choi line as songs on sza’s ctrl album // tomorrow x together
a love that always feels like summer // choi yeonjun // chapter fanfic, suggestive, fluff, angst
pretty pair of lips // choi yeonjun // one shot, fluff
just another love song (about you) // choi beomgyu // bf headcanons!!!! // angst, fluff, suggestive
library kisses // kim sunwoo // one shot, fluff
boyfriend, girlfriend // kim sunwoo // one shot (idk might be more), fluff
cheezeeeee! // kim sunwoo // one shot, fluff
sweet dreams // kim sunwoo // one shot, fluff
six thirty // lee jaehyun/hyunjae // one shot, fluff, angst
anton w/ an injured s/o // anton lee // bf headcanons // fluff, suggestive
a/n: the long waited 2nd part! you can read this alone, but if you’d like to read the first part, click here! thank you for the support, treat this beauty well. <3
three years felt too long for nishimura riki.
everyday was a new day, but for him, it was another day without the girl he loved the most.
his career took off, as expected.
riki became the most respected choreographer in L.A. , becoming the man everyone wanted to work with. everyone was desperate to get a piece of his work, it all felt so surreal still.
and while he finally had the life he loved, for some reason—it didn’t feel enough for him.
there was a hole where his soul used to be, a void he endured in silence because, deep down, he knew he was a coward. he accepted the loneliness as his penance, wearing his success like a heavy, gold-plated armor.
sitting at the edge of the bed, looking out from his hotel window, he wondered how you were. if you still painted.
scratch that, you absolutely did. he checked your socials every now and then. he was a ghost haunting your digital life, checking your socials with a desperate, obsessive ritual.
he was an obsessed man, because he desperately loved you, and never in these three years, did he stop.
his phone buzzed against the nightstand, the sharp vibration snapping the thread of his thoughts. his uber was downstairs. riki stood up, his joints feeling heavier than they should, and grabbed his jacket. as he headed out into the humid city air, he felt a familiar, sickening pull in his chest. he was back in the city he missed—the city where he’d left the only thing that actually mattered.
—
riki stepped out of the car, the heavy thud of the door echoing behind him as the black sedan pulled away into the neon blur of gangnam.
he looked up at the restaurant—it was one of those places where the steaks cost triple digits and the wine was so crisp it felt like you could get drunk off the scent alone. he pushed through the heavy glass doors, the atmosphere shifting instantly to dim, expensive lighting and the low hum of jazz. as he approached the host stand, he mentioned the private party. the host nodded with a practiced, polite smile and began leading him toward the back.
he wasn't exactly nervous, but there was a quiet, restless shyness settling in his chest. seeing his friends after a couple years felt heavier than a few texts could ever account for.
when they reached the long, mahogany table, the familiar faces hit him like a physical wave.
"look who finally decided to roll in," jake called out, already half-standing. he met riki with a firm, lopsided hug and a flash of his perfect teeth.
"happy birthday, man," riki smiled, handing over a small, expensive-looking gift bag. "it’s not much."
"it's alright, it's the thought that counts," jake chuckled, patting his shoulder.
riki’s eyes drifted across the table, landing on the next familiar face. "missed you, rik," sunghoon said, standing up to bridge the gap for another hug.
"i'm gone three years and suddenly you’ve managed to look better than me?" riki joked, the old rhythm of their friendship returning almost instantly.
sunghoon rolled his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. "i was always the good-looking one, let's be real."
riki took his seat next to jake, directly across from sunghoon.the waiter appeared silently, pouring a glass of amber whiskey for riki. he took a slow sip, the burn welcome as it settled his nerves.
they talked about the industry first—easy, safe topics. they talked about riki’s studio, jake’s new investments, and sunghoon’s latest projects. but as the first bottles of wine and whiskey disappeared, the conversation turned personal.
"so," riki started, swirling his glass. "how’s the scene here? three years and you guys are still the most eligible bachelors in seoul? or has someone finally tamed you?"
jake snorted, pointing a fork at sunghoon. "tame him? impossible. sunghoon’s still doing the same old thing. different week, different face. he’s got a 'type' now, though. very specific."
sunghoon shifted in his seat, his expression tightening just a fraction. "i’m just selective, jake. there’s a difference."
"selective?" jake laughed, turning back to riki. "i’m the only one who actually committed. i’ve got a girlfriend now. but hoon? he’s been... experimental. especially lately. he’s been hanging around the art district a lot more than usual."
riki felt a strange prickle at the back of his neck at the mention of the art district. "the art district? since when do you care about paintings, sunghoon?"
"i don't," sunghoon said quickly, taking a long drink of his wine. "i just like the atmosphere. the bars are better there."
"the bars? or the artists?" jake teased, leaning in, clearly a little buzzed from the wine. "he’s been seeing this one girl. real talented. real familiar, too. it’s like a 'small world' type of situation, you know?"
sunghoon’s hand visibly tensed around his glass. "jake, drop it. we’re celebrating your birthday, not my dating life."
"i'm just saying!" jake held his hands up in defense. "it’s just funny how things come full circle. riki leaves, and suddenly sunghoon is spending all his time with—"
"jake," sunghoon warned, his voice low.
"with who?" riki asked, his voice coming out steady, though his chest felt like it was being squeezed.
jake blinked, the realization of what he was about to say finally hitting him through the alcohol. he looked at sunghoon, then back to riki, his mouth hanging open slightly. "i... uh... i just meant someone from our old circles. nobody important."
the silence that followed was deafening. sunghoon wouldn't look at him. he just stared at the table, looking incredibly guilty.
"riki..." sunghoon started, his voice cracking. "it didn't mean anything. it was just... she was around, and i was there, and we both just—"
he didn't have to finish the sentence. the realization hit riki like a physical blow to the stomach. his best friend. his only link to the home he’d left behind had been with the only girl he’d ever loved.
before he could even process the betrayal, the sound of heels clicking against the marble floor echoed through the room. the host was leading a new group in.
riki turned his head slowly, and the air left his lungs. there you were.
you looked older, more refined, but you still had that same look in your eyes—the one that used to belong entirely to him.
“should of mentioned she was coming…” jake cleared his throat, whispering as he watched the scene unfold.
his eyes locked onto yours instantly. it was like seeing the world in color for the first time in three years—every detail of you, every sharp memory, crashing into him at once. oh, how he missed you.
but you stopped dead in your tracks.
the air in the room seemed to vanish. your eyes widened, a flicker of raw, unfiltered shock crossing your features before your mask slid back into place. riki watched as you swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag.
he wanted to stand up. he wanted to say your name. he wanted to apologize for every day of those three years, but his throat felt like it was filled with glass.
you took a shaky breath, visible only if someone was looking as closely as he was. then, with a sudden, sharp tilt of your chin, you found your courage. you moved toward the table, steady and purposeful, though your gaze pointedly avoided the man who had been haunting your thoughts for a thousand days.
"happy birthday, jake," you said, your voice sounding clearer than riki expected. you leaned in to give jake a quick hug and offered a polite, graceful hug to sunghoon.
you greeted everyone. everyone but him.
the chairs scraped against the floor, a harsh sound in the quiet room. riki found himself shifted down; he was now bracketed by sunghoon and jake on one side. across from jake sat his girlfriend, and at the very end of the long table—directly across the diagonal from riki—was you.
it was the cruelest kind of distance. you were close enough that he could see the way the light caught the gold of your jewelry, close enough to see the slight tremor in your hand as you reached for a water glass, but far enough that you didn't have to acknowledge his existence.
soon, the conversation started up again. a forced, frantic attempt by jake to cover the awkwardness. his girlfriend started telling a story about their drive over, her laughter ringing out a bit too loudly.
riki didn't hear a word of it. he sat there, his whiskey untouched, his eyes fixed on you. he watched the way you tucked a stray hair behind your ear—a habit that hadn't changed. he watched the way you smiled at something jake said, a small, guarded curve of your lips that never reached your eyes.
you were right there. after three years of staring at pixels on a screen, you were breathing the same air. but as you laughed at a joke sunghoon made—the same sunghoon who had just admitted to "experimenting" with you—riki felt a surge of possessive jealousy so sharp it made his vision blur.
"so, riki," jake’s girlfriend said, leaning forward and breaking the silence. "jake says you’ve been in L.A. this whole time. do you miss home at all?"
"it’s been good," riki said, finally breaking the stare and looking toward jake’s girlfriend. "L.A. has a different energy. it’s fast, and the industry there doesn't give you room to breathe, which worked for me. i needed the noise."
he took a slow sip of his whiskey, the ice clinking against the glass. "but yeah, i missed korea. you don't realize how much you miss the quiet parts of seoul until you're stuck in traffic on sunset boulevard."
"we saw the video of that piece you did last month,” jake joins in, leaning forward, eager to shift the spotlight away from the awkward silence. "the footwork was insane, riki. i don't know how you’re still moving like that."
"lots of physical therapy," riki joked, a small, polite smile tugging at his lips. "but the vision was there. i’ve been lucky to work with dancers who actually get what i’m trying to say without me having to use words."
as the table erupted into a discussion about his success, about the studio he’d opened and the celebrities who were practically begging for a spot on his schedule, riki remained hyper-aware of the ghost at the end of the table.
you hadn't said a word.
you were focused on your plate, your fork moving small pieces of salad around with a rhythmic, detached presence. you weren't eating. you were just... enduring. while everyone else praised the man he had become, you remained the only person in the room who knew exactly what that success had cost him.
"and the new studio?" sunghoon asked, his voice a little too casual, clearly trying to bridge the gap after his earlier slip-up. "i heard it's the biggest one in west hollywood now."
"it’s growing," riki replied, his eyes drifting back to you. "it’s a lot of responsibility. sometimes it feels like i’m just managing people instead of actually creating. i think i lost the 'why' for a little while."
he paused, waiting for any reaction from you—a scoff, a look of pity, a tilt of the head. but you just picked up your wine glass, taking a long, slow sip while staring at the center of the table.
jake’s girlfriend leaned in closer to you, sensing the quiet. "you’ve seen his work, right? jake shows me his clips all the time."
the table went silent. the question was innocent enough, but it felt like a grenade had been rolled onto the plate. riki held his breath, his pulse thrumming in his throat as he waited for you to finally acknowledge him.
you slowly set your glass down, the stem clicking softly against the tablecloth. you didn't look up at riki, but your voice was steady when you finally spoke.
