#fire safety plan for school

[sadbicth]

elon musk did a nazi salute twice at the inauguration, and republicans are defending him.

trump revoked executive order 11246, which prohibited discrimination.

trump put all dei employees on leave to be fired.

trump blamed the dc plane crash on dei.

trump banned all lgbtq+ flags from being hung in government buildings.

trump ordered the pentagon to cancel celebration of mlk jr. day, black history month, women's history month, holocaust remembrance day, asian american pacific islander heritage month, lgbtq+ pride month, juneteenth, women's equality day, national hispanic heritage month, national disability employment awarenessmonth, and national american indian heritage month.

trump proposed removing all palestinians from gaza, turning the area into a vacation resort called “riviera of the middle east”.

trump posted an ai generated video showing what he hopes to turn palestine into, with a large golden statue of himself in the middle of it.

trump rolled back biden’s executive order to lower prescription drug costs for people using medicare and medicaid.

trump rescinded the $35 cap on insulin, and prices are expected to rise to $1500 a month.

trump ordered the national institutes of health to cancel their review panels on cancer research.

trump ended the guidelines to prevent ai misuse. the guidelines prevent many things, but notably it prevents production of ai child pornography.

when sean hannity asked trump about the economy, he said “i don’t care”, after campaigning with the economy as his main talking point.

trump has withdrawn the us from the world health organization.

trump is ordering health agencies to stop reporting on bird flu and halt publications of scientific reports.

trump’s epa is reversing the ban on asbestos, which causes deadly and rapidly-spreading cancer if exposed.

trump has pardoned over 1500 people who stormed the capitol on january 6th.

trump changed denali back to mount mckinley.

trump signed an executive order to rename the gulf of mexico to gulf of america.

trump shut down cbp one, an app which granted legal entry to 1 million+ immigrants.

trump has discussed introducing a “gold card”, which would allow the wealthiest people to buy us citizenship for $5 million usd.

trump is allowing ice raids at churches and elementary schools.

trump announced plans to declare a national emergency at the us-mexico border.

trump signed an executive order to expand the use of the death penalty.

trump disbanded the school safety board that works to prevent school shootings. it was comprised of survivors, educators, and gun violence prevention advocates and formed after the school shooting in parkland.

trump has threatened to invade panama to claim the panama canal.

trump withdrew from the paris climate act.

trump revoked all protections for transgender troops in the us military.

trump rescinded executive orders made by biden that benefited and protected women, lgbtq+ people, black americans, hispanic americans, asian americans, native hawaiians, and pacific islanders.

trump bombed iran 3 times without congressional approval.

trump is attempting to make it legal to refuse to hire or fire pregnant women.

trump pardoned 23 individuals convicted under the freedom of access to clinic entrances (FACE) act for their anti-abortion activism, including oftentimes violent protests at abortion clinics.

trump signed an executive order allowing deportation of foreign students who they believe express support for hamas or hezbollah.

trump announced that the us government will from here on out only recognize male and female as sexes. intersex is not legally recognized anymore.

trump is shutting down the lgbtq+ youth suicide hotline in july.

trump has told all schools and universities that they have two weeks to end all diversity initiatives, or he will cut federal funding. (as of feb 19, 2025)

trump told harvard to stop accepting immigrant students.

trump fired the staff of the federal aviation association after a deadly plane crash in dc.

trump has fired the heads of the tsa and coast guard, and gutted a key aviation safety advisory committee.

trump denied disaster relief funding for north carolina after tropical storm helene.

in georgia, a black woman named adriana smith is being kept alive on ventilators because she was 9 weeks pregnant when she died. she is legally brain dead. this was an exact plot in multiple episodes of the handmaid’s tale.

the state of louisiana just rolled back desegregation laws because of a petition from the department of justice.

the trump administration removed the federal government’s memorial to victims of gun violence. they took down 120 portraits of dead americans, including police officers and children.

the supreme court weakened the clean water act's limitations on raw sewage discharge into our water in a 5-4 ruling.

the official white house twitter account posted an “illegal alien deportation” asmr video where they did closeups of chains and the sound of ankle chains hitting the metal stairs of the airplanes deportees were being loaded onto.

on truth social, trump posted, “LONG LIVE THE KING!”.

at CPAC, a republican group called the “third term project” held a rally to support changing the constitution so trump can run for a third term. on their posters, they’re photoshopping his face onto julius caesar’s, seemingly forgetting what happened to julius caesar.

the trump administration paused health communications to prevent the fda from announcing food recalls.

the trump administration will not renew biden-era grants worth $1 billion that were aimed at boosting mental health services in schools.

the u.s. has surpassed 1,000 measles cases for the first time in five years, with 96% involving unvaccinated individuals or those with unknown vaccination status. rfk jr. has repeatedly claimed that measles can be treated with vitamin a.

republicans on tiktok are recreating elon’s salute to prove that it “wasn’t a nazi salute”, and they’re either doing it completely wrong because they know if they replicate it then it will actually be a salute, or they’re doing the proper salute and posting it online.

google and apple maps now display the gulf of mexico as “gulf of america”.

rfk jr. wants to ban SSRIs and put everyone on them into labor camps.

multiple state legislators are drafting bills to allow the punishment for abortion to be the death penalty.

andy ogles drafted a constitutional amendment to allow trump to be president for a third term.

the us senate confirmed russell vought, one of the main authors of project 2025, will lead the white house budget office.

nancy mace repeatedly used the t-slur during a congressional meeting, three times were out of spite.

andy biggs introduced a bill to abolish osha and completely eliminate federal workplace safety protections.

georgia republican congressman mike collins called for the deportation of new jersey born mariann budde, the bishop who urged trump to “have mercy” on the lgbtq+ community and immigrants during a service at the national cathedral.

florida republican anna paulina luna has introduced a bill to add trump to mount rushmore.

new york republican claudia tenney introduced a bill to make trump’s birthday a federal holiday.

west virginia republican delegate lisa white has introduced house bill 2712, which would remove rape and incest as exceptions for abortion, even for minors. you can call her at (304) 340- 3274 or email her at lisa.white@wvhouse.gov and let her know your opinion on that.

there is a bill named the SAVE act which would require americans to provide their birth certificate, passport, or other citizenship documents every time they vote, and would require the last name on their driver’s license to match that of their birth certificate. this would prevent married women who have changed their last name from voting.

the u.s. government is considering suspending habeas corpus, which protects people from unlawful detention and ensures you receive due process.

bill h.r.1161, which is available publicly on congress.gov, would authorize trump to enter into negotiations to acquire greenland and to rename it to "red, white, and blueland".

six states (arizona, idaho, iowa, kansas, mississippi, and north dakota) are planning on challenging obergefell v. hodges, which would end same-sex marriage nationwide. about a dozen more states have representatives are also considering filing similar resolutions.

a bill to ban the mRNA vaccine has passed out of the house committee.

amazon revoked protections for lgbtq+ and black employees.

the cdc has removed their hiv prevention page.

the united states state department has officially changed its “travelers with special conditions” page which previously said “lgbtqi+ travelers” to “lgb travelers”, completely getting rid of the tqi+.

every single republican told us we were overreacting. trump swore he had nothing to do with project 2025 yet continues implementing details outlined in it. not a single person has the right to tell us we’re being dramatic anymore.

hope “cheaper eggs and gas” was worth it.

EDIT: i removed the “trump refused to swear on the bible” point because it was being taken as me being an offended christian. i’m not christian, im agnostic. the reason i included it in the first place is because he’s the first president in history to ever refuse to swear on ANYTHING. meanwhile his “conservative christian” followers had no issue with this, and decided to continue to scramble for excuses instead of admitting he may not be as religious as he claims he is. i figured taking that point out entirely is probably better than filling this with an explanation in the middle of the other important issues.

[heedeungism]

𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧.

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

part two

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

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

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

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

“It isn’t what you think, babe—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long?”

“What? Babe, this isn’t-“

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

“Babe, let me—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can, you’re just a party pooper.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Con, he’s on the lacrosse team.”

A chorus of agreement accompanies it to its column.

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

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

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

“Con, no instagram posts.”

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

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

“I think he’s the one.” You sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Leave the planning to those qualified, Seob.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What favor? You don’t do shit—“

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

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

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

Jungkook sighs, “Which one?”

“Number 10.”

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

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

“What about Jungwon?” 

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

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

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

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

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

His mouth shuts automatically, and he sighs. 

“So, tell me about him.”

“Why don’t you go ask?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Black.”

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

“Mine is green, coach!” 

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

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

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

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

Jungkook blows the whistle again, “Burpees.”

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

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

“Girlfriend?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Type?”

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

“Age?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m an earth sign.” 

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

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

“But I’m not—“

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

“Yeah, Coach?”

“Walk this one to her car.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

bitchqueen: guys this is bad

bitchqueen: he’s HOT

bitchqueen: i can’t do this 

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

bitchqueen: okay bitches im back

myrootcame2005: ur resolve inspires generations

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nishimura, Riki

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, “as are the next two.”

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

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

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

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

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

You hum, nodding, “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

hueningbarbie: damn u act fast

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

hongchae: do you think he’ll agree?

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

bitchqueen: killing myself means i let them win

bellenotdelphine: jake is NEVER the only option

bellenotdelphine: hang in there queen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that any of your business?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For: Pretty

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

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

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

spermdonor: lunch? we need to catch up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jake is snickering like a freak, leaning over his desk as if you aren’t just a few feet away from him, “You and Riki.” He giggles, and you look at him as if he’s possessed and it disgusts you.

“Please, leave me alone.” You say with a bit more emotion than your last few words.

Jake is too busy giggling like a little girl to listen or even hear what you said, nearly cutting you off as he asks, “Where was your first date?” 

“The Mexican place next to the nail salon down the street.” You answer monotonously, just wanting to get it over with at this point.

“Did he pay? He paid.” Jake asks then nods to himself as he says the last statement.

“Yes, he paid.” 

“Ooo, did he kiss you? Nah, Niki’s way too pussy to do that—“

You cut him off with an invisible twitch of your brow, “He gave me a solid kiss on the cheek.”

It’s as if you’ve broken the already clearly leaking dam of pure giddy delight. He’s practically squealing with a breathy and high-pitched ‘naur way~’, whipping out his phone you assume to text their group chat. He’s bouncing in his seat, and you make a face as you pull your desk an inch away from his desk to stop feeling the movements.

You open your coloring book you bring with you to classes when you have no other work, you have other work but you’d rather not do that while Jake giggles and grills you.

The rest of the period is filled with him asking questions you either answer shortly or choose to not answer at all. (“Do you think he’s the one?”)

You of course could not see was that across the campus Riki was hiding his phone in his lap wanting to sink into a hole and die as Jake spams the team group chat like a live tweet of his, though strongly condemned by him, weirdly thorough interview like your barely started kind-of-relationship is his favorite sitcom.

“Thank you, lord.” you sigh as the bell rings, freeing you of your torment as you grab your gathered and organized bag to pull over your shoulder and hasten out of the classroom before Jake can get you. (Yes, like a boogeyman.)

It seems you can’t catch a break as you find out Park Sunghoon is in your 4th period. Park Sunghoon, jersey number 23, goalkeeper of the Decelis Demons. Also, you’ve decided, another mortal enemy. 

You don’t even know how you hadn’t noticed him all semester or the semester prior, given how awkwardly talkative he is. Sitting beside you with a cute but unsettling smile, holding out his hand like he was meeting a celebrity, which you weren’t exactly complaining about but the smile was weird. He was almost just as bad as Jake, if not worse simply because he freaked you out a bit. Seriously, why is someone so beautiful so fucking weird. His moles look like constellations but something about his vibes unsettle you.

It isn’t like you don’t have weird friends, you’ve watched Jongseob stuff fifty chile-coated gushers into his mouth purely because Eunchae told him he couldn’t. Weird usually isn’t the issue, except it is in this scenario. 

Escaping him and getting to go to your teacher’s aid period was like a shining of heaven’s pure light on you. You find yourself grading papers in the back of the classroom while your freshman-year Latin teacher plays Hercules in New York on the projector, a purple glitter pen in your hand as you go through the stack of exams.

“Hey,” one of the freshmen a cluster of desks away calls to you in a semi-hushed voice, halting the movement of your glitter pen and directing your attention to them, “your boyfriend’s waiting at the door.”

‘I don’t have a boyfriend’, parts your lips before you suddenly remember that Riki exists and halt before it can leave them. Looking to the closed door of the classroom, you find the boy in question peering through the small window in the door, and raise an inquisitive brow.

He only waves at you, a clear signal he wants you to come out and talk to him, part of you wonders why he knew where you were but memories of the phone call the night you both agreed on the whole ‘fake dating’ thing, exchanging school schedules and discussing preferences, come back to you and you nod lightly.

Mrs. B looks up from her laptop as you cap the glitter pen, “Don’t be gone too long.” 

Shooting her a smile and a small ‘yes ma’am, thank you’, you get up from the desk and shoot the snickering freshmen a weak glare as you walk to the door, opening it just enough to side step out of the room and shut it behind you.

“Hey.” is the first thing he says, his voice is deep despite its softness, mindful of the other classes going on in the language hall as well as the other teens clearly trying to get a good look at him as the door closes behind you.

You say it back just as softly, “Hey.”

He smiles just a bit, a boyish quirk of his lips that has your heart picking up, get a fucking grip, bitch. “I’m sorry about Jake and Sunghoon.”

The mention of them has you pressing your lips together with a nearly-sympathetic smile, “It’s okay.”

“No, they’re…a lot.” He chuckles softly, though his words are still genuine, “I don’t want you to get scared away.”

Something in your heart flutters, “Don’t worry about it.” You say with a soft laugh that has his eyes darting to your smile. “Sunghoon was…weird, but I already knew that Jake’s a pest, so…”

He laughs at your words, head shaking slightly, “Still, I’m sorry about them.”

“It’s fine, really.” You say with a shake of your head. A student exits the Spanish class down the hall, pausing at the sight of you and Riki before walking in the direction of the bathrooms. 

Riki spares them little more than a brief glance over at the sound of the door shutting behind them before his gaze is back on you. God, why is he looking at me like that, you think just before he speaks again, “Do you bowl?”

The question catches you off guard, and you tilt your head and ask, “Like do I know how or do I do it often?”

“Both.”

“Kinda and no.” You answer, “Why?”

He brings a hand up to rub the back of his head, your eyes darting to the way the sleeves of his t-shirt stretch to accommodate the movements of his arm and a few veins are visible up his arm, “Some of the guys and I were going this weekend, I…figured I’d ask.” 

His words are finished with a bit of hesitance that you have little time to linger on as you question with a slight laugh, “Did they ask you to bring me?” 

You see a slight pink tinge to the tips of his ears as his elbow drops yet his hand lingers on his trapezius, creating yet another visual that has you wanting to repeatedly slam your forehead into the wall beside you. He shakes his head slightly, “No, I, uh, wanted to bring you.”

The words are said with a soft laugh like he’s a bit embarrassed with himself, and you find your teeth catching your bottom lip to hold in the despicable grin that you know should not be growing on your face right now. You just broke up with your long-term boyfriend, wake up.

If Riki’s eyes dart to your lips, you don’t see it as you glance to the door of your class. “Then…yeah. I’ll come.” 

Your answer has his lips forming a pretty grin that he quickly covers up with a bite of his bottom lip and a nod, taking a step back as he prepares to leave, “Cool. I can pick you up, yeah?”

Yeah, you can. You nod, “Just text me.”

“Yeah, I’ll text you.” He finishes with another nod, and you giggle softly at his repetition. His eyes soften at the sound, another thing you don’t notice as you see the student returning from the bathrooms, glancing your way every so often as they approach the closed Spanish class door. 

Riki sees them too, and as they look over again, he leans down to press his lips to your cheek in a quick but sweet kiss, “See you next period.”

He shoots you a swift wink as he backs up again, and you put it together that he kissed you because of the third party in the hall. You exhale a soft response as he turns to jog off, clearly not meant to be gone from class as long as he has been, “Yeah.”

As soon as he turns the corner and you’re alone in the hall, you close your eyes for a long blink to bring yourself back to Earth. A soft curse leaves your lips as you turn back to the door to re-enter the Latin class, heart racing and hands slightly clammy. 

Clammy. 

The fact that a boy is making you feel so damn juvenile with the way you can’t help but react to his words and face and voice and eyes—

The walk to 5th period fills you with a sense of dread before you remember who else is in that class. Mrs. Wilson greets you happily as she sets up the activity for the day on the projector, which alerts you to the fact someone is standing by your seat who doesn’t belong there.

Riki has a look of confusion on his face as he looks up at Nayeon, clearly a bit confused by whatever is leaving her lips. The teacher’s greeting alerts the both of them to your presence in the doorway, where you paused at the sight of her. The corners of Riki’s lips quirk up at the sight of you, but Nayeon looks like she’s about to puke.

You don’t even speak. Something about the sight of pure panic in her eyes gives you a boost of serotonin but the fact that she’s standing in front of your ‘boyfriend's desk, speaking to him. Oh, you’re pissed. 

Yes, you are aware he isn’t actually your boyfriend and the two of you hadn’t even discussed publicly referring to each other as such, but the principle still stands. You want to punch her face.

Unfortunately, Mrs Wilson would be quite upset if you slammed Nayeon’s head into the whiteboard, and you like your teacher too much to debate starting a fight in her class. 

Your eyes follow Nayeon’s every move as she hastily removes her hands from where they were on his desk, avoiding your burning stare as she moves to her own seat. 

Walking to your desk, you smile at Riki as if what just happened has zero effect on you despite the burning fury in your gut, and sit down beside him. “Hey.”

Your soft greeting has him saying it in kind, shifting in his seat to lean back and see you better, “You know her?”

His question has you tilting your head in a faux innocence, “Mhm. Why?”

Riki has a slight knowing look on his face as he watches your reactions, “She had a lot to say about you.”

“What did she say?” You ask as if it’s a simple question, like you aren’t dying to know and anxiety isn’t clawing at your chest making it harder and harder to make your hands not shake. 

He shrugs with a purse of his lips, a slightly cheeky smile forms on his face as he asks, “You jealous?”

A scoff leaves your lips and your eyes roll before you can even think to hold the sass back, “Jealousy implies she’s better than me in some way.” You say with a defiant cross of your arms, “and she is not.”

“Then why’d you glare so hard?” He asks, clearly amused by both your words and body language.

You think, why did I not tell him about Nayeon?

The answer? Eunseok and Nayeon’s little affair had more of an effect on you than you would like to admit. Anxiety claws at you everytime you even imagine Nayeon interacting with Riki, and the fact that you just walked in on her saying something to him that your pride won’t allow you to ask him about just makes it all so much worse for you. 

The truth is that the irrational part of your brain, the one that often wins the battles against its more logical other half, made the thought of Riki knowing you were betrayed by your best friend all the more sickening to imagine. It’s embarrassing. Humiliating. 

“I wasn’t glaring.” You argue, and Riki raises his brows as if to say ‘really?’ before he huffs softly in amusement and the bell rings.

“Yeah, you were.” He says with a lingering curiosity in his gaze before he looks to the board as Mrs Wilson starts class. Your first instinct is to argue, to be stubborn like you always are, but the lingering anxiety in your chest makes you want to never speak again just to find some kind of peace.

The entire time you take notes you aren’t truly absorbing any information, your brain is stuck on every possible thing that Nayeon could have said to him and how you’re gonna find out without directly asking either of them if possible.

You feel sick and he’s not even your real boyfriend.

Oh, fuck.

Between realizing you want Riki and remembering that you have to go to lunch with your father, you simply didn’t have enough time to achieve as much mental preparation as you’d like before lunch. The Italian restaurant you find yourself sitting inside with a menu in your manicured hands is a relatively ‘fancy’ establishment, at least if the $35 fettuccini alfredo was anything to go by.

Your dad is the one paying, so you aren’t all that mad about the prices considering the look in his eyes is enough to ruin your enjoyment of the basket of breadsticks between the two of you. If you thought it would make a dent in his bank account you’d order another plate of mozzarella sticks just to spend his money, but the satisfaction just wouldn’t be there. 

Punching his face might feel better.

“Am I gonna have to put you in anger management again?” His anger is hushed and composed, but the shift in his jaw and the patronizing look of disappointment on his face belied his composure. Always being hyper-aware of how people view him is one of the things you hate about your dad. His attitude takes a higher spot on the ‘Why You Hate Your Dad’ pyramid, though. 

“You can’t ‘put me’ anywhere.” You bite back as you dip the breadstick in your hand into the small bowl of marinara, “Eunseok deserved it.”

