#it was amazing seeing all these characters again

[mrsholmesreid]

EVERY FIRST, YOURS | spencer reid x reader

summary: you and spencer reid have been going out for a few weeks. he's taking things very slow, and you find his pace comforting and his awkwardness endearing. as your relationship grows more heated, you come to find that he was completely inexperienced before meeting you. you feel honored to be his first, to be the one he learns love from.

pairing: spencer reid x reader (no pronouns but reader has female anatomy)

word count: 9,05k

content warnings: fluff x smut, virgin!spencer, oral sex (reader receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, aftercare.

author's note: i tried to portray spencer's inexperience in a way that's more realistic—despite him reading a lot and knowing everything about most things—and that followed his character's personality but that was still enjoyable to read. i hope you love reading this as much as i loved writing it! let me know what you think :)

You and Spencer had been going out for a few weeks. After reaching for the same book at a bookstore, the two of you started talking—and it didn’t take very long before you planned a date. He chose a nice restaurant, picked you up, brought you flowers, and did every other gentleman attitude in the book. By the end of it, you were sure he was going to make a move—kiss you, touch you, maybe even try to get you to go home with him—but he did none of that. As he dropped you off at your place at a reasonable hour, he gave you a gentle, respectful hug, and thanked you for an amazing time with the promise of calling you back again soon. And unlike most other guys, he kept it.

You thought he was the sweetest guy you’d ever met.

It was only by your third date that he tried to kiss you. The routine remained—picking you up, taking you to a nice place (this time it had been a museum, where he risked to hold your hand—and you let him), and then, finally, driving you home.

When you reached your doorstep, it was a little later than usual because both of you wanted to stay for a short lecture they were having at the museum. His eyes glimmered under the dim lighting of your porch, and in a quiet moment that followed after a string of warm laughter about the night’s events, he asked if he could kiss you.

You’d never had anyone ask you that before. Guys would usually just take the hint and lean in all at once. But for some reason, the care in his eyes, the way he rubbed his hands ever so slightly against his slacks—as if trying to dry off a thin layer of nervous sweat without you noticing—endeared you deeply. Your heart warmed at the way his eyes stared at you. His pupils wide, taking you in and eagerly waiting for an answer.

“Please?”

The word sounded more like a whimper coming from his lips. You were so deep in your thoughts about how adorable he looked when asking you that question, that you forgot to actually agree to it. You didn’t just want to kiss him. You wanted to scream, jump in his arms, kiss him all over, invite him inside, and give yourself completely to this charming man. But you didn’t.

It was clear by how nervous he seemed that he had planned every second of every date he had taken you on—including this very moment—and you wanted to let him do it. You wanted to play along, to let him win the little game he had in his mind. You knew he had probably rehearsed that line a thousand times before actually saying it to you. “May I kiss you?” You could almost picture him saying it to the mirror. So, you allowed him to set the pace.

“Yes,” you smiled softly, taking a small step closer.

The kiss that followed wasn’t exactly what you were expecting, but in a way, it couldn’t have been better. His breath hitched, and you could see the exact moment his brain short-circuited after hearing your breathy one-worded answer. He took another step in your direction, closing the distance between you but not quite letting your bodies touch just yet. He took a deep breath, and very slowly, pressed a brush of a kiss against your lips.

It barely lasted more than three seconds, but to you, it was an eternity. You never thought such a chaste peck could make that many fireworks go off inside your head. 

You didn’t know it then, but the fireworks in his head were much brighter than yours; for that had been his first kiss ever.

After that, he simply pulled back with the biggest, silliest smile you’d ever seen. He looked like a child that had just been given a puppy. Or even the puppy itself.

His flushed cheeks said everything he couldn’t, and after exchanging goodnights, he went back to his car, leaving you just as flustered and happy as him.

What had he done to you? You felt like a teenager in love for the first time. But whatever it was, you couldn’t help but crave more of it.

For the next couple of dates, he followed that same script—but now, with a goodnight kiss at the end of it. You kept letting him set the pace, enjoying how adorable he looked whenever the time to kiss you came. Even his behavior in the moments leading up to it would change. He’d get more talkative on the drive back to your place, and you could swear you even saw him unconsciously skipping after closing the car door for you before taking you home one time. You loved his silly smiles, and they brought up a bunch of your own.

But as the dates kept going, his kisses evolved.

The first time he changed it, was after he had taken you to an amusement park. You were both exhilarated after the adrenalin-fueled evening when you reached your doorstep, and as if on instinct, he pulled you in with his hands cradling your face as he kissed you for a lot longer than three seconds. 

He hadn’t done that yet, and he seemed just as surprised as you by his own, unexpected action. The way his fingers naturally threaded through your hair to bring you closer, how his lips pressed more purposefully against yours—your heart nearly stopped.

He pulled back slowly, his hands slipping shyly from your cheeks, and he looked like the floor could swallow him whole with embarrassment.

“I-I’m sorry…” He stammered, but you could tell that, deep down, he really wasn’t.

“Don’t apologize,” you smiled and couldn’t help yourself, tentatively stealing another peck. You didn’t even try to hide how much you’d loved the fact that he had lost himself in the kiss.

His blush deepened at your stolen peck, but you didn’t press him further than that.

“So… we’re okay?” He asked timidly. 

“Yeah… we’re okay,” you replied, your grin widening.

After that night, his kisses only grew deeper.

On the following date, he allowed his lips to move ever so slightly against yours, making your entire body shiver.

By the next one, he flicked his tongue over your lower lip, hesitantly begging for entry—which you granted him in a heartbeat.

His movements were shy and almost experimental at first, but not long after, the routine chaste goodnight kisses were replaced by his hands on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as your tongues danced together. You didn’t realize it then, but you were teaching him how to kiss.

You were starting to wonder when he’d want more. Your make out sessions were becoming more heated with each date; to the point that, one night, he even pressed you lightly against the wall. The desire between you was growing undeniably evident—both figuratively and literally.

You’d been waiting for the night when he’d ask to come inside—find an excuse to actually cross the front door limit you’d been teetering over, go into your house, and take things further. But he didn’t.

You were patient, though. You could tell he was very careful with everything you did together, and not only did you respect that, but you were thankful for it. You thought you might actually benefit from having someone be a little more controlled than you in a relationship for once. Ever so used to guys jumping to conclusions and skipping important steps, Spencer’s pace was a comforting change of scenery.

But then it finally came.

You were leaving the restaurant, his hand hovering over your lower back as he guided you back to his car like he always did. Everything was going exactly the same, following the usual script perfectly. The next steps were clear: he’d drive you home, you’d make out by your doorstep, then he’d say goodnight and leave you a blushing, butterfly-filled mess.

Until things took a different turn.

“You know,” he broke the comfortable silence, sliding his hand against yours and interlocking your fingers as you walked. You could feel how warm his hand was, and the slight dampness on it indicated he was a little nervous. “I finished setting up that new shelf I was telling you about,” he mentioned, seemingly casually. 

“Oh, did you? You actually figured out where all the nails went?” You teased him lightly.

He let out a soft chuckle, “Yeah, I did. And now I’ve finally organized my books. This time I arranged them by author and theme,” he added, his tone proud.

“It must look beautiful,” you said in all honesty, not realizing the actual weight of your words until he let out:

“Do you wanna see it?” His voice trembled slightly and you could see right through him. That wasn’t an innocent invitation.

Your heart skipped a beat. He wanted you to see it? Like, actually see it, in person, alone with him in his apartment?

You raised your eyebrows, your face a mix of shock and ecstasy. The time had finally come.

“Y-you mean…?” You stuttered, not wanting to jump to conclusions despite the sheer obviousness in his gaze.

“We could go to my place—I mean, stop at my place, before I drop you home,” his nerves were evident by the way he stumbled over his words, trying to play it cool. “Would you like that?” He asked, sounding eager for your answer.

Of course you’d like that. You’d been waiting for that moment for weeks. But still, given how slow he’d been taking things, you needed to make sure that was what he wanted.

“Yes, yes I would, but… Are you sure?” You asked as the two of you stopped by his car, his hand pausing on the passenger’s seat door handle.

His gaze met yours, deep and meaningful. “I wouldn’t have offered it if I wasn’t sure.”

“Okay,” you nodded, the air between you thick with tension and understanding. “I’d love to see your new shelf, Spence.”

He smiled, a soft and genuine curve of his lips, as he opened the car door for you.

The drive to his apartment was quieter than your usual drives. It was like the both of you felt the weight of what was about to happen.

As he pulled over and guided you up to his place, you could tell he was nervous by how he constantly asked if you were feeling uncomfortable, cold, or tired. He was adorable like that, the true concern for your well-being evident in his actions.

“Make yourself at home,” he said as the two of you stepped inside. His apartment wasn’t too big, the perfect balance between having enough room and being cozy. It was warm and welcoming, the faint smell of books and coffee filling your nostrils.

“Thank you,” you replied. You watched as he carefully slipped off his shoes, so you did the same. “You have a really nice place, it’s very… you.”

“Thanks… Everybody says that,” he blushed. “Here, let me take this,” his hands gently slid over your coat, helping you remove it and hung it by the door. You gave him a soft smile, the thick atmosphere slowly fading into something more comfortable. You loved this about him, how he always felt safe, like home.

“So where’s this famous shelf?” You teased, his lips curling into a knowing smile.

“Follow me,” he said, offering you his hand—which you took without hesitation.

Spencer gently guided you further inside the apartment, showing you to the living room. The warm lighting casted soft shadows on the walls, giving the apartment a homey feel. There was a shelf filled to the brim on one side, but you could tell those weren’t all of his books, though. There were a few piled up next to the couch, which was large and comfy with pillows scattered all over it, and some more on the coffee table.

“Is this it?” You asked, pointing at the shelf as you stepped closer to it.

“The one and only,” he grinned, standing next to you with his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“You did a really good job putting this up, it seems very… sturdy,” you said, running your hands gently on the shelf, as if studying it closely.

He smiled proudly. “Yeah, it took me a while. Hey, look through whatever you want, okay? I’m just gonna go grab a glass of water, do you want some?” He offered. As you turned to face him directly, you noticed his flushed cheeks and awkward demeanor. He was clearly nervous about having you here, like he was afraid of disappointing you, desperate to impress you.

You gave him a soft, reassuring smile, before politely declining, “I’m good, thanks. I’ll be right here checking out your beautiful collection,” you said, watching him leave while wiping his hands on his slacks like he always did when he was nervous.

You let out a soft chuckle, biting your lip as you thought about how lucky you were to be the one causing those adorable reactions on that man. Ever the methodic genius, Spencer kept surprising you every time you met by how comfortable he was growing around you. Still, watching him get flustered over the smallest details warmed your heart and filled your stomach with butterflies.

Running your fingers carefully over the spines of his books, you studied the titles but could barely register any of them. Your heart stammered against your chest, the idea of being there with him, alone in his apartment, was both exhilarating and terrifying. Despite the nerves, you didn't feel too bad, because you knew he was just as nervous as you. You could almost picture him pacing the kitchen, taking deep breaths and trying to calm his racing mind. And that mere thought had you smiling like a teenager in love.

You liked Spencer—you really liked him. And you didn’t want to mess any of it up. It had been long since you’d last felt anything remotely similar to what you felt for Spencer. Despite the two of you having not yet discussed the details of your relationship, you already considered him your boyfriend, and you desperately wanted to keep him around long enough to find out if he considered himself your boyfriend as well. And tonight was going to be a big step for the both of you.

Suddenly, you felt his hands sliding across your arms, gently encircling you with his own. Your entire body shivered, your skin feeling like it was on fire.

“You’re back,” you muttered, your voice strained with the surge of desire that coursed through you.

“Mhm. Did you miss me?” He hummed and whispered against the shell of your ear, pulling you back against his chest, your soft curves fitting perfectly against him. It was an unexpected move, but not at all unwelcome. His arms trembled slightly over you, as if he was terrified of your reactions, as if his heart was doing cartwheels in his chest—just like yours.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you joked, resting back against him with a smile playing on your lips. His closeness was both intoxicating and calming, and it took every bit of your strength to keep yourself in check. “But I did. Just a little bit, though,” you whispered.

“Just a little bit, huh?” He teased softly, his breath warm against your neck, making a shiver run down your spine with each of his words. “Well, good to know, because I missed you too.” He admitted sweetly, the words going straight to your core. Even though you were both only joking, only teasing each other for fun, the idea of him thinking about you made your skin tingle.

“Just a little bit?” You asked quietly, continuing the back and forth banter as your fingers intertwined with his.

“Mhm, no, I missed you a whole lot,” he muttered, his lips pressing a trail of soft kisses on your shoulder, going all the way up to your neck. Those words alone almost had you undone. You could feel his cheeks burning as he pressed them against your skin, the mere shift in temperature enough to make you wish you could see the shade of pink coloring over them.

“You’re blushing, aren’t you?”

“No…” He lied, his cheeks feeling even warmer against you.

With a swift motion, you turned around to face him, a surge of confidence taking over you. You wanted him, and you knew he wanted you too. His arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, your hands coming to rest on his shoulders. “Liar!” You teased with a giggle, finding the redness on his cheeks absolutely endearing.

“Shut up,” he muttered, looking away with a shy smile as he pulled you closer.

“Look at me, pretty boy,” you tilted his chin with your finger so he was facing you. His eyes timidly met yours, his pupils dilating immediately at the sight. “You’re cute,” you teased, and his blush deepened.

“You’re beautiful,” he muttered, one of his hands sliding up from your waist to cup your cheek, his thumb lightly tracing patterns on your skin.

You tilted your head to the side, completely surrendered to the man before you; a soft, lovesick smile on your lips. When you noticed his eyes flickering down to your mouth, then back to your eyes, you already knew what was coming.

“M-may I kiss you?” He whispered. Even after everything, even after all the times you two made out passionately at your doorstep, he still made sure you gave permission. There was something about the tone in his voice when he asked that, the pleading shine in his eyes that betrayed the true desire in his chest. Everything about him charmed you.

“You really think I'd say no to that?” You smiled, leaning a little closer, your lips just a breath away from his.

He smiled shyly, as if he were unable to contain his own reactions. “Just checking in. I can barely believe you even let me have you like this,” he admitted, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Well, now you know,” you added. “I always want to kiss you.”

He pulled back slowly, his eyes widened with excitement meeting your gaze before he gently brought his lips to yours. The kiss was slow at first, tentative and hesitant. Like you both knew what it was forecasting.

His hands slowly cupped your face, as if he was holding the most precious thing in the world. As the kiss deepened, one of his hands slid to the back of your neck, threading through your hair to pull your mouth closer to his. Meanwhile, his free hand sneaked down your side, resting on your hip to bring you flush against him.

Your tongue slipped past his lips, tangling with his in a dance that grew hotter by the second. You could feel your heartbeat racing pressed against his chest, the rhythm mixing with his own. Your hands went from his neck to his lower back, dragging down his shirt until your fingers reached the hem, sneaking underneath the fabric to meet the warmth of his skin.

He let out a soft gasp into your mouth as your fingers trailed along the skin of his lower back, a shiver running down his spine. You smiled against his lips, enjoying how easily you could elicit reactions from him. Feeling your smile, Spencer tugged you even closer, kissing you even harder.

You turned to putty in his arms. The heat of the moment urged you on, making you slowly back him toward the couch until the back of his knees hit the soft material. Your hands went to his shoulders, gently guiding him down, your lips not leaving each other’s not even for a second. As he sat on the couch, you didn’t waste any time before climbing right on his lap.

His hands immediately met your waist, pulling your body closer until you were sitting directly on top of him. Desire shot up your body like electric shocks when you felt the evidence of his arousal nudging insistently against your clothed core. You pressed down gently, causing a spark of friction that nearly drew both of you insane.

Spencer groaned into your mouth, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours as he caught his breath. “We’ve never been this far,” he muttered, your breaths mingling in the small space between your faces.

“Do you want to stop?” You asked, trailing kisses on his jawline, all the way down to his neck. Your lips attached to the sensitive skin below his ear, unable to resist the need to suck and bite him softly.

“God, no,” he let out in a heartbeat, the earnestness in his voice enough to urge you further. You sucked a little harder on his neck, your tongue soothing the skin right after, making a soft moan escape his lips—the sound going straight to your core. “Damnit, that feels so good,” he muttered, making you smile against his skin.

You continued kissing down his neck to his collarbone, your mouth eager to find new spots that made him gasp. His hands slid down your hips to your backside, gently kneading the soft skin, the motion making you gasp and freeze on his neck for a second. You could feel your underwear grow damper, as well as his pants twitching underneath you.

“I-I’m sorry, should I have not? I’m so sorry, I should’ve asked first…” He muttered as you froze, his hands shaking as they hesitantly left your ass.

“No, no, that’s not it,” you quickly replied, guiding his hands back to where they were. “I liked it, I really did,” you smiled down at him, enjoying the sight of his slightly tousled hair and flushed skin. “You can touch wherever you want,”

“W-wherever I want?” He stammered, barely believing your words. His cheeks turned bright red. “A-are you sure?”

“Wherever you want, baby,” you whispered against his ear, drawing a satisfied sigh from him.