"i’ve seen it," you said simply. "it’s hard to miss someone who's everywhere."
and that was the last thing you said towards him.
the dinner blurred into a haze of polite laughter and clinking silverware.
when the check was finally settled and the group stood to leave, the relief in the room was palpable.
the night air in gangnam was sharp, a biting chill that cut through riki’s thin blazer as they spilled out onto the sidewalk. jake was busy pulling his girlfriend close, murmuring about a cab, while sunghoon stood by the curb, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, looking everywhere but at riki.
"see you tomorrow for lunch, rik?" jake called out, already half-tucked into a waiting car. "don't disappear on us again."
"i won't," riki promised, though his voice sounded hollow to his own ears.
there were rounds of quick, shivering hugs. sunghoon gave him a tight nod—the unspoken weight of their shared secret still hanging between them—before he, too, disappeared into the night.
and then, there was you.
you stood a few feet away, clutching your coat tightly around your frame. you didn't look back. you didn't say goodbye. you simply turned and began walking in the opposite direction of the main taxi stand, your silhouette fading into the shadows of the side street.
riki stayed rooted to the spot. his brain told him to turn around, to go back to his hotel and drown the night in expensive scotch. but his heart was a traitor. he watched you walk away, and then noticed the slight, uneven tilt in your step. your heels caught on a crack in the pavement, causing you to stumble just enough to make him jerk forward instinctively.
you caught yourself, leaning against a brick wall for a split second before shaking your head and forcing yourself to keep moving.
it wasn't his place. he had lost the right to care about your safety the moment he boarded that plane. he was a stranger now, a ghost from a life you had clearly moved on from.
but as he watched your retreating figure against the towering glass buildings of the city, he couldn't just let you go. not like this.
keeping a careful distance, riki began to follow.
he wasn't sure what he was doing. he just knew he couldn't look away. he followed you through the winding backstreets, past the late-night convenience stores and the quiet residential corners, his eyes fixed on you with a desperate, protective intensity.
riki followed you through the quiet streets until the familiar facade of your building came into view. it was the same place you’d lived in since college. he remembered the way the light hit these windows in the morning, back when he actually had access.
he watched you disappear into the lobby, and he waited, counting the seconds, before he followed you inside. when the doors slid open on your floor, he saw you further down the long, dimly lit hallway. you were leaning heavily against the wall, your shoulders trembling.
he didn't hide his footsteps. he couldn't.
"go away, riki," you whispered.
the sound of your voice, cracked and tired, hit him harder than he thought it would. he didn't say a word. he just stood there, rooted to the carpet, watching as you reached down and pulled off your heels. you held them in one hand, your back still turned to him, and continued down the hall with bare feet.
you reached your door and stopped, your hand hovering near the lock. the silence was deafening, broken only by the hum of the building's ventilation.
"i've missed you," he finally said.
it was the simplest truth he had, but it sounded pathetic in the empty hallway.
you didn't respond. instead, your shoulders began to shake violently. you let out a broken sob and suddenly crumpled, crouching down on the floor with your head in your hands. you looked so small, so completely shattered, that it felt like his own chest was being ripped open.
riki moved instinctively. "hey, let me—"
he reached out to help you up, his fingers just barely brushing your arm, but you flinched away as if he were made of fire.
"don’t fucking touch me!" you yell, the sound echoing off the narrow walls. you looked up at him then, your face wet with tears and your eyes burning with a raw, agonizing pain. "you walked away, remember? you left. don't touch me."
he froze, his hands trembling in mid-air. you had never looked at him like that—never with that much venom. in all the scenarios he’d played out in his head, he hadn't prepared for the reality of your hate.
his heart didn't just break; it felt like it was being crushed under the weight of his own choices. he couldn't stand seeing you on the floor, crying because of a ghost he had invited back into the room.
he looked at the digital lock pad on your door. his hand was hesitant, his fingers hovering over the glowing numbers. he took a breath and slid his fingers across the screen, entering a date he had never been able to forget.
the day you both started dating.
the lock chirped, a cheerful, melodic sound that felt entirely wrong for the moment. the door clicked open.
he tried to reach for you again, wanting to at least get you off the cold floor, but you pushed him off with a frantic strength, scrambling to your feet. you didn't look back as you stumbled into the dark apartment.
riki didn't think. he didn't ask. he just stepped inside after you, closing the door on the world that had tried to keep him out.
—
riki stepped deeper into the apartment, the door clicking shut with a finality that made the air feel heavy. he stood in the living room, his eyes scanning the space as you sat on the edge of the sofa, your frame shaking with fresh sobs.
at first glance, everything looked the same—the layout, the furniture, the way the moonlight hit the floor. but as his gaze drifted to the walls, everything seemed different. the paintings he remembered, the ones filled with vibrant corals, sunny yellows, and life, were gone. in their place hung canvases that looked like open wounds. they were dark, drowning in layers of obsidian and charcoal, devoid of any light.
it was a gallery of grief.
he looked toward the window where a large, unfinished canvas sat. paint was splattered across the floor, brushes abandoned like wreckage. the sight of it made his chest ache. had he really done this? had he reached back from L.A. and sucked all the color out of your world?
you looked up, catching him staring at the mess of black paint, and let out a sharp, jagged scoff.
"you know, you have some nerve," you spat, wiping a stray tear with the back of your hand. "coming here after everything."
riki flinched, his throat tight. "i came for jake," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "i didn’t... i didn't think i was gonna see you tonight."
"right. so you were just going to avoid me the whole time you were here?" you say, your voice rising with every word.
riki shook his head slowly, his heart sinking. "well, no. but i figured you didn't want to see me. i didn't think i was welcome."
"of course i don't want to see you!" you cried out, the frustration finally boiling over. "god, riki, you put me through so much and you expect me to just receive you with open arms? like nothing happened?"
he just stood there, paralyzed. the sharp, confident guy the world knew had vanished, leaving behind a boy who was drowning in shame. he looked at the dark paintings again, the silence in the room feeling like a physical weight.
"i wasn't myself after you left," you whispered, the anger momentarily giving way to a haunting exhaustion. "the first year... i lost everything. i couldn't eat, i couldn't sleep. i didn't do anything because all i wanted was for you to walk back through that door. but you didn't. it took me forever to realize that you weren’t coming back."
riki felt the first hot tear track down his cheek. he didn't try to hide it. he couldn't defend himself because every word you said was a truth he had tried to outrun.
"it was hard for me too," he choked out, stepping toward you. "don't think i just forgot. i was miserable every single day. L.A. was just a distraction—i worked until i couldn't think because thinking about you felt like dying."
"oh, poor you!" you snapped, standing up, your eyes flashing with a new level of fury. "you were miserable? i was the one left with the empty side of the bed, i reached out for you and just knew somehow that you were never coming back.”
you stepped closer to him, your voice cracking with a mix of madness and despair. "don't you dare tell me it was hard for you. you had a choice. i didn't."
riki stood in the center of the room, the silence between you feeling like a physical barrier that had been hardening. his tears didn't fall fast; they gathered in his eyes, heavy and hot, before tracking slowly down his cheeks, carving lines through the composed mask he’d worn all night.
“believe me or not,” he started, his voice thick and fractured, “but i missed you. so fucking much. there were days when i’d lock myself in that apartment and i wouldn’t step out for days. i couldn't face the sun when all i could think about was the shadow i left you in. i’m ashamed, yn. god, i am so ashamed of what i did to us.”
you didn’t move. you didn’t offer him a hand or a soft look. you stood your ground, your makeup ruined, dark streaks marking the path of your pain. you were breathing in the scent of him, woodsmoke and expensive cologne, and it felt like a cruel haunting in your own living room.
“i left without saying anything because i knew,” he whispered, a breath hitching in his throat. “i knew if i looked at you, if i saw even one tear, i wouldn't have been able to walk away. you were the only thing in this world that could have made me stay, and i was terrified of that power. if i stayed, i’d never become anything on my own.”
you pouted, your lower lip trembling as you looked at him, your gaze flickering to the door he’d walked out of years ago. “so why didn’t you just ask me to come? why wasn’t i worth a conversation, riki? you just... you just left.”
“i wanted something for myself,” he confessed, his head bowing. “i wanted a career. i wanted to be a man you could be proud of, someone who wasn't just leaning on you. i wanted to feel like i had earned the right to stand next to you.”
you stepped closer, the heat radiating off him making your skin prickle. “i could have given you that, ki,” you choked out, the old nickname slipping out and making his shoulders flinch. “if you had stayed, i would have given you everything. you know my parents would of helped you. i would have supported you, built you up. i didn't need a famous choreographer. i needed you. i would have stayed in this tiny apartment forever as long as you were in it.”
riki shook his head. “i knew you would say that—that’s exactly why i had to leave. i didn’t want to depend on you. i didn’t want to feel worthless, like a burden you had to carry until i found my feet. i wanted to be the one to please you. i wanted to give you the world, yn. i thought i had to do this... for the better of us. i thought i was saving us from a future where i resented myself.”
“and instead, you destroyed the present,” you cried. “look at how you left me! you didn't save us, riki. you saved yourself and left me to drown in the dark. you don't get to come back and say it was for 'us' when i spent a year not even knowing who 'i' was anymore.”
the air between you was electric, charged with three years of unspoken resentment. riki looked at you—at the way you were guarded, your arms wrapped around yourself like you were holding your own pieces together.
“i know,” he breathed, the word a broken vow. “i see it. i see what i did to your heart. and it kills me. it kills me more than the silence ever did.”
the weight of it finally became too much. you saw the raw, unfiltered agony in his eyes, the same boyish vulnerability that had made you fall for him in the first place. and so you finally broke, your hands reaching out to grab the front of his jacket, pulling him toward you just to see if he was real.
he caught you instantly. his arms wrapped around you with a desperate, crushing strength, his face burying itself in the crook of your neck. he was shaking, his body full with the force of his weeping. he was so upset with himself, so disgusted that he had let it get this far.
slowly, he pulled back just enough to take your chin between his fingers. he looked at you through blurred vision, his thumb gently wiping away the salty tracks on your cheeks.