“You don’t get to decide what people deserve.” He argues, still so patronizing.

The feeling of being talked down to is one you're all too familiar with when it comes to your father. The man can’t accept his own faults, one of which being how shit of a father he was and is. You roll your eyes as you take a bite of your breadstick, half-drowning his words out with your own and the other half remembering every single thing coming from his lips to throw back in his face next time he cries about how you never reach out to him. 

“Eunseok is a smart and successful, young man. And you throw it all away for—“

Ah, you almost forgot how much more your father likes your ex than you. Offering him internships, a place at his firm when he graduates, none of which he’d ever even mentioned to you. You wouldn’t ever work for or with your father, but the fact he had never spoken a word about any chances to help you gain experience like he did your ex was as infuriating as it was unsurprising.

“I didn’t throw shit away.” You snap, “He cheated on me, you keep skimming over that detail, father.”

“I’m not skimming over it, it’s irrelavent.” He exhales, trying to calm his slightly raised voice, “And you know I hate it when you call me that..”

“Irrelevant? Oh, I’m sorry, should I have stayed with a boyfriend that sleeps with my best friend?” You scoff, sipping your Dr Pepper, “And if you wanted me to call you dad, you should've acted like one.”

“Hey.” He warns, yet you only roll your eyes. “Reaching out goes both ways—“

“I know you did not just say that to me.” 

“—and I am your father, so you speak to me with respect.” He finishes, voice raising slightly in frustration before he settles it back to a more composed volume.

“No.” You shake your head, “That’s not how shit works.”

“Yes,” He bites back sternly, “If you want me to keep funding your life you’ll—“

Normally, you let your father say whatever it is he wants to say, tell him you really don’t care what he thinks and then for about a month he doesn’t text you. Then it’s ‘I want to improve our relationship’ and ‘I feel like you’re drifting away’. Today was not a normal day, however.

“Then cut me off.” You say with a shrug, “You can’t hold that shit over my head like I ask for the money you send, which you only send because you know you’re a shit father and you feel guilty.”

He doesn't respond, his jaw shifting, so you continue. 

“And considering the fact that you are a cheater yourself, why the fuck would I listen to a word you say when it comes to my own love life?” You ask, not really caring that you aren’t exactly speaking quietly, “Eunseok deserved a fire poker to the face, and I used it on his car instead. Which is what Mom should have done when she found you with the nanny.”

“Quiet down, you’re making a scene.” He hisses, and you tilt your head and look around as if you give a single fuck. “I already took care of Eunseok’s car, which will be taken out of your allowance—“

Your eyes narrow at his words, “You paid to repair his car?”

Your father doesn’t skip a beat as he continues, “—Yes, I did. And you don’t get to throw the biggest mistake I’ve ever made back in my face—“

“Yes, I do.”

“—No, you don’t.” 

“Yes, I do.” You argue back stubbornly, continuing before he can speak over you again, “And you paid for Eunseok’s car, the same boy who fucked one of my best friends for months while actively dating me and you don’t see a single problem with that?”

“His parents were discussing pressing charges—“

“That’s when you tell them to go fuck themselves.” 

He sighs at your words, clearly sick of your temper (which you inherited from him), “You need to start handling your emotions better, you’re graduating this year.”

“I have literally witnessed you throw a chair in anger, get someone else to say that to me.” 

He seems ready to respond, when the waiter comes with the food, and you speak before he can, politely asking if you can get a to-go box for it instead. Your father doesn’t seem to have the guts to speak as the waiter glances between you both unsurely before nodding, “Of course.”

He takes the dish back and the moment he is out of ear-shot, your father says, “We aren’t done talking.”

“I am.” You shrug, clearly not willing or planning on sitting here any longer than you have to.

The waiter is back out with your to-go container wrapped in a bag that has mint-chocolates inside as well as a complimentary box of breadsticks that you’ll probably eat while crying your eyes out later. You ignore the stern orders from your father to sit back down, thanking the waiter with a polite smile and promptly walk out of the restaurant. 

The tears of frustration start falling the moment you’re in the safety of your car, a soft curse leaving your lips as you put the bag of food in the passenger seat and pull out of the parking lot, turning ‘this is me trying’ by Taylor Swift all the up as you drive the highway back home. You ignore the texts from your father, as well as the calls.

You’re at the red light before turning into your neighborhood when Riki’s caller ID shows up on the screen of your console, and you debate even answering, but wipe your eyes and clear your throat as you press the green answer button, “Hello?” 

Your voice is more stable than you expected it to be, and Riki responds in kind, “Hey, I just got out of practice—you okay?”

“M’fine, what’s up?” You say with an attempt at a sneaky sniffle, the thought of him knowing you’re crying is too humiliating. Part of you is disappointed he somehow could tell that something was up. The other part of you, the vulnerable and hurt teenage girl with daddy issues and a yearning to be listened to and understood, begs to just break down. 

He doesn’t seem to buy it, you hear the sound of keys jingling and then a car door opening and shutting, then he’s speaking again, “You sure?”

The light turns green, and you finally turn into your neighborhood, “I’m fine.” It’s almost a snap, one you instantly regret as you quickly say, “Sorry, just—“

“It’s okay,” He assures, and you feel even more guilty, more tears threatening to fall as your bottom lip trembles again. You’re pulling into your driveway as he continues, “Wanna talk about it over lunch?”

“I just got lunch with my dad, actually,” You say with a soft, bitter laugh, voice wavering and a soft curse leaving your lips the moment it does, “Fuck, sorry, this is just weird.”

He seems a bit panicked by the way your voice only turns more tearfilled as you apologize, “Hey, don’t worry about it, seriously—“ There’s a sound like a knock on the other end, and you hear him whisper something like ‘go away’ before he’s continuing, “—sorry I teased you earlier today, I, uh, thought I made you mad so I was calling to make up for it.”

A soft sob leaves you as you laugh with it, “I’m not mad about that, but I did wanna talk about it,” You sniffle, “About Nayeon, I mean.”

“You don’t have to, I was just messing with you.” You can imagine him shaking his head slightly as he speaks, “She didn’t really say much, just asked if we were dating.”

“What’d you say?” You find yourself asking.

He hesitates before answering, “Yeah.”

It sends a weird hot jolt to your stomach and your worried lips turn into a girlish smile that you quickly wipe off your face, “That’s okay, y’know. I’m pretty sure my friends have been telling everyone you’re my boyfriend, so the whole ‘taking it slow’ shit is out the window.”

He chuckles on the other end and it flips your stomach like a fucking pancake, “Great, I’m not that type anyway.”

(There’s a feral voice in the back of your conscience that screeches like it’s a beast gnawing at the walls of its enclosure.)

Your teeth catch your bottom lip and your eyes shut like you’re trying to come back to Earth and not hang up out of pure flustered reflex. You force out a response, “Just means we have to make it more believably genuine.”

“What’s your plan, pretty girl?” 

Oh, you want to bang your head into the steering wheel. “Do you mind coming over? I wanna discuss it in person but I just got home.”

You jaw slackens in shock at your own words, looking into the rear view and mouthing at yourself; Bitch, what the fuck—

“Yeah, sure. What’s the address?” His response is so natural and unperturbed the catastrophizing your brain has done in the last second slips away and you silently scream.

A second later you respond like normal, “I’ll text it to you.”

“Okay, I’m on my way, then.”

When the two of you hang up after a few more words, you realize what you have done and quickly turn off your car, grabbing the food and your purse and hastening into the open garage, struggling with the doorknob and pressing the garage door button before entering. 

Your room isn’t messy, per say, but your duvet is covered in cat fur, and you don’t even know if Riki’s allergic to them or not. “Gus, can you move, please?” You ask your cat as you begin to pull the duvet off your bed but he remains unmoving on the end of your bed.

He blinks at you slowly, and you sigh. 

After taking too much time carefully moving the duvet from under your cat and hurriedly tossing it into the laundry room while grabbing your spare to put on the bed instead, the doorbell rings.

With one(at least three) last look in the mirror to check your appearance, still in the outfit you changed into for lunch with your dad, you open the large iron front door.

“Hi.” You greet softly with a slight smile, and Riki has one himself that almost looks shy.

He bites his bottom lip and says back, “Hi.”

As you let him in, you look down at the door handle, waiting for him to step inside before shutting it behind him.

As his eyes move to assess his surroundings with slow steps, you catch up to him, grabbing his sleeve and pulling his hand from his pocket as you tug him along toward your room with unhurried steps. He lets you, though you hear the chuckle under his breath.

“That’s Gus. I hope you’re not allergic to cats.” is the first thing that leaves your mouth as you pull him into your cleaned room(though you’ll have to un-ass your closet later), and he gasped softly.

The voice that comes out next is higher in pitch and softer as he hesitantly approaches your loafing cat, who sniffs his fingers for a second or two before headbutting them. You witness Riki practically melt as he coos at the feline that happily receives his pets.

“Wanna guess his full name?” You jest, and he hums, looking over at you curiously but not halting his petting of Gus. “Gazpacho.”

Riki looks elated by the information, grinning so prettily you want to use the vintage lotus lamp on your nightstand to beat your head against, and he softly goes back to cooing, “Hi, Gazpacho.”

A giggle laugh leaves your lips that you quickly cover with your mouth and a quick avert of your gaze, eyes landing on the whiteboard against your wall. The fucking whiteboard.

“Oh, fuck.” leaves your lips before you can stop yourself but you’re already moving to grab the object of your doom, “Don’t look, close your eyes.”

Your demands are met with pure boyish defiance, and his eyes follow your movement to your closet door, opening it just enough to toss the whiteboard inside and quickly shutting it. “You saw nothing.”

He slowly pulls away from Gus with a growing suspicious smirk, “I’m scared to ask.”

“It’s just a whiteboard, nothing of consequence written on it, or anything.” You say with a purse of your lips.

“A whiteboard?” He questions with a tilt of his head.

You nod, moving away from your shut closet door and taking the opportunity to change the subject, “My stepdad’s a physicist.”

“Ooh, that’s cool.” He says with a thumbs up, taking the moment to move his eyes around the room as he had been distracted by the cat, “This is a nice house.”

“Thank you,” You respond softly out of instinct, “My mom’s a big lawyer too, so….”

“Ah, right, I think Jake mentioned that once.” He nods, sitting in the bean bag(you’ll have to break the news to Eunchae later).

You hum, sitting on the edge of your bed beside Gus and petting him, “What do your parents do?”

He has a slightly shy grin on his face as he says, “They own a pretty big dance studio.”

“That’s super cool.” You compliment with a tilt of your head, “Do you dance?”

If you could audibly coo at the redness blooming on the tips of his ears as he nods slightly you would, but you settle with a giggle that has him squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment, “I do, yeah.”

“I did ballroom for like, ten years.” 

It’s as if you’ve revealed a hidden treasure, and he asks, “Do you still know how?”

You immediately hold up a defiant hand, “I am not showing you, and it’s been years.”

He whines, hands moving to clasp pleadingly, “Aww, c’mon, I’ll take you to my family’s studio and show you mine.”

This piques your interest and you ask before you can think about it, tone playfully flirty, “Taking me to meet your parent’s so soon?”

He chuckles softly, voice still so low, “Like I said, I don’t like slow.”

It takes a few more minutes of pointless chatter(and many more flirty remarks that make you want to scream into your pillow) before you get to the core of your problems today; Nayeon.

“Okay, wait, so—she and your ex…were together?” He reiterates to better understand, and you nod, and he then asks, “In your house?”

“Why do you think I took the fire-poker to his car?” You shrug, and he has a half-grin on his face.

“I thought that rumor was exaggerated.” He admits, giving you an appreciative once over like he’s impressed, “You’ve got a temper, huh?”

“I’ve never overreacted in my life.” You say with a slight raise of your hands.

He nods with a slight smirk as if he absolutely believes you, “‘Course not.”

“Anyway, she had a major crush on you in freshman year, literally fantasized about your wedding and everything,” You blissfully expose, “And I already had my eyes on you so it all worked out.”

He nods with a hum and slight smirk, “I see, so I’m sweet revenge.”

“The sweetest.” You playfully flirt, and his eyes turn into shy crescents.

“So, who were your other options?” He asks after a few seconds to let the pink on his cheeks fade, and you grin.

“Jealous?” You mimic his tone from earlier in the day and he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, I am.” The admission falls naturally from his lips and your gut flips, “Curious, too.”

“Jungkook didn’t want me to choose you.” You respond with a tight smile.

His eyes widen, “Coach knows?”

“He’s got an idea.” You respond with a slight shrug.

“Did he suggest anyone else?”

“Jungwon,” You answer easily, snickering softly when he groans and throws his head back, “but he’s a tight-ass, he’d never agree.”

Riki snorts, and with a shrug says, “You’re pretty, I think he’d come around.” Your raised brow has him quickly changing the subject with a curious tilt of his head, “You already had your eyes on me, though?”

His question is cheeky and paired with a matching grin that makes you roll your eyes and fight nervous giggles as you say, “I never said that.”

“Really? ’Cause I heard you say it.” He seems much too determined to not let you move on from the subject but your mother loves to compare you to a mule in regards to obstinance.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You shrug innocently.

He leans forward slightly in the beanbag, his elbows resting on his knees, and that grin of his only widens. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“And you’re annoyingly persistent,” you counter, but there’s no real bite behind your words. You stand up, moving toward your desk under the guise of rearranging things that don’t need rearranging, mostly to avoid his knowing gaze.

Riki tilts his head, watching you with amusement. “You know, if you’re trying to throw me off, it’s not working.”

You glance over your shoulder, trying not to crack under the weight of his attention. “Throw you off from what? I’m just tidying.”

“Right. And I’m just here for the cat.”

“Good. Gus loves the attention,” you quip, folding your arms over your chest as you turn back to him.

“But I’m not done yet,” he says with mock seriousness, shifting in the beanbag like he’s settling in for the long haul. “What’s so bad about admitting you’ve been into me? I mean, look at me.” He gestures to himself in a way that’s more playful than cocky, but you still roll your eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck.

“Wow, humble too,” you shoot back, but the warmth in your cheeks betrays you.

“Hey, just stating facts. Can’t help it if you have great taste.” He pauses, letting the silence stretch just enough to make you squirm. “Besides,” he adds, his voice dipping lower, “you’re kind of making it obvious now.”

Your hands find your hips in defiance. “How, exactly?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he muses, standing up slowly, his movements deliberate as he closes the distance between you. “The way you got all flustered when I asked if you still know how to dance. Or how you won’t look me in the eye right now.”

You refuse to back down, lifting your chin as you meet his gaze. “I’m not flustered. And I’m looking at you right now, aren’t I?”

He smirks, leaning just a little closer, his tone teasing. “Sure you are. But you’re still not answering my question.”

You blink innocently up at him through your lashes and you swear you see his eyes dart below your nose. “What question?”

Riki lets out a soft laugh, a mix of exasperation and amusement, as he shakes his head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.” You shrug, trying to look nonchalant, but the proximity is starting to get to you.

He watches you for a moment, his smirk turning into something softer, though no less mischievous. “Alright, fine. I’ll let it go. For now.”

“Oh, how gracious of you.” Your sarcasm earns you a grin as he steps back and flops dramatically into the beanbag again, sprawling like he owns the place.

“Gotta keep you on your toes, don’t I?”

“More like get on my nerves,” you mutter, though the twitch of your lips gives you away.

“Same thing.” He winks, and you hate how charming he looks doing it.

The smirk he gives you as he leans back has your stomach doing somersaults, but you refuse to let him see you sweat. Instead, you turn your attention to Gus, pretending to be more interested in your cat than in the boy currently making himself at home in your life—and your head.

As Riki lounges back in the beanbag, his eyes drift lazily around the room again, lingering on the neatly arranged desk and the wall beyond. “You’ve got a pretty organized vibe for someone who just tossed a whiteboard into a closet like it was a bomb.”

You freeze mid-pet, your hand hovering above Gus’s head. “You’re still on about that?”

“I mean, it’s a whiteboard. What kind of secrets could it possibly hold?” His tone is teasing, but the glint in his eyes says he’s not letting it drop.

You debate lying, but the little smirk playing on his lips tells you he won’t believe you anyway. “Nothing important. Just… research.”

“Research.” He repeats with an arched brow, “Like, ‘solving world hunger’ research or me research?“

You groan, dragging your hands down your face. “I hate you.”

“Now I really have to see it.” He starts to rise, and you spring to your feet, blocking his path to the closet.

“Riki, no.”

“Riki, yes.” He steps closer, towering over you slightly, his grin widening as you try to stand your ground.

“Don’t make me sic Gus on you,” you warn, pointing toward the loafing cat.

“Gus and I are best friends now. He’d never betray me.” Riki gestures toward the cat, who yawns dramatically like he’s staying out of it.

“Traitor,” you mutter at Gus, which earns you a laugh from Riki.

“C’mon,” he cajoles, his voice dropping into that infuriatingly soft tone that makes your heart do weird flips. “What’s the worst that could happen if I see it?”

Your resolve wavers, but the idea of him actually reading the whiteboard is too mortifying, “I’ll have to kill you.”

His grin only widens at your threat, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “Wow, straight to murder, huh? Didn’t realize you were so passionate about…whatever’s on that board.”

“You have no idea,” you mutter, crossing your arms in an attempt to look intimidating. It doesn’t work. Riki’s grin turns smug, like he knows he has the upper hand.

“Now I really need to know.” He leans closer, and the proximity sends your heart into overdrive. You can practically feel the heat radiating from him as he tilts his head, his voice dipping into a teasing drawl. “What if it’s, like, a shrine to me or something?”

The gasp you let out is equal parts offense and panic. “You think way too highly of yourself.”

“I don’t know,” he teases, tapping his chin as though deep in thought. “I’ve heard people do wild things when they’ve got a crush.”

“Bold of you to assume—”

“You’re avoiding the question again.” He cuts you off, smirking as he steps back just enough to lean casually against the end of your bedframe, his arms crossed. “What’s on the whiteboard, really?”

You hesitate, the words sticking in your throat. There’s no way you’re admitting to the utterly ridiculous pros and cons list your friends talked you into. Not yet, anyway.

“It’s… study stuff,” you finally say, your tone lacking conviction. “School projects, maybe some physics equations. Boring things you wouldn’t care about.”

“Physics equations?” he repeats, clearly unconvinced. “Yeah, because I look like the kind of guy who’d buy that excuse.”

“Hey, I’m trying here,” you snap, which only makes him chuckle again.

“I can tell. You’re terrible at it.” His grin softens slightly, the teasing replaced with something that feels a little too close to genuine. “Relax, I’m just messing with you. You don’t have to tell me.”

You blink at him, surprised by his sudden shift in tone but immediately suspicious of it. “Really?”

“Sure.” He shrugs, though there’s still a playful glint in his eyes. “But now I have leverage. You’ll owe me later.”

“Owe you for what?” you demand, but the smug look on his face says you won’t get an answer you like.

“For letting you off the hook, obviously.” He straightens and gives you a wink before heading back to the beanbag like he didn’t just upend your entire equilibrium. “Don’t worry—I’ll think of something good.”

You stare at him, your jaw slightly agape, as he makes himself comfortable again. Gus hops onto his lap, clearly picking sides, and Riki’s attention shifts back to your cat like nothing happened.

“You’re infuriating,” you mutter, though you can’t quite keep the fondness out of your voice.

He glances up, his smirk softening into a smile that’s entirely too charming. “And you love it.”

You hate that you do.

The week passes by with a dreadful speed, and after four whole days of anxiety-induced stomach aches, migraines, and a few breakdowns in the dark privacy of your room at midnight, it is the weekend. 

It is the weekend, and Belle, Hiyyih, and Eunchae bear witness to a minor crash-out.

“I’m gonna puke.” You mumble, sitting on the ottoman at the center of your walk-in closet with your face in your hands as the older two walk around you, going through your options for an outfit.

“Keep that shit in bitch,” Belle says without looking away from the clothes hanging in your closet, pointing a finger blindly at you in warning, “You puke, I puke.”

Eunchae moves towards your hunched form from her spot on your bean bag(which she moved into your closet to sit on), snickering softly as she sits beside you and brings her hand to rub circles on your back. “There, there.”

A part of you wants to snap at her that she isn’t funny, but the act is weirdly comforting so you let her continue. Bahiyyih speaks from where she is in front of your shoe shelf, “Why do you have so many shoes?”

