jester

just a write in tumbler and in wp.

[jesterworks]

amnse imagines.

fluff. 16+.

Kiko Evans imagine !

"JEALOUSY & APOLOGIES"

by jesterworks

The early morning light filtered through the tall windows of HVIS, casting warm golden stripes across the tiled floor.

Students shuffled around in their uniforms—some still finishing lunch, others lingering in hallways, laughter echoing faintly from the far end of the building. It was the kind of ordinary day where everything felt routine—except it wasn't.

You leaned against the cool concrete pillar by the main staircase, arms crossed as your eyes trailed the girl walking behind Rakki.

She was new—evident by the way she clutched her bag strap a little too tightly, her steps careful but curious, scanning everything like she was trying to memorize the place.

"JayJay, right?" Rakki asked loudly, her voice echoing slightly in the corridor. "Section E. You'll fit right in."

You squinted at her, not out of malice—but instinct. Observing. Measuring.

You had been at HVIS long enough to know how people moved, how they entered spaces they planned to dominate or disappear into. JayJay seemed like the former, even if she didn't know it yet.

From your periphery, a familiar figure moved down the hallway—Kiko.

There he was, that effortlessly magnetic energy trailing behind him as he approached Rakki and the new girl.

Hands in his pockets, a crooked smile on his lips, as if he was amused by something only he knew. He said something as he joined the two—something lighthearted, teasing maybe—and JayJay laughed.

Your eye twitched.

It was the kind of laugh that lingered a second too long. The kind of laugh you used to give him when he first introduced himself to you.

You straightened up, adjusting your skirt and smoothing your hair in a practiced motion before stepping out from behind the pillar and walking toward them.

Kiko didn't notice you yet—he was too focused on JayJay, saying something that made her look up at him with bright, unguarded eyes. You didn't need to hear what it was. You already knew.

You felt the sting, but swallowed it.

You'd been dating Kiko for two years now, since the second term of your transfer to HVIS. And though you trusted him—though he always made sure you knew where his loyalty was—the attention he drew was never easy to stomach.

The confessions, the flirtations, the girls who giggled behind textbooks or walked the long way around just to pass by him in the corridor. You weren't jealous, not really.

You were tired.

But you also weren't about to let anyone get comfortable at your expense.

So you smiled. The way you'd practiced. The kind of smile that made people pause and wonder if it was genuine or laced with something sharper.

"You must be the new girl Rakki's been talking about," you said smoothly, inserting yourself into the conversation with calculated charm.

JayJay turned to you, slightly startled by your sudden presence, but she nodded, offering her hand with a polite smile. "Yeah. JayJay."

You took her hand briefly—firm but not too tight—and gave her your name, letting it hang in the air just long enough.

Your eyes flicked over her again. Pretty. Kind-looking. A little shy, but not weak. You didn't hold her hand long. Just enough to make your point before pulling away.

"Well, have a good day," you added coolly, stepping closer to Kiko and slipping your arm around his without hesitation. Your body fit perfectly against his side, like a habit neither of you could—or wanted to—break.

Kiko's reaction was immediate. Without missing a beat, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple. Affectionate. Public. Possessive.

JayJay's expression shifted. Barely. But you caught it—the flicker in her eyes, the subtle nod she gave herself. A quiet understanding forming behind her calm face.

So they're dating. Got it.

You didn't say anything more as Kiko turned to you, his smile softening like it always did when you were near. You didn't need to.

Because you'd already said enough.

Kiko tipped his head toward Rakki with that same cocky ease he carried in his walk. "Well, see you around, Rakki," he said casually before shifting his gaze to the girl beside her. His eyes glinted with mischief. "Nice to meet you, new girl."

He winked.

It was light, playful. But it hit like a spark to a fuse.

You frowned—visibly. The kind of expression you didn't bother to mask anymore.

JayJay caught it too, her shoulders tensing slightly as if she'd felt the heat of the glare you were giving her, even though she hadn't done anything wrong.

