nails to better separate the sections, and go about the process from side to side, then back again.
"Looks like somebody's falling asleep," Suga mumbled.
As sleepy as you felt, you automatically thought was that he was talking about you.
When you turned to look at him, confused, you noticed he was instead looking at your lap. A feint smile, amused, but charmed, on across his own tired face.
Curious, you craned to look down at Asahi-- his eyes were rolling back into the sockets, his whole face completely relaxed. It was downright adorable.
You slowly brushed out the braid and just used your nails to give him head scratches, instead.
"Mm-h," Was his short, quiet groan.
Now you could feel the full weight of his body adjust, twitching, as he woke up and started to fall back asleep again.
His deep sigh lifted your thighs along with the height of his shoulders. He leaned his head back onto your hands, then crossed his arms, trapping your ankles with a small shimmy.
From here, you realized his skull was kind of big. It was proportional to his body, but it felt like he was spreading your inner thighs further than you fantasized he might.
The way he craned his head back made it almost impossible to get to his hair. You were looking straight down at his twitchy, sleeping face.
Your fingers needed something to do. They flitted over his skin in a natural reaction.
He sighed through his nose, relaxed again, fully into you.
Your heart fluttered at the seemingly unconscious action. You were careful not to scratch him as you began tracing over all his chiseled features.
His crooked nose bridge, up to his forehead, through his thick eyebrows. You dipped your knuckles down his cheeks and discovered exactly how much you liked his facial hair.
He shaved more of his face than you thought. His 5 o'clock shadow was rough, and textured, along his jaw.
The other guys were starting to head to bed.
Some looked satisfied in their bundled up blankets, laying on the floor where they had fallen asleep a while ago watching the first-years and their endless energy. They, at least, continued to play into the small hours of the night.
Your desire to keep him here was getting blurred with your need to get some rest, too.
You took as much as enjoyment as you could waking him, using the kindest voice you could, lightly scratching his scalp again.
"Mm-!" He woke with a mumble and a quiet gasp.
His stubble scratched against your inner thigh as his head jerked properly upright. As much as you felt the scratch of his jaw, he felt the soft, smooth flesh of your leg and loved it, too.
Immediately, he realized his position and his rough hands slid back over your calves, calculating how much he actually needed to move.
You caught his hesitation for what it was, for once.
Your small, excited, smile remained audible as you told him, "We're going to sleep now."
Asahi nodded, but didn't move. Not right away, at least.
"Mmkay," He grumbled, and twisted to lean hard against your right leg. He clutched it tighter and smushed the side of his face into your supple skin.
The way his small movement shifted your balance kept your fists tight, your lip bitten, and your heartbeat strong throughout your whole body.
You whispered, giddy, "Asahi-!"
"(Y/n)," He muttered, in a very weak attempt to return your inflection.
Your hand placement was second, triple, then quadruple-guessed before you decided to place it on his chest, doubled over to better speak to him.
"I'm serious, I need to get up."
From here, you were nearly eye-level. He glanced at you. Needy, still.
His gaze was low, steady, and fuzzy in intention.
It sent a shiver down your spine.
After a moment, he yielded with another tired sigh and rubbed a firm squeeze into your shin. And even though you were released, you remained to return his kindness with another stroke through his hair.
From the side, you could see how his jaw tightened at the motion. It needed to stop there.
You prayed he wouldn't forget about this when the morning came around.
☆VIP☆
@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco @screamin-abt-haikyuu
links.
my masterlist. requests open.
#takesone#x reader#haikyu fluff#haikyu x reader#haikyuu#haikyuu asahi#asahi x reader#asahi azumane#haikyuu scenarios#haikyuu imagines#azumane asahi#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu smut#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu x you#haikyuu fanfiction#hq x reader#azumane asahi x reader#asahi azumane x reader smut#haikyuu asahi azumane#asahi azumane fluff#asahi x reader fluff#asahi azumane x reader fluff#haikyuu!!
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Handle With Care 1
Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Characters: Bucky Barnes
Summary: your work blurs the lines between professional and personal.
Note: I'm on a Bucky kick and can't stop myself.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
The caller ID flashing on your dashboard display makes you groan. What the hell is Sam calling for? He should be patiently waiting at the venue.
You know even before you answer what the issue is. It's the same as it always is. It can never be about anyone but him.
"Wilson," you answer matter-of-factly, "I know I'm not late."
"Never are," he confirms. "It's not you."
"Oh, I know," you put your blinker on and check the traffic behind you, "you're really going to make me pull a U-ey."
"I know, I'm sorry. Again."
"You know, I never had another job where I had to make sure my co-workers got their asses out of bed," you spin the wheel and your tires squeal on the tarmac.
"Co-workers... dang, I thought we were more than that." You can hear his pout through the phone.
"Me and you, maybe," you drone.
"Hey, he's been trying," he argues.
"Yeah, I know. You think I don't try, Wilson?"
"Look, I'll make it up to you."
"You say that a lot," you shake your head at the road.
"Look, I gotta go. It's my big day," he intones.
"Please, do. Stop worrying about the old man." You insist. "Might not be in the job description, but I'll get it done. As always. See ya soon."
"See ya." He hangs up and your music comes back on. Not for long. You idle at a light and dial out another call.
Bucky's name flashes as you wait for a pick up. Of course, he can't be bothered. On this day of all. You sigh and try two more times as you get closer to his place. Nothing.
You get out and nearly trip out of the strappy heels. Wilson owes you indeed, for more than the personal house call. You teeter up over the curb and grab onto the railing. You climb the concrete steps and pound on the front door of the townhouse.
"Barnes," you holler through. "I know you didn't forget."
You hammer again. You only stop when your fist throbs. You shake out your hands and huff. You stomp and feel the skinny heel bend dangerously. Fuck.
You don't got the tech on you to unlock the keypad, looks like the old-fashioned way will do. You shift your clutch and pull out your nail file. Bastard. You better not break a nail for his reclusive ass.
You go around back and use the file to latch the kitchen window. You know Bucky is his own security but he really should get a proper alarm. You punch the screen in and grab the frame. You haul yourself into your waist and balance there, the ledge pressing on your stomach. The smell of coffee greets you in a bold waft.
You look up as Bucky leans his vibranium palm on the counter and watches you. You snarl and reach out. "A little help?"
He keeps his coffee to his lips and nears, grabbing your forearm to leverage you inside. Your knees touch the counter and you kneel there as you catch your breath. He lets go, watching you over the brim.
"You coulda knocked," he says.
"I did," you slip your legs out from under you. "Loud."
"I was in the shower."
"Great, at least you got that done," you chide.
"Coffee?" He offers as he points to the french press.
"Barnes," you warn with a point. "Please."
You stare at him. He's in a pair of sweats and a tee shirt. His slippers are the sort of plaid that you find in a nursing home. You hold back a growl.
"You know what today is."
"I don't think I should go," he grumbles.
"Are you serious? Don't be a sour puss--" A sudden white flash lands beside you and the rattling purr rumbles against your leg. You pause to pet Alpine as if she heard you deriding her breed. "Not you," you assure her.