“E-even here?” He asked, the sound of you calling him ‘baby’ going straight to his groin as he gently spread your ass cheeks apart, kneading the flesh. Your head fell to his shoulder, your hips rolling against his as your body grew warmer with pleasure.

“Even there,” you gasped, your hands running down his chest reverently. 

“What about here?” He asked, his hands sneaking up to your ribcage, his thumbs tracing the underside of your breasts. 

“T-there too, baby,” you muttered as his palms slid further up until he was cupping your bosoms. His hands gently squeezed them, thumbs brushing against your hardened nipples over the thin fabric of your shirt and bra.

“I like that,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss your neck as he played with your breasts.

“What, touching me?” You asked, completely focused on the feel of his hands on you, his body pressed underneath yours, and his lips on your skin.

“Well, that too,” he said, squeezing your breasts a little tighter. “But I meant you calling me ‘baby’.”

“Mhm, did you now, baby?” You teased, whispering in his ear.

The soft sound that escaped his lips was almost like a whimper. “Y-yeah, yeah I like that.”

“Good,” you murmured, your tone sultry against the shell of his ear. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you further down on him. Slowly, you began grinding your hips on his, unable to ignore the hardness that pressed against you. You could notice the hitch in his breath as the friction between your bodies took over your minds.

“Is this okay?” You asked as you continued rolling your hips.

“I-It’s more than okay,” he stuttered, his eyes wide as he stared up at you, his grip tightening on your hips as he guided your deliberate movements.

You grinned, leaning in to kiss him again. He complied in a heartbeat, his lips parting to allow your tongue inside.

The heat between you grew exponentially. It was happening, it was really happening. You were grinding down, basically dry humping Spencer Reid as he kissed you like a man starved. It felt like a dream come true.

The desire between you was getting harder to ignore. It was obvious what this was leading to, the tent in his pants and how you rubbed against it were nothing near innocent. But you didn’t want to be the one to take the first step. You didn’t want to seem too eager or to make him feel like you were pushing something on him—but god only knew how badly you needed him.

Then he pulled away, gasping for air, his skin flush.

“I want you,” he admitted. “I want to take you to my bedroom.”

You could tell he was nervous, that admitting this to you was probably one of the hardest things he ever had to say. You smiled, wanting him to know it was okay and he could trust you. You wanted him to know that you wanted him too.

“I’d like that,” you said, kissing his cheek. “I’d like that a lot, actually.”

“Really?” His face brightened, his hand coming to cup your cheek.

“Yes, really,” you smiled. “Only if you’re sure about it, though.” You brought your hand to his face as well, losing yourself in the sight of him asking you this.

“Oh, I’m sure,” he nodded quickly, almost desperately. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

“Really?” You blushed.

He nodded, blushing as well. “Yeah, I've… I've actually been picturing tonight from the very beginning.”

Your entire body shivered. “Me too,” you admitted quietly.

“Really?” He asked, his eyes wide with disbelief and something warmer—desire, admiration, love…?

“Yes, really,” you chuckled softly. “I actually thought it would happen sooner,”

“Oh,” he let out. “Did you want it to have happened sooner?” You could almost feel the insecurity in his tone.

“No, no, that’s not it,” you quickly added. “It’s just… Most guys would’ve tried to do this earlier, you know? But… I’m glad you didn’t,” you smiled softly, reaching up to caress his hair.

He melted into your touch, his face relaxing at your words. “I didn’t want to rush things with you. You mean a lot to me,” he smiled, his eyes wide staring up at you.

“You mean a lot to me too,” you replied, leaning down to kiss him.

His lips met yours softly, the both of you drowning in the sensations. The heat between you was still very present, so it didn’t take long before he was helping you off his lap and guiding you to his bedroom, the kiss not breaking for a second.

He kicked the door shut behind you carefully, gently backing you toward his bed. As the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, he slowly pushed you down onto it, crawling on top of you.

His body hovered above yours as you made out, hands exploring each other’s bodies with reverence. You could tell he wasn’t very used to this, his limbs trembled slightly against you as if he was overthinking his every action.

His knees gently spread your legs apart so he could fit his body between them, which you easily allowed. His hips pressed down against yours, your arms enveloping him and dragging him closer to you. His kisses grew even more heated, lips trailing down your jawline to your neck as he ground down against you. 

The way you gasped, the soft moans that spilled from your throat, everything overwhelmed him in the best way possible. He loved how responsive you were, how you showed him with every breath you let out how badly you needed him, just like he needed you.

His face left the crook of your neck to stare down at you, hands paused by the hem of your shirt. Silently asking for permission, his gaze met yours to find your desires mirrored in each other. No words were needed, his fingers gently tugging your shirt upwards until it was tossed across the room. His own shirt followed soon after.

Your chests pressed together snuggly as Spencer found his way back to your neck, his lips sucking gently on the sensitive skin below your ear. His hands sneaked down your back, fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra.

“Need any help?” You chuckled quietly, not in a mocking tone, but rather raw endearment for his gentle ministrations. 

“Yes, please,” he blushed softly. You reached behind your back undoing your bra with practiced ease. The straps fell loosely off your shoulders, the cups still covering your breasts.

“May I?” Spencer asked, his fingers stilling on the straps. You nodded, helping him as he slid off the garment.

His eyes widened noticeably at the sight of your bare chest as he tossed your bra away. “You’re breathtaking,” he muttered in complete awe of you, his fingers kneading the soft flesh with worshipping care.

Before you could respond, his face bent down to latch on one of your nipples, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud as he sucked it into his mouth, a satisfied sigh escaping his throat as he felt it harden between his lips. You let out a low moan, your hands trailing down his back, tracing slow patterns that made his skin tingle.

His free hand played with your other breast, making sure he was lavishing attention to both mounds as he switched between sucking and squeezing each side. He was lost in the taste of you, nursing as if he’d been hungry for you for months.

Your chest rose and fell with your ragged breaths, pleasure overtaking you. His hips didn’t falter their grinding, the evidence of his desire causing a mindblowing friction between you. 

Your hands shyly sneaked down his back, hooking on the waistband of his pants. As your fingers trailed lightly under the fabric of his boxers, he hitched against your chest, letting go of your nipples to look up at you.

“May I take these off?” You asked quietly.

He nodded eagerly, his hands reaching down to help you as he unzipped his pants with a clumsiness that neared desperation. His pants were on the floor in no time, the thin grey fabric of his boxers doing little to conceal the hard line of his arousal.

The sight nearly drove you mad, your hands reaching down to your own pants, hips lifting off the bed to pull it off.

Spencer’s hands met your waistband in no time, helping you remove your pants. Each inch of your bare skin being revealed made his heartbeat rise a little more, the weight of the moment pounding against his chest. He needed you like he never needed anything else before in his life.

You gently pulled him back up, your lips catching his in a searing kiss. Your bare chests pressed together, the warmth of his skin seeping through yours as your kisses deepened. Spencer continued grinding against you, the only barrier left between your sexes being the thin fabric of both of your underwear.

Your sight was blinded by a haze of desire. You wanted him, you needed him to take you, you needed to feel him deep inside you. Not able to contain yourself, you reached down to hook your fingers on the waistband of his boxers—being careful not to overwhelm him, but also not wanting to wait any longer.

He let out a soft gasp into your mouth, pulling back from the kiss to rest his forehead against yours as he caught his breath.

“Sorry, too much?” You whispered, your fingers stilling around his hips.

“No, no, it’s not that, it’s just… I should probably tell you something,” he muttered, a blush creeping up his already flushed neck.

“What is it? You know you can tell me anything,” you murmured softly, your tone sweet and understanding, but laced with a tinge of concern.

“I… I haven’t exactly… I mean, I haven’t really… this is kind of my…” he stammered, struggling to put his thoughts into words, but you understood what he meant immediately.

“...Your first time?” You finished for him. He nodded shyly, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “This is your first time, Spence?” You confirmed, your hands sliding up his back, your touch filled with affection.

“Yes… I’ve never… done this with anyone before. I actually hadn’t done anything with anyone before you,” he admitted quietly.

“Wait, you mean… nothing at all?” You asked, a little bit in disbelief. He nodded, making your heartbeat quicken. “Spencer, was I… was I your first kiss?” You asked, your eyes searching his, your expression unreadable.

“Yes… you were my first kiss, my first… everything,” he whispered. “Do you think I’m pathetic? It’s okay, you can be honest, I’ll understand…”

“No,” you interrupted. “I could never think that.”

His eyes lit up, finally running back up to meet yours. “Really?” He murmured, unsure if he wanted to hear your real answer or a made up lie to avoid hurting his feelings.

“Yes, really. I think you're so sweet, Spence, I could never think anything less of you. And the fact that I was your first kiss, your first… everything, is so special to me. I couldn’t be happier that you let me be the person who showed you this side of life,” you smiled warmly, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. “The only thing I wish had gone differently is that you’d have told me earlier. If I had known, I would’ve been gentler, kinder, more understanding…”

“But you were all of those things,” he muttered, his eyes soft staring down at you. “You were the best person I could think of to do all of this. You’re the first person who’s ever made me feel like this, like… I could take all the love you can give me and still crave more.”

Your gaze softened, your chest warm at his admission. “I’m so glad you trust me. You make me feel that way too,”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss on your lips. It was chaste, but meaningful. When he pulled back, his eyes met yours with renewed desire, but this time, they were filled with something warmer, something more understanding than pure lust. None of you dared to name it then, but that single look you two exchanged was the first seed of love starting to bloom between you.

“I want you,” he muttered.

“I want you too,” you replied.

Your lips crashed together again, hungrier this time. Your tongues tangled in a sensual dance, the fire between you heating up once more as your fingers found their way back to the waistband of his boxers. But this time, he helped you tug them off.

As soon as the garment was tossed across the room, his hands reached down for your panties, fingers hooking on their sides as you lifted your hips to help him slide them off your legs. Once you were both bare, his body settled between your legs, the skin-on-skin contact bringing your connection to a whole new level of intimacy and pleasure.

Your senses were heightened by each brush of his skin on yours, the warmth between your legs growing wetter with each movement. His hands kneaded your skin—the moans that escaped both of your throats filled the room as his fingers worked on finding your sensitive spots while grinding down against you, his bare length sliding between your folds and bringing both of you to the brink of giving into the fire burning between you.

You wanted his first time to be perfect. You wanted to give him the best experience possible, to be there for him all the way—much unlike most people’s first times. You noticed how sloppy and unthought through were his actions, you could tell he was moving on pure instinct and response observation. He seemed acutely aware of each of your actions, each of the sounds you made; following the path that led to them like he was tethered to your gasps and the arching of your back.

“I want to taste you,” he whispered, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Are you sure?” You blinked up at him as he rolled his hips slowly, his erection sliding lazily against your thigh.

“I’m sure,” he nodded. “I’ve read a lot about it online—about all of this, really. I think I have a pretty good idea of how things are supposed to go,” he explained proudly.

“Well, that’s great baby, but practice is very different from theory,” you said softly, caressing the back of his neck.

“Oh trust me, I know. None of this is like anything I expected, but… I want to learn… If you’ll let me…?” He trailed off, his gaze flicking down to your core then back to your eyes.

“Of course I’ll let you,” you smiled. “I’ll guide you through it if you need me to. But please, don’t do anything you don’t want just to please me, okay? I’m here for you, I want tonight to be a good memory,” you said, your tone dropping an octave and becoming more serious.

“I know,” he nodded, nuzzling his nose on your cheek. “Trust me, I want this very much. Maybe even more than you, probably even more than you,” he admitted, making you blush.

“Suit yourself, then,” you smiled, your body already thrumming with the thought of having him between your legs.

Slowly, he began trailing hot, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down your body. He lavished attention to your breasts, ribs, stomach, then finally began moving up your inner thighs. His hands gently scooped them up, placing them over his shoulders as his lips trailed dangerously closer to where you needed them.

His fingers spread your wet folds, revealing the flush, wet skin underneath. His breath hitched, and almost as if worshipping you, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your most sensitive spot.

He hummed against you, enjoying the taste and feel of your intimacy like nothing he’d ever felt. His lips closed around the sensitive bud, sucking it into his mouth as his tongue darted out to taste you. You moaned softly, your hands threading through his hair as your thighs threatened to close around his head. His hands carefully pried your legs apart, holding you open for him to feast on you with abandon. 

You could tell the rational side of him was slowly fading away, like he was giving into the moment without overthinking things he might've read online. He carefully tried to insert his middle finger in you, missing the spot a couple times before he finally managed to slide it in. You smiled, looking down at him.

The sight of him between your legs, hair tousled between your fingers, eyes shut as he lost himself in the act of pleasuring you—all of it drew you closer to the edge. He moved his fingers sloppily, and you let him explore. Something about his eagerness to learn and the way he seemed overwhelmed by his pleasure heightened your own.

Then he slid another finger in you, making a come hither motion until he felt a rougher patch. The way your hips bucked when he rubbed it told him everything he needed to know.

He continued thrusting his fingers, trying to hit that spot every time as his tongue lapped hungrily over your clit, following the direction your hand guided his head to. 

“Fuck, that's it, Spencer… that's it, please don't stop…” You whimpered, your legs trembling on his shoulders as you felt your release building. 

He looked up at you through hooded eyes, your words urging him on. He continued eating you out, groaning against you as he found pleasure in the act of pleasuring you. As if on pure instinct, his hips began thrusting against the bed, grinding his erection on the mattress, seeking some sort of friction to relieve the pleasure he felt. It was all overwhelming to him, he never expected to feel this much pleasure by going down on someone else.

He could feel you clenching down on his fingers, your walls beginning to flutter around him. He moaned, the sound vibrating against your core, heightening the pleasure you felt.

He had to force himself to stop grinding on the mattress, or else he'd be finishing too soon. Determined to bring you over the edge, he kept going, his eyes fixed on you as he ate you out.

“Are you close?” He asked, taking a break to breathe, though his fingers didn't falter.

“Yeah… please don't stop…” You moaned, already bringing his face back down onto you, trying to hold onto the feeling for as long as possible.

He understood what you needed, bending down to continue lapping at you, set on prolonging your release as much as possible. Overtaken by the pleasure, he sped up, trying to get you there faster.

“No, no, Spence, don't speed up!” You begged, your vision blurring with the impending orgasm.

“Sorry, I'm sorry,” he muttered, going back to the former pace until he felt you shaking in his arms.

It was official: Spencer Reid had made someone come.

You moaned his name, legs spasming around his face as he lapped down your release. His fingers gently withdrew from you, his lips kissing your thighs as you came down from your high.

“Did you… did you really just…?” He asked still in disbelief, looking up at you starry eyed.

“Yeah… I did,” you breathed out, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks of your release.

“I… I made you come?” He smiled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he slowly crawled back up your body.

“You sure did,” you grinned, wrapping your arms around him. “Thank you, that was… amazing,” you said, kissing his cheek.

“Was it really? I've never felt anything remotely similar to this in my entire life, it was… beautiful. I've never seen anything more beautiful than you letting go like that,” he admitted, his pupils wide and his lips tugging on a silly, lovesick grin.

“You did a really good job, baby,” you held him close, your body starting to recover from the aftermath.

“Are you sure? What about in the end when I sped up?” He asked, his tone dripping with insecurity but also curiosity to learn.

“Oh, don't worry about it, you're a fast learner,” you giggled softly. “It's just that, when I'm getting closer to release, it means you're doing something really right—so don't change it unless I ask you to,” you explained, your fingers tracing patterns on his back.

“Duly noted,” he smiled. “I'll remember that.”

Then he leaned down to kiss you, his forearms caging around your head as your lips met. You could taste yourself faintly in his mouth, and as his body lowered closer to yours, you felt a droplet of something wet fall on your stomach.

Looking down, you realized what it was, a blush creeping up your cheeks. He followed your gaze, noticing what was happening as well, his face hiding in the crook of your neck. You could see how his length throbbed, standing proudly and dripping on your stomach. 

“Uhm… I'm sorry about that, it's just that I…” he stammered, struggling to find less embarrassing words than ‘I'm so hard for you I could come from a single touch of yours.’

“It's fine,” you reassured him, cupping his cheek. “If you want to, I could return the favor or… or we could try something new…” You whispered.

His entire body shivered at your words, his eyes shutting as he tried to control his body's reactions. “As much as I'd love for you to return the favor, I don't think I can… last much longer if you do,” he blushed. “But trust me, if you let me, I'll hold you to that offer.”

You chuckled softly, placing a soft kiss on his lips. “Your call, baby. We can try whatever you want, whenever you want it,” you added, peppering light kisses down his neck.

A smile creeped up his lips as you kissed him. “I want… you. I want to take you now, if you'll let me,” he swallowed hard, nervousness battling with excitement in his chest.

“I'm all yours, sweetheart,” you murmured against the shell of his ear, making his entire body shiver.

“O-okay, then I should… I should grab a c—uhm, protection, I mean…” He stumbled over his words, quickly standing from the bed and looking through his nightstand’s drawer.

You chuckled softly from the bed, watching him nervously looking for the tiny box and pulling a wrapper from inside. “Got it,” he said, claiming his find with a satisfied smile.

“You know… We could go without it if we wanted to,” your eyes glimmered with mischief.