She didn't return Kiko's smile. In fact, she didn't even look at him.

She looked away. Unbothered. Or pretending to be.

You, on the other hand, didn't say a word. You simply reached down and peeled Kiko's hand off your waist, fingers stiff with irritation, before turning on your heel and walking away, your silence louder than anything you could've said.

Kiko raised a brow, half amused, half confused, watching you retreat without a backward glance.

A sharp slap hit his arm.

"You really know how to push her buttons, don't you?" Rakki hissed at him, glaring.

Kiko rubbed the spot, smirking. "She likes it when I do."

JayJay exhaled sharply, arms crossed. "And please don't let me be involved," she muttered dryly. "I'm just trying to pass twelfth grade without stepping into any minefields."

The two friends exchanged a glance—part apology, part amusement—before offering her a sheepish smile.

JayJay didn't smile back.

She simply turned, muttering something under her breath, already regretting how complicated things felt on her first real day.

And behind her, Kiko's eyes lingered—first on her, then down the hallway where you had disappeared.

Suddenly, things felt less amusing

You suddenly fell silent.

It wasn't the kind of silence that begged for attention or sought pity—it was the heavy, quiet kind. The kind that lingered in the air like smoke, clinging to everything.

Kiko noticed it the moment your footsteps slowed, the spark in your eyes dimmed, and your responses turned into barely-there nods or short, clipped phrases.

Still, he tried.

He reached for your hand, brushing his fingers gently over yours as you both walked down the corridor. His touch was familiar, warm, even a little pleading.

But you didn't flinch. You didn't pull away.

You just let him hold you, your hand limp in his grip like a forgotten thing.

No squeeze. No return.

And that — that said more than words could.

Kiko frowned subtly, squeezing your hand a little tighter as if hoping it would jolt something out of you. But your gaze remained ahead, distant, fixed on the hallway floor like you were anywhere but here.

"Hey..." he murmured, voice dropping low, almost careful now.

You blinked, then looked up at him with that same quiet expression. A forced smile tugged at the corner of your lips but it didn't reach your eyes.

"Yeah?"

He wanted to say something clever, to charm his way out of this like he always did. But your silence had a weight this time. It felt like a question he didn't know how to answer.

He didn't ask again. He just walked beside you, the tension growing louder with every step.

It was no longer about what happened a few minutes ago.

It was about the accumulation of things. Looks. Words. The lingering insecurity. The new girl. The way he winked, like it meant nothing.

And how you couldn't bring yourself to admit just how much it did.

Over the next few days, Kiko tried.

Not the half-hearted kind of trying that came with lazy texts or empty apologies — no, this time, he tried with everything he knew.

First, it was little things. Your favorite drink appeared on your desk before class started, condensation beading down the side of the bottle like the nerves collecting in his palms.

A sticky note was attached to it: "Didn't know how to say sorry in 140 characters. So here's a peace offering." Signed with a smiley face and a shaky heart.

You saw it. You read it. But you didn't touch it.

He caught you watching from the corner of your eye when he placed it, and for a second, he hoped — until you turned back to your notes like it was nothing.

Then came the jokes. The inside ones. The ones only the two of you ever understood — whispered just loud enough in the hallway when you passed, hoping it would make you crack a smile.

He said them without confidence, like each word was a stone he had to carry.

Still, you didn't laugh. You didn't even look at him.

At lunch, he sat beside you like always, tray in hand, pretending like the world hadn't shifted. You let him sit. You let him speak.

You answered only when you needed to, short sentences like: "Yeah." "No." "Okay."

And it killed him.

He stayed after classes, lingered by your locker, waited under the tree where you used to meet after school. Every time he thought maybe—just maybe—you'd show up like you used to, like nothing changed.

You never came.

But he didn't stop.

It wasn't until he found you at the back of the library, tucked in your favorite spot between two shelves, pretending to be immersed in your book while your fingers trembled slightly at the edges of the page, that he realized you weren't angry anymore.

You were hurt.