"I don't want to ruin it--"
"Barnes, you can put a suit on and sit pretty," you push off the counter and your ankles turn to noodles as you barely keep from a sprain. "Look at me, all dressed up like a prize pig, so go put an apple in your mouth."
He rolls his eyes, "he doesn't need me--"
"Bull," you interject.
You march past him. This is how it is. You can deal with it on missions. That's just how it goes. Most men you work with are obstinate to the point of being another adversary on their own. But outside the job, it's a bit too much.
You go down the hall and slow. It takes a moment to get your bearings. You've never been much further than the front door. You ignore the clutter across the front room floor and charge upstairs.
"Hey, what're you doing?" Bucky stands at the bottom as you stomp up.
You don't answer him. You go into his bedroom. You stop and look around. The bed is made, possibly unslept in. The room doesn't look used much at all. You go to his closet and slide the door open. You find a pair of slacks and a jacket. Tie, shirt, all presentable enough.
He appears in the doorway. You lay everything on the bed.
"Get dressed," you demand.
"I'll call Sam--"
"No, Wilson is busy. It's his day. You wanna know how you're going to ruin it?" You approach him and cross your arms. "By going AWOL. Not today, Barnes. Now, get yourself together."
You strut out and shut the door. You stop outside and call through. "Five minutes."
You continues down to the stairs and idle there. You check your phone. You can make it. Easy. He just needs to get his ass in gear.
When the door opens, you turn to him. His tie is undone. You go to him and grab it, knotting it roughly, not that he would notice.
"You couldn't shave in the shower?" You huff.
"Hey, I can do it," he tries to bat you away.
"Then why didn't you do it twenty minutes ago?" He shrugs and you pull his tie straight. You tug his lapels and straighten his jacket. "And the rest." You flick your fingers toward his face.
He shakes his head and goes into the bathroom. He grabs his comb as you linger and you see him in the mirror dragging the teeth through his thick hair. It's to his collar now. You told him to get a hair cut. He never listens. Not your problem. Well, only for today.
"Damn..."
"Here," you dip into the bathroom and grab the comb. "Just--"
You reach for the tin of gel. You just need him to look somewhat presentable. You part his hair neatly and comb it back behind his head, moving around him to check nothing's out of place. He stares at the floor. You don't want to embarrass him but goddamnit.
"Okay," you pop the cap on and wipe your hands on the towel hanging in the loop. "Let's go."
His eyes stray to the wall and he mopes. You take a breath.
"Barnes, it's for Sam," you say.
"I know," he croaks and heaves. He lifts his head and puts his shoulders straight. "I'll do my best not to fuck this up."
#bucky barnes#dark bucky barnes#dark!bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#dark simp?#handle with care#drabble#series#mcu#marvel#winter soldier#captain america#avengers
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࿐ ᧔♡᧓ . MYDEI’S DIGITAL LOVE ?!!?!
꒰୨୧꒱ Paring : famous streamer Mydei x big-fan chubby fem!reader
꒰୨୧꒱ Warnings : nsfw/smut, vaginal, internet sex, fingering (yourself), hand-job (he does it to himself), recording/video taping, orgasm control/denial & holding orgasm, dirty talk & degradation, praise kink, exhibitionism (light), mutual masturbation, voice kink, overstimulation, commanding behaviour, size-kink?, Mydei is teasing, reader is shy. (#><)
꒰୨୧꒱ Summary : You’ve been Mydei’s biggest fan for months, but you never expected him to notice you—until tonight. Out of nowhere, he finally responds to your message you sent him for 3 years, “Let’s talk to camera. ;)” and before you know it, you're face-to-face on a video call with your favorite streamer. His teasing starts instantly, rough voice making you squirm as he pushes you further, watching your every move. What starts as a simple chat turns into something far more sinful—you’re not just another fan tonight, you’re his. (Morden au)
꒰୨୧꒱ Extra : special post since it’s my birthday :3 feb 10th! Also Special post for : @jadestone2 , oh and also you guys are having cybers*x on discord. 😪 This is short btw.
Your heart nearly stops when the notification pops up ;
Mydei69: Let’s talk in camera ;)
Your breath catches in your throat. No way. No way. It’s been four months since you sent that message—three months of watching his streams, liking his posts, replaying clips where his rough, teasing voice made your stomach twist in knots. You never expected him to respond.
Your fingers tremble as you scramble to accept the call, your screen flashing before his face appears—smug, gorgeous, and effortlessly cocky. His eyes flick over you, and the slow smirk that spreads across his lips makes you want to shrink into yourself.
“Damn,” he drawls, voice low and rough. “Didn’t think my biggest fan would be so shy.” Your stomach flips at the way he says it—slow, taunting, like he’s savoring your reaction. You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. Mydei chuckles, leaning back in his chair, the dim glow of his setup casting sharp shadows over his sharp features.
"Cat got your tongue?" he muses, tilting his head. "Or are you just that nervous to be on cam with me?" You shake your head quickly, heat creeping up your neck. "N-No, I just… I wasn’t expecting you to—"
"Finally respond?" He cuts you off with an amused scoff. "Yeah, I know. Took my time, didn’t I?" His eyes flicker across your screen, studying you. "But you were patient. And now you’ve got me all to yourself." The weight of those words settles in your stomach, heavy and thrilling. It’s just you and him. No chaotic chat, no thousands of watching eyes—just his gaze locked onto you like you’re the only thing that matters.
"Let’s make it worth the wait, yeah?" His voice drops lower, and he leans in, elbows resting on his desk. "Show me how much of a fan you really are."
Your breath hitches. The way he’s looking at you—like he already knows how this is going to go, like he’s expecting you to fall right into his hands—makes your body feel hot all over. "I—I don’t know what you mean," you stammer, even though you do.
Mydei chuckles, shaking his head. "C’mon, don’t play dumb," he says, voice dripping with amusement. "You’ve been watching me for how long? Sending me messages, calling yourself my biggest fan…" He pauses, eyes dark with something unreadable. "So prove it."
You swallow hard, your hands gripping the hem of your shirt. The tension between you is thick, crackling through the screen like a live wire. "What… what do you want me to do?" you ask, voice barely above a whisper. Mydei’s grin widens, predatory. "Good girl," he murmurs, leaning back in his chair, looking like he’s about to enjoy every second of this. "Let’s start simple. Take that off for me."
Your pulse pounds in your ears. You hesitate for only a moment—long enough for Mydei to chuckle again, this time lower, rougher. "Shy thing like you needs a little push, huh?" he muses, eyes locked onto you. "Don’t worry, baby. I’ll take care of you."
Your hands tremble as you grip the hem of your shirt, hesitating just a moment too long. Mydei notices, of course—he notices everything.
"Need me to count down for you?" he teases, cocking his head. "Or do you just like making me wait?" Your breath shudders as you finally pull your shirt over your head, exposing the soft lace of your bra. It’s cute—delicate, pastel-colored, something you picked out on a whim without ever imagining someone like him would see it.