“My mom gets sent them monthly by some guy she was a lawyer for a while ago,” You exhale as you drop your hands into your lap, eyes still closed as you contemplate opening them ever again, “She hates wearing pumps now so she gives them to me or regifts them.”

“What if you wear these?” Hiyyih holds up a pair of Louboutins, and you open your eyes to see before looking at her like she’s crazy.

“Not only is it bowling and I’m gonna have to change shoes anyway, but I’m not wearing a So Kate for something that isn’t even a date, Hiyyih.”

She pouts her bottom lip as she puts them down, and Belle pulls a top from the collection of them hanging in your closet and holds it up in question towards you. After a few seconds of staring at the article of clothing, debating if you remember looking cute in it or not, you nod and she tosses it into the ‘maybe’ pile. 

Two seconds later, you’re hunching over and blindly grabbing a pillow near you to scream into.

Eunchae pats your back again, her snickering turning into full-blown laughter. “Feel better now, drama queen?”

You lift your head just enough to glare at her over the pillow. “No.”

“Good,” Belle says, tossing another shirt into the ‘definitely not’ pile without even showing it to you. “Because if you puke or scream again, I’m calling your mom and telling her you’re being insufferable. She might take those Louboutins back.”

“That’s not funny,” you mumble into the pillow.

“It’s a little funny,” Hiyyih chimes in, holding up a sequined crop top like it’s the Holy Grail. “Okay, but seriously, what about this? It says ‘I’m fun,’ but not, like, too fun.”

Eunchae tilts her head at it. “It also says ‘I moonlight as a disco ball.’”

You groan, sitting up straight and snatching the crop top out of Hiyyih’s hands. “Why is this so hard? It’s bowling! I should just wear sweatpants and call it a day.”

Belle spins around with the precision of a K-drama villain. “Don’t you dare. Do you want to show up looking like his cousin who just rolled out of bed, or like the mysterious, unattainable enigma that you are?”

“Unattainable?” you ask with a hesitant furrow of you brows.

“Yeah, unattainable, as in: unattainable by anyone else but him,” Belle clarifies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re playing the long game, babe.”

“You say that like this is some kind of psychological warfare,” you deadpan.

Belle shrugs. “It kind of is.”

Eunchae raises a hand like she’s in class. “But what if he’s bad at bowling? Like, gutter ball after gutter ball bad? Do you let him win or destroy him?”

You pause, genuinely considering it. “Destroy him, obviously.”

“Bold choice.” Hiyyih nods approvingly, tossing a pleated skirt into the maybe pile. “What if you’re bad, though?”

You gasp. “That’s not even an option.”

Belle smirks. “So confident for someone who hasn’t touched a bowling ball since middle school.”

“You’re supposed to be helping me, not roasting me!” You grab the nearest pillow and launch it at her. She dodges with ease, laughing as it smacks into the closet door behind her.

“Roasting you is my way of helping you,” Belle retorts, unfazed. “It’s called multitasking.”

Eunchae picks up the discarded pillow and hands it back to you, patting your head like you’re a distressed pet. “There, there. At least you’ll look cute while you embarrass yourself.”

“Why are all of you like this?” You drop your head back into your hands, half tempted to cancel the whole thing.

“Because we love you,” Belle sing-songs, pulling out a denim jacket that you forgot you even owned. “Now shut up and try this on. We’re on a schedule, ho.”

You sigh, begrudgingly taking the jacket as the three of them continue their chaotic brainstorming session around you. It’s not helpful in the slightest, but somehow, it makes you feel a little less like throwing up again.

By some miracle—or maybe just the collective force of Belle’s bullying, Eunchae’s comfort, and Hiyyih’s endless suggestions—you finally land on an outfit. The moment you pull the halter top over your head, the three of them fall silent, which is either a very good sign or a very bad one.

“Okay, that’s cute,” Belle finally declares, hands on her hips like she personally designed the top. “It’s giving effortless, but still hot enough to make him sweat.”

“It’s super cute on you,” Hiyyih chimes in, tilting her head as she appraises the outfit.

“It is,” Eunchae adds, grinning as she slides off the bean bag to circle you.

The cropped halter top clings just right, the rich color complementing your skin tone and making you feel…hot. Paired with the baggy jeans that sit low on your hips, the whole look is casual, but not too casual. You glance at the mirror, adjusting the jeans slightly and eyeing the way they pool at the hems over your socked feet.

“Am I pulling this off?” you ask hesitantly, smoothing the fabric of the top.

Belle snorts. “If he’s not staring, I’ll be personally offended on your behalf.”

Eunchae pretends to swoon dramatically, throwing herself back onto the bean bag. “The mysterious unattainable enigma strikes again.”

“Okay, but shoes,” Hiyyih cuts in, crouching by the pile of options at your feet. “You’re wearing sneakers, obviously, but which ones? The Nikes or the New Balances?”

You glance down, debating for a moment before pointing to the Nikes. “They’re cleaner.”

Belle raises an eyebrow. “Barely. When was the last time you cleaned your shoes?”

You glare at her, picking up a sneaker and threatening to launch it her way. She holds up her hands in mock surrender, moving to pull a jacket from the rack as she says, “Make sure you bring a jacket, though. It’s cold as shit.”

“Or she can not bring one and Riki can lend her his.” Eunchae suggests with a cheeky grin.

Belle promptly tosses the jacket into the back of your closet.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. The nerves are still there, bubbling under the surface, but with your friends around—and an outfit that actually makes you feel cute—you start to think that maybe, just maybe, tonight won’t be a complete disaster.

riki 🙈: im here

“We’re seeing you off,” Belle declares, handing you the Prada bag she just stuffed your lip combo into. Hiyyih trails behind her, spritzing your neck and wrists with your favorite perfume.

The dread must be plastered all over your face because Eunchae immediately starts snickering from where she’s leaning against the doorframe. “We just wanna see his reaction.”

“To me or to you guys making kissy faces at him from the porch?” you deadpan.

The chorus of giggles that erupts from your three friends is all the answer you need.

“Oh, come on,” Belle says, looping her arm through yours as she drags you toward the front door. “We’ll behave.”

“You behaving is a scientific impossibility,” you mutter, trying to resist, but she’s got the strength of someone fully committed to the bit.

“Hold on,” Eunchae pulls something out of her hoodie pocket she must’ve forgotten was there until just now, uncapping the small bottle and holding it in front of your lips, “Open.”

You obey with a slight furrow of your brows, and she sprays it into your mouth, giggling when you flinch slightly in surprise and grimace at the strong mint taste. Eunchae grins, unzipping the bag on your shoulder just enough to slip it in before closing it, “To prevent food breath.”

The moment Belle opens the front door, your breath catches at the sight of Riki leaning casually against the passenger side of his Wrangler, hands tucked into his pockets. The golden light of the setting sun highlights the faint smirk on his face, his jewelry glinting as he shifts.

"Lord have mercy," you mutter under your breath.

You didn't expect him to show up in sweatpants and a hoodie, but you weren't prepared for this either. The necklaces layering his collarbones and the glint of piercings--does he have an eyebrow piercing?—are almost too much. You quickly shove down the spiral threatening to start and glance back at the three traitorous girls behind you.

Their kissy faces drop immediately, though Eunchae barely suppresses her laughter. 

With a playful shove to Hiyyih—who stumbles into the porch pillar but resumes her antics without missing a beat—you flip them all a perfectly manicured middle finger and step off the porch.

As you walk toward him, you swear the faintest blush tinges his ears. He waves briefly at your friends before straightening and meeting your gaze.

"You look good," he says, voice low and easy.

"I know." Your response is swift and confident, though the smile on your face is warmer than intended.

The moment is interrupted when the backseat window of his car rolls down, and Jake's grinning face is revealed. Your smile drops.

"Why is Jake in your car?" you deadpan, your smile dropping.

Riki groans, dragging a hand over his face. "Dude, I told you not to be weird."

Jake looks offended. "I didn't even say anything!"

"Seeing your face is enough," you reply flatly. Jake pouts dramatically while you shoot Riki an accusatory glare. "You could've warned me."

"If I did, you would've come out frowning," Riki whines playfully. "You have such a pretty smile."

From the backseat, Jake's obnoxious "ooooh" echoes, accompanied by giggles that make Riki's blush spread down his neck. Still, he keeps his composure enough to open the passenger door for you.

"What a gentleman~," Belle teases loudly from the porch.

Eunchae waves at you, practically bouncing with glee. You shoot Belle a glare, mouthing "kill yourself" as you accept Riki's hand and climb into his lifted car.

"Bye, Manchae," you call, snapping your attention away from him as he closes the door. You're too aware of his cologne and the lingering warmth of his hand. He looks way too good.

Riki salutes your friends playfully before circling to his door. Through Jake's open window, you hear Hiyyih shout, "She likes Dr Pepper!”

"And winning!" Eunchae adds.

"And tongue," Belle finishes just before the window rolls up.

You cringe. Riki's amused laugh is confirmation he definitely heard that. "I hate her so much," you mutter, pulling the sun visor down to touch up your lip gloss to dostract yourself.

You're halfway through the motion when you notice Riki hasn't started driving yet. Turning, you catch him just as he’s looking back at the road, his hand on the gear shift. (There’s something attractive about the fact he drives stick.)

Jake's giggle breaks the silence. "Oh, shut up, Jake," you snap, not necessarily to defend Riki—though it only makes Jake laugh harder. “Why couldn't your other friends bring him?" you grumble, swiping the gloss over your bottom lip.

"He's my neighbor," Jake says cheekily.

"I would've made him walk," you reply, clicking the gloss shut and shoving it back into your bag. "Or Uber."

"That's just cruel," Jake protests, but you shrug.

"Sucks."

Riki snickers and nods. "Okay, he'll Uber next time."

Jake looks appalled. "Bro."

"You're annoying me too," Riki replies, barely glancing back as he rests his hand lazily on the gear shift.

You pointedly ignore the way his rolled-up sleeves expose a line of muscle up his forearm, a vein standing out as he moves to grab his phone charger. "Play your music," he says, holding the cord out to you.

Jake gapes. "Bro, you never let us play our music."

"That's because you guys have shit taste," Riki says without hesitation.

Your lips twitch, a sliver of pride blooming in your chest.

You connect your phone, Sabrina Carpenter's Taste filtering through the speakers. Jake perks up. "Oh, I actually like this song."

"You better," you reply, humming along as the music plays.

Riki bobs his head lightly to the beat, his usual laid-back energy soothing you as the drive continues.

"Who else is bowling with us?" you ask, turning the music down slightly.

"Jay, his girlfriend, and Heeseung," Riki answers casually.

You hum in understanding and turn the volume back up, inhaling the soft musk of his cologne mingling with your perfume. The scent is annoyingly pleasant, calming in its own way.

By the time he pulls into the parking lot and finds a good spot, the sky has dimmed to a deep navy. Riki is out of his seat in a flash, jogging around to open your door before Jake even unbuckles himself. His hand lingers on yours as he helps you down, his fingers interlocking with yours naturally.

Jake trails behind you two as Riki leads you toward the neon-lit entrance, the muffled sounds of bowling balls and laughter drifting through the glass doors. 

Jay, a pretty girl you are pretty sure was in your art class in freshman year, and Heeseung are standing near the entrance, and you wish you could hide behind Riki from their gazes that immediately find your intertwined hands.

You send a smile to the only other girl reflexively, and she sends the prettiest one back. She grins excitedly as the three of them meet your trio halfway once you enter the door that Riki holds open for you to enter first. 

(You wonder if these are manners his sisters and mother taught him or a previous girlfriend—wait, no you don’t.)

“I told you it was her!” She smacks Jay’s arm, and he winces with a soft laugh, clearly used to his girlfriend’s antics. Her approach is welcomed as she explains, “He was saying Riki was lying.” 

“About?” You question curiously, an easy smile on your glossy lips.

She giggles as she answers, “You being his girlfriend.”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Riki says lowly, clearly embarrassed by the subject as you snicker at his misfortune.

“I’m Gaeul, by the way.” The girl states with a giggle as she pulls you from Riki with her elbow hooked with yours, and you barely glance back at your ‘boyfriend’, who’s being patted on the shoulder by Jay. “They’ll handle paying for everything, let’s get some snacks.”

“Oh, okay.” You say softly before smiling with her, delighted that she brought up food before you had to ask Riki about it. You aren’t ashamed of eating, or shy about doing so in front of him, but having another girl who also seems to prioritize food was immensely comforting to the anxiety in your gut. 

She grins as the two of you step into line at the concession counter, “I’m also glad I got you away from the boys for a second, they’re so…”

“Boyish?” You finish, and she laughs softly.

“Yeah.”

“Girl to girl,” You start, moving up in line with her, “I don’t think I’m gonna be good at bowling.” 

She gasps joyfully, “I suck!”

You laugh at her clear excitement that she’s finally not alone in that aspect, “But that means the boys are better than us.”

She rolls her eyes at the mention of them, “Riki and Heeseung are the really good bowlers,” There’s one more person between you two and the counter now, “I love my boyfriend, but he and Jake suck compared to those two.”

“I don’t want to lose to Jake.” You sigh, “It just doesn't seem ethical.”

“Riki’ll handle him.” She snickers softly, “You should've seen him at practice when Jake and Hoon messed with you.”

Your interest is piqued, but the person in front of you finishes paying for their food and you are forced to put your questions aside as she begins ordering and you realize you don’t even know what you want. 

You’re skimming over the menu above when your phone dings in your purse.

riki 🙈: what size shoe do u wear?

Quickly typing an answer, you glance between your phone and the menu, and Gaeul turns to you, waiting for you to add to the already sizable order with how much the four athletes can eat. “Oh, I can pay for myself—“

“Riki already venmoed me enough to spot you,” She interjects with a soft giggle, and you feel your cheeks burn.

“Oh,” You let out before shaking your head and looking at the waiting cashier, “A large drink and a basket of cheese fries, please.”

Gaeul hands you the stack of cups she’s handed, and you startle slightly when a hand and arm appear in your vision, plucking the cups from your hand. When you look over your shoulder you find a smirking Riki, “I got this. Go sit.” 

You huff softly, fighting your smile that threatens to grow even wider, “I can fill up my own drink.”

“I know, but I wanna do it.” He states with a nod like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and you can’t do much more than glare weakly. He only chuckles softly as Gaeul finishes paying and realizes he’s with you, “Go. Dr Pepper, right?.”

You look away from his cheeky smirk with a shift of your jaw, and you lose the fight against the grin now on your face, “I hate you.”

He only huffs softly in amusement as you walk away with your arms crossed, making your way to where you spot Heeseung’s orange hair. There’s a pair of green bowling shoes beside another bigger pair that are red placed on the bench seating, and Jake has a grin on his face the moment you sit down to put them on.

“I am not above hitting you in the head with a bowling ball, Jake.” You say as you pull the white sneakers off your feet to put on the bowling shoes, not even soaring the Australian boy a glance as his mouth shuts, clearly rethinking speaking.

Heeseung snorts, “Shit, you are violent.”

You look up from your bowling shoes at the Lacrosse captain, who’s grin drops and he quickly looks away, acting like he wasn’t just laughing. Jay shakes his head with a laugh, “Thank you, for shutting them up.”

You give him a smile with a scrunch of your nose, “My pleasure.”

The moment Riki and Gaeul return, you’ve barely gotten your shoes tied. You’re still shooting looks at Jake, who’s pretending to look anywhere but at you while Jay wheezes softly into his hand. Riki raises a brow, setting a tray of drinks and snacks on the table. “What happened now?”

“She threatened Jake’s life with a bowling ball,” Heeseung informs him with amusement still clear on his face.

Riki pauses mid-sip of his drink, glancing at you with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “Already? We haven’t even started the game yet.”

You shrug innocently, tugging the laces on your bowling shoes tighter. “He looked like he deserved it.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” Jake argues with a whine, and you roll your eyes.

“You had that stupid look on your face.”

“Not defending him, but that’s just what Jake looks like.” Jay interjects with a finger raised to make a point, and Gaeul smacks his hand lightly with a disapproving shake of her head despite her snickering.

Riki sits beside you, handing you a large cup full of what you assume is Dr Pepper that you immediately taste to prove your theory, humming happily and smiling as you thank him. His smile mirrors yours as he begins to put on his own bowling shoes, and you grab your purse, which you had initially placed to your left, from between the two of you to place it elsewhere.

“Here,” He says softly, grabbing your purse from you to put on his other side with his jacket, which he had shed at some point between entering the building and sitting down, and you mutter a soft ‘oh, thank you’ that has his soft smirk widening just a bit before he focuses back on tying his shoes.

You’re somewhat thankful that they seemed to have agreed on teams instead of each of you having your own scoreboard, though seeing every ‘x’ between your ‘5’ points was embarrassing enough. 

Gaeul seems wholly entertained by the gutter ball she just achieved as you cheer for her from your seat between Riki and Heeseung, too distracted by the fun of the game to see the goosebumps on your arms. You’re leaning forward to pluck a fry from the basket of them on the table when you feel a warm something draped over your shoulders. 

Riki is standing for his turn before you can even react, but across the table Gaeul turns to hide her face in Jay’s shoulder to poorly muffle the high pitched squeal she lets out. You ignore the heat rising up your neck, catching the fry between your teeth to slip your arms into the jacket sleeves.

Jay and Gaeul seem to be the only team playing purely for fun, because Jake and Heeseung are neck and neck with you and Riki on the scoreboard and your ‘boyfriend’ looks less than pleased about it. 

It’s near the last round when Jake scores a miraculous nine points that you mentally prepare to accept defeat, looking up at Riki who had just gotten back with your refilled cup, “Horrible news.”

He raises his brows, looking at the scoreboard and cursing under his breath. It’s your final turn, and while you hadn’t completely embarrassed yourself with your subpar bowling skills you probably weren’t good enough or lucky enough to score anything higher than six points. At the moment, HeeJake is in first place.

Gaeul is cheering you on with her back against Jay’s chest, and Riki leans down, resting a hand on the edge of the table beside you, his face just close enough to make your heart race. “No pressure,” he says softly, smirking. “But if you lose, we’re never hearing the end of it.”

You roll your eyes, trying to act unimpressed. “Great pep talk. Truly inspiring.”

He snickers softly, straightening back up as you stand with dread clear on your pretty face. Heeseung pipes up, “Give her a good luck kiss, Romeo.” The glare you shoot the Lacrosse captain only makes him snicker with his hands held up in mock-surrender, “Was just a suggestion.”

The feigned smile you give him has your fake boyfriend plucking your drink from your hands (how did he knew you had an urge to throw it at Heeseung’s face, you’ll never know), and his hands move to your shoulders to walk with you to edge of the lane to grab a pink 7lb bowling ball.

Riki’s grip on your shoulders lingers, and he leans down slightly to murmur near your ear, “Just—aim in the middle.”

You glance at him over your shoulder with a withering look, choosing to ignore his proximity, “Like that isn’t what I’ve been doing.”

“Could've fooled me—ow! Okay, okay,” He’s still laughing despite rubbing his chest where your punch landed, much too cheeky for your liking but his smile is too…something for you to want to wipe it off his face, “You’re better than Jake.”

You shoot him a skeptical look, but it’s hard to ignore the encouragement in his eyes. Taking a deep breath, you grip the heavy pink ball tightly, positioning it at your waist. Riki steps back, hands on his hips, his smirk still in place.

“Alright, show us what you’ve got, baby.”

“Oh, shut up.” You grumble softly, shooing him away to get his heart-fluttering grin out of your face, and as you pull his oversized sleeves up your arm to keep it from getting in the way you give yourself a mental pep talk.

Don’t lose, bitch.

It doesn’t help that your nails make putting your fingers in the three designated holes a struggle, and the moment the ball is released into the lane, veering left toward the gutter before God herself takes control and it curves back toward the center and slams into the center pin, you cover your face.

Strike!

Gaeul practically shrieks in excitement as the pins scatter, “Yes, girl!”

You blink, lashes fluttering as you process the cheering as well as groans from Jake, and you gasp, “Holy shit!”

Riki’s joyous laughter is infectious and warm, and you let out a soft shriek that fades into giggles as his arms wrap around your waist and he lifts you off your feet in a hug, “Hell yeah, baby!” 

The moment your feet are back on the ground, Gaeul is before you with her hands up for high fives, practically bouncing in excitement for you. It’s practically second nature to you as you match her energy, too high on your miraculous win to notice Riki’s hands lingering on your waist.

Another thing you fail to notice in your moment of joy is a familiar couple just a few lanes over, one party too distracted by the ruckus to pay any attention to the game her boyfriend and his friends dragged her to join.