Quietly, he sat in front of you on the floor, legs crossed, hands in his lap. He didn't say anything for a minute. He just sat there, looking at you like the world started and ended in your tired eyes.

"I was a dick," he finally whispered.

Your fingers paused on the page.

"I was trying to be funny. I wasn't thinking. I guess I've always been used to girls looking at me like I'm... something. But I only care when you look at me like that. That's what fucks me up."

You looked up, finally meeting his eyes.

And for once, Kiko didn't smile. Didn't grin or wink or charm.

He looked scared.

"You can hit me. Yell at me. Whatever you want. I just—" his voice cracked slightly, "I don't want to lose you over something so stupid."

You didn't speak right away. Just closed your book slowly and stared at him.

"You hurt me," you said, voice soft but firm. "And I don't want to be someone who has to compete for her own boyfriend's attention."

Kiko leaned closer. "You don't have to. I was just being dumb."

"You were."

"I know."

The silence between you both was no longer bitter, just... quiet. Tender.

And then, finally, your eyes softened — just a little.

"You're lucky you're cute."

That broke him into the first real smile you'd seen in days.

"Cute enough to earn a second chance?"

You rolled your eyes. But your lips twitched.

"Don't push it."

He chuckled and leaned his head back against the shelf. "God, I missed you."

"I know."

Kiko had his head perched over your shoulder, arms wrapped snugly around your waist like you were a lifeline he refused to let go of.

His chest pressed softly against your back, rising and falling in rhythm with yours as your section gathered in the gym for P.E. class.

Everyone else was already stretching or halfheartedly jogging laps, but you remained rooted to your spot on the bleachers, thumbs lazily scrolling through your phone.

Kiko didn't seem to mind. He wasn't exactly the most enthusiastic when it came to gym activities either.

"Babe," he mumbled, his chin now resting in the crook of your neck, voice muffled. "You're supposed to be warming up. Coach is gonna make you do double if he sees you slacking again."

You didn't even look up. "Then stop clinging to me like a weighted blanket."

"You love it," he said smugly, tightening his arms around your waist for emphasis.

Freya, who was across the court stretching her arms behind her back, let out an exaggerated groan. "Can you two stop being a rom-com for like two seconds? Some of us are trying to focus on not dying during laps."

You finally glanced up from your screen, raising an eyebrow at her while Kiko grinned mischievously behind you. "Tell your friend to stop being jealous," he whispered against your ear, voice teasing.

"She's not jealous, she's nauseated," you replied dryly, though your lips twitched into a barely-contained smile.

Kiko nuzzled closer, clearly proud of himself. "Can't help it if I'm cute and clingy."

"You forgot annoying," you muttered, but you leaned into him anyway, letting your head rest lightly against his for a moment.

"Hey," Freya called again with a smirk, "if I start pretending to be single and emotionally unavailable, do I get someone to cling to me too?"

You let out a small laugh, finally locking your phone and tucking it into your small pouch that you brought with you. "You're not emotionally unavailable, Freya. You're just picky."

Kiko straightened up, still keeping his arms around your waist as the coach blew the whistle across the gym. "Okay, we seriously gotta stretch now or we're dead."

You turned to look at him, face close, breath mingling for a moment as your foreheads almost touched.

"I hate P.E.," you whispered.

"Same," he grinned. "But I don't mind suffering through it with you."

"Bitch. You're practically a varsity player in basketball, stop trying to be all innocent."

[jesterworks]

amnse imagines.

mdni. 18+.

͏Kiko Evans imagine !

"HOMEWORK & GAMES"

by jesterworks

You were always the quiet one—never loud, never demanding. But when it came to Kiko, something in you shifted. Your voice got a little louder, your gaze more certain. He brought that out in you without even trying.

The two of you had been holed up in his room for hours. His parents were out of town, and you'd come over to study—at least, that was the excuse. 

The textbooks had been opened, the homework half-finished. But now, the sun had long set, the only light in the room coming from the soft glow of his monitors and the shifting shadows cast on the wall.