“i’m sorry, yn. i’m so, so sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking.
and then, the man who would of never done this before, dropped to his knees.
he sank down until he was at your feet, his large, calloused hands gripping your hips to keep himself from falling over. he looked up at you, his face a map of absolute devastation. his lip quivered, his eyes wide and bloodshot, pleading for a mercy he didn't think he deserved.
“forgive me,” he begged, the word a raw rasp. “please, yn. i can't live another day knowing i'm the reason your world is black. i’ll spend the rest of my life putting the color back if you let me. please.”
you looked down at him, your heart shattering for the man kneeling before you. your soft fingers reached out, trembling as they touched his face. you soothed the tension in his brow, your palm cupping his cheek as you wiped his tears away.
riki closed his eyes and melted into your touch. like a cat seeking warmth, he leaned his head into your hand, a small, broken sound escaping his throat.
“i forgive you,” you cried, the words finally setting you both free.
his hands tightened on your hips, his thumbs stroking the fabric of your clothes as he watched you with an intensity that was almost frightening. it was a look of total, obsessive reclamation. but then, his jaw set, his expression shifting as the memory of sunghoon’s guilty face flashed in his mind.
“don’t go back to sunghoon,” he muttered, his voice thick with a jealous, protective edge. “don’t let him touch you again. don’t let anyone else near you. i’m here now. i’m never letting you go again.”
you let out a watery, relieved laugh, your fingers tangling in his dark hair as you looked down at the man who had finally, finally come home. you nodded, your heart finally feeling a pulse of color.
“i won’t,” you promised. “i won’t ever go back.”
riki stayed on his knees for a heartbeat longer, his forehead resting against your stomach as he let out a long, shuddering breath of pure relief.
you reached down, your fingers touching his shoulder so that he would finally stand up. your lips curved into a soft, tearful smile, and the sight of it seemed to breathe life back into his lungs. riki stood, towering over you once more, but this time his presence didn't feel like a threat—it felt like a sanctuary.
his large, trembling hand rose slowly, his palm cupping your cheek with a soft touch. he looked at you like you were a miracle he didn't deserve to witness, his thumb stroking your skin to catch the last of your tears. he just leaned in, his eyes fluttering shut as he finally bridged the gap he had created.
the kiss was slow and heavy with everything you hadn't said. riki tasted the saltiness of your tears and the bitter burn of the wine from dinner, but it didn't matter. nothing mattered except the fact that your lips were finally molding against his again.
your hands balled into the expensive fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as if you were afraid he might leave again. you melted into him, your body remembering the exact way it fit against his, while riki let out a low, broken hum against your mouth—a sound of total surrender.
you were the one to break the kiss first, though you didn't pull far away. your breath hitched as you reached down, your hand finding his and lacing your fingers together. without a word, you began to lead him toward the bedroom.
riki followed you like a man in a trance. his heart was hammering against his ribs so violently he was sure you could feel it through his palm—it was the exact same frantic, dizzying pulse he’d felt the very first time he’d walked this hallway with you. it felt like the final piece of his soul clicking back into place.
he reached back to close the door, the click of the lock echoing in the quiet. before he could even turn fully, you were on him again. you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, pulling his head down to meet yours in a kiss that was deeper and fueled by years of starvation.
riki’s hands found your waist instantly, his grip firm and possessive as he walked you backward toward the bed. he was careful, even in his desperation. your knees hit the mattress, he let you fall back slowly, his body following yours down until he was hovering over you.
crawling on top of you, he braced himself on his elbows, framing your face with his hands as he continued to kiss you with a feverish intensity.
riki was moving with desperation now, his kisses becoming more frantic, as if he were trying to make up for every second of those three lost years in a single night. he couldn't stop—his lips had ached for your skin, his body had been starving for this connection, and now that he had you, he was consuming you.
he broke the kiss on your lips only to trail his mouth down the column of your throat. his lips, soft and plump, pressed against your sensitive skin. he knew exactly where your pulse jumped, and he lingered there, leaving wet, searing kisses that made your head tilt back.
the small, broken moans that escaped your throat were like fuel to him. every sound you made sent a fresh jolt of electricity through his frame, making his skin tingle with a mix of raw lust and overwhelming devotion. he wanted to hear more; he wanted to know that you were feeling him just as intensely as he was feeling you.
his hands, usually so precise and controlled, were trembling as he began to work on your clothes. he moved with a kind of urgency, peeling away the layers that stood between him and the woman he had nearly lost. you did the same for him, your fingers fumbling with his buttons until his shirt was discarded on the floor, soon followed by the rest.
the sudden contact of the cool air against your bare skin sent a wave of goosebumps over your body, but the chill didn't last long. riki’s heat was everywhere. he was determined to burn away the memory of every lonely night you’d spent in this bed.
he started from the top again, his mouth on a slow, journey downward. he kissed the slope of your shoulders, the valley between your breasts, and the soft curve of your stomach. he moved with a slow agonizing patience, his breath hot against your skin as he worshiped every inch of you.
he didn't stop until he was kneeling between your thighs, his hands gripping your hips with a strength that grounded you to the mattress. he looked up at you for a heartbeat, his eyes dark and clouded with a hunger that was purely for you, before he leaned down, his lips finally brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, moving closer and closer to the center of what pulsed desperately.
"missed you so desperately baby," riki rasped, his voice against your skin. his hands didn’t just move, his fingers dug into the soft give of your thighs to force them wider, exposing you completely to the cool air and his scorching gaze.
you were a wreck beneath him, your body humming with a frantic, electric need. you were practically begging, your teeth sinking into your own finger to stifle the pathetic, needy whimpers that wanted to spill out.
"you want me to touch you, hm?" he teased, his breath ghosting over your heat. he pressed a lingering, open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, right at the edge of your soaked cunt, looking up at you with eyes dark with a terrifying kind of hunger.
you nodded frantically, your head tossing back against the pillows. "please ki... fuck, please."
he didn't make you ask again. his head lowered, his tongue making slow, agonizing contact. it started with small, flickering licks that made your hips jerk uncontrollably, your nerves too raw, too sensitive for the attention. you moaned anyway, a broken sound that vibrated through the room as your pelvis arched up, seeking more of that wet friction.
you felt his breath hitch, the sound of your moans fueling him. riki’s lips parted, his tongue sliding between your aching folds, tasting you like he was starving and you were the only thing that could keep him alive.
"oh riki..." you sobbed out his name, biting your lip so hard you could taste copper as you watched him worship you.
he was focused, his movements rhythmic. your stomach clenched, toes curling into the sheets as he found the perfect rhythm. "missed how you taste—fuck," he slurred against you, his mouth suddenly migrating to suction directly onto your clit. the sensation was so intense it was borderline painful, making you wail into the empty room.
"feels s'good ki... don't stop."
he let out a low, desperate growl, his hands sliding up to lock onto your hips, bruising the skin as he pinned you down. he couldn't help himself anymore. his tongue slipped inside you, mimicking a hard, rhythmic fuck, driving deep into your creaminess. your hips bucked wildly, your hands tangling in his hair to hold him there, terrified he’d stop.
he was making up for every year he’d spent away from you, every touch he’d missed. he pulled back for a split second, slicking you with more of his own saliva until you were dripping, before his lips sealed around you again.
"hnnnghh!—so close, fuck!" you cried out, your back arching off the bed as you tried to ride his face, your muscles coiling tight.
"cum for me, doll. let me taste every drop," he insisted, his nose grinding against you, adding a blunt pressure that sent you over the edge.
riki slammed your hips back down onto the bed, and with one final, devastating lap of his tongue, you shattered.
you screamed so loud you were sure the neighbors could hear, your thighs clashing against his head, trapping him there as your body spasmed and spilled over him. he didn't pull away; he stayed, slurping up everything you gave him until you were shaking and weak.
he crawled up the bed, his body a heavy, welcome weight as he settled beside you. "you okay?" he whispered, his voice thick. he kissed your shoulder, your cheek, his touch tender despite the wreckage he’d just caused.
"more than okay," you breathed.
needing to be closer, you climbed onto his lap, straddling him. his eyes were sparkling, filled with a terrifying amount of love. you leaned in, capturing his lips in a kiss that tasted like salt and sex and forever. you felt his hardness pressing against your entrance, and the friction was enough to make you whine again.
your lips traveled down to his neck, finding the spot where his pulse hammered. you bit down hard, marking him with a hickey that would bloom into a dark bruise by morning. riki closed his eyes, his head falling back as he let out those small, melodic moans you loved so much.
"so vocal," you teased, whispering against his ear. "i'm sure someone else must have heard you like this while you were out there."
his hand snapped to your shoulder, pulling you back so he could lock eyes with you. the intensity there was staggering. "yn..." he said, his voice dropping low. "i never let anyone touch me. not once. you've been my only girl always."
the honesty in his voice brought a sting to your eyes. you kissed him again, deeper this time, as your hand reached down to guide his cock. you lowered yourself slowly, feeling him stretch you open, filling every inch of the void he'd left behind.
"fuck—so big," you hissed, your walls clenching around him. riki groaned as you bottomed out, his eyes fluttering shut at the sheer tightness of you.
you didn't move fast. you wanted to feel every ridge, every pulse. you swayed your hips in a slow circle, grinding down on him. his hands gripped your ass, his knuckles white as he let you take the lead.
“i could stay inside you all day," riki whispered, his voice breaking. "you're hypnotizing, baby."
"mm—then don't leave." you bit your lip, picking up the pace. you grabbed his hand, dragging it to your breast, guiding him to grope you as you bounced.
you let out a broken whine, your fingers tangling in his hair and pulling his head back so you could see the hunger in his face. your muscles clenched around him with every downward stroke as riki’s head hit the pillow. his chest was heaving as he watched your breasts bounce with the motion.
"look at you," he rasped, his hand squeezing your tit, his thumb roughly rolling your nipple. "look how good you take it. you’re a natural, babygirl. a fucking natural for me."
"ki... please, fuck yourself into me," you begged, your core humming with a tension that was becoming unbearable.