“A-are you serious?” He stuttered, unsure, but not appalled as he sat back on the edge of the bed.

“I mean… We're both clean, aren't we? And I'm on birth control… But it's up to you,” you blushed as the words left your lips, but you couldn't help yourself.

“Y-you’d let me? For real?” He blinked, still in disbelief.

“Yeah,” you smiled.”Would you like that?”

“Yes,” he nodded eagerly, not missing a second. He tossed the condom back in the drawer and climbed back on the bed, his body caging yours against the mattress. “Are you completely sure, though?” He asked again, his body trembling with excitement, his hands running up and down your sides.

“I'm sure, baby,” you smiled, leaning in to kiss him. 

He kissed you fiercely, his tongue delving deep into your mouth as his lips moved hungrily against yours. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling his hips down against yours.

You moaned at the feeling of his hardness pressing down on you, your hips bucking up to meet his. The movement from your hips elicited a guttural groan from him, his length grinding desperately between your glistening folds.

“I think… I think I'm ready,” he muttered, your breaths mingling as he pulled back from the kiss.

“Do you need help, baby? I can take over,” you suggested, noticing how nervous he was.

“No, no, that's fine I… I wanna try. But I'm glad to know you're willing,” he smiled, his hand moving down to grip his base.

“Of course,” you smiled back, your eyes rolling back as he rubbed the tip of his erection across your slit. 

“Fuck, that feels so good,” he shivered, letting out a curse.

You chuckled softly. “Language,” you teased.

“Sorry,” his cheeks turned pink as he began trying to nudge himself inside you.

You let him explore a little, noticing he was trying to fit it in, but struggled. You wanted to let him try, to let him have the feeling that he had some sort of control over this situation, so you didn't interfere.

“Shit, sorry, I'm just… it's just slippery…” He mumbled more to himself as he continued pushing, unsure whether he should use more of his hand or his hips. 

“It's okay, baby, may I help?” You asked softly, not wanting to embarrass him.

“Yes, please,” he blushed, letting his hand fall to the side.

You reached between you bodies, grabbing him and positioning him right at your entrance, nudging the tip in slightly.

“There you go,” you muttered. “Now you just thrust forward,” you explained. “It might slip again, but it's normal, okay?” You told him softly.

“Yeah, okay, thanks,” he nodded, overwhelmed by the sensation of your grip on his tip. “Are you ready?”

You nodded, letting him know it was time. He leaned back down, slowly easing himself inside you with a roll of his hips, until he was entirely sheathed within your heat.

He let his forehead rest against yours, your ragged breaths mingling together as the two of you adjusted to the sensation.

“How do you feel?” You asked quietly, looking up at him.

“So… so good…” He muttered, his hips shifting slightly. “It's so tight and… warm… I love it,” he admitted, slowly beginning to move.

You watched his face closely, admiring how his features changed with each of his thrusts, betraying the pleasure he felt. His rhythm was messy, his legs struggling to find the right ways to support his body as his hips surged forward again and again. 

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his arms supporting his body above yours as he continued moving. He groaned against your ear, the sounds mixed with low moans and soft whimpers as he made love to you.

“Am I doing this right? Does this feel good to you?” He mumbled, trying to angle his moves but accidentally slipping out, quickly sliding in again. “Sorry about that,” he whispered, one of his hands coming up to fondle your breasts. 

“It feels so good, baby, don't worry…” you moaned softly, your legs wrapping around his back to bring him closer. “Keep going, just like that, fuck… You're doing so good…” 

Your words urged him on, his hips moving faster against you. You gasped, the feeling of having him inside you almost too much. You loved watching him learn, how his uneven thrusts slowly became a little less messy, how he whispered ‘sorry’ whenever he accidentally slipped out… Everything about it endeared you.

You'd never had sex like this. So messy, and yet it was perfect. You felt the emotion with every thrust, every moan, every sloppy kiss he left on your neck. 

You noticed how his thrusts became even sloppier, how his grunts grew deeper and how his body tensed.

“Baby, I'm… fuck…” He groaned, his hips faltering for a moment before they continued thrusting forward. “...I'm close. Like, very close.”

“That’s it… Don't stop, keep going…” You whispered, your hands caressing his back as you leaned in to kiss his neck. “You can let go, let yourself feel good,” you whispered to him.

No further words were needed. With a deep, guttural groan, he pushed himself as deeply as he possibly could inside you, letting the pleasure take over him as he filled you up with his release.

“Spencer!” You moaned aloud, wrapping yourself around him as your second orgasm rippled through you. Your legs trembled around his waist, his body crashing down on top of you.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I didn't pull out, I made a mess…” he mumbled against the skin of your neck.

“No, no, baby, it's okay… I don't mind it in the slightest,” you muttered to him, your hand caressing his back. “How do you feel?”

“Amazing. Beyond words can express,” he replied, rolling off you so he was on his back next to you. You turned to face him, laying on your side.

“I'm so happy to have been your first,” you whisper, snuggling against his side.

“Me too… You were perfect, absolutely… Wow…” he gasped, catching his breath as he wrapped his arm around your waist to keep you close. “Hey, did you…?” He asked, frowning slightly as he looked down at you, still soft with the aftermath.

“What? Finish?”

He nodded, a blush creeping up his cheeks. You hummed in agreement, nodding eagerly with a smile.

“Really?” He asked again, his eyes widening slightly at your response. “Again?”

“Yeah, again,” you blushed.

“Oh my—you’re amazing,” he muttered, wrapping his arms tightly around you and leaning down to kiss your forehead.

You giggled softly, burying your face on his chest. “We should probably get cleaned up,” you said, feeling his release coating your inner thighs.

“Right—yes, sorry, aftercare,” He said, quickly hopping off the bed to grab a warm washcloth in the bathroom. 

He came back, sitting at the edge of the bed as he cleaned you up reverently. You watched in complete awe of him, enchanted by the earnest care he poured in his every touch.

“There you go,” he whispered, tossing the washcloth as he climbed back on the bed to cuddle you. 

“Thank you,” you said, letting yourself be enveloped by his arms.

“That was the bare minimum,” he muttered against your hair, breathing in your scent. “You know, we should do this again sometime,” he let out quietly.

You chuckled softly, the sound vibrating in your chests that were pressed together. “Of course we're doing it again, that's what boyfriends do to their—” you stopped yourself after realizing what you'd said.

“Wait, wait. What did you call me?” He froze, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“B-boyfriend…?” You hesitated, unsure about how he'd take it.

“So I'm really your boyfriend?” His smile widened.

“Well, I know we haven't talked directly about this before, but I've kinda been thinking about it, and—”

“Of course I'm your boyfriend! Oh thank god, I was starting to worry I was reading into things…” He sighed, relieved.

“Really? Oh good, I was so afraid too, you were being so careful with everything,” you sighed as well.

“You had nothing to be afraid of, did you really think I'd ask to have sex with you if I wasn't in love?” He let out as if it were obvious, barely realizing what he'd just said before you interrupted:

“You're in love with me?”

“Oh my—I mean, well, it's not that I'm…” He stammered, unable to cover up his slipup.

“Spencer, shut up,” you said, silencing him with a searing kiss. Startled, he kissed you back, his hands finding the back of your neck to pull you closer. “I'm in love with you too,” you whispered as you broke the kiss. 

The silly smile that spread across his face almost had you undone again. “Should I take that as a yes?” He murmured.

“A yes to what?”

“A yes to us doing this again?” He nudged you playfully.

You let out a warm chuckle, “Yes, Spencer. We're definitely doing this again.”

“Yes!” He celebrated, pulling you in even closer as he buried his face in your hair, your bare bodies tangled together impossibly under the covers. “I love being in love with you,” he whispered softly.

“I love being in love with you too,” you whispered back.

author's note 2: thank you for reading this all the way!! let me know what you think of this, and tell me if you'd like a part 2!! i may have ideas 👀

find me on other socials!

twitter: @/mrsholmesreid

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p.s.: i take requests, dm me!!

[heedeungism]

@reenlogs OMG HELLO AGAIN!!! 🩷🩷🩷🩷 ever reblog i receive from you makes me so happy 🤭🤭🤭 kicking my feet rn fr 💕💕💕 but oh my goodness all these compliments idk how to respond to them all 🥹 you’re so sweet! mc is definitely me projecting how bitchy i was in highschool (only to boys, i was that bitch that was mean to every single boy bc i have a deep-seeded hatred for men 💕) but also definitely inspired by maddy from euphoria (esp part 2 yall…) i was once asked out by a boy in i think freshman year? and i said “ew” in response, so—

for all the things i hated about highschool I do get what you’re saying by it makes you miss it 😭 like seeing ur friends everyday, making plans for the weekend, and honestly i miss being able to humble boys everyday 😫 (they all deserved it btw i wasnt a bitch for no reason)

and as for her car! i named the car manon because in my brain i imagined her BMW (series 8 btw) as white with like blacked out detailing, rims, and badges as well as the red leather interior! when i was thinking about names this was like EARLY developement of busy woman and i had just finished reading ‘Kingdom of Ash’ by SJM (quick disclaimer to say I do not support her as a person with the zionism and grossness) and one of the best characters in the book is named Manon and she has white hair! i thought it was fitting and im glad you love it!

thank you so much for your kind words and amazing feedback(seriously every rb of yours makes my day)! 🩷🩷🩷

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 ; coming soon

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. COMING SOON!

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

[screaminglygay]

I get it now

pairing: wanda maximoff x reader

summary: wanda refuses to watch arcane - until she secretly does, and suddenly, she knows way too much

warnings: swear words, just some teasing!

word cout: 1.6k

an: hiii!! I’m back… kinda? Is anyone still here? Hehe. It’s my birthday today, so as a little gift, here’s a fun fic for you all! And yes, before you ask, I am still obsessed with Arcane, thank you very much. Enjoy! 💕

“Baby, I love you, but the game is horrible. I’m not gonna watch it.”

Wanda’s voice is soft but firm, the kind of tone that usually means she’s made up her mind. She’s curled up on the couch, her feet tucked beneath her, holding a cup of tea with both hands, since today is very cold day. Her eyes meet yours as you stand before her, hands mid-motion from your very animated explanation.

You freeze. “Okay- no, I mean, yeah. You’re right. The game is… questionable at best, but that’s not the point! The show, Wanda, the show is amazing.”

Wanda exhales a small laugh, shaking her head. “You say that about a lot of shows.”

“Because I have great taste,” you counter immediately, climbing onto the couch beside her. “But this one is different. It’s... it’s like a painting came to life, but with an incredible story, deep characters, and emotional damage.” You start to move your hands around once again.

Wanda quirks an eyebrow, “emotional damage?”

“Yes.” You nod. “The best kind... not the best kind the worst kind actually, but you get me."

She takes a slow sip of her tea, eyes still locked on yours. “Mhm.”

“You’re not convinced.”

“Not even a little.”

You groan, dropping your head onto her shoulder. “Wanda, please. I just want to share this with you. You don’t even have to like it! I just- I want to hear your thoughts. I want to see you react.”

She hums thoughtfully, setting her mug down. “Let me guess. You won’t spoil anything for me, but you will keep talking about it whether I watch it or not?”

“…Yes.”

Wanda chuckles, tilting her head against yours. “Then I guess I’m in for a lot of Arcane talk, huh?”

You lift your head, grinning. “So much. An ungodly amount.”

She sighs, but there’s no real negativity behind it. Just fondness. “I suppose I can live with that.”

You beam at her, leaning in to press a quick, enthusiastic kiss to her cheek. “You’re the best.”

“And yet, still not watching it.”

You huff, flopping dramatically against her. “For now.”

...

And you were right. After listening to you ramble about Arcane night after night, Wanda finally gave in. She told herself it was just curiosity, just a way to see what had you so captivated. It wasn’t good, no, definitely not. But it was interesting. And, let’s be honest, for you? Wanda would burn the whole world down. So watching a show? That was nothing.

Wanda sat on the couch, remote in hand, staring at the Arcane title screen like it had personally offended her.

“God, I better not regret this,” she muttered to herself before pressing play.

At first, she was skeptical. The animation was… different. Not what she expecteed. Yet within minutes, she found herself absorbed. Powder and Vi were adorable, their sisterly bond tugging at something deep in her chest.

“Oh no,” she mumbled when things started going south. “This isn’t gonna end well, is it?”

Then came Vi. Grown-up, all muscle, all attitude. And Caitlyn. When Vi pinned Caitlyn down with that stupidly confident smirk and purred, "You're hot, Cupcake," Wanda’s mouth actually dropped open.

She blinked. Rewound. Watched it again.

“No wonder why (Y/N) likes this show,” she muttered, shaking her head but unable to stop herself from grinning.

And then she kept watching. And watching.

The fights? Incredible. Ekko’s moment with the stopwatch? Breathtaking. Jinx? Oh. Oh. Wanda had to pause for a second, just to take in how heartbreakingly messy and brilliant she was.

Days passed, and she kept sneaking in episodes whenever she could, inching her way through the series. Every time you brought up Arcane, she played it cool, just nodding along, letting you ramble, acting as if she was still clueless.

But inside? Inside, she was counting down the moments until she finished it. Until she could finally drop the act.

And then, one evening, after the final episode rolled credits, she sat back with a satisfied sigh. That’s when she heard the front door open.

She didn’t even realize she was smiling until you walked in, took one look at her, and narrowed their eyes. “What’s going on?”

Wanda quickly wiped the grin off her face. “What do you mean?”

You squinted, stepping closer. “You’re smiling.”

“I just made dinner for my love,” she says casually, gesturing to the kitchen as she stands up, walking there.

You eye her as you set your things down. “Okay… but what´s the reason?”

Wanda just smiles, pulling out your chair for you. “I just missed you very much.”

You narrow your eyes, still not entirely convinced, but your heart flutters at the softness in her voice. "Alright, charmer," you mumble, sitting down.

Dinner is warm, cozy, Wanda asks about your day, listens intently, and there’s something about the way she looks at you tonight that makes you feel like the most important person in the world.

When the plates are empty, you stretch with a satisfied sigh. “You cooked, I’ll clean up.”

Wanda doesn’t argue. Instead, as you start washing the dishes, she drifts toward you, leaning herself against the counter beside you. Close enough that you feel her warmth. Close enough that your brain starts short circuiting just from her presence.

You try to focus on the dishes, but her eyes are on you, her smile teasing.

You swallow. “Alright, seriously. What’s going on?”

And that’s when she leans in, just enough for her voice to drop a little lower, enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“You really think I needed all the guards at the Hexgates?”

Your hands freeze in the soapy water. Your breath catches. Your brain? Completely malfunctions.

Slowly, you turn to her, eyes wide as if she just dropped the biggest plot twist in history.

“Oh my god.”

Wanda just smirks.

“Oh my god.” You grip the edge of the sink, staring at her in shock. “You’ve seen it.”

Wanda laughs softly, and that’s when it fully hits you.

She’s seen it. She’s seen Arcane.

And you? You’re about to lose your damn mind.

Your hands are still frozen in the soapy water, your brain struggling to catch up. “You actually watched it?”

Wanda hums, tilting her head, turning the water off. “Mhm.”

“For real? Like... the whole thing?”

“All of it.”

You gasp dramatically, turning fully to her now, water dripping from your hands. “Okay, okay, thoughts! What did you think? Did you like the animation? What about the fight scenes? And the music?! oh my god, the music- wait, who’s your favorite character? Oh! And what about-”

Wanda places a hand on your arm, squeezing gently. “Slow down, baby.”

You blink up at her, but you’re practically vibrating with excitement. “You do like it, don’t you?!”

Wanda’s lips curl into a smile. “It was good. Really good.”

You let out a tiny, victorious squeak, bouncing on your toes. “I told you! I told you it was amazing!”

Wanda chuckles, crossing her arms as she leans back against the counter. “Mmm. I should’ve known, considering how obsessed you are.” She gives you a look then, one that instantly makes your stomach flip. “Though, I gotta say… After seeing Vi, Caitlyn, Sevika, Lest, Mel…” she clicks her tongue. “I’m really not surprised you like it so much.”

Your face burns. “Wanda- ”

“I mean, Vi pinning Caitlyn down? Sevika with her whole arm thing? Mel just existing? Interesting taste you have, sweetheart.”

You cover your face with your hands. “I hate you.”

Wanda laughs, all smug and amused, before gently tugging your hands down so she can see your flustered face. “No, you don’t.”

You huff. “Okay, but who’s your favorite?”

She pretends to think, tapping her chin. “I liked Ekko a lot. But…” She glances at you with a knowing smirk. “Vi was fun to watch.”

You groan. “I knew it.”

Wanda laughs again, leaning in just enough that her lips brush your cheek. “Relax, you’re still my favorite.”

Your face somehow gets even hotter. “Oh my god, stop.”

“Make me,” she teases, grinning as she presses a kiss to your temple.

You swear your brain completely short circuits, and all you can do is melt into her touch, heart full, stomach fluttering, and utterly, utterly in love. Just when you think you’ve recovered from Wanda’s relentless teasing, she tilts her head, pretending to think. “You know… maybe we should also get the hexstrap, no?”

Your entire body locks up.

Your head snaps toward her so fast you’re surprised you don’t get whiplash. “WANDA.”