He was at his computer, headphones on, immersed in some fast-paced game, his fingers flying over the keys and mouse like second nature. 

Click after click, tap after tap—it filled the room in an erratic rhythm that made it impossible for you to focus on your book.

You were lying on his bed, quiet, legs curled up, eyes scanning the same paragraph over and over without absorbing a word. 

Your gaze kept flicking up—drawn, again and again, to the way his fingers moved. Quick, confident. Focused.

You bit your lip, watching him. The glow from the screen caught the sharp line of his jaw, the slight furrow in his brow as he concentrated. He leaned forward, his body tense, completely immersed.

"Come on!" he suddenly muttered into his mic, frustration clear in his tone.

You sat up slowly, letting your book slide to the mattress. You didn't say a word as you got off the bed. Your steps were soft, measured, careful not to startle him.

He saw your reflection in the screen a second before you reached him. Without turning, he shifted—pushing his chair back just slightly. An invitation.

You stepped between his legs, your hands finding his shoulders as you eased yourself down into his lap, straddling him gently. 

Your body molded against his, warm and familiar, and you leaned in until your chest pressed against his back.

He didn't say anything. He didn't need to.

His free hand moved to your back, fingers brushing over the fabric of your shirt, slow and absent-minded at first—just a casual stroke. But there was a shift in the way his hand lingered... how his fingertips traced along the curve of your spine. 

You rested your chin on his shoulder, your breath soft against his skin, watching him from the side as his other hand hovered uncertainly over the mouse.

His game continued. But you could feel it—his focus breaking, slipping, slowly unraveling under your touch.

Neither of you spoke.

The tension hung in the air—quiet, electric, thick enough to taste.

You could feel his heartbeat through his back—steady, but quickening. The hand on your back slowed, then pressed in a little deeper, fingers splaying over your spine. 

His body was warm beneath you, the heat of him seeping through your thin clothes.

You shifted in his lap, just slightly—but enough for your hips to press more snugly against his. His breath hitched. He noticed. 

You felt it in the way his fingers paused, then moved again, lower this time. A little bolder. A little less casual.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as you leaned closer, your lips brushing the curve of his neck—soft, just enough to make him tense under you. 

He let out a low sound, barely audible, like he wasn't sure if he meant to say anything at all.

"Kiko..." you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn't turn. His game still ran in the background, the clack of keys now slower, distracted. He barely touched them anymore.

You shifted again—this time deliberately—rolling your hips ever so slightly against him. 

You felt it: the sudden stiffness beneath you, the way his hands gripped your waist tighter, anchoring you there.

"You're not focused," you whispered, lips brushing his ear now.

"You're making it hard to be," he muttered, voice low, rough.

A small smile curved on your lips as you pressed a kiss just below his earlobe. 

His hand slid under the hem of your shirt, warm skin against skin, fingertips moving with purpose now—slow strokes along your lower back, inching higher, exploring.

The chair creaked as he leaned back, pulling you with him, until your chest was fully pressed against his and his other hand dropped from the mouse altogether, coming to rest on your thigh. 

He squeezed gently, then let it slide up, fingertips slipping beneath the edge of your shorts.

You breathed out softly, your hips rocking into his lap again, need building between your legs as his touch got bolder—his fingers tracing the edge of your underwear, pausing there like he was waiting for permission he already knew he had.

The glow of the screen lit both your faces, flickering shadows dancing across your skin as the game faded into background noise, replaced by the slow rise of heat between you.

His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your shorts with a slowness that made your breath hitch. He wasn't in a hurry—and neither were you. 

You watched his face from where you sat on him, so close now, the faint glow from his monitor highlighting the tension in his jaw, the dark pull of his gaze when he finally looked up at you.

Your eyes locked, and for a moment, everything else fell away—the soft hum of the PC, the muffled sound from his headphones still hanging around his neck, the world outside that room. 

None of it mattered. 