She watches you smile and laugh as Riki helps you out of your bowling shoes, and her eyes follow you as you walk toward the restrooms with the light blue Prada bag she had always wished you would give her. It isn‘t fair.

You sigh softly as you place your bag on the sink in front of you, unzipping it to grab your lip combo to touch up in the mirror before going back out. As you uncap your lipliner with a muffled click, you hear the bathroom door open but don’t think much of it at the moment.

It isn’t until you look into the mirror, leaning forward slightly to see your lips better, that you see who it is.

“Can I help you?” You ask her reflection with a tilt of your head, tone less confrontational than it should be, but you’re trying to keep your good mood and Nayeon’s face is threatening to ruin it.

She scoffs softly, yet keeps a safe distance, “Do you even like him?”

You look away from the mirror to really look at her, ignoring the satisfaction that her slight flinch brings you, “Excuse me?”

“You moved on fast.” Nayeon states, and you scoff with a smile of both fury and amusement at her audacity, “Is it even real, or did you use daddy’s money to get him to date you?”

The tilt of your head should have been a sign for her to shut her mouth, but she continues when you don’t respond like usual, “But I guess moving from one guy to another is just like you.”

She’s just trying to rile you up, it’s obvious. 

You shake your head with a soft and bitter laugh, looking back at the mirror to continue what you had intended to do, the lip pencil gliding over the edges of your lips and the pad of your ring finger blending the harsh edges. 

Her jaw shifts in the reflection as you cap your lip-liner and exchange it for your lip gloss, and you send her a condescending smile, “You done?”

“You bitch—“ Her words are cut off by another person entering the bathroom, and as you swipe the gloss over your lips, you pause when you see it’s Gaeul.

She glances at Nayeon, but her main focus is on you as she says, “Ready to go?”

You hide your confusion at her question with a pretty smile, closing your gloss and stuffing it back into your bag before you walk to her, shoulder checking the audacious bitch on your way out, “Yep.” 

Gaeul’s arm hooks at your elbow as you both exit the bathroom, and you sigh in relief at being out of that situation before you remember your prior confusion and she explains without you needing to ask, “Your ex is at our table antagonizing Riki, I figured if he’s here she would be too.” 

Your brows furrow and you quickly pick up the pace of your stride with fury souring your mood once again. When you turn the corner, your gaze zeroes in on Riki, who’s leaning back in his seat seemingly unbothered by whatever it is that Eunseok is saying to him, and Nayeon hastens past you to join her boyfriend’s side.

Eunseok’s eyes land on you the moment his girlfriend puts herself on his arm, and they follow you as you approach Riki without even a glance his way until he speaks, “You move on fast.” He snorts, soft and bitter, “Didn’t expect you to open your legs so fast considering how long it took you to put out.”

You ignore him, though the anger in your gut is boiling hot as your gaze moves to Riki, who you find is already standing now, his jaw shifting yet no other sign in his body language that he’s as pissed as his narrowed eyes say he is. Jay, Heeseung, and Jake all watch, though from their body language you can tell they’re not exactly about to stand by if your ‘boyfriend’ decides to throw a well-deserved punch.

His gaze moves to yours the moment your hand finds his, softening as your fingers intertwine with his and you mutter, “Let’s go.”

He nods wordlessly, his willingness only pissing Eunseok off more as he laughs mockingly, and you feel Riki’s hand tighten around yours, “Already got him trained, huh? He like how mean you are?” 

“I do, yeah.” Riki responds for you with a smug smirk, “She’s got a hell of a bite.”

The second meaning to his words isn’t lost on you, and you find the way Eunseok bristles at the comment amusing enough to not get mad at Riki for it later considering the two of you obviously hadn't done more than hold hands. (You hear Jake choke on his drink, too.)

“Bro, it’s your turn!” Calls a familiar male across the bowling alley, Sohee. 

You take the moment of brief distraction to shoot a pointed look at Jake, who gets up from his seat to play peacemaker with Heeseung.

Jay seems to motion for Riki to leave while they’re distracted by the two, and you shoot Gaeul an apologetic glance that she receives with a shake of her head and a look that reads ‘don’t be sorry’ as Riki leads you out of the building.

The moment the frigid air hits you, you tug the sleeves of his jacket down your arms again and shiver slightly. “He’s such a dick.” You sigh softly, “I’m sorry.”

Riki shakes his head as the two of you stop just a few paces outside the entrance, “Don’t apologize.” His hands move to rub at your arms to help you warm up, and the sight of both of your breaths visible in the cold has you moving to take his jacket off to give to him, but his hands cover yours the moment they start pulling at the open zipper. “I’m okay.”

“Riki, it’s cold as shit.”

“All the more reason for you to keep the jacket.” He argues back with a soft smirk, “Really, I practice in the cold every day.” 

���You’re active, then. Not standing around,” You fuss, and he tilts his head slightly in acknowledgement before a cheeky smirk grows on his face.

“‘You worried about me, pretty girl?”

“Oh, stop it.” You groan with a poorly concealed warm laugh, and he catches your hands as you weakly swat at his chest, pulling you closer. “Riki.”

Your soft mutter of his name has his eyes shutting and his head falling back with a soft groan escaping his lips, “You’re so mean, baby.”

“It isn’t fair to you.” He doesn’t seem pleased by your statement, shaking his head and leaning forward to press his forehead to yours.

“Just a kiss.” He pleas softly, his nose brushing yours and you inhale sharply, “Just one.”

His words flip your stomach inside out, and as you sigh his name again he leans in.

“Oh shit!” The sudden exclamation has you and Riki both startling away from each other, Jake grinning like a maniac at the doors with Heeseung, Jay, and Gaeul behind him. “Fuck, did I just ruin a moment?”

You groan, turning away from them to begin walking to Riki’s Jeep, arms crossed to protect yourself from the cold and your mind in utter shambles because—

What the fuck?

Jake gets a ride from Heeseung home according to Riki, who had unlocked his car for you to get in while he said goodbye to the others. A part of you regrets not saying goodbye to Gaeul, but the thought of spending another second under their gaze at that moment felt suffocating.

The silence in the car is loud. Not awkward loud, but loud enough that every glance out the window and every shift in your seat feels amplified. Riki’s hands stay firmly on the wheel, his fingers drumming against the edge of the leather cover as he fiddles with the turn signal.

“So,” he starts, his voice casual but slightly strained, “you’ve got a mean bowling game for someone who swore they’d lose.”

You glance at him, catching the way the passing streetlights make his jawline look sharper. “That’s because I hustle. Low expectations are a great strategy.”

He huffs a small laugh, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Guess I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

You lean back against the seat, trying to ignore the fact that your heart still hasn’t settled since that moment at the alley—the one where his face was too close, his breath too warm, and you almost forgot this whole thing was fake.

“So… next time?” you tease, arching a brow. “How much more mortifying teasing can you handle?”

“Depends,” he says, keeping his eyes on the road. “How long does it take to make your ex think he lost the best thing that ever happened to him?”

Your laugh comes out before you can stop it. “It’ll probably never happen, I just like to see him squirm.” The weight of his words sits in the air between you, heavier than it should be. You turn to look out the window, feigning interest in the row of darkened houses you pass by. 

“You know,” he says after a beat, his voice quieter now, “I don’t think they’re worth this much effort. Your ex and… her.”

You blink, surprised at his shift in tone. “Well, thanks for that motivational speech, Riki. Really helps my self-esteem.”

He shakes his head, glancing at you briefly. “That’s not what I meant. I just mean… if they couldn’t see how good they had it with you, that’s on them. You don’t need to prove anything.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. You open your mouth to reply, but the words don’t come. Instead, you study him in the dim light, wondering—not for the first time—why he agreed to this in the first place.

“Why are you doing this, Riki?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitates, his fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel. “I told you, I need you to help me pass Chem.”

You narrow your eyes, not convinced but also not ready to push. “You haven’t even asked for help past me giving you my old notes.”

He smirks again, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “They’re just that helpful. Don’t overthink it.”

And maybe you don’t, because overthinking means dissecting the way he’s looking at you now in the faint glow of the dashboard, like he knows something you don’t.

The car slows to a stop in front of your house and you fiddle with the hem of your halter top, trying to figure out how to say what’s been sitting heavy in your chest since the bowling alley. “Riki,” you start, your voice softer than usual.

He hums in acknowledgment, already looking at you.

You take a steadying breath. “I don’t think… I’m ready for a real relationship.”

That gets his attention. His hands shift in his lap, his expression unreadable. “Okay,” he says after a beat, his tone cautious. “Where’s this coming from?”

You shift in your seat, suddenly finding the dashboard very interesting. “It’s just… you’ve been really good to me this past week, and I feel like it’s not fair to you. I mean, you’ve made it pretty clear how you feel, and I don’t want to lead you on or—”

“Hey.” His voice is calm, steady, and it makes you pause. “You’re not leading me on. I knew what I was getting into.”

“Yeah, but…” You trail off, frustration bubbling up because the words in your head won’t come out the way you want them to. “It’s not just about you. It’s about me, too. I don’t think I’m ready to deal with… all of this. Not after everything with him. It’s too much.”

He doesn’t say anything right away, which somehow makes it worse. The silence stretches, and you’re about to apologize—again—when he finally speaks.

“So, what do you want to do?”

“I think we should stop,” you say, hating how small your voice sounds. “The fake dating, I mean.”

He nods, almost imperceptibly. “If that’s what you want.”

“It’s not—” You stop yourself, biting your lip as your eyes burn. “I just… I don’t want to hurt you. You deserve someone who’s all in, and I can’t be that right now.”

His lips twitch into a faint, almost sad smile. “You’re thinking too much about me again.”

You frown, confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs lightly, his eyes moving away from you briefly before they settle back on yours. “It means you’re allowed to put yourself first, you know. I’m a big boy; I’ll survive.”

“But—”

“No buts.” He cuts you off gently, an easy smile still on his face. “If this is what you need, we’ll stop. No hard feelings.”

The simplicity of his response hits harder than you expected. It’s so Riki—quietly selfless, always willing to go along with what makes you happy.

You hate how much you suddenly want to reach across the console and kiss the life out of him. But you don’t. Instead, you swallow the lump in your throat and force a smile.

“Thanks, Riki.”

His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Anytime.”

You watch him exit his car, circle around the front, and open your door for you while holding a chivalrous hand out just like before. A part of your heart aches with the knowledge he’s still doing this despite not technically having to, and you smile softly as you accept his help. His hand doesn’t linger in yours as it did before, though.

The walk to your front door is silent, and he halts just before the step onto your porch, his hands in his pockets, you pause before approaching your door, turning to him. With the few inches that the porch gives you, meeting his gaze is easier. “Tonight was really fun, ignoring the end of it,”

He chuckles softly, “Glad you had fun, pretty girl.” 

If he didn’t mean to let the name slip he doesn’t show any signs of panic or regret, only meeting your nearly-level gaze with warmth.

There’s a moment before you turn your body only slightly towards the front door, “Goodnight.”

His hand catches your elbow gently as you begin to turn away from him, pulling you back yet giving you time to pull away if you so desire, and you don’t.

His lips meet yours in a kiss that’s softer than you imagined it’d be. His hand moves to your cheek yet pauses just before his skin touches yours, lips sweet and slow against yours. 

It’s over before you can kiss back like you want to, his lips parting from yours with a soft smack that makes your stomach flip. 

“Goodnight.” He bids in a low mumble, barely an inch from your lips when the words leave his and he takes a step back with a soft smile that makes your heart twist painfully, “See you Monday.”

You can only nod, forcing a slight smile and turning to punch in the door code with shaky hands and a heavy, aching heart.

part two.

©heedeungism : do not rewrite, copy, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission.

[gaza-evacuation-funds]

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Faten’s family We are a family of four girls and two boys from Gaza. At the start of the war, we faced terrifying nights, living in constant fear. We were displaced from our home in northern Gaza due to nearby threats, then again when houses around us were bombed. A third displacement occurred when we were forced to move south, enduring harsh weather, food and water shortages, and health issues. Despite these hardships, we continued to face bombings, and my mother was injured. We lost my eldest brother, Nidal, who stayed in northern Gaza and hasn’t been heard from since November 10, 2023. Our family now struggles with extreme difficulties, including the loss of education and jobs. Our lives and dreams have been shattered. We urgently need help to leave Gaza to continue our studies and ensure our safety. Ke321_kr1,000,000,00

Weam fan My name is Weam. I was in my final year of high school, aiming for a high score to attend university and pursue my dreams. But the war shattered those plans, disrupting my education. We lived in northern Gaza and were displaced multiple times for safety. My family has suffered greatly; my father's shop and our home were destroyed, leaving us without income. My mother has severe back pain from living in tents and urgently needs treatment abroad, as Gaza's healthcare can't provide it. I appeal for your support to help us rebuild our lives. Every contribution matters.£90_£30,000

Mohammed Adel My name is Abdallah, a 23-year-old from Gaza, struggling to survive with my 12-year-old brother, Omar, amid constant attacks. We face daily dangers trying to find food, clean water, and medical supplies. Our resources are scarce, and we've already lost a loved one due to the lack of medical care. We desperately need help to secure basic necessities and survive. Any support you can provide will make a difference in our lives. Thank you for your kindness. €100_€15,000

Jamil Sharaf My name is Jamil Sharaf, and I’m 37 years old. My family and I have been displaced five times since the war in Gaza began on October 7. We now live in a tent on the seashore, struggling with severe shortages of food, water, and medicine. My youngest daughter, Laren, is without milk, and my other children are suffering from health issues due to the lack of clean water and proper shelter. Our home and business were destroyed, leaving us with nothing. Your support and donations can help us rebuild our lives and provide for our children’s basic needs. Thank you for your generosity. $225_€50,000

Hazem Mohammed I am Hazem Mohammed Albardawill. I am 29 years old. I used to live with my small family. My wife is pregnant and my children are Imad and Jad. We are very happy in our lives. On the evening of the black day, October 11, at eight o’clock in the evening, our house was bombed. I did not feel anything. I was taken to the hospital where my injury occurred and I stayed in intensive care for several days. Then after... It was during my coma that I first began to ask about my children and my wife, and when I learned of their martyrdom, and after that I did not feel alive, for my soul had left me. I mean, then, without shelter, without treatment, without work, or family, I felt that I had nothing. Everything was gone with the bombing, even my dreams. Yesterday, my family and neighbors needed to work in order to provide myself with a shelter to help me from the heat and cold of winter, and I need the required treatment in order to return to how I was before the damned war Which left a fire in my heart that will never be extinguished. I do not want the impossible. All I want is for you to provide me with money so that I can provide myself with shelter and treatment. To live a decent life.£375_£20,000

@el-shab-hussein @nabulsi @mohameddd @irhabiya @appsa

[wendichester]

hello, i don't know if you take requests but I saw a tik tok where a teacher was getting ready for firefighter day at the school and I immediately imagined teacher reader and firefighter dean winchester

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMBsQnGn4/

I'm sorry for my english

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ stop, drop... and flirt,

summary. firefighter day but this year's edition features a calendar-worthy firefighter

pairing. firefighter!dean winchester x teacher!reader genre. fluff

wordcount. 542

notes / warnings. just shameless flirting

You don’t usually get flustered. You run a class of twenty-five chaos gremlins on sugar highs and zero impulse control. You handle scraped knees, forgotten lunchboxes, and glitter explosions like a seasoned general.

But today?

Today, Dean Winchester walks into your classroom in a firefighter uniform—and your brain promptly short-circuits.

You were told someone from the station would come talk to the kids about fire safety, give the ol’ “stop, drop, and roll” speech, let them play with the siren. You were expecting someone older. Possibly balding.

You were not expecting six feet of flirty smirk and forearms that could carry you like a sack of flour.

Dean tugs off his helmet as he steps in, raking a hand through messy hair. “Hope I’m not too early.”

You manage a blink. A nod. A sound that might be a word. “You’re… just on time.”

He flashes you a smile that should be illegal in a school zone. “You the teacher?”

You almost say, I can be whatever you want, but somehow swallow it down in time.

“Yes. I’m Ms. Y/L/N. And you’re…?”

“Dean. Station 34. I usually don’t do these things, but my buddy was out sick, so…” He shrugs, then adds, “Figured I’d come hang with the cool kids.”

“Right,” you say, doing your best to focus. “Fire safety. Stop, drop, and roll.”

“Yep,” he grins. “Though I gotta say, I might need a refresher on the ‘stop’ part. Not when you’re lookin’ like that.”

Your eyebrows shoot up.

“Excuse me?”

He steps closer. Just enough to feel the heat of him.

“So,” he says, voice lower now. “I know I’m supposed to teach kids about fire safety, but you?”

You tilt your head. “Yeah?”

“You’re kinda making me forget all the rules.”

You bite your lip, heart hammering. “That a line you use often?”

“Only when I mean it.”

You’re definitely blushing now. “Uh-huh. You gonna charm the kids like that too?”

“I dunno,” he teases. “Think they’ll appreciate a ‘damn, teach’ moment?”

You try—really try—not to laugh. You fail.

The kids love him, of course. He talks about fire drills and escape plans and even lets them sit in the driver’s seat of the truck out front. They cheer. They squeal. He winks at you at least three times, and each time it knocks a year off your life expectancy.

By the end, when your classroom is empty and the chaos has cleared, you find him lingering at the door, helmet back under his arm.

“Thanks for coming,” you say, arms folded, leaning against a desk.

He grins. “Thanks for not calling HR on me.”

“I thought about it.”

He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. Hands it to you.

It’s a business card.

You raise a brow. “Calling in a fire?”

He shrugs. “Or dinner. Whichever comes first.”

You smile despite yourself. “You really don’t quit, huh?”

Dean winks. “You’ll get used to it.”

And just like that, he’s gone—leaving behind the faint smell of smoke, engine grease, and whatever cologne should be bottled and sold under the name trouble.

You glance down at the card, still warm in your hand.

Looks like Firefighter Day might become your new favorite school holiday.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[ghouljams]

I'm fully smitten with Mr. and Mrs. Riley. Call me trite, but I love some good old high school sweethearts. But I also think that getting married that young would definitely raise a few eyebrows.

You know that feeling you get when you see people your age start to do grown up things, like getting engaged or buying a house? I imagine that's what your acquaintances at uni feel like when they find out you're married.

People know that you have someone, because every now and then there will be a mention of "my Simon". So you have A Simon, whatever that means.

Eventually it always comes up in conversation. Someone will ask if you have plans with your boyfriend for the summer, to which you respond "oh, he's not my boyfriend." This revelation causes the person you're speaking with to think they've fully stepped in it. Had the two of you broken up recently? Or were you just in some sort of long-term situationship? Their train of thought gets swiftly interrupted by you going "he's my husband."

While they silently question how the fuck someone in their early twenties has a fucking husband, you happily chat on about your summer plans.

It's not like you planned on getting married young. It's just that your Simon has a terribly dangerous job and a terribly big heart, and he won't leave a man behind. He'd looked so guilty telling you how he'd run into a fire fight to drag a man to safety, apologized, he knew he promised you not to do anything dangerous and-

Well... How could you not marry a man like that?

It does raise some eyebrows though. You try not to advertise your marriage. You don't have a ring, neither you nor Simon had the money for one. You don't have a house, again, money. You don't have kids, though you do think about them often. Really the only thing you have are the stories that you and Simon have made together. Walks in the park that had you pulling him out of the pond. Movie theaters that kicked you out for crying too loudly (and for Simon arguing with the usher). Nights at the pub that ended in great heaving laughter. You're sure you paint a pretty picture of your relationship.

Your Simon. You don't have anything else to call him, he is yours. More than just a husband, he's your best friend, and besides it still feels so strange to say that. ("My God we're like child brides," you'd told him as you were signing the papers. "Worse," he'd joked, "we're military wives.")

You make it through two years of university, and multiple deployments before any of your uni friends find out you're married, and it happens in the worst way.

Your Simon goes missing in action somewhere in Mexico.

You get a call as you're walking out of lecture, and when your friend asks what's wrong (following your complete breakdown into tears in the middle of the sidewalk) you tell them that your husband is MIA. They can't tell you where, why, or how, but they do tell you to prepare for the worst.

Weeks with no news. Barely eating, barely eating, only doing your work because there has to be somewhere for Simon to come home to if they ever find him. Two months pass in a sick haze of lectures and part-time work.

Another call, while you're working this time. You barely apologize to your boss before rushing out, a hastily scribbled hospital name clutched on notebook paper between your fingers. You don't even notice the distance, time barely passes from point A to point B. One moment you're at work, the next you're standing beside a hospital bed.