She just shrugs, all casual, like she didn’t just say that. “What?”

“How do you- how do you even know about that?!” Your voice cracks in the middle, and you feel the heat rush straight back to your face.

Wanda grins, leaning in slightly. “My sweet sweet thing,” she says, voice smooth, “I am on social media.”

You let out the most indignant noise, covering your face again. “I hate it here.”

Wanda’s laughter is absolutely wicked. “I mean, it is a very interesting concept…”

“DO NOT FINISH THAT SENTENCE!”

She just smirks, resting her chin on her hand as she watches you suffer. “What? You don’t want to be my Cupcake?”

You dramatically exhale, “I cannot believe you.”

“Oh, come on,” she purrs, stepping closer, her fingers grazing your arm, “you love that I watched it.”

You let out a high pitched, flustered sound that is absolutely not a whimper. “That is not the point!”

Wanda just leans in even closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “But you do want to get the hexstrap, don’t you?”

You roll your eyes, shoving her playfully. “I am not having this conversation with you!”

Wanda laughs, catching your wrist before you can escape. “Mmm, fine,” pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “For now.”

You groan, head dropping back. “I hate you so much.”

Her lips curl into a smirk. “No, you don’t.”

And unfortunately… she’s absolutely right. You love her. So much.

Spoiler alert: you did received the hextrap later and you loved it.

This was so fun to writ:P thank you for reading!!

[demaparbat-hp]

Time lost meaning when crossing the frozen landscapes of the South Pole. Snow on ice on water. A beautiful place made of stillness and void. Endless. Barren. Dangerous. This was her land, and it threatened to swallow him whole.

Amarok guides all lost souls through her landscape. Zuko becomes one of them in For the Spirits Chapter X: Following Your Form (read here!).

She of the Way of Things is a huntress, so the Prince becomes prey, whether he knows it or not. Led to the end of the world, betrayed at a cliffhanger...what's meant to happen now?

[bennyboyfics]

tennis player gf and emma shelton playing a prank on ben. I love your work you are amazing

Pranking Ben || Ben Shelton x tennis gf!reader

A/n: thank u so much for the request bby!

Wc: 1,150

Warnings:

MASTERLIST

-

Ben had a day off from training, and you were spending it at his family’s house, lounging in the living room with Emma, his younger sister. She had convinced you to film a TikTok with her—something lighthearted, just a little brother-sister versus girlfriend challenge. The concept was simple: Emma would ask Ben a series of questions, and he’d have to choose between you and her.

Ben was in the kitchen grabbing a snack when Emma turned to you, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Okay, so here’s the plan,” she whispered. “We’re gonna make him super uncomfortable. I’m gonna be, like, a little mean to you. Nothing crazy, just enough to make him mad.” You grinned, catching on quickly. “Oh, he’s gonna lose it.”

Emma nodded. “He’s so protective over you, it’s actually ridiculous. But I wanna see just how far it goes.” You glanced toward the kitchen, making sure Ben wasn’t eavesdropping. Emma set up her phone on the coffee table, adjusting the angle so that both of you were perfectly in frame. The second Ben walked back into the room with a protein shake in one hand and a banana in the other, Emma hit record.

“Alright, Ben,” she announced, already slipping into character, “you’re gonna answer some questions, and you have to pick between me and your girlfriend. No copping out.” Ben shot you a knowing look, already suspicious. “Y’all are up to something, I can feel it.” “No, we’re not!” Emma said quickly, eyes wide with feigned innocence. “It’s just for fun. Ready?”

Ben sat down between you and Emma, exhaling through his nose. “Fine. But I know I’m getting set up.” Emma ignored him and jumped right into the questions. “Who has the better style?” Ben barely hesitated. “Y/n.” Emma scoffed dramatically. “Be so for real. She wears the same tennis skirts every day.” Your mouth fell open, feigning offense.

“Wow. That’s crazy coming from you, Miss Oversized T-Shirt and Crocs.” Emma waved you off. “Whatever, next question. Who has better music taste?” Ben took a sip of his shake, pretending to think. “Hmm… I gotta go with my girl again.” Emma gasped, clutching her chest. “What?! I literally put you on to half your playlist.”

Ben smirked. “Yeah, and the other half is her.”Emma rolled her eyes but stayed in character, cranking up the fake hostility. “That’s actually insane, but okay. Next—who’s funnier?” Ben tilted his head, looking between the two of you. “Y’all are both funny, but I think Y/n makes me laugh more.” Emma groaned. “You’re such a liar.” She turned to you, her tone suddenly clipped.

“You’re not even that funny. He just laughs at everything you say because you’re his girlfriend.” Ben’s head snapped toward her so fast you thought he might get whiplash. His relaxed posture stiffened, his jaw tightening. “Emma. Chill out.” You bit your lip, trying not to laugh at how quickly he turned serious. You feel his hands squeeze your shoulders lightly.

Emma, still in full prank mode, crossed her arms and scowled at you. “I don’t even get why he picked you for any of these. You’re kinda mid at all of them.” That was the breaking point. Ben set his protein shake down with a loud thud and turned his full attention to his sister. His brows furrowed, and his voice dropped an octave, the way it always did when he got genuinely mad.

“Yo, what’s your problem?” Emma shrugged, still playing it up. “I’m just saying, maybe you should give an honest answer for once instead of simping.” Ben leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring her down. “Nah, you’re straight up being rude. Dunno what’s wrong with you today but seriously, don’t be a bitch .” Emma, fighting back laughter, kept pushing.

“I mean… I just think I’m better than her at, like, everything.” Ben let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “That’s real cute, Emma. But let’s be clear—there’s a reason she’s a professional tennis player and you’re sitting on your ass-”That did it. You and Emma lost it, bursting into laughter as Emma finally broke character.

She threw her head back, wheezing. “OH MY GOD, BEN, IT WAS A JOKE.” Ben blinked, looking between the two of you as you dissolved into giggles. His shoulders relaxed slightly, but he still looked wary. “What?” You wiped a tear from your eye, grinning. “It was a prank, babe. Emma wanted to see how mad you’d get if she was mean to me.”

Ben exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “Y’all are the worst.” Emma clapped her hands together, triumphant. “But I knew you’d flip out! You got so protective, it was actually adorable.” Ben shook his head, muttering under his breath. “Y’all are so annoying.” You leaned into his side, resting your head on his shoulder. “Aw, but you love us.”

Ben sighed, wrapping an arm around you. “Yeah, yeah.” He glanced at Emma. “Don’t ever pull that again, though. I was two seconds from kicking you out of your own house.” Emma cackled, snatching her phone to stop the recording. “Worth it.” Ben groaned, but the way he pulled you closer told you he wasn’t that mad. And, if anything, the prank just confirmed what you already knew—Ben Shelton was always gonna have your back, no matter what.

[jackoshadows]

Oh look, an entire 'analysis' based on false and racist, sexist fanon interpolated from characters who bully Arya as ugly because she looks different to them that will now get reblogged by the casual fans with the wrong canon that Arya is 'ugly'. This is how fanon gets formed and widespread.

In old stories, especially those that feature morality and ethics, so often the "good" characters are beautiful, while the "evil" ones are ugly.

This is especially funny because this is a fandom where a canonically selfish, classist, patriarchal, pro-status quo bully like Sansa is seen as 'good', the champion of the poor, the most compassionate character with the most empathy, the 'embodiment of hope for the future' because she is classically beautiful, fits into Eurocentric beauty standards and represents white female fragility and the canonically white Arya is headcanoned as poc because they see her as ugly, violent, impulsive, stupid, tribal, barbaric, savage, uncouth, unicivilized and unfit to have a family and love.

What you are writing here is the exact opposite of what is happening. Where, it is not the author, but the fandom that is headcanoning a canonically pretty, white girl as ugly and poc because they see her as violent and uncouth.

Where a nine year old, skinny little girl is masculinized, her femininity stripped and she is always headcanoned as bigger and being an executioner and body guard for her older, bigger sister in popular fanart. Notice also that both characters are white, but Arya is always drawn in darker shades. Again, this goes back to that concept of white female fragility which is rooted in white supremacy where a woc cannot be envisioned as vulnerable or worth protecting.

And the most mind boggling fact is that Arya is white!! But because the racist/sexist fandom want to project all their white femininity onto Sansa, this means for them, Arya has to be masculine, ugly, violent and poc.

Just looking through OP's tags for example, this is some art of how they envision Sansa in their mind:

This is one of the Arya fanart they reblogged:

Notice the difference between the so called beautiful and ugly characters for the OP? I did look back a bit of on tags could not find any art of dark skinned Sansa by herself like the Arya art above.

Like this is stuff one sees in the fandom:

Another blogger who thinks Arya is ugly and Sansa is beautiful reblogs art like this of both characters - remember both characters are canonically white in the books...

Notice the difference?

Humans unfortunately have had a long history of unconsciously assuming positive traits (intelligence, kindness, generosity, talent) of people with high levels of personal attractiveness (PA), while also assuming negative traits (low intelligence, laziness, aggression, cruelty) to those with lower PA, without any evidence of the individual's personality, traits, thoughts, beliefs, habits.

The way this applies exactly to the racism and sexism of this fandom and how they treat the characters of Sansa and Arya is amazing and and that's what's funny about your entire post. Like, this gets to the heart of all this and yet it's the complete opposite of what you are implying.

This is why despite Arya being more intelligent that Sansa, more political then Sansa, more compassionate than Sansa, having more empathy than Sansa, being the victim of bullying from her sister Sansa, despite standing up for the powerless, despite all this, the character of Arya is constantly put down as a sociopath, violent, impulsive and stupid, while Sansa is seen as the compassionate Mother Theresa, the smart politician, the only girl who can be 'Lady of Winterfell' because she's the right kind of woman.

And this is why Arya is contantly headcanoned as ugly - despite the text making it clear that she is not!! There are several characters who call Arya pretty. Are they wrong? Are the bullies right?

You mention Brienne. This is a canonically 'ugly' character who is the embodiment of GOOD. She is exactly what you are talking about. The author goes into great detail about how ugly she is. NOTE: HE DOES NOT DO THIS WITH ARYA BECAUSE ARYA IS NOT CANONICALLY UGLY. The author even has a romance arc with Brienne who is ugly on the outside and beautiful on the inside and Jaime who is beautiful on the outside and ugly on the inside, his take on beauty and the beast. This is his inversion of the traditional fairy tale tropes.

But why is Arya being grouped into this, when she has an entirely different exploration - The Ugly Duckling - of looking different, about being non-conforming, of not fitting in amongst the Tully looking Starks as opposed to the Stark looking Starks.

'LYANNA WAS BEAUTIFUL' 'SO ARE YOU'

This is right there in the text!! Again, why is this being ignored in favor of what two bullies are mocking a little girl for? Are bullies right?

How does this relate to OP's assertion? It supports it. Martin's choice to write both Arya and Brienne as physically plain at best was a deliberate choice.

Except this nine year old is not old enough or taken care of her appearance enough for us to know whether she is plain or not. We know this of the 17 year old Brienne - and the themes you mentioned are explicitly explored with her in terms of good and evil being connected to a character's looks.

And Tyriongirl should know as a Tyrion girl that if Martin wants the readers to know a character is ugly he will make that damn clear by mentioning every other page how ugly the character is which he does with Tyrion. Never with Arya.

This creates a disconnect because we are so conditioned to expect our protags to be attractive on top of everything else, that it's difficult to mentally picture them as anything but.

EXACTLY! Conditioning on top of the racism and sexism, means that white tradfems who see Sansa as the embodiment of white femininity expect Arya to be ugly, brown, primitive and violent.

And this is what is happening and this is why there is a backlash everytime there are posts like this primarily from Sansa fans about how Arya is ugly and how that should be accepted for ugly representation when Arya is canonically not ugly and there is already an amazing, great character in Brienne for ugly representation.

But the the 'ugly' discourse has never been about representation or even Arya as a character. It's always Sansa fans digging this up because they need Sansa to be special and unique and feminine and blue eyed and beautiful and romantic and lady like and they don't want Arya to encroach on all that ever.

Here's a question. Why is Jon never at the center of ugly discourse given he is older, supposedly plain looking and has the Stark look just like Arya. He and Arya look so much alike. Sansa who thinks Arya is ugly also calls out Jon Snow for his looks and her classism is on display when she thinks they are both ugly because they are bastards.

Where are all the 'Why is Jon drawn so handsome when he is ugly in the books' arguments and discourse? Why are you not writing your 'fairy tale' analysis for Jon Snow and good and bad and beautiful and ugly?

I will give you a clue - because it's never about ugly representation and instead a desire by Sansa fans who need Arya to be ugly because the bully should always be right.

It's an internalized prejudice for sure, but one that has been reinforced so many times through most every story, book, movie, TV, anime, etc. that we consume that it's difficult to shift the mental paradigm. It's not an excuse, but it's an explanation.

It's definitely an internalized prejudice for sure, one full of misogyny and racism. And posts like this that disingenuously interpret what is actually happening does not help at all in challenging these age old stereotypes of beauty, race and sex.

People are truly so afraid of liking ugly characters. you see it all the time with Arya specifically, but also targs who all have to be The Prettiest. Rhaenyra femininity discourse comes to mind (and of course there's a lot to say there about equating beauty with femininity / gender conforming but that's a whole other thing). Arya is definitely the most egregious example though. Like, so many of her fans feel compelled to find whatever evidence they can (or can make up) that Actually she's extremely pretty or will be extremely pretty or pretty by the north standards or pretty by our real world standards or whatever, and I truly think that they just can't conceive of liking a character who's not pretty, or worse, ugly. Some of it is equating beauty with goodness (which is wild, especially when it comes to asoiaf as and its themes as a series) and some of it is just... they can't like a character who's ugly. I don't know if it's a self insert thing, a patriarchal thing, a misogyny / internalized misogyny thing or what. So when you say Arya is not pretty, or 'worse', ugly, they take it as an insult to her worth in-story and to her worth as a character, as if not being pretty means she's not written well

Disney fairytale mindset fr

[justsomerandomfanfic]

The Top Shelf - Jack Daniels X Female Reader

Title: The Top Shelf

Jack Daniels X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Ginger, Tequila (Mentioned), and Champ (Mentioned)

WC: 5,707

Warnings: Short Reader (mentioned to be below the average height for a woman), Kingsman canon violence mentioned (ie. killing/death), cursing, italics, nicknames, teasing, banter, flirting, Jack being Jack, jealousy, age gap very briefly mentioned, suggestive, slight angst, and fluff

You were going to kill whoever put your special snack on the top shelf. Actually, maybe you would torture them a bit first. Everyone in Statesman knew you couldn’t reach the high shelves, they knew that you had your own special cupboard to hide your snacks, and yet, your stuff somehow made its way to the top shelf. You knew you didn’t put them up there. 

Now, standing in the kitchen, staring up at the top shelf, you glared at it; all the while, you were thinking about all the possible weapons you could use to cause harm on the person responsible. You were short, pretty short. You were below the average height for a woman, and you were mighty proud of it. Most people, mostly when you were still in school, would always say how lucky they were to be tall. 

“Oh, I can reach things easier.”

“I can see easier in crowds.”

“I am the perfect height to be a model.”

Ugh. It was annoying as hell. There were a lot of things that you could do too. You could make your way through crowds easier, sliding through gaps. You got a lot more leg room in cars and planes. You could fit into smaller spaces; which oddly helped in your line of work. And you were often seen as less intimidating in social situations, which definitely helped in your line of work. 

Being short was amazing, but not when people actively tried to make it harder for you. 

And so, here you were, arms crossed as you tried to make up your mind on how you were going to get your favorite snack. You had three options. One; grab a chair or stool. Two; climb the counter and stand on it to reach. Or, three; ask for help. And you were not going to ask for help. You liked most of your co-workers, but you were a grown-ass woman - strong and independent - and you didn’t need help. 

But, it seemed that fate - or destiny - was going to delay your snack time. 

“You need any help, sugar?” You heard the deep, smooth southern voice behind you, and you immediately sighed. Even though you drank two cups of coffee that morning, his presence always made you oddly exhausted. 

Turning around, you frowned, staring up at the man who had that stupid grin on his face. “No, I do not need help, Whiskey.”

The cowboy raised an eyebrow, eyes lifting to your snack and back down to you, “Are you sure?” He placed his hands on his hips, jutting out a hip, “I could grab that for you, if you want.”

You mimicked him, jutting out your own hip, your eyes narrowing, “No, thank you, Whiskey. I can get it on my own.”

Whiskey raised both his hands up in the air in defence before backing away, making you sigh and turn back around. 

You huffed, biting your bottom lip as you started at the shelf. Maybe if you jumped just right, you could knock the damn thing down. Or if you really committed to climbing the counter… No… After the day you had? A grueling mission, a headache that wouldn’t quit… No, maybe it would be best to ask someone for help. Not from Whiskey or Tequila, but maybe Ginger would help you. You two were very close, so you doubted that she wouldn’t help.

With a spin, you turned around, planning to leave to seek out Ginger, but you jumped, letting out a squeak. 

Jack- Whiskey was still there.

Leaning against the entrance way, his arms were crossed over his broad chest. That stupid smirk of his hadn’t faded, either. Jack’s smirk only widened, having the gall to look you up and down.