Only the way his hands were touching you now—confident, searching, patient.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as he leaned forward, burying his face in the curve of your neck, his lips dragging slowly along your skin. 

Then he bit down gently, just enough to make you gasp. 

You rocked your hips again, grinding into him, and you felt the deep groan that rumbled in his throat before he pulled back and kissed you—slow, deep, tasting every breath you gave him.

His hand dipped between your legs, fingers sliding beneath the fabric now soaked with warmth. 

You moaned softly into his mouth as he brushed against your center—testing, teasing.

"Kiko..." you whispered again, more breath than sound, as your body shuddered under his touch.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. "Tell me if you want to stop."

You didn't.

Instead, you leaned in, your lips brushing his as you breathed, "Don't stop."

That was all it took.

In one motion, he lifted you off his lap and stood, carrying you to the bed with a kind of quiet urgency. 

He laid you down slowly, never breaking eye contact, and crawled over you like he was claiming something that had always been his.

Clothes were pushed away in slow, hungry pieces—his hands on your skin at every opportunity, like he needed to memorize the heat of you with his palms. 

Your shirt slid up over your head, his mouth following close behind to trail kisses down your collarbone, over the curve of your breast, tongue flicking across your nipple as you arched into him, needy now, trembling.

His name fell from your lips in a breathless moan as he pulled your shorts and underwear down in one smooth motion, his hands parting your thighs gently. 

He looked at you then—really looked—like he wanted to remember the way you looked like this: bare, open, aching for him.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he muttered, his voice thick and ragged.

And then he was there, between your legs, his mouth replacing his fingers, tongue slow and deliberate as he tasted you—every soft gasp, every trembling shift of your hips making him groan against your skin. 

You gripped the sheets, back arching, the coil inside you tightening with every stroke of his tongue, every low hum he made like he couldn't get enough.

When he finally crawled back up your body, lips wet, eyes heavy with desire, you pulled him down and kissed him—deep and messy, tasting yourself on his mouth.

"Need you," you breathed against his lips.

"You have me," he whispered, as he pushed inside—slow, steady, filling you inch by inch until there was nothing between you. Just heat, skin, breath.

He sank into you slowly, inch by inch, and you could feel every part of him—every stretch, every pulse of heat as your body opened around him. 

Your breath caught in your throat, fingers tightening on his shoulders as your thighs curled around his waist.

He didn't move at first—just stayed there, buried deep, his forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathing hard like the stillness between your bodies might break if either of you moved too quickly. 

His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing gently across your skin as he whispered your name like it was something sacred.

You touched him back just as reverently—palms gliding along the lines of his back, over the slope of his spine, memorizing the warmth and weight of him above you. 

Your hips lifted slightly, seeking him, urging him.

The first slow thrust pulled a gasp from your lips, your nails digging lightly into his skin. He groaned low in his throat and rolled his hips again—long, deep, unhurried. 

His body moved against yours like a tide, pulling back just enough before pushing in again, and again, until the rhythm became something you felt in your bones.

Every thrust dragged against your most sensitive nerves, the friction and pressure so perfectly controlled it made your stomach tighten and your eyes flutter shut. 

He filled you completely, grounding you to the bed, to the moment, to him.

"Kiko..." You breathed his name like a plea, like a prayer, like you didn't know what else to say.

His lips found yours again, this time slower, hungrier—his tongue sweeping into your mouth as his pace picked up just slightly, the sound of skin against skin growing louder in the quiet room. 

Each movement made your breath stutter, your moans rising in pitch as his hand moved down between your bodies.

His fingers found your clit with practiced ease, circling it slowly at first, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. 

You gasped, legs trembling around him as the pleasure spiked sharply.

"Oh—God—" you choked, your hips jerking upward.

"I've got you," he murmured against your mouth. "Just let go."

The pleasure built fast now, like a wave rising higher and higher, and your hands clutched at him—his back, his shoulders, anything you could hold as the heat inside you spiraled out of control. 

His name tumbled from your lips again, desperate, broken.