He looks rough, nose broken, eyes ringed in purple, gauze covering half his chest, leg broken, angry red scars raised on any uncovered skin, but it's your Simon. The brown of his eyes is as soft as it's ever been, and his cracked lips still smile when he sees you. He's alive, and this- this is far from the worst thing you could have prepared for.

And you're so young suddenly, crying like a child at nearly losing your best friend, big wracking sobs that nearly crumple you because your heart is still here with you. It's Simon that lays a big hand on your head and comforts you.

"Told ya I'd come back," He reminds you, "Jus'took a minute."

He doesn't give you any details until he's out of the hospital. Not until you're both cuddled up in the just slightly too small bed that fills your bedroom in your definitely too small flat. The duvet is heavy and Simon still can't rest on his side, but you cuddle close, listening to him walk you through Mexico with a heavy heart. Classified. He keeps repeating it, like that will make it easier for you to digest. The secrecy of it when he tells you about dragging Washington to safety. It makes your stomach squirm. 'He shouldn't have done that' you think guiltily, 'he should've saved himself.'

You don't feel as guilty when Simon meets Washington again and tells you, "'e did somethin' odd, not sittin' right wi' me."

Makes you feel better screaming and shouting when you spot Simon's brother in arms tailing you on campus, when he grabs you and you kick him in the balls just like Simon showed you. The cops find a gun on him, he spews vitriol, spouts manifestos. Brainwashed, they tell Simon.

It's hard to keep a marriage under wraps when the city paper writes a story about you. "Terrorism in Manchester" is front-page news, after all.

[awakeningthevioletswithin]

I've been lying in bed since around three wobbling about whether I should tell anyone this. I'm pretty sure I shouldn't, but if I keep it to myself, I think it might be worse. At least in the short term.

Today was busy, queued my blog, fed my dogs, walked them, avoiding the farmer's market traffic, I watered my recently transplanted hardy gerainium and vincas. I normally would have been volunteering at the neighborhood food pantry, but the organizer had a business trip, and I don't have access to the store rooms. So when I was asked to go to a rally in Boulder, I went. We planned to go to this Tajik tea house afterwards. We didn't go.

Instead I saw an elderly woman set on fire and have to do that thing from elementary school, stop, drop and roll. A shirtless guy was yelling. I'm not actually sure what I saw. It was insanity. There was a lot of yelling. The woman might have been close in age to my mom.

My friend pulled me away and drove me back. We tried to find news to explain what had happened.

After I got home I showered and got in bed. My landlord texted me shortly after wanting money, which is totally fair. I'm three months behind. It's just another layer of fear upon the terror.

While I made it home, I keep thinking I might not have. The friend isn't a friend, friend. I don't know their last name, I doubt they know mine. They wouldn't know to feed my dogs. No one would. Maybe it's silly to worry about that.

I'm not sure if I can ever leave the safety of this room again. I've always felt safe here. I don't feel safe.

I'm so scared I'm about to be told they deserved it, I deserve this. That I'm putting a target on my back for harassment, like when someone sent messages blood libeling my mother, hoping she would die. Which she did not that long after.

[ncsdlr]

Kiss, Run, Make up

Regina George x Reader

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

Regina is pacing. Hair perfect. Eyeliner dangerous. Heart beating way too loud for someone who definitely doesn’t care.

You’re leaning against the wall like you were born to cause problems in hallways. One hand in your pocket. Other holding a lollipop you’re not even eating. Just twirling it. Menace.

Regina stops in front of you. Hands on hips. Eyes narrowed.

“You’re seriously not going to apologize?”

You blink. “For what? Looking this good during school hours?”

“For—ugh—you know.”

You tilt your head. “I genuinely don’t. You’ll have to be more specific. I do a lot of upsetting things. It’s kind of my charm.”

She glares. “For messing with my head.”

“Regina, I breathe and you spiral. That sounds like a you problem.”

“I kissed you,” she hisses.

“Ohhh,” you say, nodding slowly. “So we’re admitting it now. Cute.”

Regina throws her hands in the air like she’s rehearsing for a music video called “Why Am I Attracted to Chaos.”

“It didn’t mean anything!”

You smirk. “Then why’d you sprint out of my car like it was on fire?”

“I had plans.”

“It was 11:30 at night.”

“Plans can be internal, okay?!”

You step forward — not too close, just enough to rattle her aura.

“Okay,” you say softly, “then kiss me again. Prove it didn’t mean anything.”

She freezes. “What?”

You shrug. “You said it wasn’t serious. So kiss me again. Right now. Let’s both laugh about how stupid and meaningless it is.”

She stares at you like you just offered her a lit match and a stack of love letters.

“I’m not kissing you again.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Scared?”

“I’m not scared.”

“Oh, totally. That’s why you’re standing there like a Sims character trying to decide between woohoo or cry in the shower.”

She opens her mouth.

Closes it.

Opens it again.

And then she grabs your collar and kisses you like it’s a dare. Hot. Fast. Infuriatingly good.

You drop the lollipop. It’s a tragic loss.

Your hand finds her waist, her hand’s in your hair, and for a few glorious seconds, the hallway doesn’t exist.

Then—

She pulls back.

Like she just realized she left the oven on and emotionally exposed herself.

Her eyes go wide.

You blink at her. “Wow. That was—”

“I gotta go,” she blurts, already halfway down the hallway.

You call after her: “Okay but like… rate that on a scale from 1 to traumatic!”

She doesn’t answer.

You stand there, lips tingling, heart confused, lollipop abandoned like a fallen soldier.

“…So I guess we’re in the denial phase,” you mutter.

****

Regina has never been more put-together in her life.

Hair: curled. Outfit: coordinated to the molecular level. Earrings: a little too sharp for school safety standards.

She struts down the hall like nothing happened. Like she didn’t kiss you. Like she didn’t run away like a squirrel on Red Bull.

Except—

Karen won’t stop smiling at her.

“What?” Regina snaps.

Karen shrugs. “You look like you kissed someone and then emotionally blacked out.”

Gretchen gasps. “Did you kiss someone and emotionally black out?!”

Regina rolls her eyes so hard it’s a full ab workout.

“No. Shut up. Leave me alone. I have homeroom.”

She whips around a corner—

And sees you.

Leaning against her locker.

Again.

Are you even in this hallway?? Do you take classes or are you just haunting her?

You don’t say anything. Just smile. One of those smug little “I know what your lip gloss tastes like” smiles.

Regina makes the executive decision to ignore you. It takes 40% of her willpower. The other 60% is busy replaying the kiss like it’s a trailer for a movie she’ll pretend not to watch three more times.

She walks past you.

You murmur, casual as hell: “Morning, runner-up.”

She stops dead.

Turns. Slowly.

“I what?”

You grin. “You kissed me. Then ran. Technically I win.”

“Win what?! This isn’t a competition!”

You tilt your head. “Isn’t it?”

Regina glares. “You’re so—Ugh!”

Karen gasps behind her. “Oh my god… you did kiss her.”

Regina spins. “Snitches get stitches, Karen!”

You just sip your iced coffee like nothing’s happening.

Regina stomps away, furious, flustered, and 5% in love.

---

She’s in class. Faking notes. Drawing tiny knives in the margin of her notebook.

Underneath one she writes: “Do NOT make eye contact with her.” Then immediately draws hearts next to it. Then scribbles those out. Then redraws them. Smaller.

Gretchen texts her: so you kissed her??? 😳

Regina texts back: NO Then: yes. shut up.

You walk past the window outside the classroom at that exact moment.

Regina catches a glimpse.

You wink.

She throws her pencil. It hits the whiteboard. The teacher flinches.

---

Meanwhile, you are vibing. You are floating through the day like you didn’t just make Regina George short-circuit with one (1) kiss and an iced beverage.

People are talking. You don’t care. You text her one thing:

“I had fun last night. Let me know when you want to lose again.”

She leaves it on read.

Which is hilarious. Because she then immediately opens your Instagram story. Twice.

---

She is lying face down on a velvet pillow, muffling a scream.

Her journal is open. It says:

“I HATE HER I HATE HER I HATE HER P.S. do not reread that kiss P.P.S. stop picturing her collarbone P.P.P.S. stop wondering what her hair smells like P.P.P.P.S. it smelled expensive and unfair”

She flips to a new page and writes:

OPERATION: KISS NEVER HAPPENED

avoid eye contact

pretend she’s boring

date someone taller

develop sudden interest in lacrosse

maybe fake mono

She slams the journal shut.

Then reopens it.

Adds:

“ALSO — steal her jacket again. She looked stressed. That was fun.”

****

You're sitting in homeroom, sipping matcha out of a glass bottle like a threat.

Everyone else is buzzing — some dumb hallway scandal, Karen’s new boyfriend, that junior who cried during AP Chem.

You don’t care.

You’re rereading the same line in your notebook for the fifth time and pretending it has nothing to do with Regina George kissing you like she meant it and then bolting like you said “I love you” instead of just… stood there looking hot.

(Which, to be fair, you did look hot. It’s not your fault she’s emotionally allergic to being into someone with a pulse.)

You pull out your phone.

No text.

You’re not surprised.

You didn’t expect a “hey sorry I panicked mid-liplock, lol xoxo” message. But still.

Still.

You lean back in your seat and type out a text with the casual elegance of a soap opera character in denial:

You kissed me. You ran. I stayed. That says everything.

You stare at it.

Then hit send.

You don’t expect a reply.

(But your screen stays on for just a second too long, just in case.)

---

The hallway is loud. Too loud. Lockers slam. Girls laugh too hard. Guys try too hard. You move through it like a shadow.

You pass her locker.

She’s there.

Hair flipped. Laugh loud. She’s doing that thing where she looks extra casual — like she’s trying to make breathing seem interesting.

You walk past.

No smirk. No wink. No stupid one-liner.

Just a tiny nod.

Like: I saw you. I miss you. I’m not begging.

She freezes mid-laugh.

Doesn’t turn.

But you see her shoulders twitch.

Score one for inner peace, zero for emotional regulation.

---

At lunch, you sit alone.

Not because you're lonely — because you're a public service.

People know better than to bother you when you’re in your mysterious hoodie and sunglasses indoors mode.

You scroll your phone. Check your text again.

Still nothing.

Cool. Cool cool cool. This is fine. Everything is fine.

You open Notes. Type:

“Regina George = coward (hot).”

“Why do I have a crush on a human fire alarm.”

“Is it gay to overanalyze hallway glances?”

You close Notes before you spiral into writing poetry again.

---

After school, you catch a glimpse of her in the parking lot.

She’s with Shane.

Of course she is.

You raise an eyebrow. Not jealous. Just… vaguely judgmental.

She laughs at something he says — too loud. Like it’s for you.

You lean against your car, sipping what’s now room temp matcha, and toss her a lazy two-finger wave.

She flips her hair.

You smile.

She doesn’t smile back — but she lingers a second too long before turning away.

Which is enough.

---

You lie on your bed, hoodie on, music playing like your house has a soundtrack.

You stare at the ceiling.

You think about her hands. Her lip gloss. The way she pulled back like she was scared of you, and not of what she felt.

You don’t text again.

You’ve said what needed saying.

You kissed me. You ran. I stayed.

That’s all she needs to know.

The rest?

Is her move.

But of course, seeing her with Shane earlier still hurt a little bit.

****

It starts innocently.

You’re just walking to class like a normal, deeply cool person who’s totally not secretly hoping Regina makes eye contact today. Your vibes? Calm. Your fit? Elite. Your emotional state? Chill but mysterious.

Meanwhile, Regina is two hallways over, dramatically explaining to Gretchen how she’s totally fine, not flustered, and “barely even remembers the kiss.”

Karen: “What kiss?” Regina: “Exactly.”

Then the fire alarm goes off.

It’s fake. Clearly. But the teachers start herding students like sheep in Gucci.

You duck into the janitor’s closet to avoid chaos.

Regina?

Also ducks into the janitor’s closet.

Because the universe is a bitch.

The door slams shut behind her.

You blink. She freezes.

The silence is immediate and loud.

You lean back against the mop bucket with your arms crossed. “Hey there, stranger.”

Regina looks around like she’s checking for cameras. Or exits. Or divine intervention.

“You,” she says flatly.

“Me,” you reply, grinning.

A long beat. The air smells like lemon disinfectant and emotional tension.

You add, “Cute hiding spot. Trying to avoid me or the fire drill?”

She glares. “Neither. I just needed… space.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So you chose a broom closet?”

She crosses her arms. “You’re enjoying this.”

“I am,” you admit. “You ghosted me like a Victorian man going off to war. What am I supposed to do, not find this funny?”

“I didn’t ghost you.”

“Regina, I could’ve declared you legally dead.”

“I was busy.”

“You viewed my story eleven times, babe.”

She throws her head back like God is testing her specifically.

“Okay, fine! I panicked! Sue me!”

You blink. “...Was that… honesty?”

Regina freezes again. Like she just heard herself.

“I—no. Shut up. You hallucinated that.”

You lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “So let me get this straight. You kissed me, sprinted away, avoided me for two days, and now we’re locked in a glorified mop cave and you’re gaslighting me about your own emotional breakdown?”

“I am NOT breaking down!”

You point at her shoes. “You’re wearing flats.”

She gasps. “They’re Chanel.”

“They’re an admission of guilt.”

“I WILL PUT A MOP THROUGH YOUR FACE.”

A beat.

You both stare at each other.

Then—unexpectedly—Regina laughs.

Like actually laughs.

She leans back against the wall, covers her face, and laughs like someone who’s finally snapped in a cute way.

You watch her, caught off guard. “Okay, that was hot.”

She groans through her fingers. “I hate how calm you are.”

You smile, softer now. “It’s easy. I’m not the one pretending this isn’t a thing.”

She peeks through her fingers. “It’s not.”

You nod. “Sure. And I definitely didn’t rewatch that kiss in my head eight times while brushing my teeth.”

Regina drops her hands. “You did what?”

“You heard me.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“You started it.”

“You kissed me back.”

“You tasted like expensive lip gloss and world domination. Can you blame me?”

She flushes. Full-on cheeks-to-the-heavens flushes.

You smirk. “And you ran. Babe, I thought I had bad game, but that was a whole flight instinct.”

“I panicked,” she says again, quieter now.

You pause.

“Yeah. I know.”

The air shifts. The tension’s still there, but it’s quieter now. Less fire. More smoke.

You ask, “Why’d you come in here, really?”

She shrugs, suddenly shy. “Didn’t know it was you.”

You nod.

Then say, “Do you regret it?”

The kiss. The moment. The spiral. All of it.

She hesitates. Then shakes her head.

“No,” she says. “I just hate that it meant something.”

You hum. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Regina glances at you. “I’m not good at… this.”

“What’s this?”

She gestures vaguely. “Feelings. Honesty. Eye contact that isn’t threatening.”

You grin. “I noticed.”

She sighs. “You’re too calm about this. You should be weird and flirty and annoying.”

“I am flirty and annoying.”

“You’re also…” She trails off. Then, barely audible: “Nice.”

You pretend to gasp. “Did Regina George just say I’m nice? Are you dying?”

“Shut up,” she mutters, eyes darting to the door. “Can we leave yet?”

“Not until you admit I’m winning.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re blushing again.”

She glares. You wink.

The fire alarm cuts out. A voice comes over the speaker: “False alarm. Please return to class.”

Regina opens the door in record time. Walks out like she wasn’t just accidentally vulnerable in a janitor’s closet.

You follow, smug as hell.

“Same time tomorrow?” you tease.

“Choke,” she replies, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips.

****

Regina is fine. She’s great, actually. Totally over it. Definitely not stalking your Instagram for signs of romantic activity.

So when she sees you in the courtyard talking to someone new?

She does what any emotionally stable person would do.

She drops her iced coffee.

“What?” Gretchen asks.

“Nothing,” Regina says.

“Then why are you staring at her like you’re about to order a hit?”

“I’m not staring,” Regina lies. “I’m observing.”

“Okay but like… you’re vibrating.”

Karen looks over. “Ooh, who’s she talking to?”

Regina doesn’t even look away. “His name is Jason. He plays guitar and calls women ‘m’lady.’ I’ll be shocked if she doesn’t die of secondhand embarrassment.”

Jason laughs at something you say.

You smile.

Regina narrows her eyes. “What did he say. Someone tell me what he said.”

Gretchen squints. “I think it was a joke about frogs?”

Karen: “Aww. Frogs are romantic.”

Regina: “Okay. New plan. Frogs are cancelled.”

---

You’re leaving the library when you feel it.

The stare.

You turn.

Regina’s standing there.

Pink jacket. Big sunglasses. Holding a water bottle like it personally wronged her.

“Hey,” she says coolly.

You raise an eyebrow. “Hey.”

She glances behind you. “New boyfriend?”

You smirk. “What, Jason?”

She shrugs. “Just wondering who I’m gonna have to publicly ruin.”

You laugh. “Jealousy looks cute on you.”

She snorts. “This isn’t jealousy. I’m just... emotionally invested in your taste.”

You lean forward, voice low. “You sure it’s not because you liked the taste last week?”

Her mouth opens. Closes.

“No comment,” she mutters, spinning on her heel and walking away too fast.

---

The next day you’re sitting alone in the courtyard.

Jason approaches again.

“Hey,” he says. “Wanna grab lunch?”

You’re about to answer when someone physically slides into the seat next to you like it’s a TikTok challenge.

Regina.

She smiles sweetly at Jason. “Oh my god, hey.”

Jason blinks. “Uh. Hey?”

“You’re Jason, right?” She leans in, fake-whispers, “Did you know she’s allergic to jazz music and emotional immaturity?”

You blink. “What.”

Regina keeps going. “Also frogs give her hives. Just so you know.”

Jason looks concerned. “Frogs??”

You sigh. “Regina.”

She smiles. “What? I’m being helpful.”

Jason backs away slowly. “I’m just gonna... go.”

“You do that,” Regina says, still smiling.

He’s gone.

You stare at her. “Did you just ruin a date out of spite?”

She shrugs. “I’m not proud of myself.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Okay. I’m a little proud.”

---

Later that week Regina posts a selfie.

Caption: “Not jealous. Just hotter. 💋”

Gretchen comments: “babe you literally told jason his aura was ‘too middle class’”

Regina deletes it.

Then reposts it with: “u ever see someone flirting with your girl & suddenly want to invent a new crime”

Karen likes the post twice.

---

Bonus: Regina’s Journal (written in furious pink ink)

“SHE’S TALKING TO OTHER PEOPLE.”

“I HATE JASON. I HATE HIS STUPID GUITAR.”

“DOES SHE MISS ME OR IS SHE JUST ATTRACTIVE TO EVERYONE.”

“stop. spiraling. you menace.”

“god she looked hot in that hoodie. i want it back. and by it i mean her. and the hoodie. both.”

****

Regina is done. She’s had enough of you being mysterious and unbothered while she spirals like a YouTube beauty guru in 2015.

You’ve been charming and calm and devastatingly hot and for what? To talk to Jason the Frog Boy?

So she makes a decision.

A bad one.

“Hey, Shane,” she purrs, sliding into the cafeteria like she’s entering a music video.

Shane blinks. “Hey?”

He looks surprised. Which is fair. Last week, she told him he had the emotional depth of a wet napkin.

But now she’s smiling. Hair perfect. Lip gloss lethal.

“You doing anything right now?” she asks, real sweet.

He blinks. “Uh. No?”

“Perfect.” She takes his hand and drags him out into the courtyard.

Gretchen watches her go like someone witnessing a car accident in slow motion.

Karen: “Is she okay?”

Gretchen: “She’s pretending.”

Karen: “Ohh. Got it.”

---

She plops down on a bench with Shane. Laughs at a joke he didn’t tell.

Twirls her hair like it personally asked to be flirted with.

You walk out just in time to see her place a hand on Shane’s shoulder.

And you pause.

Not long.

But just enough for Regina to notice.

She catches your eye.

Raises an eyebrow.

Smirks.

Then turns back to Shane. “You’ve been working out, right?”

You roll your eyes. Walk past like she’s not trying to murder you with attention-seeking behavior.

It should’ve ended there.

But Shane… gets ideas.

“Hey,” he says, scooting closer. “You look really hot today.”

Regina smiles, tight. “Thanks.”

He rests a hand on her thigh.

The smile drops half an inch. “Okay.”

He leans in more. “You smell, like… expensive.”

Her entire soul does a record scratch. “Cool.”

His hand creeps higher.

Regina freezes.