Mydei exhales sharply, his smirk deepening. "Damn," he mutters, his gaze raking over you through the screen. "Didn’t take you for the cute type." He leans in slightly, his voice dipping into something darker. "But I like it. Suits you."
Your face burns at the compliment, at the way he’s staring like he wants to see more. "Go on," he urges, voice smooth and coaxing. "Show me just how much of a good girl you can be." You shift under his gaze, fingers twitching at your sides. The way he's looking at you so intense, so hungry-makes your whole body feel warm, like you're burning up from the inside out.
"You shy now?" Mydei taunts, his voice a perfect mix of amusement and something darker. "Thought you were my biggest fan." You bite your lip, heat pooling in your stomach at the way he's teasing you. He knows exactly what he's doing, and worse-you know it's working. Slowly, you reach behind your back, fumbling with the clasp of your bra. Your full tits revealing, as your cheeks began to redden. The moment it loosens, you hear Mydei inhale softly, his eyes glued to your every movement.
"Fuck," he mutters, his voice rougher now. "Knew you'd be cute under all that." He leans in, resting his chin on his hand as he watches you, completely enthralled. "Bet you've been dreaming about this, huh? Showing off for me. Letting me see you like this." You swallow hard, nodding hesitantly. He grins. "Good girl. Now, let's see how well you listen."
You can’t breathe. Or maybe you’re breathing too hard—your chest rising and falling under his gaze, heat flooding every inch of your skin. The way he’s looking at you, like you’re something worth watching, sends a shiver down your spine.
"That’s it," Mydei murmurs, his voice smoother now, almost like he’s soothing you. But there’s an edge to it, too—something sharp, something dangerous. "Knew you’d be good for me." Your thighs press together at his words, and of course, he notices. His smirk stretches wider, eyes dark with amusement.
"Cute and needy?" He chuckles, shaking his head. "You really are my biggest fan, huh?" You nod without thinking, your face burning. "Good," he says, his voice dropping lower. "Then keep going. I wanna see just how much you can take for me."
Mydei's eyes flick downward, to the camera and you realize—too late—that he's caught you. His smirk sharpens. "Rubbing those thighs together like that," he muses, voice laced with amusement. "You that needy already?" Your breath stutters. You try to stop, but it's impossible-the heat pooling between your legs is too much, the way he's watching you is too much.
He chuckles, low and knowing, "C'mon, baby," he purrs. "Go ahead. Put those pretty fingers to work for me," Your stomach tightens at the command. "Let me see how much of a mess you can make," he adds, his voice thick with anticipation. "Bet you're already soaked for me, huh?"
Your breath comes out shaky, your whole body burning under his gaze. He's not even here, but the way he speaks-like he already owns you, like he knows what you're feeling-has you completely at his mercy.
Slowly, hesitantly, your hand drifts down, slipping beneath the waistband of your panties. The moment your fingers brush against yourself, you gasp—you're already embarrassingly wet, just like he said. Mydei groans softly, eyes glued to the screen. "Knew it," he mutters, voice thick with approval. "So fucking predictable." Your cheeks burn, but the humiliation only makes the ache between your legs worse. "Don't be shy now," he coaxes. "Let me see how pretty you look when you touch yourself for me."
Your breath shudders as your fingers move, the warmth of your own touch making you squirm. Mydei watches through the screen, his sharp eyes locked onto you, his expression shifting into something darker—something possessive. Your other had gripped on your right tit squeezing it gently as you teased your clit. Imagining it was Mydei’s fingers and hands, teasing you.
"That's it, he murmurs, voice lower now, almost approving. "Nice and slow. I want to see everything." He smirked, he pulled down his own pants, as he groaned softly looking at his length that was already leaking with cum. You bite your lip, overwhelmed by the way he's watching you, and stroking himself with his cock. The heat in his gaze making you feel exposed in the best way possible. You've imagined moments like this before, but nothing compares to the real thing—nothing compares to him actually being here, whispering to you, praising you.
"Feels good, doesn't it?" he muses, tilting his head. "Bet it feels even better knowing I'm watching." You nod, your voice caught somewhere in your throat. Mydei chuckles, leaning in just slightly, his smirk deepening. While watching you through the camera. His hand gripping on his dick, as he let out a grunted moan. "G-Good girl," he murmurs. "Keep going. Let me hear you."
You moaned softly, dipping on of your fingers in your tight passage. Velvety walls wrapping around your fingers. As Mydei moaned out loud, "Fuck yeah…just like that." He groaned, as his thumb teased the tip of his cock. Imagining that the head of his cock kissing your cervix.
"G—Gonna cum…" you announced, Mydei’s lidded eyes snapped wide open as he sneered. "Fuck no, baby. I don’t think so. Hold it for me and show me you’re a real fan of mine."
Your whole body tenses at his words, a desperate whimper slipping past your lips. Holding back feels impossible—you’re already trembling, already so close—but the look on Mydei’s face tells you he expects you to obey. "Don’t give me that," he huffs, his hand moving in slow, deliberate strokes. He’s watching you with half-lidded eyes, his jaw tight, his breaths heavier than before. "Real fans know how to listen." You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to hold back the pleasure building inside you, but it only makes it worse. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to hold back the pleasure building inside you, but it only makes it worse. Mydei notices immediately, his smirk sharp and teasing.
"Struggling, baby?" he taunts, his pace on himself picking up slightly. "That desperate to let go?" You nod frantically, your thighs trembling. He groans lowly, tilting his head back for a brief second before locking eyes with you again. "Fuck—you look so cute when you're holding back for me." His voice is rough now, edged with hunger. "Think you can last a little longer? Be a good girl and wait for me?"
Your entire body is shaking, every muscle tensed as you fight against the overwhelming pleasure surging through you. Mydei's voice is all you can focus on-rough, teasing, controlling. "I-I don't know if I can," you whimper, your voice coming out weak, breathless. His eyes darken, hand still working himself at an unhurried pace. "You can," he corrects, his tone firm but laced with amusement. "You will. Don't tell me my biggest fan is about to let me down."
You shake your head frantically, desperate to prove him wrong. "N—No, I-I wanna be good for you" vou stammer, your voice barely above a whine. That earns you a low, satisfied groan. "That's my girl," he praises, his strokes becoming just a little faster, his breathing heavier. "Hold it a little longer for me, baby. Just a little more."
Your whole body is on fire, every nerve stretched to its limit as you fight to hold back, just like he told you. Mydei watches you intently, his hand moving faster, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. "Fuck, look at you," he groans, his voice rougher now, strained with pleasure. "Shaking so bad for me... you really wanna cum, don't you?" You nod frantically, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "Please," you beg, voice barely a whisper.
Mydei's breath shudders, his strokes turning almost desperate. "Shit—alright, baby," he rasps. "Cum for me. Now." The second he gives you permission, the pleasure crashes over you, white—hot and overwhelming. Your body trembles as you cry out, giving in completely, your mind hazy with nothing but bliss.