"not yet," he teased, his voice a low vibrate you felt in your clit. "i want to feel every bit of you. i want to hear you scream for it."
he suddenly sat up firmly, meeting you halfway. he wrapped his arms around your back, pulling you flush against his chest so your heat was crushed together. he began to thrust up with a violent, needy energy, his cock hitting your cervix with every strike. you were sobbing now, your nails drawing red lines down his back as the pleasure turned into something sharp and overwhelming.
the sounds in the room were wet and heavy. you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a messy, desperate kiss, mixing spit and breath. you broke away just to look at him, your faces inches apart.
"ki... promise me you won't leave after this. and if you do, take me with you." you said suddenly.
his hands smoothed over your back, his expression softening. "i'm not leaving you. not ever again—i promise."
you nodded, a small smile breaking through the haze of pleasure. you picked up the speed, your body slamming against his with a loud, rhythmic rhythm. riki began to purr in your ear, those deep, vibrating sounds that always sent you over the edge. he was getting desperate now, his muscles tensing as he hit his limit.
"shit—i'm gonna cum—" he choked out.
with one final, soul-destroying thrust, he buried himself as deep as possible and let go. you followed him instantly, your second orgasm hitting so hard your vision blurred.
you collapsed against him, your bodies slick with sweat and tangled in a mess of limbs. riki didn't let you pull away; instead, he hooked an arm under your knees and pulled you flush against his side, tucking you into him like you were the most precious thing he’d ever held. he reached down, grabbing the discarded blanket and dragging it over your shivering frames, his chin resting right on top of your head.
the room was silent, save for the frantic synchronization of your heartbeats slowing down.
"look at what you did to me," riki whispered, his voice low against your scalp. he tilted his neck, showing off the angry, darkening mark you’d bitten into his skin. his fingers traced the edges of it, a lazy, possessive smirk tugging at his lips. "i’m gonna have to wear a collar to tomorrow’s brunch.”
you let out a weak, airy chuckle, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. "good."
he hummed, his hand sliding down your spine in slow, soothing strokes that made your muscles turn to water. he stopped at the small of your back, his palm warm and heavy. "every night i was away, i’d close my eyes and try to remember exactly how you felt. how you smelled. but the memory was never enough. i felt like i was losing my mind."
you shifted, propping yourself up on his chest to look at him. his eyes were dark, filled with raw honesty that made your throat tight. "i thought you’d moved on," you confessed, your voice small. "i thought maybe you’d found someone else."
riki reached up, his thumb brushing a stray hair from your forehead. "never. i told you, yn... it’s only ever been you. i’d see girls who had your hair, or heard a laugh that sounded like yours, and it would just gut me. no one else could even come close to touching what we have."
he trailed his hand down, his fingers ghosting over your hip where his handprints were already starting to bloom into faint bruises. his expression softened into something so tender it almost hurt to look at. "i’m never putting us through that again. i don't care what it takes."
you nodded, a single tear escaping and landing on his chest. he wiped it away immediately with his thumb, leaning up to press a soft, lingering kiss to your eyelid.
"i hope when i wake up tomorrow, you'll still be here," you hummed, your eyes finally fluttering shut, the exhaustion of the night finally catching up to you.
he chuckled, a low, warm rumble in his chest that you felt deep in your bones. "i will. i already told you, i'm not leaving. i'm staying right here until you get sick of looking at my face."
"i love you, riki," you whispered into the dark.
"i love you too, yn. more than i know how to say."
and sure enough, the next morning, when the sun filtered through the curtains in dusty gold streaks, his arms were still locked tight around your waist—exactly where they belonged.
IN WHICH ─── Sunghoon and you are having a little trouble while getting ready for a brunch, his morning wood couldn’t start the day without your morning dew.
𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : smut (MDNI), porn without plot
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : dom!sunghoon, swearing, manhandling, morning sex, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), reader has a WAP (again), big dick!sunghoon, kissing, skinship, use of nickname : baby
𝐰𝐜 : 1.6k {1.694}
❕# It's one of my fav so far hahaha, i'm starting to drool over him these days it's not even funny...But anyways :)) Dada is next ;)
INSPIRED BY : MORNING DEW (Donk) - Beyoncé
You stir slowly in the sheets, the summer heat already pressing down like a thick blanket even at 9 AM. Sunghoon’s arm is draped possessively over your waist, his bare chest flush against your back, skin slick with a light sheen of sweat from the night’s exertions and the warm morning air. The AC is on in the corner of the bedroom, doing little to cut through the humidity. Your body aches in the best way ; thighs sore, lips still tingling from countless kisses and rounds that melted into the early hours.
“Baby…” Sunghoon’s voice is low and raspy, still thick with sleep as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. His breath is warm against your damp skin. “We have to get up. Brunch with Jake and Jay in an hour.”
You groan softly and press back against him, refusing to open your eyes. “Three more minutes,” you mumble, pulling the thin sheet higher over your bodies even though it’s already too hot. The thought of leaving this cocoon ; his strong arms, the scent of his skin mixed with the remnants of last night ; feels wrong.
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours. One large hand slides down your side, gently squeezing your hip as he tries to coax you awake. “Come on, Y/N. You know Jay will text me ten times if we’re late. Again.” His lips brush your shoulder in soft, persuasive kisses, trailing toward your collarbone. When that doesn’t work, he shifts, rolling you onto your back with effortless strength so he can hover over you, messy dark hair falling into his eyes. You finally crack one eye open, squinting against the sunlight filtering through the curtains. Sunghoon looks unfairly good even half-asleep ; flushed cheeks, sharp jaw, and a lazy smirk playing on his lips. However, as your gaze drifts lower, you notice it instantly : the huge bulge of his morning wood straining against the front of his boxers, thick and hard, tenting the fabric right above where his thigh presses between yours.
A slow heat blooms in your stomach. “Hoon…” you murmur, voice still husky, one hand instinctively sliding down his toned abdomen until your fingers graze the waistband of his boxers. “You sure we have to leave right now?”
He groans, forehead dropping to yours, there’s amusement in his eyes along with clear desire. “Don’t tempt me. You’re the one who said yes to brunch yesterday—before I fucked you senseless.” Still, he stays close to you. His hips roll forward just slightly, letting you feel the full, hard length of him against your thigh. “If you don’t get that pretty ass up, I’m carrying you to the shower myself.”
You smile sleepily, fingers teasing along his hardness through the thin material, feeling it twitch under your touch. The ache between your legs returns with interest, but the distant ping of a phone ; probably Jake wondering where you two are ; reminds you both of reality. Sunghoon sighs, kissing you deeply once, slow and lingering, before he forces himself to sit up. The sheet pools around his waist, doing nothing to hide how ready his body still is for you. “Shower. Now. Together. But no funny business or we really will be late.” He stands, offering you his hand with a raised eyebrow, his morning wood proudly on display. “I don’t want to explain to the guys why we look so…tired.”
You reach out quickly and grab his hand before he can fully pull away, your fingers wrapping around his wrist with gentle insistence. Sunghoon pauses, glancing back at you. You look up at him with those pleading eyes ; still heavy with sleep and leftover desire ; and whisper, “Just a kiss, please? Then we’ll get up.”
He stares at you for a beat, clearly fighting an internal battle. His jaw tightens, but the way you’re looking at him, all warm and tempting in the morning, makes his resolve crumble. “You’re being stubborn right now,” he mutters, a fond smile tugging at his lips despite the words. With a defeated sigh, he climbs back onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he settles over you again. His body presses you into the sheets, hot skin against hot skin. One of his hands cups your cheek as he leans down, capturing your lips in a unhurried kiss. It starts soft, almost sweet, but quickly turns hungry, with tongues sliding together, breaths mingling in the already stifling room. You melt beneath him, fingers threading through his messy hair.
Without breaking the kiss, Sunghoon’s hand slides down your body with ease. He grips the back of your thigh, lifting it and hooking it around his waist, pulling you flush against him. At the same time, his other hand tugs your underwear down your legs in a single move, then quickly shoves his own boxers lower, freeing his throbbing cock. It’s muscle memory at this point, how many times had he done exactly this in the middle of the night?
The thick head of his cock brushes against your bare heat as he rocks his hips forward, teasing your entrance while he kisses you harder, swallowing your soft moan. Sweat beads along his spine from the summer heat, but neither of you cares. “One kiss,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice rough with need, “and now look what you’ve done…”
You smile into the next kiss, rolling your hips up to meet him, encouraging him closer as your thigh tightens around his waist. The brunch with Jake and Jay is quickly becoming a distant afterthought. You feel him pause right there, his body tense above yours, cock heavy and hot over your inner thigh. Sunghoon pulls back just enough to look down at you, that signature smirk curling his lips as his eyes gleam with mischief and lust. “What are we even going to tell the guys when we show up late?” he asks, voice low and teasing, one eyebrow raised. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thigh, still hooked firmly around his waist.
You can’t help but chuckle, the sound breathy and light in the heated air between you. “Not my problem,” you reply with a playful shrug, your fingers tracing lazy patterns down his sweat-slicked back. He lets out a quiet laugh that turns into a groan as he shifts his hips. He reaches down between your bodies, wrapping his hand around the base of his cock, and slowly rubs the swollen head up and down your slick entrance. The pressure makes your breath hitch every time he nudges against your clit, coating himself in your arousal.
“Fuck…I don’t want to think about it right now,” he murmurs lowly against your lips, his voice rough and needy. He keeps rubbing, slow and sluggish, pressing just barely inside before pulling back again, drawing it out until you’re squirming beneath him. The summer heat makes everything feel more intense ; skin sticking, breaths short, the room filled with nothing but the sounds of your shared breathing and the faint creak of the bed.
His forehead rests against yours, eyes half-opened as he watches your reaction to every stroke. “What’s with you being this wet already?" He teases softly. You whimper as he keeps teasing you mercilessly. He pushes the thick head of his cock inside you, stretching you open just enough to make your walls flutter around him, then pulls out with a wet pop. He does it again and again ; slow, shallow dips that leave you aching for more, your hips chasing him every time he withdraws.
“Fuck, Hoon…” you breathe, nails digging into his shoulders.
He finally gives in with a low groan. In one smooth thrust, he buries himself deep inside you, filling you completely. Your back arches off the bed as he starts thrusting ; deep, steady strokes that make the headboard tap softly against the wall. The heat in the room only intensifies everything : skin slapping skin, sweat making your bodies glide together, your thigh still hooked tightly around his waist.