She’s panicking. Not visibly. But it’s in her shoulders. Her eyes. The way she suddenly looks very interested in the grass.

Shane leans in like he’s about to kiss her.

Regina does not move.

Because she doesn’t know what to do. And she doesn’t want to start a scene. And she doesn't want to admit this was a mistake.

But then—

You’re there.

One smooth step between them.

Your voice? Calm. Flat. Just a little too polite.

“Hey, man. You good?”

Shane blinks. “Uh—yeah. I was just—”

“Leaving,” you finish.

Not a question.

Your hand’s resting lightly on the bench back, like you’re not casually radiating get your hands off her before I end you energy.

Shane stammers. “Right. Yeah. Okay.”

He backs off. Practically sprints away.

Silence.

Regina’s staring at the ground. Hands clenched in her lap.

You look down at her. “You alright?”

She nods. Too quickly. “Yeah.”

You raise an eyebrow.

She sighs. “No. That was… not great.”

You sit beside her. Not close. Just enough.

“You could’ve said something.”

“I didn’t want to look weak.”

“You didn’t.”

She glances at you.

And for the first time in a long time, her voice is small. “Thanks.”

You shrug. “Didn’t like the way he touched you.”

She swallows. Looks down. “Yeah. Me neither.”

Silence.

But not heavy this time.

Just... honest.

Then she mutters, like she’s speaking to the grass:

“This would be so much easier if I just… communicated.”

You grin. “Crazy concept.”

She rolls her eyes. “Shut up.”

But she’s smiling now.

---

That night...

She writes in her journal:

“almost got groped. deserved it a little. not that much.”

“she SAVED me. AGAIN. while looking stupid hot.”

“why does she always show up like it’s no big deal??”

“why can’t I just say: ‘hey I like you and I’m scared’ — what is wrong with me.”

“note to self: communication is not a disease.”

****

She’s wearing one of your hoodies again.

She won’t admit that’s what it is — she’s borrowing it. Temporarily. For fashion purposes. Shut up.

It smells like you. Which is rude.

She’s on her bed. Legs dangling off the edge, phone resting on her stomach, eyes staring at the ceiling like it personally owes her money.

Earlier, you took her out again.

And she doesn’t know how you pulled that off, because up until that moment? You two were in full avoidance mode.

You?

Showed up anyway.

You cornered her gently — in the quiet part of the library, like you knew she’d be too tired to make a scene — and just… asked.

“Hey,” you said softly. “Wanna grab dinner and ignore the part where you sprinted away from my face later?”

She glared at you. You smiled. She rolled her eyes. You waited.

You were so calm. So gentle. You didn’t tease. Didn’t push. You just let her know — if she wanted to try again, if she wanted something easy and low-stakes, you’d be there.

And she said yes.

Not because she forgave herself for being weird. Not because she’s figured out what she wants.

She said yes because you were patient.

And because the thought of sitting in her room and pretending she didn’t miss you was worse.

So now here she is. Again.

Full hoodie. Full crisis.

Her phone buzzes.

It’s you.

you home okay?

She stares at the screen for a full minute before replying:

yeah. thanks for tonight

You respond immediately:

always

That’s it.

That’s all you send.

No heart emoji. No innuendo. No “still thinking about your lips” even though she knows you are. Just…

Always.

Like this is just who you are. How you treat her. Like she’s allowed to exist in this weird little space between avoidance and almost-love, and you’re not rushing her to pick.

And it’s driving her insane.

Because here’s the thing:

You’re basically together.

You flirt. You text constantly. You held her hand once. You’ve kissed. And then didn’t talk about it. And then didn’t talk. Period. And now you're pretending none of that happened — and yet...

You haven’t put a label on it.

You haven’t asked.

And she knows it’s because she’s being weird.

She pulls her journal out of the drawer. Not the Burn Book one — the real one. The one no one knows about.

She flips to a blank page and starts writing.

okay. so what is this.

i like her. a lot. obviously. she’s… infuriating. and kind. and hot. and patient. and just?? ugh. she treats me like i’m human and that’s actually terrifying.

and she hasn’t asked what we are because she knows i’ll panic.

which is unfair. because i would panic. but still. unfair.

i keep thinking she’ll get tired of waiting. that she’ll stop showing up. that she’ll kiss someone else. someone who doesn’t have to work so hard to be soft.

She stares at the last line.

Then crosses it out.

Then writes it again.

someone who doesn’t have to work so hard to be soft.

She throws the journal onto the floor and flops back onto her bed.

She hates this.

She hates caring.

She hates that she can’t just say it — “I like you. I want this. Please don’t leave.”

But every time she tries, it catches in her throat like a splinter.

So instead she says nothing.

And wears your hoodie.

And texts you back with emojis instead of honesty.

And waits.

And hopes you’re still there when she finally figures out how to not ruin the one thing that actually feels real.

****

The hallway is alive.

Someone’s blasting music from their bag like the soundtrack to a high school fever dream.

And in the middle of it all?

Regina George.

Heels clicking. Skirt perfect. Blazer cinched like it has bloodlust.

She looks exactly like she always does.

But something’s wrong.

Karen notices first.

“Your lip gloss is matte.”

Regina blinks. “What?”

Karen tilts her head. “You always wear the shiny one on Thursdays.”

Regina looks down at her phone like she can scroll away her feelings. “I forgot.”

Karen’s mouth drops open. “You don’t forget things. That’s your whole thing.”

Gretchen appears, coffee in hand, and freezes. “Oh my god. What happened.”

“Nothing,” Regina snaps.

Karen leans in. “Are you dying?”

“No.”

“Are you in love?”

Regina nearly walks into a locker.

“I’m not in—” she stops, catches herself, lowers her voice. “No. I’m fine.”

But she’s not fine.

She’s been off all day.

She didn’t rip into anyone for wearing sneakers with a skirt. She didn’t roll her eyes at the couple making out near the vending machines. She let Gretchen get the last word in during homeroom.

Regina George — queen of the food chain, lip gloss warfare specialist — has lost her edge.

And the thing is?

Everyone else can feel it.

Because she’s still beautiful. Still biting. Still terrifying in theory.

But today, her power feels like a costume. Like she put it on over something cracked.

And when you pass her in the hallway — all cool composure and unreadable eyes — she doesn’t glare. Doesn’t smirk.

She just… watches you walk by.

Quietly.

And that’s somehow worse.

---

At lunch, the Plastics sit at their usual table.

Regina’s picking at a salad she doesn’t even like. Her phone lights up — a message from Shane, something flirty and dumb.

She doesn’t even open it.

Gretchen’s watching her carefully.

“Did something happen with her?” she asks.

Regina blinks. “Who?”

Gretchen gives her a look.

Regina sighs. “Nothing happened.”

“Is that a lie or denial?”

“Yes.”

Karen’s munching on something green. “You know, you can like her and still be mean. Just like… tell her you like her and then emotionally ruin her after.”

Regina stares at her.

Karen shrugs. “That’s what I’d do.”

Gretchen sips her drink. “Honestly? Same.”

Regina looks down at her phone again.

No new texts.

She told you she got home okay. You told her “Always.”

And now?

Nothing.

Because you’re waiting. Watching. Being patient in that maddeningly noble way that makes her want to kiss you and scream at you at the same time.

She slumps a little in her seat — just enough for Gretchen to gasp.

“You slouched,” she hisses. “You never slouch.”

Karen gasps too. “Oh my god. Are you depressed?”

“I’m FINE,” Regina snaps, straightening immediately.

But her salad remains untouched.

And her mind?

Not here.

---

Regina stands at her locker, staring at the back of the door like it’s going to offer her advice.

She wants to talk to you. She wants to kiss you again. She wants to stop pretending that love is a weakness she can’t afford.

But instead?

She applies a fresh coat of lip gloss.

And walks away.

Like she’s still on top.

Like she didn’t cry in your hoodie last night.

****

There’s a knock at your door.

Three sharp little raps, like she’s pissed off at the wood and also possibly her own feelings.

You open it slowly.

Regina George is standing there in a floor-length coat, heels that were not made for emotional vulnerability, and lip gloss so dangerous it’s probably FDA-regulated.

Her arms are crossed. Her face is unreadable.

And you?

You blink once. “Lose a bet?”

She doesn’t laugh. Just says, flatly:

“I came to say something completely uncharacteristic and probably humiliating. You gonna let me in or should I cry on your porch and ruin my mascara?”

You open the door wider. “By all means. Enter dramatically.”

She steps inside like she owns the place.

(Like she didn’t spend twenty minutes pacing outside trying to decide if this was a terrible idea.)

She doesn’t sit. She doesn’t take her coat off. She just turns to face you in the middle of your living room like she’s about to deliver a monologue and/or challenge you to a duel.

“I ran,” she says quickly, like if she says it fast enough, it won’t sound like a confession. “Because you made it real. And I only know how to flirt, sabotage, or emotionally ruin men named Aaron.”

You blink. “Thank you for your honesty?”

She exhales. “You’re welcome. I hated saying that.”

You gesture to the couch. “Sit down before your feelings fall out of your purse.”

She finally shrugs off the coat. Tosses it across the arm of the chair like she didn’t practice doing that in the mirror six times.

Then she turns back to you.

Something softer now. Almost scared.

Almost.

“Do you still want me?”

It’s not breathless or shaky. It’s just... wobbly in the corners. Like the sentence is trying not to unravel.

You stare at her.

She’s standing there in full glam, fake confidence cracking at the edges, waiting for you to say no so she can pretend she didn’t care in the first place.

Instead, you say:

“I never stopped.”

Regina blinks.

“Oh,” she says.

Then, louder: “Well that’s annoying.”

You grin. “I’m annoying?”

“You’re too calm about all this. It’s unsettling. You should be flustered. Or on fire. Or crying.”

You walk toward her, slow. “You want me to cry?”

“No,” she mutters. “That would make me like you more.”

You stop in front of her. Close.

She doesn’t step back.

You reach out — gently — and tuck a piece of hair behind her ear.

She looks furious about how much she likes that.

“You don’t have to panic, Regina,” you say softly. “We’re not writing wedding vows. You can just… stay.”

She pauses.

Then: “You’re exhausting.”

You smile. “You’re welcome.”

She rolls her eyes.

Then leans in. Presses her forehead against yours for one quiet second.

And whispers:

“Fine. But if you get clingy I’m ghosting you.”

You snort. “Deal.”

She smiles. Just barely.

And for the first time maybe ever — she doesn’t feel like she’s winning.

She just feels safe.

****

Sunlight is being disrespectful.

It slants through the blinds like a nosy little bitch, lighting up your bedroom in perfect golden hour vibes that Regina did not consent to.

She wakes up tangled in the softest sheets she’s ever felt, wearing your hoodie and last night’s eyeliner, and the crushing weight of emotions.

Gross.

She blinks, sits up slowly.

You’re still asleep. Arm flopped across your pillow. One leg sticking out of the covers like a whole disaster.

You look... peaceful.

That’s probably illegal.

Regina stares at you.

Then looks around your room. It’s clean. Smells like you. There’s a mug on your desk that says “Hot Girls Don’t Cry (but They Could If They Wanted To).”

She exhales. Quiet. Still.

For a second, she lets herself stay there.

Just... still.

But then the spiral hits.

Oh god. She stayed the night. She cuddled you. She wore your hoodie. She kissed you with feeling. She—slept here. Like someone who likes you. Like someone who wants to be liked back.

Panic. Panic in designer socks.

She quietly slips one leg off the bed. Feet hit the floor.

Maybe she can leave before you wake up. Pretend it never happened. Say she blacked out from emotions and fashion fatigue.

She grabs her coat. Looks at the door.

Just leave. Be cool. Be unattached. Be Regina.

Then—she glances back at the bed.

At you.

Your face half-buried in the pillow. Hair a mess. Breathing steady.

And something in her just... softens.

Goddammit.

You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t push. You didn’t ask for more.

You just let her be here.

And that’s the worst part. Because she can’t remember the last time she was allowed to just be somewhere, without having to perform or win or impress or lead.

Just be.

She sighs.

Sets the coat down.

Climbs back into bed.

Slowly.

Quietly.

Like she’s not fully surrendering, but maybe waving a little white flag under the covers.

You stir as she settles next to you.

Eyes still closed, voice rough with sleep:

“You were gonna ditch, weren’t you?”

She scoffs. “Shut up.”

You smile against the pillow. “You’re still here though.”

She rolls onto her side to face you.

“Yeah, well. Your bed’s comfy.”

You open one eye. “So’s your denial.”

She throws the blanket over your face. “I’m literally going to suffocate you.”

You giggle. She’s smiling now. Barely. But it’s real.

---

She’s in your kitchen ten minutes later.

Barefoot. Still in your hoodie. Hair up. Making coffee like she’s done it a hundred times.

You walk in, groggy. “We’re gonna be late.”

Regina glances at the clock.

It’s already noon.

She shrugs. “Guess we’re already dropouts. Might as well commit.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Skipping school for vibes?”

She turns to face you, coffee in hand.

“Skipping school to stay in bed with the only person who makes me feel like I’m not an act.”

You blink.

She pauses.

Then adds, way too fast:

“But also, like, vibes.”

You laugh.

She hands you your coffee.

You clink mugs like idiots.

She leans against the counter.

And she doesn’t run.

Not this time.

****

You never planned to spend the whole weekend together.

It just… happened.

Friday started with a joke. You said, “Wanna hit the park and judge people’s fashion decisions?” She said, “Only if you promise to fan me the whole time we're there.”

Three hours later, you found yourselves in a thrift store trying on denim that should be illegal, and Regina was parading around in a pink cowboy hat she claimed was “satirical.” You bought it for her anyway. She called you stupid. Then wore it the rest of the day.

---

Saturday was a grocery store at 11:47 PM. You only went in for cereal and left with strawberry milk, a single rose Regina dared you to steal (you didn’t), and a photo of the two of you dancing between the canned soup and frozen peas because the store playlist hit too hard.

She made you rate every brand of instant noodles by vibe. You told her she gives off “high-end ramen energy.” She almost smiled. Almost.

---

Sunday was warm concrete and rooftop blankets. You brought snacks and a speaker. She brought shade and oversized sunglasses she didn’t need after sunset.

You stuck cheap glow-in-the-dark stars to a rusted vent fan.

“So you can look up and see proof the universe revolves around you,” you said.

She groaned. “You’re exhausting.”

But she laid back anyway. Stayed until the stars peeled off.

---

At one point—somewhere between her grabbing your hand in the parking lot like it was nothing, and you catching her staring when she thought you weren’t— you handed her a tiny silver frog keychain.

It had a crooked little crown.

She asked, “What the hell is this?”

You shrugged.

“Just thought you’d need a backup crown. For when you're feeling like pond scum instead of royalty.”

She rolled her eyes so hard you thought they might fall out.

But later, you caught her clipping it to her bag.

Said nothing.

And neither did she.

****

It was the next week.

You and Regina spent almost the whole week together at school and outside of school. You both decided to just stay home today because you both could. Also, what's just one Monday away from school going to do?

Regina pads in wearing your oversized band tee, frog keychain twirling between her fingers. Coffee brews; sunlight is aggressively wholesome.

She leans on the counter, watching you butter toast like it’s a TED Talk on domesticity. Something in her expression stiffens—tiny panic lines at the corners of her eyes.

Regina (too casual): “If I told you I hated you… would you go away?”

The words hang there, dressed up as bravado, trembling at the hems.

You don’t answer with a joke. You move:

1. Set the butter knife down—slow, deliberate. 2. Walk to her side—no rush, no fanfare. 3. Curl her fingers open and place your own matching frog keychain (you grabbed a second one yesterday) right next to hers in her palm.

You close her hand around the twin charms, look her dead in the eye, and—soft, but certain—say only:

“Look—twins.”

Then you kiss the back of her knuckles and turn to pour her coffee, like it’s the most normal Monday routine in the world.

Regina stares at the two tiny frogs—cheap metal, shared secret—then at your back.

A breathy, involuntary laugh slips out; it sounds a lot like relief.

Regina (quiet, almost fond): “I still might hate you.”

You, over your shoulder: “Cool. I’ll bring snacks for the eternal loathing.”

She rolls her eyes—smiling, staying—and hooks both keychains onto the same zipper pull.

The toast pops. The universe blooms. Neither of you goes anywhere.

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

Part two of Soft Girls Don’t Stand a Chance aye

[starlight299]

I am a firm believer that Steve will never, ever, admit to being sick/injured/whatever, he’d rather die than have to either ask for help or have someone look at him with enough concern to then ask him if he needs help. He did not like people caring for him because it reminded him that his parents didn’t.

He almost gets away with it, when he had shitty friends that would pester him into going to a party with them while he actively had a headache, but that stops working after he met literal monsters. He got away with pushing it all off the first time. He never went to the doctor, and nobody asked him to. The second time he wasn’t so lucky.

He gets through the kids awful setting a tunnel on fire plan and then, once back in safety panics about the kids taking care of him and how absolutely uncool and pathetic he must’ve looked. He argued with Joyce and Hopper about going to the hospital because he’s fine, it’s not his first fight, and he can handle it. He had a serious concussion. Hopper takes him to the hospital and orders him to give his teachers all the doctors not banning him from reading while it heals. Steve tried to argue but Hopper said he’d call the school if he didn’t, so Steve gives the stupid note to the teachers but then does all the reading anyway because Hopper didn’t say he had to listen to the doctor just that he had to hand his teachers the note. His teachers all looked at him weirdly.

He thought that would be the end of it but Hopper started asking him to come around the cabin and cook for El and stuff like that. Hopper knew about the migraines and Steve wanted to bury himself over it. Especially when he told El all the signs to look for and she, bless her, told the rest of the kids because she wanted to be sure Steve was taken care of. Steve did not want to be taken care of. Nobody used to care, it was all too much way too fast.

When his father forced him to get a job at the mall his headaches got even more frequent, the lights there seemed to bother him super efficiently. The first time he got a full on migraine at work Robin he was hung over and made fun of him, he rolled with it. She didn’t need to know. Then of course she got involved in all the upside-down bullshit and of course the kids blabbed to her about Steve’s previous and present head problems while the paramedics looked over them. (At least he didn’t have to go to the hospital since it was literally out of commission due to the mindflair.)

Robin did her own research on migraines plus all the information the kids gave her and she always forced him to take breaks or go home when she got them a new job at family video. At least they were less frequent there than they were at the mall. When Eddie joined the party Steve once again tried to keep him absolutely unaware of the less pretty side of Steve’s life. Robin blabbed about the migraines anyway.

Steve was never going to win. He still hated it when his friends tried to take care of him. He was used to handling himself or ignoring but for whatever reason his new friends were completely against that. The only thing he had left in hiding his pain was pretending he didn’t get nightmares at least three times a week because despite Robin’s pestering he was not allowed to stay overnight at her house. Her dad would shoot him. Unfortunately, he could stay the night at Eddie’s. At first sleeping with someone else seemed to help the nightmares, but eventually, he had to get one. Edie cuddles with him first an hour afterwards, despite Steve insisting that he was fine.

Truly the last thing he had left, was that nobody knew when his birthday was. Not even Nancy, she never bothered to ask, he knew hers though. Unfortunately for all of Steve’s friends a birthday wasn’t something they could figure out by observing or sending him to a doctor. He could keep that secret. If they threw him a birthday party he’d probably cry. He hadn’t had a birthday party since he was eight and they weren’t even for him, they were his parents party’s with family, his parents friends, and some of his dad’s coworkers. Steve wasn’t allowed to invite other children. He could not handle a birthday party. Robin and Eddie pestered him about it every now and then but Steve wasn’t breaking anytime soon.

[millermouth]

Summary: On your fifth birthday, the world fell apart, and survival became the only thing that mattered. That day, your dad saved you from more than just the chaos outside—he protected you from a truth you weren’t ready to face, even as it shattered the life you once knew.

warnings: parent death

It’s funny–even now, after all this time, you can still remember that day vividly. The day fungus infiltrated every corner of your life. But you do still have faint memories of before, too. Like static while turning for a radio station. They came and went as time passed, flickers of things, but never as vivid as the life after the outbreak. Memories of the TV blaring Sunday football, cookouts with the neighbors, your mom brushing your hair before school were the most foggy, but they were still there. Back then, you never realized how much you’d taken those things for granted. But how could you know? You were only a kid.