Mydei isn't far behind. His jaw clenches, his brows furrow, and with a deep, guttural groan, he spills over his hand, his body shuddering through his release. For a moment, the only sound between you is your uneven breathing. Mydei leans back, running a hand through his hair, his smirk returning as he watches you try to catch your breath. "Damn," he mutters, his voice still rough. "Best fan interaction I've ever had."
Your body is still trembling, aftershocks of pleasure coursing through you as you try to catch your breath. Mydei watches you with a lazy smirk, his chest still rising and falling from his own release. But then—his eyes darken again, that cocky glint returning as he tilts his head. "We're not done yet, baby," he murmurs, voice low and teasing. Your breath hitches, eyes widening slightly. "W-What?" He chuckles, sitting up straighter, his fingers still lazily stroking himself, already regaining his composure. "What kind of streamer would I be if I left my biggest fan unsatisfied?" His voice drops, rough and full of intent. "Now be good and spread those legs for me again."
Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, your body still tingling from the intensity of your release. But Mydei isn't done—not even close. His dark eyes rake over you, his smirk softening just a little, but the hunger is still there. "You look so pretty like this," he murmurs, voice lower now, almost... tender. "Flushed, breathless, all for me." Your heart stutters at the way he says it—less like a tease, more like he means it.
"You really are my biggest fan, huh?" he muses, stroking himself lazily, watching the way your thighs twitch. "But I think." He trails off for a second, his expression shifting into something unreadable. "I think I might be your biggest fan now." The words send a different kind of heat through you, something deeper, something that lingers. Mydei chuckles when he sees the way you react, but there's no mocking edge to it this time—just warmth.
"Didn't think this would happen." he admits, his hand slowing, his gaze softening even as he stays locked onto you. "But fuck, baby... I don't think I can let you go now." Your breath shudders. "Mydei..." His smirk turns into something almost affectionate. "Yeah, baby," he murmurs, his eyes full of something deeper than lust, something real. "You're mine now. And I'm yours."
© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!
#blueberrisdove#honkai star rail mydei#mydei x you#mydei smut#mydei hsr#mydeimos#mydei x reader#hsr mydei#mydei#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail smut#honkai sr#honkai star rail#honkai x reader#hsr x female reader#hsr x y/n#hsr x you#hsr x reader#female reader#⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ rukadei
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could you do some taking care of you on period stories!!
alright so kinda sorta inspired by max and lando's latest stream there wasn't a specific driver request so i chose lando cause the stream was on my mind hope that's okay so yeah anyways enjoy!!!!
(p.s.: he's so adorable in this clip😭)
It had been quite a bit since Lando and Max had streamed from the same room. Finally after weeks of back and forth they stumbled on one date. So, here they both are streaming from Lando's apartment in Monaco, the chat going absolutely feral, seeing them together.
Y/N had been looking forward to a cozy evening while Lando and Max entertained the internet with their usual chaotic stream. She had taken a warm shower, ready to curl up in bed and scroll aimlessly on her phone. But just as she was drying off, she felt the unmistakable cramp and the dreaded realization hit her.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," she muttered, sighing as she reached for her supply of pads.
Now, wrapped in one of Lando’s oversized hoodies, she lay in bed with a heating pad pressed against her stomach. She scrolled through her phone, trying to distract herself from the cramps. She could hear the distant sounds of Lando and Max laughing from the streaming room, their voices slightly muffled by the walls.
Meanwhile, in the other room, Lando and Max were in the middle of a heated debate about who was better at Tarkov.
"Mate, you are so bad at this," Max laughed. "I swear, you run in circles half the time."
"Nah, you're just jealous of my skills," Lando shot back, grinning.
A notification popped up on Lando’s second screen, signaling they had been streaming for a while. “I’m gonna grab a drink. You want anything?” he asked Max, standing up.
Max waved a hand. “Yeah, just get me whatever you’re having.”
Lando nodded, stretching his arms before heading out of the streaming room. As always, before making his way to the kitchen, he took a detour to check on Y/N. It was a habit now—every time he had a moment, he’d sneak in to give her a quick kiss or hug, just because he could.
When he walked in, he immediately noticed her curled up in bed, heating pad pressed against her stomach. His playful smile softened. He knew what that meant.
"Babe, you on your period?" he asked softly, sitting beside her.
Y/N let out a dramatic sigh. "Unfortunately. It’s a nightmare."
Lando leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I’ll be right back, okay?", he said exiting the room, leaving the girl confused.
He made his way to the kitchen but instead of grabbing just drinks, he started rummaging through the pantry. He knew Y/N's go-to period snacks: chocolate, some chips, and—oh, he had bought her favorite cookies last week! Score!
When he returned to the streaming room, Max looked up. "Took you long enough—wait, what’s all that?"
Lando placed the drinks on the desk but held onto the snacks. "Y/N’s on her period. We’re ending the stream."
Max blinked before nodding. "Oh. Yeah, fair enough. She needs the comfort package."
Without hesitation, Max turned to their viewers. "Alright, lads, that’s it for tonight. Emergency calls."
The chat flooded with confusion and questions, but they ignored it, quickly shutting everything down. Once everything was offline, Max followed Lando to the bedroom, where Y/N was still curled up.
"Brought you some goodies, love," Lando said, placing the snacks beside her. "And we ended the stream, so now you have our full attention."
Max flopped onto the bed dramatically. "I’m here for moral support."
Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head. "You guys really didn’t have to end your stream."
"Nah, you’re more important," Lando said without hesitation, climbing into bed beside her.
Max smirked. "He’s so whipped."
"Shut up," Lando muttered, wrapping his arms around Y/N. "Let me cuddle my girlfriend in peace."
Max, shaking his head, let out a small chuckle at his best friend. "Alright, alright, I'll leave you two to it. Take care."
Y/N smiled softly. "Thanks, Max. And sorry you had to end your stream because of me."
Max scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "Nah, I was getting tired of your whiny boyfriend anyway."
Lando gave Max an unimpressed look while Y/N burst into laughter, making Lando pout. "Wow, the betrayal."
Max grinned, backing away towards the door. "Get used to it, mate. See you in the morning—if you survive the clinginess."
With that, he slipped out, leaving Lando and Y/N wrapped up in each other, completely content.
As soon as the door shut, Lando tightened his arms around Y/N, burying his face into her neck. "Finally, alone time."
Y/N giggled, turning slightly to nuzzle against his curls. "You’re so dramatic."
"Shhh," he mumbled. "Let me be clingy."
She smiled, running her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp lightly. He let out a hum of approval, his whole body relaxing against hers. "You're literally the best boyfriend ever, you know that?"
Lando lifted his head, grinning sleepily. "Say it again."
Y/N rolled her eyes playfully but complied. "Best boyfriend ever."
He kissed her cheek, then her nose, then her forehead. "I love you."
She melted into his embrace. "I love you too. Even when you’re extra."
"Especially when I’m extra," he corrected smugly, pulling the blanket over them. "Now let’s get comfy. Movie? Nap? Or just more cuddles?"
"Mmm, all of the above."
Lando beamed, pulling her even closer. "Perfect."