Just as the rhythm starts building, his phone begins ringing loudly on the nightstand. Sunghoon curses under his breath but doesn’t stop right away, thrusting a few more times before he reluctantly slows. He pulls out of you with a slick sound, shifting down the bed in one move. As you were about to protest, his broad shoulders push your thighs apart and his mouth is on you. His tongue drags hot and flat through your folds, licking up your wetness before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking gently. You moan loudly, fingers threading through his hair as he eats you out with hungry, practiced strokes.
The phone keeps ringing. On what must be the final ring, he reaches over, grabs it, and answers without pulling his mouth off you. “Yeah?” he says, voice muffled and graveled. He flicks his tongue faster against your clit, two fingers sliding into you and curling perfectly as he speaks.
You hear Jake’s voice faintly through the speaker, firing off a ton of questions—where are you guys, why aren’t you there yet, did you oversleep again?
He lifts his head just enough to speak clearly, lips and chin shiny with your arousal. “I’m eating breakfast right now,” he replies casually, then dives back down, sucking on your clit while his fingers pump in and out of you steadily.
Jake laughs on the other end. “Dude, we’re literally about to have brunch. Why are you eating already?”
Sunghoon chuckles against your pussy, the vibration making you bite your lip to stifle a moan. “I was really hungry while getting ready,” he answers smoothly, voice low and slightly breathless. His tongue circles your clit faster as he adds, “Give us like…twenty minutes. We’ll be there.”
He hangs up without waiting for more protests, tossing the phone aside and focusing entirely on you again. His mouth works you harder, fingers curling deep as he looks up at you with hungry eyes.
“Better come quick, baby,” he murmurs against your soaked folds, smirking. “We’ve got brunch plans.”
if you're gonna break me in two ⋆ masterpost ⋆ do what you gotta do
GENRE + PAIRING ⋮ college au. ice hockey player!fratboy!sunghoon x fem!reader ⋮ PART 02 WC 31.4k
SYNOPSIS ⋮ you’ve been crushing on lee heeseung for most of your college life — long enough that you were beginning to crack. one blessed night, when a girl at a party slips you his number, it feels like fate finally taking pity on you. what follows is a slow, intoxicating unraveling — late-night calls, perfect pick-ups, subtle flirts you’d expect from a charming guy like him. so why is it that when you finally wave at him on campus, he looks genuinely confused?
CONTENT WARNINGS ⋮ explicit themes INCLUDES SMUT so +18 ONLY. themes of mental illness sex as a coping mechanism self esteem issues angst with happy ending miscommunication skinship physical intimacy inferiority complex featuring enhypen + yeonjun of txt slowburn pining NSFW TAGS ⋮ dom!sunghoon, condescending remarks, piv, dumbification, creampie, unprotected sex (don't), degradation, spanking, praise, dry humping, fingering, edging, sunghoon puts reader into a mating press halfway, breeding kink, sunghoon says i love you while in it, reader is so down Bad save her.
AUTHOR'S NOTE ⋮ heeelloo i'm back again less than a week later TT up until this point i've had a huge draft to work from, but i wrote this part mostlyyy recently (like in the past 2-3weeks). i can't wait to see what everyone thinks of the fic as a whole and i'll be lurking in ur blogs... watching... also stream dwygd by the band camino the song sparked me back into finishing this fic and it's where the titles r taken from :7 ENJOY !!!! #hoonynforever
REBLOGS APPRECIATED ⋆ THANK YOU FOR READING
you know this version of yourself very well. it’s the one that immediately starts accounting for error before drawing conclusions, and the one that treats uncertainty as concrete evidence you’ve got everything wrong. by the time you reach your car, you couldn’t even pull your stupid phone out of your stupidly tight jeans, because the pocket seemed vacuum sealed to your thighs once you sat down.
the drive home is full of revision. memories, mostly, on the phone: did you dream all of lee heeseung up? who the hell started those conversations? who called you last night?
was this all one-sided?
every turn at every corner feels excruciating. the green lights are too slow and every second that passes makes you want to reach for your phone, call him immediately, and ask just what the fuck that was. your palms stick against the steering wheel and the thought of hearing his response makes your stomach twist unpleasantly.
it just can’t be possible. there is just no way that you’re this unlucky.
the rest of the journey is blank. you didn’t even turn on the radio, nor did you bother to plug in the carplay. it’s almost pathetic how fast you slide out of the leather seat, how hard you slam the door to the driver’s, and how desperately you punch in the code to your apartment. you mess it up once, which earns a small cuss under your breath, but none of it overshadows the confusion.
you can’t possibly text him like this. ringing him would only lead to something even worse. you might say something you don’t mean, or fuck things up in that signature way of yours.
so, you settle for the same routine as always: shower, lunch, nap, and try not to lose your mind throughout the day. at some point, you think it cannot possibly be this serious—you’ve never met the man like this, never spoken to him in person, and not once have you heard his voice utter your name in real life. it is absolutely ridiculous that your knees almost buckle in the shower, at the mere thought that this truly might have meant nothing. just nothing.
there is an attempt to move through the day without acknowledging the hundred pound weight on your shoulders. perhaps it’s because you’ve spent weeks with your brain at full power that it’s starting to swirl with all kinds of things now.
you’re dragging your feet against the floorboards as you make your way to the kitchen. caffeine might help, maybe. there’s no logic or sound reasoning behind the decision, but you reach for your favourite mug and position it under the coffee machine anyway. your bottom lip is swollen from biting down on it, a habit you never really got around to unlearning from middle school, and for a fleeting, pathetic moment, you think that this is your fate.
your knuckles almost go white, grip tightening on the edge of the marble island, like it’ll help regulate your feelings any better. an annoying chime plays from the coffee machine a few seconds later—hot ribbons of steam curling into the air—but you don’t even feel like drinking it at all, really.
half-heartedly, you take the mug and head straight for your bedroom. your hair is still damp against your neck, the apartment smells like your shampoo, and for a moment, you catch a whiff of cigarette smoke from the neighbour above your unit. your things are still in a mess from last night—from when you were still on the phone with him, falling asleep with a sour mood and paper notes crumpled at the foot of your bed, books still flipped open to important pages that you conveniently wiped from your memory an hour ago.
and, your phone. face down, on your night stand, plugged into the wall and far too quiet for your comfort, as if lee heeseung could sense what was wrong with you from miles away.
“hello?”
you end up calling.
you’re sitting on the edge of your bed, shoulders slouched and back hunched over like it’ll do anything to ease the emptiness in your stomach. a screen is pressed up to your cheek, and you swear your nails might snap off if you hold your phone any tighter than you are now; the phone’s been ringing for a while, and now that he’s finally picked up, every thought decides to somersault out of the fucking window—straight down and plummeting into the concrete pavement outside.
“hey, y/n.” he says. “i’m… fuck—sorry. i’m with some friends right now. are you okay?”
he’s out of breath.
yelling in the background. plastic on plastic, some whistling, someone else calling yeonjun’s name.
you swallow thickly, but it gets caught in your throat halfway. your voice comes out more defeated than you intended. “why did you look at me like that?”
silence. you can hear his heavy breathing through the speaker, and all it does is make you pick at the skin around your nails. ears picking up everything, there’s voices layered over each other, the sound of something sharp cutting against snow, or ice. it stops momentarily when he finally understands the question, soft, but loud enough for your heart to pound.
“what?”
“like you didn’t know me,” you almost fucking whimper, and all you can think is: god, how much more humiliating can this get? “why?”
your free hand comes up to rub at the bridge of your nose, until little bursts of pressure bloom behind your eyes. all of this is giving you a headache, and there’s a split second where you think you should just hang up and save yourself the trouble. this is just how it is. your luck. your fingers knead, and knead, and knead—but it’s no use. all you can hear is him.
“y/n,” he mumbles. “can we meet? tonight?”
“you can’t just do that,” you breathe shakily. “tell me why. please.”
time has been moving wrong all day. everything feels delayed and stretched and slow in this awful, unbearable way. five seconds between responses starts feeling like whole afternoons, and minutes feel like centuries. you spent weeks getting used to talking to him whenever something happened—sending him stupid pictures and complaining about classes and saying things before thinking because there was always tomorrow, and that’s exactly what you did last night.
but now that tomorrow is here… shit, it doesn’t even matter anymore.
“y/n,” his voice breaks just a little—not very sure if it’s the horrible connection on campus, if he’s even still there. you imagine, just for the sake of your sanity, that he’s running his hands through his hair, breathing wrong, panicking. anything like those movies where the guy realises he’s going to lose it all. “i know it doesn’t make any sense—”
“what do you think, huh? do you think any of it does?”
“i know—shit, i know.”
your fingers keep kneading at your skin because the headache’s spreading now, radiating into your temples in slow pulses. you keep pressing harder like pain somewhere else will make this one smaller. it doesn’t work.
“i think we should meet in person,” he answers, calm again, like it’s how he’s always been. somehow, it pisses you off even more, when you know he can hear the shake in your voice. “i gotta go. i’m sorry.”
he’s never apologised to you before. not even for missing your calls.
“what the fuck are you sorry for, heeseung?”
you hear him breathe in, then out. he sounds exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with sleep.
“i’m just…” his voice catches faintly, before smoothing back out. “i’m sorry.”
the line goes dead.
you stay, just for a while, phone still pressed against your ear like the warmth of your skin might coax him back and force an explanation out of him. your shoulders fold further into themselves until your spine starts to ache, but moving would mean admitting the call is over, and you’re not quite ready to do that yet.
your eyes remain fixed on nothing in particular—the opposite wall, maybe, where the late afternoon light stretches unevenly across the paint and catches the tiny imperfections in the plaster that you’ve somehow never noticed despite living here for months.
your stomach really hurts. sour and hollow, underneath your ribcage, compelling you to lower your phone and lock your screen before you can over-analyse the messages from last night.
you draw a deep breath through your nose, falling back against the mattress until your shoulder blades scratch against your duvet.
you are not crying over a man you’ve technically never even met.
this is absolutely fucking ridiculous, you mutter under your breath, but you still wipe under your eyes and try to blink all the salt out of your eyes anyway. your phone dies eventually because you forget to plug it back in, and now, all that’s left is you, the tear-stained sheets and meaningless pieces of paper.