���Why are you still here?” You asked, crossing your arms again.

He didn’t miss a beat, “Enjoyin’ the view.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, “You’re insufferable.” You moved, slipping past him, muttering out an ‘I hate you,’ for good measure, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Mm,” He hummed, tilting his head as he watched you go, “You love me, sugar.”

You ignored him, forcing yourself to keep walking down the hall. Except, despite your best efforts, your mind drifted back to him. God, you loathed him. Him with his perfect body, perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect eyes, perfect voice, perfect- ugh. You hated him. 

Ever since you started at Statesman, Whiskey - or Jack, as he told you that you could call him, but you never did - spent a lot of time with you. He’d seek you out sometimes, just to ask a dumb question that either Ginger or Champ could answer. He’d talk to you the most outside of missions, and even during missions, and by ‘talk,’ you meant flirt. He was such a damn flirt. It wasn’t just the smirks or the innuendos. It was the way he always made you the center of his attention. The way his voice dropped just a little lower when he spoke to you, and just you. The way he’d look at you like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the worst part.

Not to mention that, despite being so… Flirtatious with you, he would always stay a gentleman. He wouldn’t push things too far. He wouldn’t make you genuinely uncomfortable. For all his teasing and smooth-talking, there was a line he never crossed. Jack Daniels could be a cocky bastard, sure - but he was also a gentleman. And maybe that was what irritated you the most. Because if he was just another flirt with no sense of boundaries, you could dismiss him. You could roll your eyes, scoff, and walk away without a second thought.

But no. He had to be charming. He had to be kind. He had to have that damn Southern drawl that made your name sound sweeter than honey. And worst of all?

He had to make you like him.

And sometimes, you wished you could just have a real conversation with him. No flirting. No smirks. No subtle innuendos. No trying to get you all flustered. Just a real talk. But with Jack Daniels? With Agent Whiskey? That seemed damn near impossible.

You pushed open the door to the tech lab, stepping inside to find Ginger working away at her station, fingers flying across the keyboard with practiced ease. She didn’t look up as you fully entered, too focused on whatever complicated codes or systems she was working on.

With a dramatic sigh, you made your way to an empty chair - one of the spinny ones, thankfully - and all but collapsed into it, giving yourself a slow, lazy spin. At that, the corners of Ginger’s lips quirked up in amusement, though she still didn’t glance away from her screen.

You never really understood high-tech or coding. It just wasn’t your thing. Yeah, you were pretty good on a phone or computer. You did the basics and even a few tricks you picked up through the years. You could even use a fax machine, but you liked being in the action, doing the fieldwork, bringing justice. You left the screens and wires to Ginger, trusting that whatever magic she worked back here kept you alive out there.

Slouching slightly, you swayed the chair side to side, another softer sigh slipping past your lips. 

Finally, Ginger spoke. 

“Bad day?” She asked, a knowing lilt to her voice. 

You sighed again, “You have no idea.”

“I kind of do,” Her grin widened, “I was watching over you and your mission this morning.”

“Yeah, yeah…” You muttered tiredly.

Ginger hummed, still typing away, “Whiskey?”

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you gave the chair one last spin. “...Yeah.”

Ginger finally stopped typing, finding a stopping point, and turning in her chair to face you as you lazily pushed your chair with your feet, rolling yourself closer until you were right beside her. She studied you for a moment, clearly amused but also curious.

“What’d he do this time?” She asked.

You huffed, leaning forward against the desk, resting your elbow on it and pressing your cheek into the palm of your hand. “He was just being himself today,” You muttered, voice heavy with exhaustion. “Flirting, smirking, calling me ‘sugar’ like it’s his damn job.” Ginger snorted, waiting for you to continue. You sighed again. “Honestly? I’m more pissed about something else.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly, intrigued. “Oh? Was it Tequila?”

“No, not him,” You sat up a little, frowning, “I went to the kitchen to grab a snack, right? But when I got there, it was on the top shelf. My special snack. The one that I always keep in my cupboard. 

Ginger’s lips twitched, and you could tell that she was trying not to laugh.

“And?”

“And I can’t reach it,” You grumbled, flopping back against the chair, “I swear, not being able to have my snack was more annoying than Whiskey today.”

At that, Ginger actually laughed, shaking her head. “Now that’s saying something.”

You nodded, pursing your lips as you began slightly turning the chair again. Ginger knew about your… Situation with Whiskey. You wouldn’t say everyone knew, but occasionally, Tequila would throw out some comment about how Whiskey was like your loyal puppy, always following you around, eager for your attention. It was annoying. And mostly untrue.

Mostly. 

But Ginger? Ginger knew. And, more importantly, she knew about the part you refused to admit out loud - the part where, despite all of your frustration, all of the teasing and bickering, you were attracted to the older man. You trusted Ginger. With your life - both figuratively and literally. You knew whatever you said here, in the privacy of her tech lab, would never leave the room.

And yeah, she teased you sometimes. Tired to nudge you toward saying something to Whiskey instead of just glaring at him across the room or table during mission briefings. But she never pushed too hard. She knew when to joke and when to let you be. 

“You know,” She trailed off, “I could always call Whiskey in here to help you with your snack problem…”

You only groaned, letting your head drop onto the desk. “Ginger. No.” You answered, your voice muffled from your arms. 

You lifted your head just enough to give Ginger your best pout, eyes wide and pleading. “That’s why I came to you,” You said, “I was hoping you’d be a dear and grab it for me.”

“And why can’t you just ask Whiskey for help?”

You groaned again, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “Ginger, I know you are just pulling my leg, but come on! You are missing the point!” You sat up straighter, launching into a full-on rant. “If I ask him, then he’s gonna tease the ever-loving crap out of me. He’ll say something about how he’d love to help me out or some other nonsense that’ll make my cheeks all hot, which is annoying! And then, if I let him help, not only will his ego grow, but the next time this happens - god forbid - he’s gonna make it a huge thing!” You gestured kind of wildly. “Like, ‘Oh, need my help again, sugar?’ or ‘I think you just like havin’ me around, sweetheart.’” You mimicked his voice, lowering your own and adding his Southern accent on it. “And I know he’s the one putting my snacks up there in the first place, just to mess with me!” You let out a deep breath when you finally finished rambling, your arms falling limp at your sides. Ginger blinked at you, lips twitching, clearly holding back some laughter.

“... Alright, alright,” She relented, shaking her head, “I’ll help you.”

You let out a sigh of relief, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re a lifesaver, Ginger,” You said, standing up as she did.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t mention it.” She teased, nudging your shoulder as you both exited the lab. As you walked side by side down the hall, Ginger glanced down at you, “So, what’s this snack, anyway?”

You perked up slightly, “My jumbo family-size bag of chips - my favorite flavor,” You emphasized, “I just got them last time I went out, and I’ve been dying for the right day to open them up.” You sighed wistfully, already picturing the evening ahead. “And tonight is the night. After I get my chips, all I want to do is go to my room, collapse on my bed, cuddle up with my favorite blanket, and put on my favorite movie.”

Ginger hummed in approval, “Solid plan.” As you neared the kitchen, she glanced at you again. “So… Aside from Whiskey, who do you think would’ve put your snack up there?”

You shrugged, “If it wasn’t him, then it was Tequila.” But as you turned the corner into the kitchen, you stopped in your tracks. There, sitting right on the counter, were your chips. Someone had pulled them down for you. Your brows furrowed as you slowly stepped forward, staring at the bag.

“Huh.” Ginger stopped beside you.

You glanced around, as if expecting someone to jump out, but the kitchen was empty.

“…Weird,” You muttered, reaching out to grab the bag. You stared down at the chip bag in your hands, your eyes narrowed in suspicion. Your eyebrows furrowed as your lips pressed into a tight line. Ginger, who had casually leaned against the fridge, tilted her head as she observed you.

“You know who would’ve pulled it down for you?” She asked, a knowing look in her eyes.

You tilted your head, eyes still fixed on the bag as you sighed. “I might have a clue,” You muttered, clearly still trying to wrap your head around the situation. “Thanks, Ginger,” You added, flashing her a small smile as you turned to leave. “Have a goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

As you walked down the hallway, the weight of your thoughts started to sink in, and just like that, Whiskey’s presence seemed to take over your mind once more. For the millionth time today, he invaded your thoughts. It was almost impossible not to think about him - his smirk, the teasing tone of his voice, the way he always seemed to know just what to say to get under your skin. 

You weren’t entirely sure if it was him who had pulled the chips down for you. But Whiskey was the only person who knew you had been eyeing that snack that was too high up to reach.

It frustrated you - more than you were willing to admit. Why couldn’t you just hate him, like you always claimed? You stopped in your tracks for a moment, letting out a frustrated sigh. You were finding it more and more difficult to pretend you hated him and it was becoming a problem. It wasn’t supposed to be this complicated. But here you were. 

~~~

Does this person know that you have plans on killing them?

You stared up at the top shelf, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line. Once again, your snacks had been moved. This time, it was your candy.

It had been a couple of days since the chip incident, and now you were starting to wonder if this was a full-fledged conspiracy. At this point, you were getting really annoyed. Maybe it was time to just keep all your snacks in your room and save yourself the trouble.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, you turned around, already planning to find Ginger and ask for help again - only to nearly jump out of your skin. Whiskey stood there, leaning casually against the counter with that infuriatingly smug grin.

You slapped a hand over your beating heart, glaring up at him. “God, stop doing that,” You huffed.

His grin widened. “Darlin’, I figured you, of all people, would’ve known I was standin’ here. Ain’t you supposed to be a top-tier agent?”

You rolled your eyes, exhaling sharply. “Yeah, well, I guess I’ve been too busy trying to figure out who the hell keeps moving my snacks.” You raised a suspicious eyebrow at him. “You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who’d do such a thing, would you?”

Whiskey shook his head, an innocent smile stretching across his face. “No clue, sweetheart.”

Liar.

You didn’t believe him for a second, but before you could call him out, he casually strolled past you, making his way to the coffee maker.

And that’s when your brain short-circuited. Your eyes followed him instinctively, trailing down as he moved. The way his jeans fit - God help you - was downright unfair. Your mind screamed at you to stop staring, to look away, to get a grip. But your heart? Your heart was having a much harder time listening. Hell, it was only fair for you to stare at him. He stared at you all the time and teased you relentlessly about it. Turnabout was fair play, right?

Your gaze lingered a moment longer before you quickly looked away, hoping he hadn’t caught you. But, of course, you weren’t that lucky.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that, sugar, and I’m gonna start thinkin’ you like what you see,” Whiskey drawled, amusement dripping from his voice as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

Your eyes snapped back to his face, heat creeping up your neck when you saw him already looking at you. “I was not looking at you.”

Whiskey took a slow sip of his coffee, smirking over the rim of his mug. “Oh, darlin’… Don’t lie to me.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes again. “I hate you.”

Whiskey leaned against the counter opposite of you, sipping his coffee with that smirk still in place. “Sure you do, baby.”

“‘Baby?’ That one’s new.” You turned away from him, trying your best to ignore him as you glared up at your candy, still annoyingly out of reach. You really didn’t want to trek all the way to Ginger’s lab again, only for the candy to somehow miraculously appear on the counter like last time. You felt bad dragging her all the way here just for her help when it hadn’t even been necessary.

With a deep, resigned sigh, you finally muttered in stubborn defeat, “Whiskey… Can you help me?” 

You didn’t have to look at him to know his grin widened. You heard it in the smug silence that stretched out before you heard the quiet clink of his coffee mug being set down. Then came the slow, deliberate footsteps. You barely had time to react before his presence pressed close. Your breath hitched as his chest brushing against your back, the warmth of him seeping through your clothes. One of his hands curled around your upper arm as he reached up with the other, easily plucking your candy from the top shelf. And just as quickly, he moved away, his hip bumping against the counter as he leaned against it, looking down at you with that insufferable, satisfied grin.

“Here ya go, darlin’,” He drawled, holding out the bag - only to pop a piece of candy into his mouth before handing it over.

You gaped at him. “Hey!”

He winked. “Payment.”

And with that, he sauntered off, whistling as he went, leaving you standing there, your face burning hotter than a furnace. You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding, your body still tense from the lingering warmth of him. Pressing your back against the counter, you gripped the edge with both hands, your fingers curling tightly around it as if that would somehow ground you.

Why did he have to make things so complicated?

Your heart was still racing, your face still hot, and your breathing was irregular. Snapping your head toward the kitchen doorway, you shouted, “I still hate you!”

There was a beat of silence before his voice rang back down the hall, smooth and teasing-

“Liar.”

Your grip tightened on the counter as you clenched your jaw, staring after him.

That man was going to be the death of you.

~~~

It had been a long mission. A draining one.

All you wanted to do was grab something to eat, lock yourself in your room, and not emerge for the rest of the day. You weren’t needed for anything else, and your mission paperwork? That could be done just as easily from the comfort of your bed. You were exhausted, body aching, but if you were being honest, that wasn’t the only reason you were in such a sour mood.

No, that had everything to do with Whiskey. Normally, working with him wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Sure, he was insufferable, always teasing, always finding new ways to get under your skin, but you could usually go about your job, ignoring him to an extent. But this mission? This mission had made that almost impossible.

It was difficult enough, requiring both of you to be at the top of your game. You had gotten the information you needed - you sneaking in to grab the hard drive while Whiskey ran his distraction. And it had worked. Flawlessly.

Except… It was his distraction that left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You never thought it would bother you. Not really. But watching him turn on the charm, flashing that signature smirk, whispering sweet nothings into some stranger woman’s ear, touching them so casually, so easily-

You had no right to be upset. It was just a mission. And yet, you were upset.  But, green was not a pretty color on you. 

You stood there, staring up at the top shelf in the kitchen, your gaze fixed on the bag of chips that had been placed there again. For the third time in a row. It wasn’t just the chips. It wasn’t about the bag of snacks at all, really. It was about everything else. The mission. The way Whiskey had acted. The way he always acted, and the way you couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it. Your mind was tangled in a mess of frustration, jealousy, and... Something else you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

You stood there, frozen, staring at the chips, replaying the mission again and again in your head. You were so lost in your head, so absorbed by your own swirling emotions, that you didn’t even hear Whiskey enter the room. His humming filled the space briefly, but it faded as soon as he saw you.

He stopped, his head tilting to the side as his gaze fell on you, his eyes narrowing as he observed your face. He stood there for a moment, studying you. "Need some help?" He asked, voice light, teasing.

You didn’t even look at him. “No.” The word came out softer than you intended.

Whiskey’s grin faltered, and he took a step forward. His brows furrowed as he approached, now genuinely concerned. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer at first, your eyes still fixed on the top shelf. The silence stretched between you, and you could feel his eyes on you. You almost wished he would say something - tease you, make it light again - but instead, he stayed silent, waiting for you to speak.

But you didn’t. You didn’t know what to say.

Whiskey took a step closer, moving with that familiar, confident grace. He found his spot where he had stood just days ago - his side pressed against the counter, just a foot or so away from you, his presence still as intimidating as it was comforting. His eyes were trained on you, no longer teasing, but genuine concern written across his face.

“Want to talk about it, sugar?” He asked, his voice low as his hand reached up, fingers brushing against a few strands of your hair, tucking it gently behind your ear. “Might help.”

You took a step back. All the weeks of frustration - the teasing, the confusion, the ridiculous tension that hung between you two - came rushing to the surface. You couldn’t stop it. “Can you just stop teasing me all the time?” You blurted, shaking your head. “It’s not fair that you always play with my feelings like this.” Your voice cracked, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “You’re always messing with me, making me question everything - whether you care or not. And I-” You cut yourself off, you had already said a bit too much.

You expected him to laugh it off, maybe smirk. But instead, Whiskey’s expression shifted. His eyes softened for a split second before they hardened, and in one swift motion, he stepped forward, his hands landing on your waist. Without warning, he lifted you, effortlessly placing you onto the counter in front of him.

Your hands instinctively landed on his shoulders, gripping them for stability, but as soon as you were placed on the counter, your palms dropped to your lap, your body frozen in surprise. Your heart raced as you stared up at him, eyes wide, and your breath caught in your throat. He was right there, so close you could feel the heat of his body. His face was a mere foot from yours, his expression less playful and more serious than you had ever seen. And his eyes, so dark, like chocolate, they were searching, confused.

His small frown deepened, his eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean I don’t care?” Whiskey asked, his voice soft but firm.

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, caught between wanting to push him away and feeling an overwhelming urge to pull him closer. Your mouth felt dry, the words stuck in your throat. 

You opened your mouth, but it was like the tension in the room made everything seem miles away, your thoughts jumbled. You ignored his earlier question, focusing instead on what had been eating at you. “Then why do you tease me so much?” Your voice was quieter this time, but the frustration still seeped through. "If this was all some kind of game-"

“You think I’m playin’ a game with you?” He cut you off before you could finish, his voice low and serious, with an edge that made you freeze. You nodded, your eyes dropping to your hands in your lap. “Look at me.” His voice was firm, insistent. Slowly, reluctantly, you did. “I ain’t playin’ with you,” Whiskey said, his tone softer now but no less intense. His hands moved to the counter beside you, leaning in close, effectively caging you in. “And I never have been.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, heart racing. Was he serious? Was he telling the truth? You couldn’t think, couldn’t move, but everything inside you screamed to reach for him. To believe him. But you were still afraid. You dropped your gaze, unable to hold his stare any longer. But he wasn’t having that.