It was your fifth birthday when everything changed. That’s the day you found your mom too—the same day the military rolled into your small town, scooping up survivors and making promises of safety in quarantine zones, military aid, and FEDRA housing. News had been broadcasting for weeks about these safety zones, but even at five years old, you didn’t buy it. Maybe you were too much like your dad even then. Luckily, you’d been at his house that weekend–mom and dad had been divorced for years by then, though she still lived nearby. You were out back, dad grilling burgers just for the two of you, with ice cream cake waiting in the fridge. You can still smell those burgers—he had this way of getting the perfect char, never overdone but always juicy and mouthwatering.

There had been a lot of sirens that day, but if your dad was worried, he didn’t show it. He was tough as nails—always had been. When the military trucks started rolling through the neighborhood, though, he scooped you up and hurried you into the bunker beneath the house. The blue emergency lights flickered on, casting everything—the wall of guns, the bookshelves of survival guides, pickling recipes, and how-to’s—in cold, sterile light.

“Daddy, what’s—” you’d started to ask, but he pressed a finger to his lips, guiding you further into the cellar. He settled into his big, well-worn security chair, just as the sound of boots thundered above you. He watched the security footage from the cameras that could see the perimeter of your home, his eyes casting around at the screens, watching the men in uniform enter the house. You held your breath as his hand tightened around yours. Then, for a moment, he stared up at the ceiling as if he could see through it, tracking their movements as they stomped room to room.

Little did they know about the underground bunker your dad had built years before you were even born. Deep, below the basement, where no one would think to check. Your mom used to say he’d done it because you were born, that he became obsessed with the end of the world, and he’d needed a plan to protect you when it all inevitably went to hell. 

She called him crazy for it.

But that day, his paranoia saved you.

As the boots overhead began to fade, he finally muttered, “Not today, you New World Order jackboot fucks.”

“Daddy!” you giggled, both at the words and the fire in his voice.

He turned to you, smiling faintly as he grabbed a shotgun off the wall. Strapping on a PPE helmet with a face shield, he knelt down and said, “Don’t you worry, honey, I’ve been expectin’ this for a long damn time.” his voice echoed on the plastic between you, “Daddy’s got ya. Stay here for a minute, alright?”

When you nodded, he made his way up to the basement floor, and you could hear his quiet footsteps through the house, tiptoeing around. When you’re young, seconds felt like an eternity, and minutes were like a lifetime. The sound of his steps disappeared altogether and you sat there, fidgeting, your heart pounding in your chest. The flickering blue emergency lights painted eerie shadows across the bunker walls.

You tried to wait like he’d told you, gripping your knees and staring at the screens showing the empty house above. But the silence was unbearable. What if something happened to him? What if the men in uniforms came back?

Your eyes darted to the wall of guns. They looked huge, intimidating—and heavy. But your dad always said you had to be ready when the world went to hell, didn’t he? You stood up, wobbling a little as your nerves got the better of you, and reached for the smallest gun you could see. Even that one felt like a boulder in your hands, but you managed to yank it off its hooks.

The weight made you stumble backward, but you caught yourself, clutching the weapon tightly. "Okay," you whispered to yourself, channeling every ounce of courage you could muster. "Be brave.”

You pushed open the heavy bunker door, the cold metal scraping against the concrete floor. Step by step, you climbed the narrow staircase, the gun heavier with each step. By the time you reached the top, your arms were shaking, but you didn’t stop.

The house was eerily quiet, every sound amplified—the creak of the floorboards under your feet, your heavy, nervous breathing. You crept through the kitchen, gripping the gun like you’d seen in the movies.

When you turned the corner into the living room, you froze. Your dad was standing there, his face a mix of surprise and anger as he stared at you.

"What the hell’re you doin’, girl?" he asked harshly, crossing the room in two quick strides. His voice wasn’t loud, but the tension in it was impossible to miss.

“I—I came to help,” you stammered, holding up the gun like it was a trophy. Your arms trembled under its weight.

He let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Help? Jesus, kid. That thing isn’t even loaded,” he said, taking the gun from your hands with ease. “You could’ve hurt yourself, lugging this around.”

“But I was scared!” you blurted, tears welling up in your eyes.

His shoulders softened, and he crouched down to your level, setting the gun aside. His neat beard ticked as he lowered his voice to be gentle, “I know, hunny. I get it. But I told you to stay put, didn’t I?”

You nodded, sniffling.

“I can’t keep you safe if you don’t listen to me. You’re all I got left right now, understand?”

You nodded again, biting your lip to keep from crying harder.

His hands found your arms, giving you a quick squeeze in his large hands, then stood up, grabbing the gun he’d set down. “C’mon, then. We’re gonna go see if your mom’s still home or if she went with those government assholes. She knew about the bunker, so maybe she waited me out. But you stay right next to me, ya hear? No runnin’ off, no playin’ hero. Deal?”

“Deal,” you whispered.

“Good. Now let’s get movin’.” He cocked the gun and tipped his head toward the door, his tone firm but not unkind. “Stay close, and don’t make a sound.”

You followed him out of the house, your little hand clutching his shirt as tightly as you could, determined not to let go this time.

The neighborhood was unnervingly quiet as you and your dad climbed into his old blue truck. The engine rumbled to life, a low growl that seemed too loud for the silence surrounding you. You clutched the seatbelt across your chest, staring out the window as the houses you knew so well rolled past, each one darker and emptier than you remembered.

Your dad didn’t say much, his hands gripping the steering wheel tight enough to turn his knuckles white. Every so often, his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror or the road behind, as if he expected someone—or something—to follow.

The air felt heavy, and the only sound besides the truck was the faint hum of distant sirens, carried on the wind moving further and further away. You wanted to ask if he really thought your mom would be okay, but the words kept getting caught in your throat.

When you finally reached her street, it looked exactly the same, like any other day. But knowing the houses sat there, just hollow shells with neatly trimmed lawns still pristine with blossoming gardens was enough to bring goosebumps to your skin. The truck slowed to a crawl, your dad squinting out the window as if he was searching for something—anything.

He pulled into the driveway, and you could see the front door was open, the storm door the only barrier of the threshold. So maybe she was still home. You rolled down your window, leaning out as far as your little body allowed, hands gripping the edge of the glass.

“Mommy!” you shouted, excitement bubbling in your voice.

But just as the word left your lips, you felt a hand clamp down on the back of your shirt, yanking you back into the truck. You suddenly heard your dad screaming your name: “Get down, dammit!”

“But if she’s—”

“We don’t know if she’s in there. We need to stay quiet, and you’re going to stay here,” he said firmly, his voice low but sharp as he turned to you, a finger pointed harshly at the seat next to him.

“But—”

“No buts,” he cut you off, his tone furious and unyielding, but then he lowered his voice, “I mean it this time. You don’t move from this seat. Understand?”

You nodded reluctantly, your stomach churning with unease.

The thing was, he hadn’t even needed to get out of the vehicle to see if she was home. Because from inside the house, someone—or rather, something —had heard you.

Your mother…what was your mother, now twisted into something monstrous, burst out of the storm door. She was covered in grotesque, swollen fungal growths that bulged from her face and arms like spongy mushrooms trying to break free. Her screams—god, it was still her voice—pierced the air, raw and filled with pain.

“Mommy?” you whispered, frozen in disbelief.

You watched as she barreled to the front door, her movements jerky and unnatural, as though her body no longer obeyed her. When her wild eyes spotted you and your dad in the truck, she charged. The storm door flew off its hinges as she hurled herself into the front yard, her body slamming against the passenger-side window of the truck.

You screamed as her twisted, red and yellow fungus-covered face pressed up against the glass, her hands clawing and smearing bloody streaks. The sickening sound of her infected screeches filled your ears, and you fell back into your dad’s lap, trembling and sobbing.

At the suddenness of your fall, he snapped out of his horrified trance, slamming the truck into reverse. The tires screeched as the truck lurched backward, your mother’s hands scraping against the doorframe until she lost her grip and tumbled to the ground.

He slammed the brakes, grabbed his shotgun, and rolled down the driver’s window.

“Daddy, no!” you screamed, trying to climb over him to stop him. “Don’t hurt her! DON’T HURT MOMMY! ”

“That’s not mommy anymore,” he said quietly, his voice trembling but firm.

She rose to her feet with inhuman speed, her limbs flailing wildly as she lunged down the driveway toward the truck. His hands steadied the shotgun, his jaw clenched.

“ No! ” you wailed, clawing at his arm, but he didn’t flinch.

As she reached the edge of the driveway, he pulled the trigger. The shotgun roared, and the recoil sent you sprawling back onto the bench seat.

You sat there, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you stared out the window. The world seemed to tilt sideways as you took in the sight. Your mom— your mom —lay crumpled on the pavement, blood pooling around her still body. The red stain trickled down toward the sewer drain at the bottom of the driveway.

Before he could stop you, you shoved the door open and bolted from the truck. You heard him yell your name, felt his hand swipe at your arm, but you were too quick.

“Get back here!”

You dropped to your knees beside her, your little hands reaching out hesitantly. Her eyes stared blankly up at the sky, her body still twitching slightly as the fungal infection spasmed through her.

“She’s… she’s still moving,” you whimpered, tears streaking your face.

Your dad was there in an instant, pulling you back roughly. “Don’t touch her!”

“But—”

“No!” he snapped, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you lightly to snap you out of it. His voice softened, but the edge of urgency remained. “She’s gone, kid. That wasn’t her. You hear me? That wasn’t your mom anymore.”

You sobbed, shaking your head, but he pulled you into his arms, holding you tight as you cried into his chest.

When you finally pulled away, his face was pale but resolute. “We have to be strong now,” he said, his voice low and steady. “These things—they’re not people anymore. They’re dangerous. And if we’re gonna live here, we need to keep this place safe. For us. That’s what she would’ve wanted.”

You sniffled, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. He wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

“Okay?” he asked, his eyes searching yours for some kind of understanding.

You nodded slowly, though the ache in your heart didn’t lessen.

“Good,” he said, standing and adjusting the shotgun over his shoulder. “C’mon. We’ve got work to do.”

As he led you back to the truck, you glanced over your shoulder one last time, your mom’s lifeless body a haunting picture of the world you now lived in.

[unclewaynemunson]

Pt2 to this post. At this point it looks like there’ll be 4 parts in total :)

Robin is basically seething with rage when she walks into Thatcher Tire before the start of her own shift at Family Video. After a month of Steve being happier than she had ever seen him before, he showed up on her doorstep on the verge of tears last night. She had to listen to him talk about Eddie until well after midnight. About Eddie, who had apparently only been “fucking around” with him for the past month, while Steve was falling head-over-heels for him.

Robin liked Eddie, of course she did. But one part of her had not even been surprised about this turn of events. It was the part of her that had never fully trusted Eddie – the part she had tried her very best to shut up because she didn't want to believe in the possibility of it being right.

It was the part of her that had been warning her that something about Eddie and Steve seemed off right from the beginning: how Steve was falling, with complete faith and no safety net, while Eddie was... Well, it wasn't like he was actively mean or cruel in any way. It wasn't like he seemed to be using Steve or like he wasn't really into him. None of that. But there had always been this something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

Now she finally knows what it was.

She has dozens of questions ready to fire at him. Did he ever even notice how fragile Steve really is, underneath those leftover pieces from his high school days? How lonely he is? Does he even know how badly that boy wants to be loved? Does he know how much it broke Robin's heart when she couldn't give that love to Steve in the way he wanted her to? Will it break Eddie's heart, too, when he realizes what he has done to Steve? Or did he already know, all this time? Has he just been playing some cruel game for a whole fucking month?

So she barges into the garage and marches purposefully towards the backroom with her battle baret all dusted off for the occasion, ready to tell Eddie exactly what she thinks of him. But she stops in her tracks when she hears Eddie's voice emerge from the room, sounding like he's already caught up in some kind of heated conversation himself.

'Right?! I mean, can you believe this shit?! He just shows up with goddamn flowers like we're – like we're actually together or some shit!'

It's silent for a while and it takes Robin a few seconds to realize that he must be on the phone.

'He's hot, okay?' Eddie continues, in a voice that could best be described as distressed. 'And the kids like him, he's cute, there was no reason not to say yes when he asked me out. But it was never supposed to – we were just supposed to have some fun and leave it at that.' He actually sounds like he's on the verge of tears by now.

'Because this was never the fucking plan!' he answers a question asked from the other end of the line. 'If he's gonna continue like this, all sweet and caring and giving me flowers and shit... I'm gonna fall in love with him, Jeff, I'm serious! I don't even know why he's doing this – he probably just wants to know that he can, you know. Give his ego a little boost and laugh at me when he finds out it's actually working. It's cruel, it's really fucking cruel.'

There's another beat of silence.

'You're a lifesaver,' Eddie then says. 'And bring that one ice cream, you know the one, with the pecan and the – exactly! And maybe some of your mom's chocolate pie if she still has – thank you, my hero. Oh, and don't forget to say hi to your mom from me.'

While Eddie hangs the phone back on the hook, Robin takes her final step around the corner.

'Is that really what you think of him?'

Eddie jumps up when he sees Robin standing in the doorway, her arms crossed in front of her chest and one of her most scathing looks on her face.

'What the hell, Buck? Were you eavesdropping on my phone call?'

'You really think he's the cruel one?' she repeats, ignoring his indignant question. 'Then why did he show up at my door yesterday night looking like a heap of misery and telling me how his boyfriend turned out to only have been his hookup all this time?'

'Look, Buckley, I – wait, what?'

'What?'

'His what now?'

And the utterly confused look on his face tells her more than enough. He didn't know, she realizes. He truly didn't know what Steve felt for him.

'You fucking dummy!'

'I – what did you just call me?'

'A dummy.' Okay, it's not exactly the best insult she ever came up with, but she has no choice but to double down on it now.

'No, earlier, you – you said – his boyfriend,' Eddie stutters out.

Robin merely shoots him an unimpressed glance.

'Steve thought we were boyfriends?!' he exclaims in a shrill voice. He looks at her like she just dropped some news about Vecna returning to Hawkins.

'Do you really have to look that disgusted about it?'

'No, I wasn't – Are you playing some kind of twisted prank on me here?'

'Do I look like this is a prank?'

He narrows his eyes at her. 'But... Why the hell would he want us to be boyfriends?'

'Because he liked you, you idiot!' she yells at him. 'Because he asked you out and you said yes and you were nice to him! Because he basically had those obnoxious little pink hearts floating around his head whenever you were together! Because you treated him with more kindness and respect than any girl he's ever dated before – well, until he wanted to celebrate your anniversary and you basically told him to fuck off when he wanted to take care of you while you were sick! Which you clearly aren't, by the way!'

'Don't be ridiculous here,' Eddie shoots back at her. 'Why would he ever want me to be his boyfriend?'

'Because – are you even listening to me?! Because he's in love with you!'

'Come on, Robin, you can't actually believe that,' he says, a tensed chuckle coloring the end of the sentence. 'He's Steve Harrington.' And he says that name in such a snide tone that it makes Robin flinch on her best friend's behalf.

'I mean, sure, he's fallen from his throne and all that,' he continues, 'but no one really changes that much. He was a dick! Don't you remember how he treated your band friends? Don't you remember how completely invisible you were to him? Don't you remember the names he called people like us? All the people he'd knock down to lift himself up?'

She doesn't avert her gaze, but only lifts her chin.

'You don't need to remind me,' she tells Eddie, trying her very best to sound as calm as possible. 'I remember. But I also remember how he snuck the most nerdy kids I ever met into the back of our ice cream store to let them watch movies for free. And I remember how he stuffed them with free ice cream when nobody was watching. I remember how he spent hours giving Dustin advice about his girlfriend – the advice was terrible, frankly, but that's not the point, it was well-meant.' No, stop, don't get distracted, she sternly tells herself, steering back to the topic at hand.

'I remember how he did everything in his power to get Dustin and Erica to safety when we all got caught in a goddamn nightmare. I remember how he almost died taking a bunch of punches for me.' She takes a quick breath before she goes on. 'I remember how he broke down in my arms because he felt so guilty about the person he used to be, the people he hurt when he was this asshole teenage boy doing asshole teenage boy shit. I remember how dumb he felt when he didn't get into any colleges again, I remember how scared he was when he figured out he liked boys, I remember how you were the one who made him finally feel some self-worth again when you guys started dating... And you know what else I remember? How you broke his heart yesterday. So you don't have to tell me what a dick he is, Eddie Munson. If you need to point fingers and call someone a dick so bad, don't you dare come for Steve. You better look in the mirror for that.'

Pt3 is here!

(Edit: it's actually 5 parts now. You can read the whole thing on ao3 here)

The amount of people asking to be tagged has frankly been unreal, woah! It honestly means so fucking much to me that you care enough about this silly lil story to ask for a tag 🥹 Seriously, thank you so much, and I hope you liked this part / the way the story is unfolding. I’d love to hear what y’all think <3

Taglist: @pluto-pepsi @i-less-than-three-you @estrellami-1 @epiclazershark @angelscoops @missmagillicuddy @fxndom-hoe @chaoticvictorianspirit @itsali-taken @merricatty @its-a-me-a-morgan @lilacrobin @adaydreamaway08 @starman-jpg @irethsune @starry-eyedlune @littlemsterious @7shrewsinatrenchcoat @lostonceandneverfound @a-gae-af-racoon @heartstarstar-blog @ignoretenderness @thehorrorandme @paintsplatteredandimperfect @vampireinthesun @ntwolf69 @thatonebadideapanda @jackiemonroe5512 @tinynebula @obliosworld @sleepy-time @daydreaming-mood @aizawa-emma @leethegay @irregular-child @just-a-tiny-void @evix-syne666

[bitchesgetriches]

{ MASTERPOST } Everything You Need to Know about Retirement and How to Retire

How to start saving for retirement

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Season 4, Episode 5: “401(k)s Aren’t Offered in My Industry. How Do I Save for Retirement if My Employer Won’t Help?”

How To Save for Retirement When You Make Less Than $30,000 a Year

Workplace Benefits and Other Cool Side Effects of Employment 

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You Need to Talk to Your Parents About Their Retirement Plan

Season 4, Episode 8: “I’m Queer, and Want To Find an Affordable Place To Retire. How Do I Balance Safety With Cost of Living?” 

How Dafuq Do Couples Share Their Money? 

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When Money in the Bank Is a Bad Thing: Understanding Inflation and Depreciation

Investing Deathmatch: Investing in the Stock Market vs. Just… Not 

Investing Deathmatch: Traditional IRA vs. Roth IRA

Investing Deathmatch: Stocks vs. Bonds 

Wait… Did I Just Lose All My Money Investing in the Stock Market? 

Financial Independence, Retire Early (FIRE)

The FIRE Movement, Explained 

Your Girl Is Officially Retiring at 35 Years Old

The Real Story of How I Paid off My Mortgage Early in 4 Years 

My First 6 Months of Early Retirement Sucked Shit: What They Don’t Tell You about FIRE

Bitchtastic Book Review: Tanja Hester on Early Retirement, Privilege, and Her Book, Work Optional

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[3igbootyl0ver]

who hurt you? [iii]

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: It's the day of the finals. Y/N finds out and confronts Amber over Tara's abuse, prioritizing her safety over the game.

word count: 2538

warnings: mentions of abuse, swearing, violence, angst

a/n: I'm bacccck muahaha. im already writing up the next part (which is also the last) and plan to upload it in a few days

part [i] | part [ii] | part [iv] | part [v]

It’s the day of the finals, and going up against your biggest rival in generations has your heart racing in anticipation. It’s also been a few days since you last approached Tara at school, and that was the last time you saw her. You can’t help but feel worried and concerned for her; she’s been barely attending classes or skipping school altogether this week.

“Let’s do this, guys! Let’s kick some fuckin’ ass!” Mindy shouted, hyping up the locker room as she smacked her fists together with a grin. The energy in the room was electric, with everyone feeding off the adrenaline coursing through their veins as upbeat music blared through the speakers. The roar of the crowd outside the locker room was muffled but unmistakable, a distant reminder of the stakes of today’s game. You glanced around at your teammates, their expressions ranging from determined to anxious. For a moment, you tried to shake off the nagging worry about Tara, but it clung to you like a shadow.

“Yo, you good?” Taylor, your closest teammate aside from Mindy, nudged your shoulder. She had that easygoing grin that usually put you at ease, but today, even her reassurance felt hollow.

“Yeah, just focused,” you replied quickly, though the lie felt heavy on your tongue. Your mind wandered again to Tara—how pale she had looked the last time you saw her, the distant look in her eyes. Something was wrong, and the fact that you hadn’t seen her since only made your chest tighten.