─────────────────────────
two weeks ago, park sunghoon was on the brink of losing his shit.
it was purely emotional. probably more emotion than anyone on the team has ever seen him display, and lord, was it utterly humiliating. he wonders if anyone on the team still thinks about it, given how the locker room goes dead silent every time he steps in—and it’s literally like he just got named captain all over again.
practice ended badly. not disastrously, because no one broke anything, and maki didn’t start a petty argument between the goalkeeper and him. yeonjun barely screamed at the little freshmen, and only one of them cried post-cool down—so by all technical definitions, it had been productive enough.
and still, he was irritated.
it had been building for days now, in that same slow, ugly way tension knots all your muscles before becoming pain. finals always fucked everyone over, but not enough to stop them from showing up—mentally, though, they’re elsewhere. sunghoon had been there, before he had decided he was tired of making shitty excuses for his terrible performance.
shortcuts irritate him. he’s watching people cut corners before his very eyes because they assume he’s as tired as them—well, he is, but that’s besides the point.
he hated it.
metal lockers slammed shut one after another while conversations overlapped in every direction. someone was laughing too loudly, and sunghoon was almost certain the obnoxiously loud carly rae jepsen echoing through the room belonged to maki’s fucked up speakers again. the locker room was humid in that unpleasant post-practice way—the air thick with damp towels, deodorant and sweat drying into fabric, hot enough that stepping in after the rink always felt vaguely suffocating.
sunghoon walks further into the space and, while it isn’t the most obvious thing in the world, conversations shift around him in tiny ways he’s learnt to recognize over the years. a few voices lower, someone moves their legs in so he can pass. one of the freshmen instinctively straightens up halfway through pulling his shirt over his head.
his duffel hangs off one shoulder. sweat drips slowly from his temples, sliding down the side of his neck before disappearing into the dark collar of his shirt. his whole body feels heavy today, and not even in the satisfying way—just fucking heavy. his shoulders ache in that deep, irritating way that suggests recovery isn’t catching up anymore, and lately sleep hasn’t been doing much except making him conscious again.
it’s fine. everything had been feeling vaguely wrong for a while now, anyway.
yeonjun’s already on his way out when he brushes past him, shoulder bumping his with enough force to be annoying but not enough to start anything. “have a wonderfully peaceful night,” he mutters with that unbearably cocky, punchable grin.
any other day, sunghoon might’ve shoved him into a locker.
instead, he dropped his bag beside the end of the bench, and listened to the wood creak underneath his weight. the freshmen lingering nearby begin moving almost immediately. one shifts two lockers down, and another grabs his things and suddenly remembers he has somewhere else to be. by the time sunghoon looks up from his phone properly, half of them have disappeared entirely.
he watches one hesitate after accidentally making eye contact. the kid immediately looks away, picks up his shit, and leaves.
sunghoon looks back down. god, his shoulders hurt.
the muscles between his shoulder blades have been tightening more lately. sleep’s been shit. practice feels slower. finals are making everyone stupid. nobody can pass properly anymore, or communicate once they’re on the ice. everything seems held together by routine and whatever miscroscopic amount of discipline he can force onto everyone else.
whatever. it’s manageable, he thinks. everything always is, if you’re strong and willing and miserable enough. eat properly, sleep properly, train properly, study properly. repeat until wanting anything else becomes inefficient or a distraction, until it’s ordinary and until enough days pass that discomfort isn’t discomfort anymore, and simply morphs into the default.
maybe that’s why the past few weeks have felt stranger than anything else—nothing has gotten easier. his schedule has been become even more hellish than before, his muscles still ache and everyone expects more from him; but there’s been this stupid, absurd sense of anticipation stitched quietly into the gaps of his day.
he’s excited for something. for someone.
he checks his phone when he has nothing to do. sleeps later, thinks about conversations while stretching or when someone says something that you mentioned in passing. none of it means anything, at least individually, but it feels so a embarrassingly noticeable once he becomes aware of it together.
“…i’m serious, though.”
his thumb stills over his lockscreen. sunghoon doesn’t look up immediately, because the sentence barely reaches his ears at first. locker room noise tends to sound a lot like static after practice, but then your name slips, and suddenly every other sound becomes painfully irrelevant.
there’s a burst of laughter from somewhere to his left.
“y/n? yeah, i know. she’s prettier than i thought.”
sunghoon’s hand had been unlocking his phone without thought, thumb dragging upward automatically before freezing halfway. his forearm rests against his thigh, veins standing out faintly beneath skin flushed warm from practice, and he only notices after a second that his wrist has gone rigid enough to make the tendons ache.
the fabric of his jersey sticks unpleasantly against the centre of his back, where it hasn’t dried yet.
“fuck, i still remember that dress.”
“she’s fine as fuck, seriously,” someone snorts. “wonder if she’d let me tap. you think?”
“don’t be a fucking asshole,” sunghoon hears, the laughter echoing and bouncing off the walls suggesting that nobody is really bothered by this except him. “you’re not in her league, man.”
more laughter. sunghoon doesn’t think he’s ever been this pissed off before, truly, because now his fist is balled so tight that his knuckles are starting to pale. his ears are beginning to ring, and all his body decides to do is amplify the voices of his teammates who decided you’d be the centre of their attention tonight.
someone tosses their towel onto the bench he’s on. maki’s finally out, he notices, quieter now that he’s packing his things up.
“who knows if she’s desperate… might have a chance.”
“shut the fuck up!”
sunghoon rolls one shoulder once and immediately regrets it. something pulls underneath his shoulder blade where he took a hit earlier. his body feels strangely swollen after practice—muscles tight and full and unpleasantly warm under skin that suddenly feels too small to sit comfortably in. his thighs ache where they press against the edge of the bench, palms still feeling vaguely raw from his gloves.
the conversation goes on, and he tries not to listen. realistically, these men would never get anywhere near you. he wouldn’t let them, but that’s besides the point. willingly giving this his attention would only lead to something he can’t take back, and he knows it.
“you got her number?”
“think i do. we were in the same freshie group.”
wonderful.
his tongue is pressing against the inside of his cheek, and his jaw is ticking. he swears if he bites down any harder that a tooth might shatter, but sunghoon does his best to keep his eyes trained on the screen in his hands.
someone says something else, but he doesn’t even remember what. he only remembers the feeling of his jaw hurting, the edge of his phone case digging into his palm, and the slow, annoying feeling of anger coursing through his veins.
it’s hot in here. sunghoon feels it all—anger, resentment, the guilt and embarrassment, too, because he really wants it to stop. he really, really needs it to. there’s something deeply unpleasant in having to listen to a group of people talk about you like this is all you are, that your face and body, no matter how gorgeous it may be, is your most interesting feature.
do these people know you the way he does?
they don’t. they never could.
park sunghoon’s throat suddenly feels dry in a way water won’t, can’t fix. his shoulders stay tense while his gaze drags over your messages and something inside him twists. it’s obvious that this was never supposed to become anything, and that a relationship built on a lie would crumble before he could begin enjoying it.
it’s just… one late-night call becomes another, then another, and another. somewhere between protein shakes and assignments and practice schedules, he moves everything aside for you, and realises he wants you more than anything he’s ever wanted in his life.
“could you guys just shut the fuck up?”
the words leave his mouth before he gets the chance to think about them. the social repercussions don’t even matter anymore, nor were they even factored in to begin with. his voice doesn’t come out loud, which somehow makes it worse—it stays low and level and entirely lacking in visible irritation, like he’s asking somebody to pass him a bottle instead of telling half the room to stop talking.
the effect is immediate, anyway.
conversations taper off unevenly until the entire room is quiet. somebody lets out a laugh that cuts itself short halfway through, and somewhere behind him, a locker closes gently.
sunghoon only realises he’s spoken after the silence reaches him, and suddenly, his own breathing sounds louder than before. his shoulders ease by a fraction and his fingers loosen around his phone, just enough for him to feel the imprint left across the centre of his palm from holding it too tightly.
nobody says a thing. sunghoon doesn’t even know who was speaking anymore. that detail doesn’t seem important now—not compared to the things that were said, and definitely not compared to what had slipped out of his own mouth immediately after.
park sunghoon sits in the locker room with sweat cooling against his skin, realising something he spent the next two weeks trying very hard to negotiate with.
he wants you.
slowly, surely, quietly, he wants you.
at some point, it felt easier not to think about; topped with all the things he already has to deal with, accepting this fact is not particularly beneficial for him.
fourteen days after that—today—he’s done with practice again, same old, same old; walking into locker rooms that are hyperaware of his existence, everyone treading on egg shells until he gets out of the place and into his car.
he knows people noticed. yeonjun had asked if he was alright on the walk over to the parking lot and tried unusually hard not to sound like he was asking. no grin nor stupid comment attached, it’s plain, awkward concern delivered badly enough that sunghoon knew it was real.
“you good?”
what the fuck is he supposed to say to that?
that he’d heard your voice three hours ago, spent the entire session replaying the shake in your voice, and wanted to rip his heart out of his chest?
that the only time he was so sure of someone, he’s already fucked it up?
it’s his fault that he couldn’t answer and instead settled on walking away. park sunghoon heard you on the phone three hours ago and knew he’d be thinking about it the entire session—but now that he’s actually getting into his car, on the way to see you, his heart is beginning to pound harder.
his shoes scrape quietly against the asphalt of the parking lot as he walks. his duffel drags his shoulder lower on one side, dark blue hoodie sleeves rolled up to his elbows—sunghoon’s hand reaches into his pocket automatically and wraps around his keys before he even gets to the car.