Whiskey moved closer as he raised a hand, tugging his cowboy hat off and tossing it onto the counter beside you without a second thought. His fingers brushed along your skin as he reached for your chin, gently tilting your head up, forcing your eyes to meet his. His gaze searched yours, his fingers barely grazing along your jawline. He sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly, before his voice filled the space between you.

“Sugar, if you think for one damn second that I don’t mean every word I say to you, then you don’t know me half as well as I thought.” His fingers trailed along your cheek, “I tease you ‘cause I like seein’ you all riled up, yeah. But I sure as hell ain’t playin’ with you. I do care.” He sighed deeply, “You got me all twisted up, darlin’. And I don’t know what else I gotta do to prove it to you.”

His confession hung heavy in the air, settling deep in your chest. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t teasing - this was real. And it scared you more than anything.

You swallowed hard, a tiny sigh escaped your lips before you muttered, barely above a whisper, “I hate you.”

Whiskey’s lips twitched, the smallest hint of a smile appearing as he shook his head. “No, you don’t,” He said, his voice softer now, steady.

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, his touch lingering, sending a shiver down your spine. Then, slowly, he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. But he didn’t close the distance - he stopped just short. You couldn’t look away. His eyes held you, drawing you in. Every breath you took seemed to sync with his, the space between you shrinking with every passing second.

Nervously, your hand slid to his on the counter, “Jack,” The sound of it barely escaping your lips.

He let you a shaky breath at the sound, so sweet from your lips. He leaned closer, his nose brushing against yours, his hand moving to fully cup your cheek, the calloused pad of his thumb brushing along your skin; his hand on the counter moved, resting on your waist. His gaze flickered down to your lips, then back to your eyes, giving you a chance to pull away.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

The moment his plush lips pressed against yours, a shiver ran down your spine. The kiss was slow at first, testing, his lips moving against yours with a softness that sent your heart hammering against your ribs. A sigh escaped you, your eyelashes fluttering along your cheeks as your hands instinctively slid up his shoulders, wrapping around his neck. Your fingers found their way into the hair at the nape of his neck, threading through the soft strands before giving a gentle tug.

Jack let out a low, guttural grunt, the sound vibrating against your lips. His grip on your waist tightened slightly as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. His other hand slid along your jaw, fingers curling around the side of your neck, his thumb brushing over your pulse - where your heartbeat pounded wildly beneath his touch. The kiss was breathtaking. Dizzying. It stole the air right from your lungs, leaving you lightheaded in the best way possible. His lips moved against yours with a maddening mixture of tenderness and intensity, like he’d been waiting for this - aching for it - just as much as you had.

A soft whimper escaped you before you could stop it, your body pressing closer to his instinctively. Your fingers curled into his hair, tugging once more, and Jack groaned against your mouth, his grip on you tightening; swallowing every tiny sound you made like he needed them to breathe. Your legs parted slightly where you sat on the counter, and Jack took full advantage, stepping between them, his hand on your waist sliding down to your hip, thumb brushing over the exposed skin just above your waistband. His lips trailed over your bottom lip, teasing, before he stole another deep, lingering kiss, his breath mixing with yours, making your head spin.

His lips brushed against yours one last time before he pulled back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting lightly against yours. His breath was heavy, warm, fanning over your lips as his thumb traced slow, lazy circles against your hip. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of what just happened settled between you, thick and undeniable. Jack’s eyes searched yours, dark and unreadable, before the corner of his lips curled into the faintest smirk.

“Well, sweetheart,” He murmured, his voice husky, still laced with the remnants of the kiss. “That sure didn’t feel like hate.”

You let out a small huff, still feeling quite breathless. Before you could say anything back, Jack’s hands found your waist again, his grip firm yet gentle as he effortlessly lifted you off the counter, setting you on your feet. The warmth of his touch lingering even after he let go. Wordlessly, he reached up and grabbed your bag of chips from the top shelf, handing them to you with an easy smirk.

Then, he casually asked, “Feel like hittin’ up a diner with me tonight?”

You stared at him for a moment, still reeling from everything that had just happened. Your heart was racing, your lips warm and tingling, and now he was asking you to dinner like it was nothing? Like he hadn’t just kissed you breathless?

You clutched the bag of chips to your chest, exhaling through your nose. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

Jack just grinned, tilting his head. “That a yes, sugar?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Yeah… It’s a yes.”

His grin widened, pure satisfaction flashing in his eyes. “Knew you couldn’t resist me.” You scoffed, smacking his arm lightly before turning away. As you left the kitchen, Jack’s voice rang out behind you. “I’ll pick you up at six!”

You glanced over your shoulder, a smirk tugging at your own lips. “Don’t be late!”

He just chuckled, his voice muffled as you turned the corner and practically speed-walked down the hall. The excitement from the kiss still buzzed in your veins, making your steps feel light and fast. You reached your room, shutting the door behind you with a soft thud. For a moment, you just stood there, leaning against the door, your heart still racing. You pressed your fingers to your lips, replaying the kiss in your mind. A soft, almost giddy giggle escaped your lips before you could stop it.

Meanwhile, Jack stood in the kitchen, hands on his hips, a smile on his face. He stared at the floor for a moment. Then, his eyes flicked up to the top shelf, and with a mischievous grin, he walked over to your cupboard. With a smooth motion, he grabbed your fruit snack box and placed it high up on the shelf. Picking up his cowboy hat from the counter, he placed it back on his head. With a final glance toward the doorway you had disappeared through, he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

“Damn,” He muttered to himself, running a hand over his jaw before turning on his heel and striding out of the kitchen.