And just like that, he stayed wrapped around her for the rest of the night, whispering sweet nothings and making sure she was as comfortable as possible. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that he’d always be there to take care of her—no matter what.
#f1#f1 fanfic#f1 x reader#f1 fandom#f1 fic#f1 imagine#fluff#formula 1#lando norris#humor#lando x y/n#lando x you#lando x reader#lando imagine#ln4#mclaren f1#max fewtrell
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Off Limits
chapter two : maybe this time
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soccer player vi x talis reader
mentions: player vi, besti ekko, romance, lesbianism, modern au, college au, drama, abby tou, ellie tlou, (they’re coming i promise) cheerleader reader, mention of sex, pierced reader, caitlyn being a bitch
notes: grab some snacks yall
The next morning, as you stood in front of your mirror getting ready, you ignored Jayce completely. He had tried apologizing more times than you could count—knocking on your door, lingering outside your room, calling your name softly—but you refused to acknowledge him. Even when he sighed in frustration, muttering something under his breath as he walked away, you didn’t budge.
Once dressed, you headed downstairs, the scent of warm butter and sizzling eggs greeting you as you stepped into the kitchen. Your mom stood at the stove, her hair still slightly damp from a shower, humming softly as she flipped pancakes. You hadn’t seen her in a while—she had been away on a business trip in L.A., and part of you had missed her presence.
She turned to you with a warm smile as you sat at the island, watching her cook.
“How was your first day of school, mi corazón?” she asked, carefully plating food.
“It was good, Mom,” you replied, picking at your nails absentmindedly.
She gave you a knowing look. “Did you make any new friends?”
You shrugged. “Mmm, not really,” you admitted. “I did see Ekko, though. And his little girlfriend, Jinx. She’s really sweet and pretty.”
Your mom’s smile widened. “I’m glad you’re putting yourself out there.” She placed a plate in front of you, the smell of eggs and toast making your stomach grumble. “What about that cheer tryout video? Did you get accepted?”
You sighed, stabbing at a piece of scrambled egg with your fork. “Don’t know yet. They haven’t said anything.”
She reached over and squeezed your hand. “You’ll get it. I believe in you.” She pressed a quick kiss to your cheek before stepping back and grabbing a set of keys from the drawer. She placed them on the counter in front of you.
“The car’s parked outside, right in front. It’s new,” she said. “Just don’t forget to wash the dishes before you leave.”
You nodded, still chewing your food.
She gave you one last smile. “Have a good day, sweetheart.” Then, with the jingle of keys and the soft click of the door, she was gone.
Just as you were finishing your breakfast, Jayce came downstairs, already dressed with his backpack slung over his shoulder. He barely spared you a glance as he headed for the door.
“If you’re coming with me, let’s go,” he announced flatly.
You didn’t reply, only reached over and jingled the car keys your mom had left for you. He rolled his eyes before walking out of the apartment without another word.
Once you were done eating, you cleaned up the dishes like your mom had asked, grabbed your bag, and made your way to campus.
The day had been going surprisingly well. Classes were straightforward, and during your break, you decided to head to the library, taking advantage of the quiet space to get ahead on your studies. You sat at a desk tucked in the corner, your laptop open, completely focused on the screen as you typed out notes.
You barely noticed when someone sat down across from you. Assuming it was just another student there to study, you ignored them. That was until your laptop was abruptly shut, you moved your hands away just in time.
Your gaze snapped up, and there she was—Vi, leaning forward with her elbows on the table, an unreadable expression on her face.
Before you could even react, she spoke first. “Where did you go after the party? I was looking for you.”
You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Liar,” you scoffed. “You were too busy exchanging saliva with some other girl.” You leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms. “And on top of that, you didn’t even do the one thing you said you would—distract Jayce. He caught me.”
Vi sighed, shaking her head. “That’s why you haven’t been answering my texts?” She tilted her head, smirking. “Did you actually think this was something?” She let out a short chuckle. “I just wanted a good fuck, baby.”
Your jaw clenched. “I know this might sound surprising, but so did I.” You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. “But it’s kinda a turn off when the girl you show up with is kissing someone else before the night’s even over.”
Vi’s smirk faltered slightly, but you didn’t give her a chance to respond. Instead, you reopened your laptop, the screen blocking her from your view.
“Have a good fucking day, Violet,” you muttered before refocusing on your work.
Vi hesitated for a moment, as if considering saying something else, but then you heard her scoff softly before standing up and walking away.
After your last class, you made your way home, already hearing the pounding bass of loud music as you approached the door. You sighed, knowing it was most likely Jayce and his friends, which meant the apartment was about to be a chaotic mess.
With your bag slung over your shoulder, you flipped through the mail in your hands, tossing most of it onto the small table by the door like you always did. But one envelope caught your eye—the school’s logo printed neatly in the corner. Your breath hitched as you flipped it over, fingers tightening around the edges.
This was it. The results from your cheer tryout.
Cheer had been your passion since middle school, something you threw yourself into completely—until your senior year, when your dad died. You knew you couldn’t keep up with the demanding schedule, so you let it go. But after moving back home, your mom had encouraged you to give it another shot, and you did. You needed something to keep yourself busy, something to feel like you again.
You walked into the living room, distracted as you worked to tear the envelope open. Your bag slid off your shoulder, landing in its usual spot beneath the coffee table. Just as you finally got the letter free, something small and crunchy smacked you right in the forehead.
“The hell?” you muttered, glancing up.
“You’re blocking the TV, dude,” Jayce said flatly, a controller in his hand.
You rolled your eyes but froze when you noticed who was sitting beside him. Vi.
Your stomach twisted as you quickly took in the rest of his friend group—mostly butches and one twink. You looked back at Jayce before stepping aside, muttering under your breath as you finally unfolded the letter.
“Don’t you guys have better shit to do? Like study or—” Your voice cut off abruptly.
Your eyes scanned over the words again just to make sure you weren’t imagining things.
Congratulations, you have been selected as a member of the Arcane Lions Cheer Team.
Your hands trembled slightly as the realization settled in.
“Jayce, read this,” you said, shoving the letter toward him.
He paused the game, ignoring Vi’s groan of protest, and took the paper from you, standing up. His eyes darted across the page, and soon, a wide grin spread across his face.
“Congrats, sis. You’re a Lion,” he said, clapping you on the back.
You smirked. “I’ve been a Lion, dumbass. But thanks.”
Snatching the paper back, you pulled out your phone. “I’m gonna take a pic and send it to Mom.”
Jayce held onto the letter for just a second longer, teasing you before finally letting it go.
From the couch, Vi leaned back, stretching her arms over her head as she smirked. “Guess that means I’ll be seeing you at all the functions,” she teased. “Thank god cheerleaders don’t cheer for the soccer team.”
You scoffed. “I don’t wanna be around you.”
With that, you turned on your heel and headed straight upstairs, ignoring the way Vi’s smirk faltered just slightly as you disappeared down the hall, over hearing their conversation.
“Damn Vi i never seen you fumble so hard”
“I taught my sister well.”
Your first day of cheer practice was absolute hell.