You: where are you? 20:08
Y/n: [Shared a location] 20:08
─────────────────────────
the text came at 7 in the evening. you spent the previous 3 hours wondering where it went wrong, recalling every word exchanged, every misunderstood conversation that you dismissed in the moment. it’s incredibly easy to move past things in the heat of the things, you realise—it just seems silly now, almost childish, that you let those things slip past you.
you left the house in a random zip-up, shorts riding up your thighs with every forward step you took. there’s an annoying little hill you need to climb to get to this park, obscured by dark green trees and stray cats that rub against your legs if you stand still for too long, and you’ll usually start panting by the 2 minute mark.
once you finally reach the top, it’s unmistakable. an old playground swing, a plastic slide, and a bench that sat directly behind the big, interactive structure modelled after a sunflower. your feet feel heavy as you move, slippers scratching against the concrete, and you accidentally kick a few pebbles as you walk.
this feels like a waste of your time. heeseung messaged around thirty minutes ago, and he’s still nowhere in sight—eventually, you’re hunched over the park bench table, hands in your hair, trying to get this nausea to alleviate itself.
so what if lee heeseung decided he wanted nothing to do with you? the magnitude at which this is affecting you is starting to seem ridiculous. you keep telling yourself that a boy shouldn’t matter this much, that talking means nothing, and that modern love is nothing but a cruel endeavour that you’re constantly gambling on. so what if you lose, you think, but the feeling of your heart spilling out of your ribs is pressing so deep into your heart that it’s killing you.
your fingers are pressing into the bridge of your nose again. the streetlamps feel warm over your head, slipping through your fingers when you run them over your face. you think you must look horrible right now, but so does everyone else—never mind that the occasional parkgoer jogs past and stares you down: that is what you choose to tell yourself.
some kid walks by with her mom, pointing at the slide, and it almost makes you laugh when she hesitates before saying ‘no’.
just as the thoughts begin to tone down, swirling less and less, you catch a familiar figure in your peripheral: tall, broad, sleeves bunched at the elbows and dark brown hair falling over his eyebrows, looking as tired and miserable as the day you saw him a week ago.
this can’t be real.
the yellow light washes over his face and bathes him in a warm, almost greenish light. the moment he steps into focus, you’re already on your way up—standing next to the bench, hands shaking like you can’t quite believe this is actually happening.
“y/n—”
three steps later, you’re already on your way out.
what follows is immediate: park sunghoon, tired, red eyes, lounging a big ass bag on his shoulder, jogging towards you with a stride so big that it almost scares you. you can’t bear to look at him like this, like he’s actually hurt over what he’s done, even if you don’t specifically know what it is yet.
everything’s blurry as you move. you can’t feel your stomach, and it took you more than a reasonable amount of effort just to turn away and start walking. you can hear him, faintly—sunghoon calling out your name, as familiar as every night before this one, as sweet and genuine as it had always been—but has it really, though?
“is this some fucking joke to you?”
your voice cracks on the very last word, embarrassingly enough. as if the tears running down your cheeks wasn’t enough shame to carry around, sunghoon has to hear you like this. vulnerable and hurt and wanting answers.
“y/n, please. just stop walking away from me,” he pleads, out of breath from how far he’s been trailing you. the downhill slope isn’t that far away from here, and you can see a few couples taking a night stroll—as if the universe insists on rubbing it in your tear-stained face. “let me explain.”
“what is there to explain?”
you weren’t stupid. it feels like a cruel insult that sunghoon thinks you even need an explanation; he was heeseung. you’d been calling, texting, falling for someone completely different, and the worst part is that it doesn’t even fucking matter in the way he thinks it does.
“i wanted to tell you,” sunghoon blurts out, and the moment it leaves his lips, your feet suddenly stop working. it’s like your heels are anchored to the ground by something invisible, urging you to turn around—everything in his voice screams for you to do just that, to face him, to see how hurt he is by the lie he chose to tell. “y/n, please.”
you can’t. you just can’t.
it’s incredibly corny. this whole scene just seems like a big fuck-you from the universe, dragged straight out of a drama, because god knows you were never deserving of something so beautiful and easy. love had to strangle it’s way out of your hands, somehow. it’s to a point where there’s people staring, whispering as they pass you two.
“you know what? i wouldn’t even have fucking cared, anyway.” you sighed, blinking to get your vision to clear up. “you didn’t even have to lie to me.”
sunghoon is stunned at that. his whole body feels cold, locked in place, and his heart’s pounding so hard that he can hear the blood rushing in his ears. by the time you eventually do turn around, his throat is already constricting, dry and tight, looking down at you—hand running through your hair, glassy eyes staring into his. the guilt weighs heavier now, sinking it’s claws into his neck, so deep that he can feel it nick his heart.
“what?”
he needs to rip it out.
sunghoon genuinely feels like his guts are going to spill out. your eyelashes are wet with tears and he can tell you’re trying your best not to burst into tears, and he hates himself for being the reason for it; he has to dig his fingers into his palms just so he can stop himself from reaching out for you.
selfishly, for a second, he lets himself memorise your face. he thinks it’ll be the last time he sees it. there’s something about you—even when your cheeks are red and your eyes are swollen with hurt, that he wants to see it all.
sunghoon wishes he could undo everything. perhaps, if he had just went up to you that friday night, underneath the stairs with his best smile and most polite greeting, he’d been able to hate himself a little less, and possibly not hurt you at all.
this is what he gets, isn’t it?
it’s a shame.
“i really liked you.” you sniffle. your eyes are deliberately avoiding his. sunghoon’s never leave your face. “heeseung or not, doesn’t even matter now, does it?”
for a second, sunghoon genuinely thinks he misheard you.
the streetlights blur, morphing into bright lines in your vision, and somebody laughs somewhere downhill. a bicycle rolls past, a dog barks behind you, and it is just unbearable how you have to focus on all these sounds just so you can distract yourself from the uneven breaths of your own body.
“i liked you too, y/n.”
sunghoon genuinely forgets how to breathe. his chest expands automatically, but the air never seems to reach his lungs, caught somewhere between his ribs and throat where everything suddenly feels too tight.
all this time, he thought he knew exactly how tonight would go. you’d tell him to fuck off, to stop following you, and he thought he would. it started off like that: the walking part, the not-being-able-to-look-at-him-without-crying. he prepared for it, every night, leading up to this one: imagined you laughing in his face, telling him to leave, to never call again, but this barely fits the mould.
every time he convinced himself that honesty could wait one more day because he needed more time, needed the timing to be better, needed to figure himself out first—all of it feels rotten, so useless and meaningless now.
you stand there with tears drying on your cheeks, eyes swollen and exhausted, and all he can think about is how much easier this could have been for you if he’d just been honest from the beginning. he should’ve never answered, nor should he have went with it when you started getting a little bolder. he should’ve never gone this far to feed his own selfishness.
park sunghoon doesn’t deserve to stand here and watch you cry over him.
“you could’ve told me.”
his fingers curl against his palms until his nails bite crescents into skin. he barely feels the sting. somehow, hearing you say it doesn’t feel relieving at all—not in the way he imagined it would, during all those nights where he let himself think about impossible things before forcing himself to sleep. he thought this moment, if it ever existed, would feel warm. he thought—maybe—there’d be this stupid sense of vindication buried underneath the guilt, a ugly selfish satisfaction that would prove he wasn’t completely insane for wanting you.
all he finds is more guilt, painted by a crystal clear picture of what could’ve been.
the image arrives all at once and it’s unbearable in how ordinary it is. walking up to you that first night instead of watching from a distance. introducing himself properly, and a few weeks later, he’s sitting across from you at some stupid coffee place after class. he’d be seeing his contact under his actual name and listening to you complain through his speakers without feeling his stomach drop every time you said “heeseung.” such painfully normal things that people do every day without thinking, and somehow they feel impossibly far away now, like he’d reached out and ruined them before they even had the chance to become memories.
his hand comes up to his face and presses hard against his mouth. you’re sniffling so much that your nose is beginning to redden. he notices the cuts on your lips, probably from biting down on them, and all he can see is you in the library, far away and out of reach.
“i should have told you,” he acknowledges. it doesn’t do anything to alleviate the pounding headache you have. “i thought that if you didn’t know—fuck, i don’t know. i thought you would’ve liked me better like that… if you didn’t know.”
“how the fuck does that make any fucking sense?”
for the first time today, you’re looking at him. his eyes are red around the edges, the skin underneath them looking darker than normal and his lashes look damp under the streetlights. there’s something almost unbearable about it, the way he looks more exhausted than guilty, like he’s been carrying this around for weeks and would be the one bearing most of the pain.
still, despite it all, you want to wipe the tears away.
“i wasn’t lying,” his lip trembles slightly, “when i said that everyone’s scared of me. that night—fuck, i saw you, y/n. i knew you wouldn’t look at me—”
“what the fuck? really, what the fuck?” you cut him off, voice tapering off into that high, disbelieving tone. “how—just how? how did you think this would turn out, sunghoon? did you think we’d live happily ever after when i—when we spent months talking like that?”
you’re breathing wrong. everything feels so wrong. all of this feels so impossibly fucking wrong. you need to go home.
he flinches at your response. your eyes burn with all the movement in your peripheral, and your chest tightens with every passing second. you laugh, and it sounds horrible—small, breathless, like the sight in front of you is simply too baffling to process properly.
sunghoon’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. you stare at him, expecting something, anything, but the words refuse to make it past his throat.
“what the fuck is wrong with you, sunghoon?”
there is something painfully tragic about walking away from a good thing. honestly, if you tried hard enough, you could probably forgive him. you could pretend he never lied to you, and that everything he said after that first lie wasn’t a lie, either. you could pretend he was honest and truthful and all those good things, but the thing about pushing it down is that it always bubble back up eventually.
both things can be true: that it’ll always come back, and you’ll always believe that sunghoon could’ve been it.
“y/n—”
“don’t. just don’t fucking—don’t. don’t call me, don’t do anything. i can’t, i just can’t right now.”
you never really knew heeseung at all, now that you think about it. you remember being a freshman and watching him shoot hoops by the cafeteria one sunny tuesday morning—jiwon mentioned how cute he looked, and perhaps as some act of politeness between two newly introduced friends, said that the two of you would look good together. even now, you think that if heeseung had ended up being exactly like sunghoon, you still would’ve fallen.
but that would mean you never fell for heeseung at all, doesn’t it?
with sunghoon here, standing in front of you, all you see is the hardworking, ambitious, weirdly terrified boy you got to know. you see him in front of his computer thinking too hard, and you see him looking surprised that you smiled at him. it feels strangely dissonant that this will be the last time you get to stand this close to him, or that it’ll be the final time you hear his voice.