Six o’clock couldn’t come soon enough.

~~~

Main Masterlist | Kingsman Masterlist

[dumbbitchenergy17]

Vanity Fair

Plot: Vanity Fair returns again to shoot for the upcoming Mandalorian film

Word Count: 1.8K

Pairing: Paul Mescal x Reader, Pedro Pascal x Platonic!Reader

Warnings: sweet "father-daughter" moments, laughter&giggles, just general fluff, reader is a badass

—————

It’s always a joy to fly out to California for a photo shoot in which you were dying to be involved. You were excited to receive news from your team of another cover shoot for Vanity Fair for the Mandalorian and Grogu with the amazing Annie Leibovitz who did the cover shoot for the Star Wars series in 2022 when you wrapped season three. 

Paul with a clear schedule from productions was working on tagged along with his words, “I get to see my girlfriend and Pedro in action and be on vacation sign me up.”

After a flight and a long sleep at the hotel, you were up and at it earlier at the studio, trapped in hair and makeup. Paul was easily handled by Pedro, who showed up with a later call time and minimal work done in the makeup trailer. Paul looks in wonder at the large virtual soundstage, and it looks like they are on another planet.

“This is insane man,” Paul breathes out spinning in a circle, any kid would freak out thinking they were on a real planet. Pedro laughs as Coco tweaks some stray hairs as the Mandalorian helmet rests on his hip.

“That’s how I felt when I first got on set it’s otherworldy with the build sets then adding this changes the whole environment,” Pedro explains and Paul nods.

“Home sweet home,” You hum strolling onto the set. Paul has to do a double take and Pedro lets out a loud whistle.

“Loving the new hairdo,” Pedro says as you mock gasp pointing at your new short wig. Your hair barely touched your chin in a shag style a big difference from your natural hair and from what he’s seen of the show your character’s.

“This ol’ thing. I originally was gonna cut it short but with Where the Wild Things Are better just to use a wig.” You say and smile up a Paul, “Like the new look?”

You felt so comfortable in your new costume for this film, you loved all of your season’s looks especially season three with your cloak and so glad it continued with this piece. You wore dark pants with padding at the knees, grey boots that stopped right before your knee, a long-sleeved off-white shirt with paneling all down the chest, and sleeves that ombre to a dirty grey, and your favorite part the long tattered brown cloak that comes with a hood. In tune with your character a holster around your belt and hip for your blaster and vibro-knife, plus the buckle where your saber hilt rests.

“Very cool looking and comfortable,” He hums feeling the fabric of your cloak, and you sway allowing the fabric to swoosh around you.

“I got my cloaks and you got your skirts.” You tease at his costuming for his project and he huffs out a laugh.

You and Pedro are called to your places getting a decent view of Paul who stands beside Coco and your hairstylist as you’re guided by Annie to pose. 

“It’s a bit weird knowing you’re under there,” You comment to Pedro who stands beside you as the crew tweaks a few lights, “I’m so used to Brendan or Lateef here.”

You hear the muffled chuckle from him underneath the helmet.

“They should’ve photoshopped my face onto them for this. I could’ve been home sleeping.” He says and you scoff shoving his shoulder making him only laugh louder.

They have this huge wind machine that has your cloak blowing in the breeze and Pedro’s smaller one too. It’s a lot of broody looks with the two of you standing further apart, representing the distance between you. They move to solo shots starting with Pedro as your stylist tweaks strands of hair and powders your face as they replace your hilt for the full LED saber.

“Sick huh,” You smirk at Paul who looks over the detailing in the hilt to the exposed channel that holds the kyber crystal.

“Can you still handle that thing?” He teases and you give him a betrayed look and you hear Coco stifle back a laugh.

“How dare you—” Before you can go off on him you’re called on to replace Pedro who is taking off the helmet coming over.

Pedro gives Coco and Paul a confused look at the determined look on your face as you pass, “What’s up with her?”

“Paul questioned if she can still handle the lightsaber,” Coco says and Pedro gives Paul a shocked look as if the question was aimed at him.

“You know she’s got like five years of training with that thing, it’s practically muscle memory now?” Pedro says as the three of them watch you stand on the sand soundstage posing a glint in your eyes. Pedro elbows Paul in the side, “You’re gonna get it now.”

“Alright can we get a little action from you for both video and photo,” Annie says as the other camera person gets another angle.

“Whatever I want?” You ask and Paul should have noticed the hole he dug himself in. You were about to flame his ass from his comment.

“Your comfort level,” Annie says and you give a slight nod twisting your wrist to twirl the saber lightly. Tracing your foot along the sand to get a solid footing before doing a simple sequence you’ve been honing for a while, especially in this costume piece. You twirl the saber around your body seamlessly to others at a jaw-dropping place, you drag your foot through the sand kicking it up slightly as you start your rotation with your back toward the camera as you let go of the saber a skill you’ve been practicing for months.

Practically half of the crew’s jaws drop including Paul as the blade flips and twirls freely in the air behind your back as you complete your rotation catching it in your non-dominant hand before slicing at the camera. It’s quiet for a bit before someone starts clapping and you smile giving a bit of a dramatic bow catching Paul’s gaze a smug look on your face. Your face screams ‘How’s that for handling it?’

“I think we’re good on those shots and a riveting performance,” Annie says and you smile walking off the set with a bounce in your step. The crew changes the set around as you return the stunt saber to the weapons handler.

Pedro claps you on the shoulder, “Very impressive chiquita?”

“How the hell?” Paul breathes out and you shrug acting all innocent.

“That? Just a little something on the fly,” you shrug, coming over, “Maybe not question someone who has been in color guard since the sixth grade, where these skills are a cakewalk.” You press a kiss to his cheek before heading off to change into your next costume. Paul watches you walk away, talking casually to your stylist, and he can feel gazes on him, seeing both Pedro and Coco giving him knowing looks.

“Damn, she’s got you whipped,” Paul’s face flushes red as Pedro let out a full-body laugh and Coco has to hide her laughter behind her hand.

The rest of the shoot was so much fun especially when the Grogu puppet was brought on set to get ‘family’ portraits done. It was always fun being with Pedro, but the two of you were never able to act seriously on set. After a few hours, you wrapped heading back to the makeup trailer to return to normal.

“Ugh, my hair was screaming to be freed,” You say massaging your scalp as you walk up to Paul who is waiting at a crafty table. He smirks seeing your very casual attire, your hair out from under all the pins and wig caps a bit messy in some jeans and one of his graphic tees.

“You always gonna steal my shirts,” He pulls at the hem of his shirt and you grin up at him.

“They are so comfy and better than mine,” You comment and he rolls his eyes while taking your hand as you head to the car.

“Pedro invited us out to dinner tonight,” He brings up and you hum letting your hands swing as you walk. It’s silent between you two until he looks down at you, “Should I be scared of your quietness?”

You just hum and he can see a teasing glint in your eyes, “Oh nothing just thinking that if Tiya and Lucius were in a fight I would whoop your ass.” That has Paul laughing.

“I love you but I highly doubt you would beat Lucius.” He comments.

“I’m a jedi!” You retort and he shakes his head,

“Even without the force, she’s facing a twenty-four gladiator and your character is what eighteen?” Paul laughs the competitiveness in him coming out a bit, “Lucius would destroy you.”

“In this film, she’s twenty-one so it’s only three years difference, and even without the force Tiya has better swordsman skills than Lucius,” You point out before whipping out your phone, “Nah I need a fucking poll cause I know she would whoop his ass, hell everyone in that film. If you had her in Gladiator that film would’ve been over in seconds.” Paul laughs as you speedily type up a poll before posting it on your Instagram.

“They are probably gonna say you 'cause they love you more,” Paul comments opening the car door for you before coming around the other side.

“No, I told them to think fairly, a fight on strength and skill no powers from Tiya.” You comment already seeing the polls shifting between the two some defending Tiya and other Lucius. “I think if either of our characters got into a fight that didn’t end in blood Tiya would probably find Lucius intriguing.” Your comment has Paul smirking as he reverses out of the parking spot.

“A jedi with a gladiator how scandalous,” He grins and you giggle.

“I mean she likes her men that can fight so most likely but Lucius is too devout for his wife to think of other women,” Your comments make him groan slightly cursing his character.

“Well I hope Lucius heals to allow him to pursue other women cause Tiya would be right up his alley,” The car gets at a red light and he turns to face you leaning closer, “Good with a sword, strong, deadly…beautiful.”

You lean in over the center console as his eyes dart quickly at your lips before making eye contact. A tension holds between you just a breath away.

Your hum sweetly makes his gaze darken, “The light’s green.” The car honks behind him has him grumbling under his breath as he focuses on the road. You laugh leaning over and pressing a kiss to his jawline.

“Let’s get home huh, gladiator?”

“Whatever you want, jedi.”

[kero-cure]

Haruhi and Yuki answer some question about them and each other

AKA Huge amount of pure preciousness from Kansai pair.

Context: New video from Stardust Promotion (Yuki's agency) was out. Yuki answered some Boonboomger-related questions from fans. And when he think it was end, Haruhi suddenly appear behind him! So, They start answer more question focusing on them.

They were in the same group at the audition.

Haruhi thought that Yuki looked cool and might take lot of times to get along at first place. But when they got to know each other he found that Yuki is actually funny and easy to get along.

They sat next to each other at 1st round audition. That time Yuki realized that Haruhi was nervous all the time. But when he was qualified and still saw Haruhi around in the same group again made him feel "Oh, He's still here."

Yuki praised Haruhi about he's really good at switching between himself and his role (Taiya) when he's on camera. And he learnt so much from him.

They both are type of people who focus a lot on work they turn calmer and less talking.

It have one time that shooting was postponed because of snow. Since the amount of snow is small in Kansai region, (Side note: I have studied abroad in Osaka. It only had a few amount of snow flakes in winter.) They both got so excited and playing with snow.

Oh, Some topic about my beloved episode 37 again. Yuki said that he's not good at action scene at all so he admire Haruhi who could do it so well in a short time.

Each other memorable lines: For Yuki is "I can fix him." when Taiya tried to fix Bundorio in EP 45. When he saw that he feel amazed by Haruhi's acting skills. And for Haruhi is "Let's do it cool", Ishiro's catchphrase. He think that this word is unfair (lol)

Respect: Yuki respect Haruhi for how he can switch between work mode and private mode so fast and how focus on his work like he said before. And Haruhi respect Yuki for his resolution and his understanding towards his character. Even a very small movement make him believe that now Yuki is Ishiro.

Their goals for now on: Same, Growing as an actors, And challenge the different roles.

This surprised me a lot because of this video is came from agency. How they bring a guest who's associate in different agencies is rare. Seeing them have a talk like this make me happy and think again that they're so precious. And I'm glad that they became actors of my beloved hyperfixation ship.

Some pic from their Twitter. It had some little funny interact between them too. So cute!

By the way, I'll post another one that related to answered some Boonboomger-related questions video. Because that video have something so important to me...

[zepskies]

Ahhh thank you, my friend!!! 🥰 Omg I'm so glad you've heard of The Clock! (And oh YES, same with Vought Rising. 😭 I foresee so much SB fanfic coming soon from this fandom lmao.)

Love how the first line of this story is an easter egg. You never cease to amaze me, Alex 🤓

Hahaa I love you for catching that! It's funny, when I was trying to decide how much time after WWII to set this in and finally landed on November, I couldn't not do November 2. (Because I'm a nerd. 🤓)

*furrows brow* The Producers?? 🤔

Oh my God, you got me again!!! I freakin' LOVE The Producers (2005 version), and since it's set in New York (albeit in the 50s), I couldn't help a little easter egg. 😝 (again, big nerd alert)

Oh yes, we all remember that episode. Of course he would 😂 Poor Sam lol

lmfaoo Sam is so long-suffering, ain't he? 😂

Uh-huh... Dear Lord he needs help 🙈

Alllll the help. Pre-decent psychiatry, unfortunately. 😭

Btw, I've been doing my own 40s research for a fic and came across the contraception question. Idk why but condoms and methods of that time freak me tf out. Wondering what your experience with that was (if you came across it) lmao 😂

Oh dear lord yes, but I first learned about it from Downton Abbey. Condoms back then were the weirdest effing contraptions I've ever seen. As a woman it would scare me to have that come near me. 🤢

Ooof so rough 😮‍💨 PTSD and seeing all the dirty shit that goes on during a war is really brutal 😢 (My grandpa was in WWII and told a lot of stories when he was still alive) And then they were seperated too and didn't even know what happened to the other. Heartbreaking 😭

Oh wow, the stories your grandfather must have had. ❤️❤️ From what I've been able to research, it was truly horrific. And in the case of this story yep, compounded by the fact that Sam and Dean were separated for about three years with little to no way of knowing the other was still alive. 💔

The sass! Already love her 😂🩵

LOL she's got plenty of fire in her. ❤️‍🔥

*vibes* 😍 (even though I know MMM is set in 1958 lol)

Oh I love MMM!!! Love that comparison lol.

You don't know how fucking weak it makes me that he smokes in this. That vice will be the death of me 🫠🔥

Ahaha I remember from one of your comments on Break Me Down where SB was smoking (literally and figuratively)! 😜 I figured Dean smoking here would be true to the time period, and one of the few ways he can cope with his PTSD.

Aww yeah, Sam's just doing his job. Not easy having a vagina in 1945 and dealing with dicks... 🙄

Ughh exactly -- a major theme in this story. 😪

I get abusive vibes from shitty husband. There's more to it than cheating. Either he's emotionally abusive, physically or threathening to be. She seems like she wants to leave quick and quiet, fearing retaliation 👀 I loved how "damn" counted as cursing 😂 (Darn it!)

Ooh you're on the right track, unfortunately. 😢

And LOL gosh darn it, she just couldn't help herself! 😂😂

Yes, thank you!!! I knew Dean's spidey senses would turn on. (And I know that darn rat bastard can't hurt her now as long as soldier!Dean's around ���)

Oh you already know, Dean's sharp enough to connect those dots. But darn right he's gonna be around to look out for her.

Melted 🫠 (I legit die every time I write "Sergeant Shaw" in TCF, but I married a military guy myself, so makes sense I can't resist a uniform and a rank 😂🥵)

Oooh I love it!! I can't resist a man in uniform either, and I'm not even married to one. 🫠 But while I'm incredibly behind in my reading, I haven't forgotten about the new chapters of The Exit Strategy, which I can't wait to dive into soon!!! 💜💜 (TCF is the prequel, right?)

I love the 1940s cadence, by the way! You can tell it's a different time period the way the characters speak, the words they choose, and how they phrase things. So well done, my friend! 👏👏

Aw thank you, Wayne!! That makes me so happy that you think so. 🥹 Especially after watching The Clock, I tried my best to make the reader's cadence feel like a woman from the time period (and Sam and Dean to some extent too). 💕

Mama's smelling mob activity... 🤌

Ooh you're not the first person to have made that observation. 😏

Such a Dean statement lol I do hope he won't feel so hopeless for long ☺️

Oooh shall see. 🥰 But I'm glad you thought it was a "Dean statement" loll, he's so self-deprecating sometimes. 🥲

Aww, they could've almost met. I love these little coincidences when people meet each other. It's fate 😍💕

Hahaa that's exactly what I was going for! (Imagine if they had met before she met Michael. 🥲)

I'm too busy plotting a gruesome murder in my head to properly get into how much I despise that guy 😂🙈

LOLL girl I don't blame you -- Michael is hot garbage, but it's a case of "got married hella quickly in wartime," so she didn't exactly know who he truly was when she married him. 😭

This was such an amazing start to this series! The storyline is so intriguing and the world-building is, well... simply otherworldly. You really took me on a journey to the 1940s here. Speechless, honestly 🩵 I so can't wait to see what else you have in store with this, but I think there will be lots of yelling from me lol 😅

I appreciate you so much, Wayne, thank you!! 🥹🥹 I'm so glad you enjoyed the start of this, and that it managed to transport you to the '40s. This chapter was a bit short, but it's a jumping off point for a lot more drama and hyjinks to come! (I anticipate lottts of yelling lmao) 💞💞

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: My day tomorrow is going to be a bit packed, so I decided to release this a bit early for you guys! So here we go! The first chapter of yet another new series, my first ever 1940s AU. 🥰 I hope you have fun on this one, because I sure did. Again, very much inspired by The Clock (1945), starring Judy Garland and Robert Walker. 💜

Prompt for @jacklesversebingo: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: For this chapter it’s “Cry Me a River” by Ella Fitzgerald

Word Count: 3.9K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, mentions of cheating, PTSD, historical tidbits

✨ Series Masterlist

🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 1: Legal Grounds

November 2, 1945

Dean idly read the pamphlet stacked with others on his brother’s desk, which advertised his new and successful enterprise.

Law Offices of Winchester, Bialystock & Bloom

What do you know? His brother had his own office, his own business, and his name on a pamphlet.

Dean couldn’t help but curl a finger around a steel ball on the abacus sitting at the head of the mahogany desk, right next to Sam’s nameplate.

He let it fly. The abacus began to clack as one ball hit the other.

Sam looked up from the deposition he was writing to give his brother a wry brow raise.

“So this is what you do, huh?” Dean remarked, crossing his arms.

Without his jacket, his suspenders were on display over his shoulders. His red pinstripe tie was still in place, but his white dress shirt was rolled up to the elbows. Meanwhile, his brother preferred to keep himself more presentable with his sleeves down to his wrists. Jacket on.    

Dean glanced around the office, nodding at the line of bookshelves behind Sam, framing him as the bookish academic he’d always been. There was limited seating in here though, just a spare chair in front of the desk, and another to the right of it. Dean stood on the opposite side.

“If you’re bored, all you have to do is say so,” Sam said. “Which is strange, considering we’re smack dab in the middle of a city that never sleeps.”

He was right, Dean could concede. His little brother had given him a veritable list of things to do in New York City: visit the park, go to the zoo, see a picture show, visit a nightclub, or sample a host of restaurants that Sam knew Dean would probably enjoy.

He’d seen a lot of this place in the week that he’d been here visiting Sam, but a good deal of it he’d either spent alone, or with any willing young lady Dean came across, thanks to the demands of this office. If he was honest, entertaining young ladies was eating into the wallet in his trouser pocket, and the hustle and bustle was starting to be a little much for him.

“You don’t get tired of it?” Dean asked, gesturing to the out there beyond them. “The, uh…the lights, the noise, all the people?”

Sam picked his head up from his paperwork to consider the question. “No, I like it. Keeps my mind busy, and…I guess it makes me feel alive, you know?”

Dean supposed he could understand that, so he nodded.

Sam wasn’t fooled though. He thought he could tell what was running through his brother’s head, watching him fidget, and turn his head a bit sharply when a bus honked loudly outside the office’s glass doors as it thundered past.

It had only been two months since the end of the war. Two months since he and Dean met back in their family home in Lawrence, Kansas after three years fighting on two different fronts, in two different countries.

Both of them had enlisted, but Sam had spent most of his time in London while he was deployed, helping British Intelligence. Dean had clawed his way out of Normandy, and later, out of the Ardennes—the last offensive before the end.

Their experiences might as well have been worlds apart, but one thing remained the same: it had been three years in which neither brother knew if they’d see each other again.

Now, Sam saw the signs. Dean seemed a bit jumpy, overstimulated, but willing to be here to spend a little more time with Sam before he went back home. Guilt prickled in Sam’s gut. 

“I’ve got some work here to finish up, but afterwards let’s go to dinner,” he suggested. “Maybe see a show?”

Dean’s lips flickered at a smile. “You’re burning both ends of the candle. You know that, right?”

Sam opened his mouth to reply, when there was a knock on one of the glass doors—at the entrance to the small building. Their heads turned, and through the open door of his office, they spotted you standing there in the evening light. You wore a wide-brimmed hat on your head and a scarf underneath, wrapped over your hair and under your chin to shield your face. You knocked again with a hand covered by a leather glove, more persistently.

Cocking his head in confusion, Sam stood from his desk and left the room to let you in. Dean hung back and sat on the corner of the desk to wait. He withdrew a cigarette from the pack and a lighter from his pocket as he did so, but he heard you talking with his brother by the door.

“I’m sorry. We’re closed, miss,” Sam informed you.

“It’s still two minutes until closing. At least, according to my watch.”

“…Well, I suppose you’ve got me there.”

“So can I come in? I need to speak to a lawyer.”

“You sure it can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid it can’t, sir.” Your tone was firm, and it more than implied that you wouldn’t be moved. Sam paused then, perhaps to take a steeling breath.

“All right. Come with me, please.”

You later followed behind him through the hallway and into the office. With a lit cigarette between his fingers, his arms crossed, Dean took note of you. He subtly glanced down at your crème-colored blouse, neatly tucked into the long, burgundy skirt (with lipstick to match), your modest, classy heels, and the way you wore your hair. His brows subtly raised. He’d met quite a few girls this week, but he hadn’t seen a lady like you in quite some time.

Should’ve shaved this morning. The thought was accompanied by the way he swiped a subtle hand over his prickly chin.

You gave him a cursory glance in turn, and offered a polite, “Hello.”

He stood from the desk and switched his cigarette to his other hand, so he could shake yours.

“Hey there. Dean Winchester,” he said. He offered a smile with no small amount of charm. “Pleased to meet you…”

You dutifully gave him your first name only. He found that a little strange, but you soon slipped your hand out of his and focused on the nameplate on the desk, followed by Sam himself.

“So you’re brothers,” you realized. “Do you work together?”

Dean scoffed. “Nope, I’m just here to distract him.”

Sam tossed him a sidelong glance. There was a subtle edge of bitter truth in there somewhere, and you didn’t seem to miss it. You looked between the two men, a hint wary.

“Well, as I said, I’m here to speak to the solicitor,” you said. 

“That would be me,” Sam nodded. He went to his desk and sat down behind it, gesturing for you to do the same in front of him. You obliged him, smoothing your hands down your skirt once you were seated. “How can I help you?”

You met his eyes with a directness that surprised him a little.

“I want to divorce my husband,” you said.

To say it shocked the room would be an understatement. Behind you, Dean gave his brother a pair of raised brows. Sam didn’t allow himself to react too much in order to remain professional, but he still tilted his head, blinking, before he focused on you again.

“What’s your husband’s name?” he asked.

“Michael. Michael Milligan.”

“Why do you want a divorce, Mrs. Milligan?” 

Here, your gaze fell to the folded hands in your lap. 

“I have reason to believe he’s been unfaithful,” you quietly replied.

Once again, there was a pregnant pause.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sam said. His sympathy was genuine, because he could see the way you’d hesitated to say the words, like they embarrassed you, shamed you, and saddened you all at once. 

“But I have to ask,” he added, “do you have proof?”