The sun beat down mercilessly as you and the rest of the squad ran suicides up and down the football stadium bleachers. Your legs burned, your lungs screamed, and the insane body workouts that followed only made things worse. Every squat, push-up, and burpee felt like a personal attack. But the real kicker? The person barking orders at you all, making sure you pushed past your limits, was her.
The blue-haired girl from the bonfire. The one Vi had kissed.
And, of course, she just had to be the cheer captain.
You clenched your jaw and kept your head down, forcing yourself through every miserable rep. You weren’t about to let Caitlyn see you struggle. She was already making you work twice as hard as the others, calling you out whenever your form faltered, ensuring you knew exactly who was in charge.
By the time practice finally ended, you felt like you had been hit by a truck. You wiped sweat from your brow, chugging water like it was the only thing keeping you alive. Just when you thought you were free to leave, the team was ushered into the locker room to get measured for uniforms.
You were exhausted, body sore, and the last thing you wanted was to stand around half-dressed while someone took your measurements. But you endured it, standing in line as tape measures wrapped around your waist, bust, and hips, trying not to think about how much you hated being scrutinized like this.
Just as you were about to grab your bag and head out, Caitlyn stepped in front of you, blocking your path.
“You’re Jayce Talis’ little sister, right?” she asked, her piercing blue eyes locked onto yours.
You forced a polite, fake smile and nodded. “Yep. That’s me.”
Her gaze flickered over you, eyes dragging from your face down to your torso like she was assessing your worth. “I expect the best out of you since you’re the sibling of a top athlete here.”
Before you could respond, she reached out and grabbed the waistband of your shorts, tugging them slightly to peek inside.
Your body tensed, a flash of discomfort shooting up your spine.
“You’re gonna have to take that belly ring out during games,” Caitlyn remarked, her tone casual, like she wasn’t just invading your space. Then, she tilted her head, smirking. “What else do you have pierced?”
You hesitated for a second, shifting uncomfortably before mumbling, “Um… my nipples.”
Caitlyn hummed. “Figures.” She finally let go of your shorts, stepping back. The movement of the shorts snapping back onto your body hit your belly ring which made you hiss from the sudden pain. “Nothing some boob tape won’t hide, I guess.”
You exhaled, hoping that was the end of it, but then she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping just enough for only you to hear.
“Oh, and I’ve heard about you… from Vi,” she said, her smile saccharine but her eyes sharp. “Stay away from her, or I’ll make your experience here a living hell. Okay?”
She patted your shoulder mockingly before turning on her heel and walking away like she hadn’t just threatened you with a sweet smile on her face.
You stood there for a moment, fists clenched at your sides.
What the fuck had you just gotten yourself into?
The warm water had washed away the grime of practice, but not the lingering frustration in your chest. Your muscles ached from the brutal workout Caitlyn had put you through, and the last thing you wanted was to deal with any more bullshit.
You stepped out of the shower, grabbing one of the towels provided and wrapping it around yourself. The locker room was mostly empty now, just the faint sound of water dripping from the showerheads and the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. You dried yourself off quickly, rubbing the towel over your arms and legs before slipping on your underwear.
As you reached behind your back, struggling to clasp your bra, the locker room door swung open. The sound of laughter and footsteps echoed off the tiled walls.
You glanced up in the mirror.
Vi.
And, of course, she wasn’t alone. A handful of girls from the soccer team trailed in behind her, still riding the high of their practice. They were loud, chatting and joking amongst themselves, but Vi’s attention was locked onto you.
Her gaze swept over you in an obvious once-over, a slow smirk pulling at her lips.
“Damn, Talis,” she drawled, leaning against a row of lockers, arms crossed over her chest. “You got a nice body.”
You rolled your eyes, biting back the urge to snap at her. Instead, you focused on finally securing the stupid clasp of your bra, your fingers fumbling slightly in irritation.
Vi didn’t seem to care that you were ignoring her. If anything, it just encouraged her.
She tilted her head, eyes lingering a little too long. “Is that a belly ring?” Her smirk widened. “That’s hot.”
You exhaled sharply through your nose, grabbing your sweatpants and stepping into them.
“Vi, I don’t have time for you and your bullshit,” you muttered, pulling them up your legs and tightening the drawstring.
Vi just chuckled, like your attitude amused her. Like you weren’t still pissed off at her from the bonfire.
You refused to let her get under your skin. You refused to let her think she could flirt her way back into your good graces.
Not this time.
Vi stepped closer, her presence looming just as you pulled your cropped black shirt over your head, the fabric hugging your body snugly. The heat of her proximity made your skin prickle, but you kept your focus on adjusting your sleeves, refusing to give her the reaction she wanted.
“What are you doing later tonight?” Vi asked, her voice smooth, almost casual, like she hadn’t just put you through hell the past 24 hours.
“Homework,” you replied flatly, slinging your gym bag over your shoulder.
Vi didn’t take the hint. “How about I see you tonight?” she offered, her tone dropping into something more suggestive. “Your brother isn’t gonna be home, which is perfect.”
You finally turned to her, eyes narrowing in disgust. Did she really think she could just waltz in here and pretend like nothing had happened?
You scoffed. “Why don’t you ask your little girlfriend that was threatening me this morning?” you said, tilting your head. “You know, the blue-haired girl… cheer captain?”
Vi shrugged, that cocky smirk still plastered on her face. Like none of this mattered. Like you were just another game to her.
That was it.
You stepped closer, meeting her gaze with unwavering intensity. “Let’s get one thing straight, Vi, okay?” you said, voice cold. “I’m not your little plaything. I don’t have low standards for someone like you.”
Her smirk twitched, but she stayed silent.
“You kissed another girl while you were with me—God knows what else you did—and you expect me to run into your arms?” You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Get the fuck over yourself and get your head out of your ass. I don’t want you. So stop bothering me.”
Before she could respond, you turned on your heel and stormed out of the locker room, leaving her standing there, speechless for once.
After finishing your classes for the day, you made a quick stop at Dutch Bros, treating yourself to an iced coffee before heading home. The caffeine was much needed after the grueling cheer practice and the long lectures.
When you stepped into the apartment, the smell of food immediately hit you. Jayce was in the kitchen, standing by the counter, focused on making himself a sandwich. His broad frame blocked most of the counter, but you could see the neatly stacked ingredients—deli meat, cheese, lettuce—laid out beside him.
“Oooh, make me one, please,” you asked, setting your drink down on the island.
Jayce glanced up at you briefly before nodding. “Yeah, sure.”
A grin tugged at your lips. “Thank you, housewife.”
Jayce rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything, just continued assembling your sandwich like the “good” big brother he was.
As you leaned against the counter, sipping your coffee, he spoke up. “Are you gonna come to the soccer game tonight?”
You sighed, already knowing there was no escaping it. “Yeah. I have no choice—Jinx is driving.”
Jayce chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, she’s just like her sister. She doesn’t let up.”
That caught your attention. You furrowed your brows, setting your coffee down. “Who’s her sister?”
“Vi,” Jayce answered plainly, as if it were common knowledge.