"Come for me," he whispered, fingers stroking harder, thrusts deep and relentless now. "Let me feel you."

Your whole body arched into him as the climax hit—sharp and overwhelming, your walls clenching around him in pulsing waves. 

A cry ripped from your throat, loud and helpless as you came undone beneath him, shaking and gasping as your body shuddered with release.

He groaned at the way you tightened around him, his rhythm faltering as he chased his own edge. 

You barely had time to catch your breath before he slammed into you deeper, faster, his jaw clenched, eyes locked on yours like he couldn't look away.

"Fuck... you feel—so good," he gritted out, his voice low and ragged.

And then he came with a rough moan, burying himself to the hilt, his entire body trembling as he spilled inside you. 

He pressed his forehead to yours again, catching his breath, both of you panting in the thick silence that followed.

You held him close, your arms around his neck, your heartbeat slowly calming as his body settled over yours. 

His weight didn't crush you—it comforted you. You could still feel him inside you, softening slowly, your bodies still connected, still warm.

Neither of you spoke right away. There was no need.

His hand moved again—this time gentle, slow strokes along your side, soothing. You smiled against his skin, eyes fluttering closed, letting yourself melt into the softness that came after the fire.

You weren't sure how long you stayed like that—his body pressed against yours, his weight grounding you, your skin sticky with sweat, legs still tangled around his waist. 

The afterglow was warm, heady, almost drowsy.

But you felt him stir again—not just shifting, but stirring, hardening slowly inside you. You opened your eyes, smiling against his shoulder.

"Already?" you whispered, teasing.

Kiko let out a soft breath, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. "You did this to me."

You laughed quietly, your voice still a little breathless. "Did I?"

He looked down at you then, eyes darker now—less cautious, more hungry. His hand slid down your thigh, gripping it as he rolled his hips just enough to make you feel how hard he was becoming again inside your still-sensitive body.

You gasped softly, body twitching under the sensation.

"Oh," you whispered, hips instinctively shifting beneath him.

"You're still so wet," he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth. "Still tight around me."

He started to move, slow and shallow at first, watching your face carefully. 

You moaned, head falling back against the pillow as your body welcomed him all over again—already tender, already throbbing, but hungry for more.

This time there was no hesitance. No slow burn. He knew how to touch you now, how to move inside you to pull the most delicious sounds from your lips. 

His hips rolled with more confidence, more rhythm, every thrust firmer, faster, dragging a fresh wave of heat across your skin.

You wrapped your arms around his neck again, holding him close, your voice caught between breathless laughter and moans. 

He kissed you between strokes—hot and messy—tongue claiming your mouth as his thrusts deepened.

You felt wild under him—your body slick, sensitive, alive with sensation. 

Your nails scored down his back as he pushed you harder into the mattress, his hand now gripping the headboard above your head for leverage.

"Fuck—Kiko—" you gasped, overwhelmed again.

He growled softly, the sound vibrating in his throat as he leaned down and bit your shoulder—gentle but possessive. "You feel so good like this. I can't get enough of you."

You bucked your hips up to meet him, the sounds of your bodies echoing through the room now—wet, fast, desperate. He was losing control and so were you.

This time, your climax came quicker—sharper—your body already so open and raw that it only took a few perfectly angled thrusts and a flick of his thumb over your clit to send you over again. 

You cried out, clinging to him as your body shook, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave.

Kiko didn't stop. Not until your walls clenched around him so hard he gasped, his rhythm breaking as he thrust once, twice more—and came with a guttural moan, hips jerking as he spilled deep inside you again.

You both collapsed into each other, panting, sweat-soaked, skin flushed and glowing. His body was heavy over yours, his breath hot against your neck, and you didn't care.

You wrapped your arms around him tighter, keeping him there, both of you too satisfied to move.

After a long silence, you laughed softly. "You still have your headphones on."

He groaned and reached up, finally yanking them off and tossing them aside. "Yeah... well. Priorities changed."

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. "Good choice."