Dean glanced his way, his brow raising once again. Sam knew what he was thinking, just as he saw how you frowned as well. But there was a reason why he asked, and it wasn’t to be unkind.

You sighed. “What kind of proof?” 

“Pictures. Letters. A witness. Something of legal standing that we can use as leverage and as grounds to grant you a divorce, whether he wants it or not,” Sam said. 

You let out another heavy breath through your nose. “No, I don’t have anything like that.”

“Then what makes you so sure he’s steppin’ out?” Dean chimed in. By now he was leaning against the wall, off to the side where he could smoke with the window cracked open. It let in the sounds of cars and distant honking, people traversing the sidewalks. 

You turned in your seat to give him a tight look. “If you must know, there’ve been…signs. I won’t trouble you with the details, but I’m sure.”

You met Dean’s gaze, and then Sam’s firmly. 

“So will you help me?” you asked him. Sam nodded.

“Yes, I’ll look into your husband and try to find some evidence of his…extracurricular affairs.”

Your lips pursed. “And how long will it take?”

Since you were being so direct, Sam levelled you with honesty.

“It may take time,” he said. “Realistically, we’re looking at months, even after I find what we need… It would be easier to legally separate.”

You had been slowly deflating the more he spoke, but now your expression became stony.

“Mr. Winchester,” you began. “I don’t want to just be separated. I don’t want to live in our apartment, let alone share his bed or wear his last name.”

Despite your best efforts, your voice began to shake. Tears welled up and stung in your eyes.

“I don’t want anything from him, other than his signature on the damn papers,” you said. “The case is that I can no longer tolerate that man in my sight, much less in my life. Will you help me? Or should I look for another lawyer who will actually do his job.”

Sam and Dean shared a glance. For his part, Dean couldn’t remember the last time he heard a woman curse. Despite your outburst, the tears clinging to your lashes stirred both men.

“I understand, Mrs. Milligan,” Sam said. “I’ll help you. Don’t worry.”

He began to look for his handkerchief, but you retrieved one of your own from your purse and quickly dabbed at your eyes, sniffling. You were embarrassed.

“What about your fee?” you said, withdrawing your checkbook. “I, um…I have a little money stashed away. I’ve always worked, you see.”

Sam nodded and went over what his rate would be going forward. Once the two of you came to an agreement, you signed the first check right then and there, even though he felt bad for even taking it from you.

You were still sniffling, and twice you dabbed under your eyes to make sure your face was dry. When you handed over the check, your hands shook, just a little. Sam wouldn’t tell you that he discounted his usual rate.  

Again, he mentioned that he would need some time first to investigate your husband and begin collecting evidence for your case. He asked you for any documents you could safely bring him of your finances, for example. You agreed to do an investigation of your own.

“Just be careful,” Dean cautioned. He was getting an idea of what kind of man your husband was, but Dean couldn’t be too sure of what the man was capable of. He’d hate to hear of a girl like you getting hurt over a few papers.

Dean put out the bud of his cigarette on the ashtray lying on the windowsill. He pushed off the wall to approach where you and Sam were getting to your feet. You gave Dean a nod of acknowledgement.

“I will,” you agreed. “Thank you both. I’m sorry I’ve taken up so much of your time, but I’ll be heading home now.”

“Did you take a bus or a taxi?” Sam asked.

“Oh, I walked,” you replied, and you checked your watch as you gathered up your purse. You headed for the coatrack, but Dean got there first, helping you into your beige wool coat. It went nicely with the burgundy you had on, namely on your painted lips.

“Thank you,” you said to him, but you still didn’t smile. You were a hint demurer now. It seemed with Sam’s promised help, the fire had dimmed behind your eyes and your tongue.

“How about I give you an escort, make sure you get home okay?” Dean found himself offering. “It’s getting pretty late on a Friday.”

Sam shot him a knowing look, but Dean ignored him, instead focusing on your face.

You hesitated. “It’s a bit far though. Out of your way, I’m sure.”

“All the more reason that you shouldn’t go it alone at this time of night,” he argued.

You considered his offer, and him, with a quick perusal. You seemed to be judging for yourself if he was trustworthy. Dean kept his posture straight, yet relaxed. Maybe he’d liked what he saw the moment he took you in, but after hearing your situation, he felt for you. It really was just an honest offer to walk you home.

“Where did you serve?” you asked. “The Army, the Navy, or the Air Forces?”

The question took him off guard for a beat, but he answered you.

“The Army,” he replied.

“Your rank?”

“I was a sergeant, ma’am.”

You looked at him a little more shrewdly, then you relaxed.

“I might’ve guessed,” you said. “All right, Sergeant. Let’s go then.”

You buttoned up your coat and turned to leave the office. Dean shot his little brother a raise of his brows and a what do ya know? kind of smile. He grabbed his dark brown jacket and hat and followed you out.

Sam’s smile was more reserved, with a shake of his head. He closed the door behind you and Dean and locked it. He still had some work he wanted to finish before tomorrow, and Dean’s little show of chivalry would give him time to do it.

Dean had his hands in his coat pockets as he walked with you down the long city sidewalk. Night had drawn into the November sky, but with all these lights, he couldn’t see many stars. It was also cold as all hell. The frigid wind slapped at him every time they turned the corner of a building, snapping right into his bones.

Still, he supposed there was a kind of attractiveness to the city at night. The stores and their signs were all lit up gold and other neon colors. Couples and families walked together, all done up nice for wherever dinner reservation or movie they were trying to get to. It begged the question of what your husband was doing right now if he didn’t notice his wife out at this time of night.

“Where’s your husband tonight, if I might ask?” said Dean.

You shot him a look, reading between his lines.

“He claims to be working late virtually every night of the weekdays,” you said, “but he usually comes home stinking of alcohol.” Your eyes dimmed, even with the pretty lights shining in them. “He was in the Army as well. A corporal. He’s had a hard time adjusting to being back home, and I know that… He doesn’t sleep very well. And do you know, he had a hard time finding work for a while too. Luckily, he has his father’s business to fall back on.”

Dean tried not to show how much your words resonated with him. He didn’t think it a good thing to have common ground with your husband, if he was the kind of man you said he was.

“Yeah? What’s his business?” he asked.

“He manages a meat production plant, of all things,” you said.

“Ah, located in the Meat Packing District, I presume?”

“You’d presume right.”

Dean nodded. “I get it. I inherited the family home back in Lawrence. I just need to figure out what’s next.”

“Lawrence?”

“Kansas.”

“Oh, the Midwest,” you inclined your head. “What’s it like there?”

Dean scoffed. “Dusty.”

You almost laughed at that. At least it earned him your first smile of the night.

“Do you have an idea of what you’ll do for work?” you asked.

Dean chuckled. “Not just yet. Didn’t plan that far, you know?”

“Why not?” you asked.

“Hmm. Guess I didn’t see the point,” he replied with a mild shrug. It hid a deeper, darker well inside him. The part of him that hadn’t thought he’d make it back home after the war.  

You turned to him then, and you saw it behind his eyes. The two of you walked in silence for a little while as the neighborhood blocks began to shift and change, becoming somewhat quieter, more residential. Dean put himself between you and the sidewalk when a taxi zoomed by too close to the curb, resting a hand on the small of your back for protection.

Part of you trilled inside at the small touch, but you immediately beat that reaction down. Dean Winchester was an attractive man, to be sure. His hair was a lighter brown than his brother’s, and shorter too. He had an air of roguishness about him, even though he’d been perfectly pleasant so far.

But by the way he eyed you when you came into the law office, you had a strong feeling he was a flirt. You had no room for that in your life, and not only because you were still a married woman.

Yet, there was something about him that…well, made you curious.

“I was a nurse,” you said eventually, earning his attention. “I was there when they liberated Paris.”

Dean turned to you with newfound interest lighting his green eyes. “You were at Normandy.”

You nodded. “For a while. Almost a year before D-Day.”

Dean let out a short, if humorless chuckle, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, that’s where I was. At that time, at least,” he said. You gave him a similar look; respect, and perhaps finding a kindred spirit.

“I did what I could do before, during, and afterwards,” you said. “I think that’s all we can do now, Mr. Winchester.”

“Call me Dean,” he said. “If you like.”

A second smile almost tugged at your lips. You nodded in agreement.

“Dean,” you said.

In another ten minutes, he was walking you up to your porch at your apartment building. You travelled up the four small steps, while Dean stopped at the second one. For the first time, you had the vantage point above him as you turned on your heel to face him. You were about to thank him when he shook his head, scoffing.

“This guy must be dumb, deaf, and blind, sweetheart,” he said.

Your face warmed in a blush, and you gave a rueful smile when you realized what he meant. He was looking up at you like someone who couldn’t understand your plight. You knew the feeling.

“That’s kind of you, but you don’t have to do that,” you said.  

His brows furrowed. “Do what?” 

“Try to make me feel better,” you said, scuffing the toe of your sensible heels against the brick platform. Dean crossed his arms. 

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because the fact of the matter is, Sergeant, words don’t move me anymore.” You picked up your gaze from the ground, and you met his. “Flattery is just a pretty way of lying, and I’ve grown to really, truly hate lying.” 

It took him a moment, but Dean nodded.

“I guess that’s fair,” he said. He had to stop himself before he proved your point with a smart word on your pretty smile. Although, it wouldn’t have been a lie. He tipped his hat up. “Goodnight then, Mrs. Milligan.” 

You stopped him from leaving with just your voice. 

“Please,” you said, your eyes briefly closing. “Just…call me by my name. My first name.” 

Dean slowly smiled. “Perfect. I like your name better anyway.” 

This time, your smile in return was genuine, if tinged with amusement. 

“Goodnight, Dean,” you replied.

He gave you a charming grin and a more casual soldier’s salute. Then he stuck his hands back in his pockets, turned on his heel, and began to walk back the way he came. You couldn’t help but watch him go for a second or two. His legs were slightly bowed under his slacks, you noticed.

With a blush, you shook your head to rid yourself of those silly thoughts. You closed the door.

That night, Michael came home late, as usual—this time at two in the morning. He reeked of alcohol, also per usual, but this time when he rolled over towards you in bed to say goodnight, you stiffened. He also smelled like a woman’s perfume. Expensive stuff. 

This was one of those signs you hadn’t wanted to tell Sam Winchester. Frankly, it was crude and embarrassing.

“Sorry it’s so late, darling. Got held up,” he said, kissing your shoulder through your nightgown. His fingers played with the ends of your hair while you laid facing away from him.

You squeezed your eyes shut. You were fighting every instinct you had inside you that wanted to recoil from his touch and bolt out of the bed. When just a few months ago, his touch was all you craved, almost desperately so. 

“Where were you?” you asked. Somehow, you kept your voice steady and calm. “You weren’t at the office all this time.”

“Had a couple of drinks with the guys after,” he said with a shrug. “Sorry. The night got away from us, but, uh…I’ll be home on time for dinner tomorrow.”

With your back turned to him, you were able to roll your eyes.

“What’d you make tonight, outta curiosity?” he asked.

“Egg salad sandwiches,” you replied flatly. 

“Hmm. No real loss there then.” 

Your teeth clenched. “If I thought you were actually going to be home when you said you would, maybe I would make a rump roast with all the fixings.” 

Michael paused, but then, he grasped your shoulder, slowly turned you around in the bed until you were facing him. His face was sterner. 

“Excuse me?” 

You remained quiet. Your gaze travelled downwards, avoiding his.

Michael huffed, shaking his head. “Sometimes you got a real mouth on you. One of these days, you just might regret it.” 

He turned his back on you, laying on his side. You did the same while trying to stem your tears.

When did this become your life?

AN: Oof, sorry for all that angst at the end there, but I hope you liked the first chapter! Did you enjoy soldier!Dean and soldier/lawyer!Sam? Do you want to find a dark alley for Michael yet? 😅

And are you ready for what's coming up next? 😘

Next Time:

Dean both could and couldn’t believe it. He might not have been a saint himself when it came to the fairer sex, but if he went through the whole ordeal of marrying one, let alone a straight-shooting woman like you, beautiful, clever…

“Geez,” he muttered. “He could’ve at least waited until the ink dried on the certificate.” 

Sam nodded in agreement. He picked up the receipt to the Cotton Club, and he shot his brother a grin.

“Wanna go to the club tonight?”

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[nanierose]

While C3 didn't end up being the best story in the world, I did enjoy many things that came from it. Orym is one of my favourite CR characters, Robbie was an excellent addition to the cast and truly came into his own as a player. Dorian is an amazing character and the relationship he and Orym built is lovely. Seeing VM and the M9 again was a lot of fun too. Also loved learning more about the gods. The wider implications outside of Bells Hells give a lot of intriguing possibilities for future stories that hopefully will be explored to the full. For all its faults, I'm still glad it exists.

[scrumptiousstuffs]

i’ve never watched any of p’au works so i don’t know the kind of atmosphere he put in his shows, but since OL is a funny comedy maybe CFC will have a lot of comedy too and i know people will get mad at bcs ppl hate funny things

I was delighted when I found out FirstKhaotung will be working with P’Au. If you have only watched OL, then I implore you to watch the others shows he has directed - this includes the massively successful My School President that pretty much put Gem4th on the map of Thai BL and My School Mix Up (also Gem4th)

Plus, he is the protege of P’Aof and has worked closely with him (being his assistant director) of these projects: Last Twilight, Moonlight Chicken, Bad Buddy, A Tale of 1000 Stars, Still 2gether

And also the screenwriter for classic Thai BL (pre-2020 era): including Theory of Love (OffGun) and Dark Blue Kiss (TayNew and PoddGawin)

Now, I haven’t watched Theory of Love and Dark Blue Kiss, but I’ve watched all the rest. And while I may not vibe with some of them (Last Twilight, I’m looking at you 😅), these shows are still excellent in their own right.

Suffice to say, P’Au track record is pretty good. His flare is slightly different from P’Aof who tends to be more angsty-vibe/melodramatic/lakorn-like while I find P’Au to be softer, more romantic still with some angst/hurt-comfort vibe. And as you can tell with OL, I think he is doing a good job with balancing comedy as well.

As for your last sentence about “people will get mad because they hate funny things” - I’m interpreting it as you alluding to some FK fans (or casual watchers of FK-related things) wanting them to play only in serious, dramatic/angsty roles. I suspect this is partly because their introduction to FK is from The Eclipse, MLC or OF (or even THK), where let’s be honest - their roles are more “heavier” and serious in nature.

See, this is where I will like people to go watch First/Khaotung earlier roles because the boys have great comedic timing.

First in The Shipper (and as a supporting character in Wake up Ladies) was amazing. Seeing First (in The Shipper) embodying a fangirl while also trying to navigate his (her?) feeling for the best friend and brother - was funny but doozy lol

You can tell he was still honing his skills then but without these roles, we won’t get his subtle but effective comedic take of this scene in the THK (for example):

Similarly, Songpol/Paul in 55:15 Never Too Late. This show remains the most under-rated gem of a show ever. Seeing Khaotung acting like a 55 yrs old man in a 15 yrs old body while simultaneously fangirling over his idol - EPIC (plus his chemistry with Piploy (she plays Jeya) - the idol he worshipped (who with Paul suddenly finding themselves in their 15 yrs old bodies), his now same aged niece as the latter tries to teach him how to be 15 yrs old effectively - 🫡🫡🫡). I still cried buckets for him (by the end of the show) because what is a KT show without tears 😭 but it was worth it.

(Here, have a fun reel of Paul/Jaya being chaotic lol):

And let’s not forget Tonhon Chonlatee - I know people trashed this show a lot. Yes, it’s not the greatest series. But again, Khaotung nailed it with the comedic scenes. And the way he can say all the cringiest lines with an earnest, cute face just made me snort with laughter, ok? This show also has the best queer friendship group ever. Not to mention - Khaotung and Ciize chemistry as besties. It also has people (who did watch it) worshipping Khaotung/Neo as a ghostship.

I guess what I’m trying to say is - I have the upmost faith in FirstKhaotung and P’Au. FK have never failed us and they always shined in whatever they were given (even when it’s just a cameo/side roles - I’m looking at you Zero!! Home School Season 2 when?) and just looked at them with their cameo in OL recently (as Alone/Kaitong).

I’m not sure why people want doom and gloom so much for them (the real world is already terrible as it is). So, give me all the good vibes, fluffy cats and sweetest romance (with a touch of comedy or more 😉) - I, for one, cannot wait for this! (Ads and blatant sponsors of pet food/toys included 🤣)

[mariadalila27]

{🐶Dogman and Petey🐱}

.

.

.

Hi everyone!

Sooooo …. Dogman am I right?

I freaking loved Dogman!!!! It was such an awesome and heartwarming movie!!! Seeing the characters on screen was amazing!!!! And of course, I had to draw Dogman and Petey for the occasion!!!

I had so much fun drawing this! They look so cool and I’m happy with the pose! Alongside that, I did the background like it’s drawn on the books again because I had fun doing that on the last drawing!

Hope you all like it!

[sickfictropes]

Okay so I know your favorite whump pairing is platonic lady/lady which is obviously epic amazing wonderful tremendous but something else I feel like is underutilized is lady whumpee/boy caretaker

We see it SO MUCH the other way around. How many times have you watched a tv show and spotted like 10 different "powerless woman is sad that her boyfriend is a vigilante or whatever because he keeps putting himself in Heedless Danger and all she can do is patch him up at the end of the day" couples (not that there's anything wrong with it of course, there's a reason it's a classic, I just think we could use some more variety)

Masc caretaker confronting Whumpee on her reckless behavior while he grudgingly sets and bandages her broken wrist. Rubbing antiseptic on her bruised knuckles. Insisting she rest even though he knows she'll head out the window to get beat up again and again as soon as he leaves the room.

Whumpee calling him for an assist as she bleeds out on the concrete after a tough battle. "Hey man, I'm gonna need a favor..."

Caretaker running himself ragged to keep this disastrous firecracker of a person alive. Sighing when he finds her crumpled behind a dumpster for the 5th time in a week. Helping her walk and fetching water and rubbing alcohol and bandages. feeling awful for knowing he'll never be able to prevent these kinds of injuries but knowing he'd only be a hindrance if he tried to go with her

i've literally never seen this before and i want it

YES this!! just as we need more lady whump, we need more masculine caretakers!! it's so absolutely adorable when you have a guy running around like crazy trying to help the lady leader he idolizes <3 let male characters be soft and sensitive to women they aren't romantically in love with 2025!!!

[karioke13]

Dude…the fact this series is ending is just so heartbreaking but also very bittersweet!

It seems like yesterday you posted chapter one of this brilliant au series! I still cant believe it’s over, your fics are always such a treat to read but this one in particular will always hold a special place in my heart! ❤️

Now, off to my thoughts! And because this is the last chapter, I will be sharing ALL of my thoughts on this! So have fun!

First off, Odin always jump scaring the characters (AND ME) with his presence always manages to make me nervous throughout this entire series! However this time it’s a little different. Odin is more bruised and broke and is walking with a CANE! This was because in the last chapter we saw that Thor instantly KO’d Odin for what he did to Jane. So his “attempt” at trying to gaslight Jane ONCE AGAIN fails, because he realizes now he cant control Thor like a dog anymore. He’s his own person. And Odin has to watch Thor become a better person than he ever was is the ultimate punishment. We get to see Thor FINALLY and TRULY move on from Odin, from being married to Jane, then them creating a happy life together, then both of them having kids while not telling Odin! And meanwhile he has to deal with how horrible he is. I love IT! Odin gets to suffer finally and has to spend the rest of his life as a weak old man with nothing. F you Odin! 🖕🏼

Okay enough about Odin. Let’s get into the OTP that started it all: Thor and Jane 🥹

We’ve seen Thor and Jane go through so much. From Thor being banished. To Jane being sucked into Thor’s world. To Odin being a massive ahole, pulling him away from her. They’ve literally gone through hell and back for each other! So to see them finally just having a calm happy life which was just so rewarding to see!

Now let’s unpack their moments throughout this chapter shall we?

First and foremost, their wedding was simply adorable! I love how we got to see Friggas family, showing more of where she came from. Meanwhile Jane having one Rebecca, her boss, show up broke my heart. She had no family with her! 😢

But I love each of the gifts they both gave to each other. Thor giving Jane his favorite book that belonged to Frigga. Then Jane giving them both matching bracelets with their names in Norwegian. It was so adorable I melted 🥹

But wait there’s more…

After their marriage, I love how Jane prints books and Thor and her want to start and orphanage for kids who lived on the streets like Jane! And the fact that he’s a boxing coach and teaches these kids self and that Jane reads and cooks for them! ITS SOOO CUTEEE! And this inspires Thor to want to be the best father of his and Jane’s kidsss! I just *squeals in pillow* Thank you so much for adding the orphanage storyline bestie it’s so amazing! 🤗

(Yes I had to add in a Hamilton reference 🙈)

AND LAST BUT CERTAINLY NOT LEAST WE GET TO SEE THOR’S KIDS!!! AAAHHHHH I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THEM! First him reacting to being a girl dad. That was so sweet. Then him holding Jane and saying “I have my whole world in my hands” Saying that I burst into tears is an understatement! I SOBBED AN OCEAN OF MY TEARS! And once Jane gave birth to Thrud and cried to Thor “thank you giving me her” and Thor responded “No, thank YOU for bringing me to her” Then them having twin boyssss!!! GGGUCUCUCLDLWNEOALSNQMQNSS! He is such an amazing father! And Jane is such a wonderful mother. She got the family she always wanted! The dynamic between the kids and both of them is so sweet. Thor teaching them about Odin and being understanding while Jane is kind and encouraging towards her children. And the quote at the end! This chapter is definitely one of my favorites.

Thank you so much for adding the set sets I created! I’m so glad that you love and appreciate them! And for those of you who are asking, I created them using Piccrew, an OC creator app!

Anyways, thank you so much for bringing this fic into here! It’s truly one of the best pieces I’ve ever read. It’ll always be a special piece of my life. Love ya sis! I’m so proud of you! 🧡🧡🧡🧡🫂🫂🫂🫂

Stargirl Interlude 4 - The Ballad of Songbird and Thunderstorm

Jane Foster/Thor

Summary: Thor and Jane try to live without each other.

-

ThorJane AU where he is an MMA fighter during his banishment and she is a bar singer.

Part 4 - The Ballad of Songbird and Thunderstorm - sees the tumultuous conclusion of their story.

(Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3)

Chapter 1: Coward & Failure

Thor wakes up in his bed with a pounding headache. He sits up, rubbing his temples.

8 months and 11 days.

His knuckles are bruised. Empty whisky bottles lie on the other side of the bed. And it's past late morning even.

[egophiliac]

still ruminating over Lost In the Book With Spooky Skeletons Part 1, so here's a selection of some of my favorite little bits! (...some more loosely paraphrased than others) (I just feel like Idia has no room to criticize in general, okay)

anyway, I'm sure we're just going to have a fun time celebrating Halloween and nothing bad is going to happen whatsoever! :)