Your eyebrow shot up instinctively. You let that piece of information sink in for a moment before scoffing. “Honestly… not even surprised.”
Jayce smirked as he slid the plate with your sandwich across the counter.
Then, after a pause, he hesitated before speaking. “Are you still mad at me about the party?”
“Yes,” you said without hesitation.
He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Then go ahead and lash out on me.”
You set your sandwich down and stared at him, your jaw tightening. “If you yell at me and degrade me the way you did at the party, I will cut your dick off and shove it so far up your ass you’ll be coughing it up,” you said, voice calm but laced with venom.
Jayce winced but didn’t interrupt.
“You know how I feel about people accusing me of relapsing,” you continued, your grip on the plate tightening. “And I especially hate it when you or Mom do it. A stupid Cayman Jack isn’t gonna make me relapse. I’m not that fucking weak.”
Jayce sighed, his expression shifting to guilt. “Right. I apologize.”
You exhaled slowly, picking your sandwich back up. “You’re forgiven.”
Jayce glanced at his phone, checking the time before grabbing his sandwich. “I gotta go—meeting with the coach before the game,” he said, taking one last bite before leaning down to kiss your cheek.
You hummed in acknowledgment, still focused on your food as he made his way to the door.
Just as he pulled it open, he nearly ran into Jinx, who had her hand raised as if she were about to knock. The two of them froze, staring at each other in mutual awkwardness before Jayce finally stepped aside, allowing her in. Without another word, he closed the door behind her and left.
Jinx turned toward you with a playful grin. “Hello, (Y/N),” she greeted, plopping onto the stool beside you.
You glanced at her, swallowing the last bite you took before returning the smile. “Why are you here so early?”
“I wanted to get food first, but clearly you have that figured out,” Jinx teased, eyeing your sandwich.
Your chewing slowed as you glanced down at your plate, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious about eating in front of her. You placed the sandwich down with exaggerated slowness, making her snicker.
“I’m still hungry, though,” you admitted. “Let me change, and then we can go.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jinx said with a mock salute, watching as you rolled your eyes and dashed up the stairs.
The game started, and within minutes, you understood why the entire school had shown up. Your team wasn’t just good—they were insanely talented. Jayce commanded the field with pinpoint passes, Ekko’s footwork and kicks were pure finesse, and Vi? She was everywhere. Aggressive, quick, and completely in control, she weaved through the opposing team like she was made for this. Together, the three of them were an unstoppable force, dominating the game like a well-oiled machine.
You and Jinx cheered every time they scored, and the entire bleacher section erupted with each goal. The energy was electric, and even though you weren’t exactly a sports fan, you couldn’t deny how exciting it was to watch them play.
When the game ended in an easy victory, the stands emptied out, but the buzz didn’t die. Whispers spread quickly—there was a party tonight. Caitlyn Kiramman’s house.
Jinx nudged you with her elbow. “You coming?”
You scoffed. “Absolutely not. But you should go—with Ekko.”
She rolled her eyes, but you didn’t miss the way her lips curled into a barely-there smile.
As the two of you waited near the locker room gate, the team finally emerged, still high off their win. Ekko spotted Jinx immediately and wasted no time slinging an arm around her, pulling her into a hug. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched them.
But before you could comment, a weight settled around your shoulders. You stiffened, turning your head to find Vi standing there, her arm lazily draped around you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Your jaw tightened. “Was me telling you off in that locker room not enough?”
Vi gave you an easy grin. “We can’t be friends?”
You sighed, rolling your eyes. “Fine.” You let her arm stay there—until her hand drifted lower, groping your chest.
You scoffed, shoving her off. “What the fuck?!”
Vi held up her hands in mock innocence, her smirk unrepentant. “I had to. They were sitting so perfectly.”
Your glare could’ve set her on fire. “Touch me again, and I’ll kill you.”
Vi only laughed, grabbing your pointing finger and giving it a playful squeeze. “Walk with me. Please.”
You stared at her for a long moment before exhaling sharply. “…Fine.”
She wasted no time grabbing your hand, leading you away from the crowd toward a more secluded spot behind the bleachers.
“I wanna try again,” she said once you were alone.
You narrowed your eyes. “Try what again?”
“Taking you out.”
You snorted. “Be for real.”
“I am serious,” Vi insisted. “We can try again at the pool party tonight.”
You blinked at her. “Caitlyn Kiramman’s house? The cheer captain? You want me dead, don’t you?”
“I talked to Caitlyn,” Vi said smoothly. “Told her we aren’t gonna see each other anymore. She’s cool with it. And…I told her to leave you alone.”
You eyed her skeptically. “And I’m just supposed to believe that?”
Vi shrugged. “Believe what you want. But I handled it.”
You sighed, crossing your arms. “…What about Jayce?”
“He’ll be too busy with Mel,” she said easily. “They’ve got a date tonight. He said he’s ‘gonna get lucky’ or whatever, so he’s definitely not gonna be there.”
You hesitated, mulling it over. “…Alright. But I swear to God, Vi, if you embarrass me, I will never let you live it down.”
“Fine,I promise,” she said with a chuckle. Then, before you could react, she leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek.
You barely had time to process the warmth before she pulled away, grinning. “I’ll pick you up at 8. Have a swimsuit on.”
And with that, she walked off, leaving you standing there—flustered and way more interested in this party than you’d ever planned to be.
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Sick! Chishiya x Fem! Reader
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Your doctor will barely let you take his temperature, but you refuse to let him take care of himself.
Content: Fluff, sick Chishiya, reader takes care of Chishiya and he gets better.
Word count: ~1.2k
a/n: my first fic in tumblr! i have a few more to upload already but I'm too lazy to make introduction posts and all that lmao
Chishiya sits begrudgingly in your king sized bed, covered by thick yarn blankets and cocooned by at least four pillows that you insisted on wrapping around him. His soft features are adorned by a gentle frown that you could even call bratty, as he refused to lay down and stay still for even a few minutes to allow you to feed him his warm soup.
"Is this really necessary?" He sighs, moving his face to the side with more force than necessary, causing the spoon to wobble dangerously in your hand. "It's just a fever."
"Come on, baby, I made the soup for you to get better!" You insist, putting the spoon to his lips. He hesitates, pulling his covers tighter against him before his eyes focus on the spoon.
You think you hear a huff before he opens his mouth and allows you to feed him the soup you lovingly prepared a few minutes prior. You didn't expect him to pitch such a fit when you fed it to him, but you love him too much to dwell on the fact that Chishiya is a textbook brat when he gets sick.
"Thank you!" You lean in, leaving a sweet kiss on his cheek, something you know will soften his behavior for at least a few minutes until it wears off...
Unfortunately, you also forgot your darling is a very strict doctor. With delayed movements due to the fever weighing him down, he gently pushes your shoulder away from him. You managed to plant the kiss on him, though, so it's a win for you.
"Don't do that. I don't want you getting sick." He complains, almost whines, twisting his face out of your line of sight and to the side. You slump your shoulders, sighing. Does he have to be so dramatic? Don't tell him that you think that, though.