“All right, listen up!” Coach Melissa’s booming voice cut through the locker room chatter, bringing everyone to attention. “This is it. Everything we’ve worked for. Leave it all on the field. No excuses. Play for each other, play for the pride of this team, and play like you’ve got nothing to lose!”

The room erupted in cheers, but you could barely muster the same energy. The game was important, sure, but your mind was elsewhere. Tara’s absence was eating at you. Was she okay? Was there something you could’ve done earlier?

Just as the team surged forward, filing out of the locker room toward the field, you noticed a small figure leaving the bathroom near the lockers. You knew exactly who it was.

“Tara? Tara! Wait—wait!” you called out, watching her walk away as quickly as she could after seeing you approach. You managed to catch up to her, watching as she covered her face.

“Y/N, please—no, you can’t be here. Please don’t look at me,” she pleaded, her voice shaky as she began tearing up.

“Hey, hey, look at me. You’re all I ever want to look at. It’s me, Tara.” Gently, you pushed her hands away from her face, revealing a dark, purple blotch spreading beneath her eye, its edges tinged with hues of blue and red, like ink bleeding into paper. The smooth porcelain skin around it was swollen and tender.

Your heart ached at the sight. Who would do this? Who would hurt her? The thought alone fueled your anger, a fire rising in your chest, willing you to throw common sense aside and make whoever did this pay.

“Y/N, really, I’m fine. Can we please let this go—"

“Tara, who did this to you? Who hurt you? It was Amber, wasn’t it?”

Her pleading face failed to convince you. Her lips trembled, her eyes darting to the side as if searching for an escape.

“Y/N, please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but the desperation in it was unmistakable. “You don’t understand. It’s not what you think.”

Your chest tightened. “Not what I think? Tara, someone hurt you!” you said, your voice rising slightly, though you tried to keep it gentle. “You can’t just expect me to walk away from this. I care about you—I need to know.”

She bit her lip, her hands fidgeting at her sides as though holding back the weight of the world. “It was Amber, okay? Just... please don’t get involved. I’m handling it.”

“Handling it?” you echoed, disbelief lacing your words. “Tara, look at you! This is not okay. You don’t have to deal with this alone—and I swear I’ll—”

“Stop!” she snapped suddenly, her voice cracking under the pressure. Her hands clenched into fists, and tears began to spill down her cheeks. “Just stop, Y/N. I can’t... I can’t drag you into this. You don’t know what’s at stake.”

The raw pain in her voice made you freeze. For a moment, the words you wanted to say got caught in your throat. Instead, you reached out and gently cupped her face, your thumb brushing away a stray tear.

“Tara, I’m already in this. You’re my everything, and I’m not going to just walk away when you’re hurting like this.”

Her defenses crumbled, and she let out a shaky sob, leaning into your touch. “I’m scared, Y/N,” she admitted finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “If I tell you... if you get involved... she’ll come after you too.”

The weight of her confession hit you like a punch to the gut. Amber wasn’t just cruel—she was dangerous. But the fear in Tara’s eyes only solidified your resolve.

“Tara,” you said softly, firmly, “I don’t care what Amber thinks she can do. She’s not going to touch me, and she’s never going to hurt you again. I promise.”

For a moment, she stared at you, as if trying to decide whether she could believe your words. Then, slowly, she nodded, her fragile trust shining through her tear-streaked face.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll tell you.”

“Let’s move, Y/L/N! Time to make history!” Coach called, clapping her hands and disrupting the moment. You were forced to reunite with the team, leaving Tara alone—but not without promising to meet her afterward.

You lingered for a moment, watching Tara walk away. The image of her tear-streaked face and bruised skin burned into your mind. No part of you wanted to step onto that field—but you didn’t have a choice.

-

The roar of the crowd grew louder, and the cool evening air hit your face as you stepped outside. As the team huddled before kickoff, you stole a glance toward the stands. You scanned the crowd almost instinctively, hoping—no, needing—to see her. But Tara wasn’t there.

The whistle blew, signaling the start of the game. You shook your head, trying to focus. Not now. You couldn’t afford to let your team down. But as the game began, you couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight wasn’t just about the finals—it was about something much bigger.

Throughout the match, rage surged through your veins like wildfire whenever you catch a glimpse of Amber in the opposition. Your knuckles turned white as anger threatened to consume you. Every movement she made on the field felt like a taunt, a reminder of the bruise etched on Tara’s face. It wasn't just the sight of her—it was the smugness in her posture, the way she carried herself, as if she were untouchable.

Your jaw tightened with each passing second, the fire in your chest roaring louder. The game became a blur of red-tinted focus, your mind oscillating between the need to win and the burning desire for retribution. Every fiber of your being screamed to confront her, to demand answers, to make her feel even a fraction of the pain Tara must have endured.

You barely registered the roar of the crowd or the calls from your teammates. Every step Amber took felt like a trigger, each glance in her direction fanning the flames of your fury.

The ball came into play, bouncing toward Amber. She sprinted for it, and something inside you snapped. Your focus tunneled, everything else fading into the background except for her. With every ounce of strength, you charged forward, your speed fueled by fury. Amber barely saw it coming. 

Your body collided with hers with bone-crunching force, the sound of the impact reverberating through the field. She went down hard, her body twisting awkwardly as she hit the ground with a sickening thud. A sharp cry of pain escaped her lips, silencing the crowd for a moment before the referee's whistle blared, cutting through the air like a blade. You stood over her, your chest heaving as adrenaline coursed through you. Amber clutched at her ankle, her face contorted in agony as she writhed on the ground. 

The sight of her in pain should have brought you satisfaction, but instead, it left you feeling raw—unleashed and unrelenting, like a dam had burst and you couldn’t stop the flood. “Y/N!” a teammate shouted, grabbing your arm and trying to pull you back, but you didn’t move. Your eyes were locked on Amber as she looked up at you, her expression twisted with shock and fear.

“You think you can just get away with it?” you spat, your voice low and trembling with fury. “You think no one will stand up to you?” Amber groaned in pain, clutching her leg as the medics rushed onto the field. The referee approached, yelling something about a red card, but it didn’t matter. All you could think about was Tara—her pain, her tears, and how Amber deserved every second of this. You turned to walk away, your chest heaving, but her voice cut through the air like a knife.

As they dragged you away, Amber propped herself up on one elbow, wincing but managing a sharp smirk. Her voice was hoarse but dripping with malice. “You think you’re some kind of hero?” she sneered, her words slithering through the air like poison.

“Tara begged for me to stop, you know. Pathetic how easy she breaks.” Her words hit you like a punch to the gut, your breath catching in your throat. Amber’s smirk widened as she saw the fire reignite in your eyes. “Face it, Y/N. You’re too late. You couldn’t protect her then, and you sure as hell can’t protect her now.”

Before you could stop yourself, you were on her. Words no longer sufficed—your anger demanded action. Shouts erupted from every direction as teammates and officials rushed in, trying to pull you back. The chaos blurred around you, hands grabbing at your arms, voices yelling, but none of it mattered. All you saw was Amber’s smug, twisted grin and the dark shadow of what she’d done to Tara.

It wasn’t until someone physically hauled you back, dragging you away from the scene, that the red haze began to fade. Amber lay on the ground, her face pale but her smirk still lingering, her laughter echoing in your ears even as they pushed you toward the sidelines. 

The crowd at the bleachers was a mic of shock and thrill. Gasps rippled through the stands, mingling with scattered cheers from those who seemed more amused than appalled by the fight breaking out on the field.

“You’re out, Y/L/N!” the referee barked, his voice furious. But you didn’t care. Your only regret was stopping.

Moments afterward blurred together: Coach Melissa’s stern voice echoing in your ears, the sting of disappointment as you trudged off the field, and the heavy silence as you made your way to the changing room. None of it made sense. You despised Amber- she’d been your high school rival for years— but imagining her hurting someone, hurting Tara? That was unthinkable and something you couldn’t have comprehend.

The sharp snap of fingers jolted you back to reality. Your coach stood over you, frustration etched on her face, while your teammates exchanged concerned glances. Blinking, you realized you had been sitting in the locker room, lost in a haze, as the first half of the match passed you by.

“What the hell was that, Y/L/N?!” Coach’s voice cut through the air like a whip. “Do you realize what you just did? You might’ve jeopardized our entire chance of winning! The team needs their captain—now!”

Your chest tightened, but frustration burned brighter than guilt. “She hurt Tara,” you snapped. “I don’t care about some stupid championship anymore!” The locker room fell silent, your teammates exchanging uneasy glances—some filled with concern, others still bristling over your actions. You took a shaky breath, willing yourself to stay composed. “Coach, I’m sorry for what I did,” you said, your voice quieter now. “But I can’t lead this team right now. Mindy’s your best option to take us to a win.” You stood straighter, forcing yourself to meet Coach’s eyes, determined not to let your emotions spiral further.

Coach Melissa took a deep sigh, her gaze lingering on you for a moment before hesitantly nodding. “Alright,” she said quietly, then turned to lead the team back onto the field for the second half.

As the others filled out, Mindy paused by the door, her brow furrowed with worry. She hesitated, then glanced back at you. “Do what you have to do, Y/N,” she said softly, her voice steady despite concern in her eyes. “I’m always by your side.” She offered a small, reassuring smile before disappearing into the hallway.

-

You found Tara sitting on the bleachers behind the school, far from the noise of the game. She was curled into herself, her knees pulled to her chest as she stared at the ground. The sight of her made your heart ache all over again, but it also steeled your resolve.

“Tara,” you called softly, walking toward her. She looked up, startled, her tear-streaked face lighting up with a mixture of relief and confusion.

“Y/N? What are you doing here? The game—”

“It doesn’t matter,” you interrupted, sitting beside her. “You matter. Talk to me, Tara. Please. Tell me what’s going on.”

For a moment, she hesitated, her lip trembling as she tried to hold back more tears. Then, as if a dam broke, she began to speak. She told you everything—about Amber’s threats, the fear she lived with every day, and how she thought keeping you out of it would protect you.

By the time she finished, your fists were clenched, your anger boiling over. But you forced yourself to stay calm for her sake. “Tara,” you said, your voice low but determined, “she doesn’t control you. She doesn’t get to hurt you and walk away like it’s nothing. We’ll deal with this. Together.”

She shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t know her, Y/N. She’s dangerous. She told me to wait for her here, please leave before it’s too late-“

“And I’m not afraid of her,” you replied firmly. “I won’t let her hurt you again. I don’t care what it takes. You’re not meeting her anymore.”

Tara looked at you, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and hope. “Do you mean that?”

“Always,” you said, reaching out to take her hand. “You’re not alone in this. Not anymore.”

Tara gave a shaky nod, though the fear never fully left her eyes. You knew this wasn’t going to be easy—not by a long shot. Amber wasn’t someone you could just confront and expect to back down.

 But for Tara, you would face whatever came next.

A loud shout from the field echoed in the distance, reminding you of the game. But right now, nothing else mattered. Your focus was entirely on Tara.

----------

a/n: I hope this is enough lol i'm never writing this much angst anymore its sucking the happiness out of me. any feedback is well appreciated and requests are open as well :p

taglist: @natasha25052

[rik1sberry]

WHEN WE WERE SOFT — nishimura riki written series

001 lemonade skies and childhood lies

word count, 477 words

You met Riki when you were six, and he immediately convinced you that the neighbour's cat could talk.

You believed him, for three days.

He was the kind of boy who smiled like he knew something you didn't, who wore grass stains like badges of honour and called you weird in the most affectionate way possible.

Somehow, that same boy is now seventeen, taller than you, just as annoying, and still showing up outside your door every morning to walk you to school.

You don't ask why. You never have to.

⸻

"Morning, princess," Riki says now, voice still scratchy with sleep as he kicks a pebble down the sidewalk. "Did you finally dream of me?"

"Yeah," you reply dryly. "You tripped over your own ego and fell off a cliff."

He snorts. "How romantic."

You roll your eyes, but your lips tug upwards anyway. That's the thing with Riki, he knows exactly how to push your buttons, but he also knows when to pull back. He teases you until you're grumbling, then tosses you your favourite snack from his bag like he planned it all along.

(He probably did.)

⸻

The air's colder lately. You hug your sleeves around yourself as you walk side by side down the same old street you've taken for years. The houses blur past, familiar and unchanged, but something in your chest feels different. Buzzing.

You glance at him. Riki's walking with his hands behind his head, whistling off key.

He catches you staring and raises an eyebrow. "What? Am I too handsome today? Should I tone it down?"

You snort. "Should've done that years ago."

"Wow." He gasps dramatically. "After everything I've done for you? I literally gave you the last piece of my gum yesterday."

You were about to fire back with something equally sarcastic, but he stops walking.

You turn.

He pulls a chilled lemonade bottle from his jacket pocket and holds it out to you without a word.

You blink. "Why?"

He shrugs. "Thought you'd like it. You get all moody when it gets cold."

"...I do not."

"You do," he says, smirking, eye crinkling. "You stare out the window like you're in a music video."

You want to hit him with the bottle. You also want to hug him.

Instead, you mutter, "Thanks," and take it.

⸻

The rest of the walk is quiet. The kind of quiet that only exists between two people who grew up in sync. Every step, every joke, every pause is predictable in a way that feels like safety.

Still, you can't help but wonder if it'll always be like this.

Because lately, when Riki smiles at you like that, with his sleepy eyes, lazy grin, and some dumb joke on his tongue, you don't think of bugs, bandaids, or talking cats.

You think of what it would feel like to hold his hand.

⠀ prev mlist next

[la-gotica-fantasma]

What I think Maze Runner characters would be arrested for -

(except it's extremely specific)

Thomas - Sexual harassment because he pantsed Minho on a public subway. Newt - Picking up a hitchhiker (and then inevitably getting really pissed at said hitchhiker because they kept asking for stuff he didn't have). Minho - Public indecency on a subway because Thomas pantsed him. Winston - Confessing to a murder he didn’t commit because he couldn’t decide how to explain how he didn’t commit any murder. Alby - Arson. Zart - Accidentally selling weed. Not accidental because he didn't know it was weed, but accidental because he didn't mean to sell it. Frypan - Turning the house he's renting into a restuarant without asking his landlord. Jeff - Bringing Bark into "no pets allowed" zones and then lying that Bark was a service animal. Clint - Stealing a shopping cart from a Walmart. Ben - Chasing children on all fours and growling and barking at them. Aris - Accidentally firing a gun in a public setting because he thought the bullet in it wasn't real. Chuck - Going behind an Italian ice stand while the server is gone and taking a spoon and eating a bunch of the Italian ice. Gally - Bringing a knife to school (for "safety reasons") Jorge - Beating up a pedophile on the middle of the beach. Janson - Buying a human cancer tumor off of the dark web to try and give his enemies cancer. Teresa - Trying to bypass Afghanistan laws against women receiving healthcare. Brenda - Purposefully creating and running a gunrunning-ring, but only letting women buy the weapons she sells. Sonya - Public indecency because, to prove a point that the female body isn't inherently sexual, she went on strike at work with her shirt off after a disagreement with her boss on what was appropriate to wear at work. Harriet - Getting and auctioning the guns for Brenda's arms trafficking. Rachel - Using brass knuckles in a fight with a waitress who looked at her boyfriend "weirdly". Beth - Stalking and planning to ruin the life of the girl who used to call her "Brace-face" in the 6th grade/year 6. (The girl also had braces) Ava - Kidnapping. Dr. Crawford - Texting a groupchat about something extremely illegal that she saw without calling the police. Her excuse in court was "I thought you'd find out yourself". Mary - Buying governmental secrets for personal enjoyment, rarely ever doing anything with the information.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Written for @steddieangstyaugust day 13: "Please, stay." I'm slowly continuing.

It was 1986, the world was ending, monsters were real, and Eddie Munson decided he'd stop running.

An improvement, right? Good for him.

Well, no. Not really. Because the not running thing was supposed to be one time only, the last hurrah before disappearing into stomachs of otherworldly bats. And that hadn't worked.

So Eddie Munson lived and had to come to terms with the uncomfortable truth that to truly change, he had to be consistent. One time was good, but his life hadn't ended, and that meant to keep working on himself.

But Eddie was tired, he was hurt, and worst of all, he was weak. He couldn't do the camraderie thing the kids and Harrington's group had going on. Good for them, he thought. They found safety in numbers. But Eddie, even though he had friends, had been taught early in his life that relying on other people was just asking for pain.

His plan was simple. Finish high school by any means necessary, pack whatever little he had, and leave for greener pastures. No attachments, not drawbacks. Wayne supported his decision, seeing how he was treated, and others didn't know he wanted to start elsewhere yet. But then came the massive fucking hiccup that threw his plan into a dumpster and then set it on fire.

Because see, Steve Harrrington turned out to be a good guy. He made Eddie laugh even when the rest of the world was dark, he protected Eddie against anyone and everyone...and he cared for Eddie. Which, okay, maybe Dustin did too, and Wayne was a miracle who didn't deserve to have his life ruined by Eddie's presence, but Harrington had no obligation, no shared hobby, he just appeared in Eddie's doorway one day and said "you look like you could use a friend." And when Eddie tried to keep his plan in motion, pushing Steve away, he looked so sad, Eddie couldn't keep it up.

It was always Steve asking him.

"Please, stay," as they fought and Eddie was about to slam the door shut and drive to Wayne's.

"Please, stay," as he got off another scathing call with his parents.

"Please, stay," as Eddie accidentally blurted out his secret, and he wondered if Steve would hate him now.

"Please, stay," as Steve interrupted Eddie's hookup with a rented movie, Eddie's favorite candies and a confession on his tongue.

Eddie didn't stop being a runner just because he said so. It was because Steve believed in him. Because he loved him. But some days it wasn't enough.

They fought again about staying in Hawkins, and Eddie had enough. He was targeted again, Wayne's trailer too, and Steve wasn't able or willing to leave the worst town in America with him. He felt trapped, needed to run, and Steve wouldn't, not yet.

And Eddie told him. He said that he only stayed because of Steve, but that if he wasn't insistent on ruining both of their lives by putting down roots in the very place that mingled with actual hell, he'd have been out of there months ago.

Steve went silent. He pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture that told Eddie how much he'd fucked up.

It would be okay. Steve would get over it. He'd ask Eddie to stay for a little longer and Eddie would say yes.

But that didn't happen.

Instead, Steve wiped his eyes, and said: "I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was being so selfish. It's okay, you can go."

Eddie never knew freedom could taste so bitter.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

sorry if this question has been asked before, but do you know if potionology in twst is essentially just how we do chemistry but with more local / native magical materials added into the mix? ignoring how they use cauldrons

I'd say the two are similar, barring some exceptions (such as slightly different equipment, ingredients, preparation methods which involve magic, and the fact that high school students aren't allowed to make actual medicine, ie potions in Twst, irl).

Crewel is noted as overseeing the Science department and classes, which is where chemistry would fall in real life. A lot of the items you'd wear are basically personal protective equipment for the lab. And, in Vil's Labwear vignettes, Science Club's advisor (not explicitly stated to be Crewel) allows Rook to use the lab but "[required] a list of chemicals and formulas [they'd] be using, a detailed schedule, a fire prevention plan, and so on", all safety precautions a lab runner would have prepared in advance before loaning out space to students.

I don't know if I'd say that potionology is a true equivalent or a substitute for chemistry though...? It should be noted that chemistry exists in Twisted Wonderland as its own subject and is something that seems to be considered when potion brewing. It feels more like a component or basic knowledge you would need in order to make potions rather than potionology being "just chemistry, but magic".

Trey says in his Silk Adorned vignettes that, "They add certain metals to the fireworks mixture that burn in different colors. Barium makes yellow-green, lithium gets you red, and sodium produces yellow. Not many humans can use magic, so we turn to chemistry for stuff like this [...] I'm pretty sure you would've gone over flame tests in class... Anyway, the fireworks in the show will change colors based on the same principle as well." Note the elements from the periodic table and the mention of a lesson about flames in their science classes!l Chemistry must exist as its own subject for non-mages, and chemistry also exists as a basis of knowledge for mages to build upon for potionology, alchemy, etc.

In NRC’s Science Club, they indulge in non-magical sciences, not just magical ones, despite the extracurricular being for an arcane academy. For example, Trey states he researches cakes and baking/cooking processes while Rook has been shown to create explosives and write wildlife research papers in extended Twst content.

If you need additional resources for potion-making in Twst and related topics:

Subjects at NRC

PPE and general lab safety

Do you need magic to make potions?

Types of potions + poisons and healing potions/magical medicine in particular

Ingredients (both magical and non-magical)

You can also check out my resources masterlist for other useful lore posts!