"It was just your cheek, Chishiya, I'll be fine." You roll your eyes. You were never weak, and you rarely got sick, Chishiya is just being overly cautious.
"I don't want you getting sick." He repeats, looking up at you, sitting on the side of the bed. It's just now that you notice the dark circles under his eyes, and the stuffy nose that causes him to sniffle every couple of minutes.
"I'm not getting sick, Chishiya." You lean in, cupping his face with both of your hands. His face burns up under your touch, and you pull away quickly to grab a wet towel on the nightstand table and place it on his forehead. "You're burning up! Why don't you tell me?"
His eyes flutter closed under the relief of the wet towel, and he shifts around in bed to soothe both the overwhelming heat and the freezing cold. Your gaze softens, the previously accusing tone morphing into something calmer and more careful. "Do you want more soup?"
"No, thank you." His words are well pronounced and sharp when they leave his mouth, a contrast to his shuffled body which is now laid on the bed like a ragdoll. He keeps turning around on the bed, shoving off his covers and simultaneously looking for the warmth.
You put away the soup bowl, looking anxiously for the thermometer in the mess on the nightstand. He pauses, as if he just noticed the way you have been biting your index nail for the past ten minutes and the way your leg shakes with a rhythm.
"I'll be fine." He interrupts your line of thinking as you snatch the thermometer off the nightstand table.
"I know. I'm still worried." You reply softly, as if saying the words louder could somehow confirm your fears. You press the thermometer to his skin, and after a couple of seconds of agonizing silence the small screen flashes. 38.7° degrees, not enough for him to go to the hospital but more than enough for you to worry.
You look down at him, squirming in the bed, and your heart breaks. He looks up at you, and you notice he keeps trying to keep still and his expression neutral, but the small grimaces of discomfort give him away.
You move to soak the towel in the cold bowl of water for a few more seconds, tucking the two characteristic strands of hair behind his ears. "Will you let me take care of you, now?"
The corners of his mouth twitch up at your words despite his discomfort, and he leans into your soft hands, letting out a soft hum that almost sounds like purring. That manages to get a smile out of you, glad that your boyfriend seems to be well enough to indulge you.
"What I need right now is a nap with you." He breaks the comfortable silence that settled over the room. He gently scoots to the side, leaning back down into the softest pillow in your shared room. His invitation guarantees a grin from you, and he can't help but smirk back.
"Always." You reply, burrowing under the blankets and emerging by his side. He reaches out an arm, letting you lean your head on his shoulder and drape an arm over his chest. Somehow, the close proximity to you seems to soothe him, and he no longer has the urge to squirm around in bed to find the perfect temperature.
The forgotten soup on your nightstand is cold by the time he wakes up with ruffled hair and puffy eyes, and when he comes to, he sits up mortified to find out he had been cuddling up in your chest for the past three hours. The position you had fallen asleep in and the one you woke up in was the same, but with inverted roles.
"Hey, baby. How are you feeling now?" You smile at him and caress his hand draped over your stomach. He blinks once, had he really been resting his head on your chest? But you don't look teasing or playful, like you are seconds away from making fun of him (in a loving, girlfriend way) like you always did.
He thanks you internally for giving him a pass for being sick and not mentioning how he had been snoring like a baby for three whole hours, or the small patch of drool on the side of his mouth, and you just wipe it off with a swipe of your thumb.
He doesn't respond, instead, he moves to rest his head on your chest again. You press your hand on his forehead, but he's not burning up like he was just a few hours ago, so you nudge his cheek with your finger. Would it be too out of line to hope his fever lasts a few more hours? You've never spent so much time with him, due to his long hours at the hospital, let alone cuddling with him.
You giggle, but don't make a comment, wrapping an arm around him and unpausing the TV series you were watching while he snored and drooled. You don't mind having drool on your shirts as long as he's the one holding you tight against him at night.
#xbuu's fics#alice in borderland#aib#chishiya#chishiya shuntaro#aib chishiya#aib fanfic#aib x reader#chishiya alice in borderland#chishiya x reader
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You give yourself a haircut before your date with Remus, his reaction doesn’t disappoint in the slightest wc: 609
“Close your eyes Remmy!” You announce as you hear the front door open. Your heels click clack against the tiles as you hustle to the living room.
You’ve just finished styling your hair and getting ready for yours and Remus’ date and you’ve done something you think he’s going to love.
You love it, so you’re pretty sure he’s going to as well.
“What did you do?” There’s amusement in his voice as you step into the living room and find his hand over his eyes and his other one holding a bouquet of the year’s first tulips.
“Thank you for the flowers,” you lean up and kiss his lips, sticky gloss coating his as you pull back but all Remus does is rub his lips to father with a smile.
“Presumptuous, it could very well be for the woman I sweet talked into the table overlooking the pier.”
You hit his chest softly with a scoff. “Maybe I shouldn’t show you.”
Remus coos, wrapping his arm around your waist as his lips coast your neck. It makes your skin heat at how aware he is of you even with his eyes covered.
“Please show me baby,” his words are practically branded into your skin and you sigh.
“Move your hand,” you say softly, leaning back as he does so he can see you fully.
Remus groans when his eyes focus, hands appreciative when they reach to the ends of your hair.
“My love,” there’s a bit of husk to his voice that you weren’t expecting but as he twists a curl around his finger and gives you another once over you can’t help but feel a bit bashful. “You cut it!” You nod, nibbling on your lip as Remus gives you his full attention. “You look so good.”
You smile- beam is a better word- under his compliment, even more so when his fingers tickle the base of your neck.
“Would I mess it up if I ran my hands through it?”
You shake your head, curls sticking to the dewy setting spray you’d used.
“That’s kind of the point of it. To look a bit like bed head.”
Remus groans again, setting the flowers down and sinking both his hands into your hair and pulling you closer for a kiss.
Remus kisses you like he’s been thirsty all day and you’re a drink of cold water.
Just before he pulls away, he nibbles on your bottom lip and sighs all pleased.
“You’re gonna send me into cardiac arrest, dove.”
He sounds all breathless and it makes your heart hammer even harder against your chest.
“I’m not trying to.”
Remus laughs, pecking your lips again before stepping back to take in your entire outfit.
You’re in a deep wine purple dress, the skirt of it falling to mid-shin. The bodice is snug to your curves with a square neckline that makes you look even more beautiful. You’re also wearing the necklace Remus had gotten you as an anniversary gifts a few years ago- rose quartz on a dainty chain that sits just along your collarbones.
Remus didn’t notice it before but you smell amazing too- like caramel, honey and milk.
“You’re definitely trying too, dove.”
You giggle bashfully, even more so when he reaches back for the flowers and hands them to you.
“Thank you, Remmy.” You give him another kiss, glad that you’d just done liner and gloss because he’d look a mess if you’d worn your lipstick- not that Remus would mind all that much.
“Can I take a photo? I’m due a new lock screen.”
You’re a few minutes late for the reservation but Remus has his new lock screen photo and a few kisses beneath his shirt as well.
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