“you’re such a coward.”
you don’t know what he says after that, because you turn and walk away so quick that anything he mumbles next falls a step too short behind you. the words feel so bitter on your tongue, and you still taste it even as you walk past that one broken street lamp around fifteen feet away, lingering by the time you step into your apartment.
when you walk into your bedroom, you stay by the door a little longer, shoulder pressed against the wooden frame.
ironically enough, you left your phone behind. face down, still plugged to the wall.
then, almost as a final act in this depressing film, you slump over and slide to the floor, crying over something that shouldn’t matter as much as it does.
it takes you a while to crawl into bed.
you blame the exams. that’s definitely why you’re too exhausted to speak to jiwon, despite the multiple texts from three hours ago detailing your predicament. now that she’s practically begging for you to pick up, three hours later, you just can’t.
instead, you scroll. scroll and scroll and scroll, through chats and messages that have nothing to do with heeseung, now that you know the truth—and as you do, a message pops up at the bottom.
lee heeseung: Get home safely, Y/n. 21:09
lee heeseung: I’m sorry for everything 21:10
─────────────────────────
the sun rises another day. it spills into sunghoon’s room in familiar strips of gold, slipping through the blinds and cutting across the walls in uneven slants that make the dust visible. tiny particles drift through the light lazily, suspended in the air and blinding enough that he has to lift a hand over his eyes instinctively, staring through the gaps between his fingers and pretending, stupidly, that if he stays still long enough, he’ll somehow fall back asleep.
he doesn’t.
his shirt is still where he threw it last night, half across the room and gathering dust in the middle of the floor. his once-superbly-clean desk is a mess, in the same way his room is lately—never dirty enough to clean, yet tidy enough not to notice.
his notes are spread all over. he’s pretty sure he should’ve stapled and organized them a long, long time ago, but he honestly could not care anymore. there’s that charger hanging halfway off the edge of his bedside table, a half-empty glass collecting warmth from the morning air, and his hockey bag remains unopened by the door from last night’s practice. he finds it amazing that he still manages to attend—just spectacular that nobody can tell how terrible he’s feeling, and even more so, miraculous that he’s able to do his job the same.
and, his curtains. left open for september’s autumn, long after that quiet summer when he still had you to call.
park sunghoon spends a little longer staring at the window once his eyes stop hurting from the brightness. the sunlight shifts slowly over his sheets as the minutes go by, reaching his hands where they rest against his stomach, and warm enough that it still reminds him of you.
the first thought he has is that he’s being selfish.
it’s embarrassing, honestly, how little he’s done in a month and how exhausting it all still feels. all he does is wake up, lie here, go to practice, come back, and sleep. heeseung’s always got someone new over, jake and jay are physically incapable of doing anything quietly, and sunoo, jungwon, and riki are too afraid to ask why he never speaks at dinner anymore—not that he did much of that to begin with, anyway. he chooses not to believe them when they say he seemed happier when the sun stayed out longer.
a month is barely enough time to break a habit, but it’s long enough that nobody asks anymore. there were those few weeks back in july where he’d let a laugh slip in front of his brothers and didn’t feel immediately disgusted by the sound of it afterwards. he supposes you brought out that side of him—the one that doesn’t need to act all perfect and gorgeous and saintful. at some point, he even let himself eat a tub of ice cream because riki asked nicely enough for him to stay and watch a movie. it didn’t feel difficult then, of course.
yeonjun stopped trying to irritate him after a while, probably realising it wasn’t possible. now, he just avoids it out of pity instead, and sunghoon knows it. nobody says it out loud, but they all look at him differently these days; like he’s become quieter in a way they can’t quite fix, and they don’t know whether to drag him out of it or leave him there in this pit he’s chosen to bury himself in.
he shuts his eyes, and it doesn’t help. all sunghoon sees is that fucking library, and you, standing between metal shelving under the evening sun—squinting and pouting, warm cheeks and messy hair from running your fingers through it all day, and back then, sunghoon wanted nothing but to do the same. that stupid expression you made, pretending like your eyes weren’t watering from all the dusty books and the harsh light hitting your irises, too.
he sees himself telling you to sit on his side, your smile, and how he almost froze up then and there.
all the brains in the world and none of it did anything for him then, and even less now. he spent years believing everything had a formula—that if he worked hard enough, controlled enough, became enough, things would eventually make sense and fall into place. but there was nothing logical about wanting to sit in uncomfortable, sticky heat because it touched your skin first, or remembering the exact way your eyebrows moved when you were confused, or missing somebody so intensely that even morning light starts feeling like fate; there was nothing sensible in falling for someone that makes him act so unpredictably.
“listen, dude. you gotta get the fuck up.”
sunghoon doesn’t realise how badly his neck aches until he turns away from the window. the movement pulls uncomfortably down his shoulders, stiff from sleeping wrong and doing absolutely nothing for days that didn’t involve practice. to his right stands lee heeseung, leaning against the doorframe with one eyebrow raised, looking mildly offended by the fact that somebody could sleep until ten in the morning.
“this is pathetic, do you realise that?” he sighs, pushing himself off the frame and strolling into sunghoon’s room with that same easy, unaffected energy he’s always had. carefree in a way that feels irritating today, and familiar in a way that reminds him too much of you. for a brief second, sunghoon sees it—the appeal. why you looked at him first, and why it was easy to do so. “man. you don’t even run in the morning anymore.”
“get out,” sunghoon mumbles, rolling over onto his side. his skin is cold where it leaves the sunlight and the sheets feel warmer than they should, sending a brief chill down his spine. “i am not in the mood to deal with you.”
“deal with me?” heeseung lets out this dramatic breath of disbelief and sunghoon hears the familiar squeak of his desk chair protesting under sudden weight. wheels scrape softly against the floor before rolling closer and closer until heeseung’s annoyingly charismatic face enters his peripheral. “everyone’s been dealing with your moping, hoon. it gets obvious when it’s six instead of seven after, like, two days—”
“okay.”
“okay?” heeseung repeats immediately, eyebrows lifting. his elbow lands on the arm rest and his chin settles into his hand. “okay.”
sunghoon shuts his eyes. the silence feels like summer all over again.
“do you wanna tell me why the fuck you’re being all weird?”
heeseung’s voice softens slightly. not enough to make a big thing out of it, because god knows how bad sunghoon would freak out and punch him in the mouth for that—but it’s enough to show the concern building up over the past few weeks.
sunghoon opens his eyes again, and somehow, seeing and hearing it for himself only annoys him more. sure, he knows it’s ridiculous and childish and just unfair, but he can’t help himself.
heeseung shouldn’t be worried. nothing happened to him. he didn’t stand in the park and watch you walk away, and he didn’t spend a month replaying every conversation, trying to figure out which version of him you liked more—and he did not ruin anything.
he swallows and stares at the windows again, drifting away from heeseung’s face.
the sunlight’s moved further away.
“i’m fine,” sunghoon says—his voice comes out flatter than intended. regardless, he does nothing to make himself sound any more convincing, and even if he did, he knows heeseung would see right through it.
the chair squeaks again as his friend leans further back, an unconvincing scoff being the only thing that leaves his lips. a soft thud as the backrest hits the wall, sunghoon would’ve glared at him any other day—but now, he can’t seem to find the energy.
“y’know, for someone who spent years acting all emotionless,” heeseung mumbles under his breath, “you’re shit at pretending like you don’t have them.”
it’s a decibel too loud to be accidental. sunghoon can’t even get angry now, because he knows better. after all this time, he really does—he knows better than to get angry at anyone else but himself.
he doesn’t answer. heeseung watches him for a little longer, head tilting slightly as his eyes drift over sunghoon’s face, lingering around the redness in his eyes and the exhaustion dragging down his expression. there’s a brief moment where he looks like he wants to say something and thinks better of it.
“…you know, i still think what you did was insane. i still don’t get why you didn’t just tell her.”
sunghoon closes his eyes. he’s not trying to avoid it, believe him—he’s spent majority of his days holding the guilt against himself, on his shoulders, feeling it weigh down on his chest for days a time. he doesn’t necessarily disagree.
“you talked to someone for months, pretending to be somebody else, and expected that to work?”
sunghoon’s jaw almost shatters from how hard he’s clenching it. he imagined you saying those same words to him, at some point. your gentle smile behind his eyelids seem to be one of many things preventing him from beating the shit out of the guy.
lee heeseung notices it, and can’t help but sigh. “you looked happier, hoon. really.”
sunghoon wishes he just went back to sleep. he doesn’t know what good this is doing him, really—he’s aware of it. it’s lying everywhere, the proof scattered around like meaningless scraps: his reduced sleep, terrible appetite and unwillingness to see any girl that isn’t you.
he knows better than anyone how happy he was.
“didn’t know what it was at first,” he says. “thought you made it to the olympic lineup or something. shit’s no joke.”
he’s not even looking at sunghoon anymore. “i know it when i see it. checking your phone every five minutes, laughing more. then you came home looking like someone fucking died.”
heeseung scratches at the back of his neck, but sunghoon looks away before he can utter the last word.
“do i know her?”
“no.”
sunghoon’s answer is immediate. too quick not to raise his other eyebrow, apparently. heeseung notices, and sunghoon notices that heeseung notices—but both never look each other in the eye.
“…okay.” heeseung mutters. his eyes drift around the room instead, trying to keep themselves occupied, if only for the sake of not looking too long at his miserable, bed-ridden friend’s face. his fingers tap idly against the armrest once, twice, before stopping altogether.
“you’re making this way worse for me, heeseung,” sunghoon deadpans, hand coming up to rub at his eyes. the scene feels oddly intimate for someone who still doesn’t know half of what sunghoon’s done. “it’s getting on my nerves.”
“good.”
sunghoon shoots him a look. heeseung just smiles, soft and underpainted with concern that hurts him to even acknowledge. for all the effort sunghoon’s spent making himself difficult to read—for all the years of swallowing things whole and convincing himself that if nobody saw him, then nothing could really touch him—he’s still shocked that people notice when things go bad.
after a few, quiet minutes of sunghoon wishing for heeseung to vanish into thin air and heeseung’s incessant staring, he speaks again.
“…you going to sunoo’s thing this weekend?”
he completely forgot about that. sunghoon blinks slowly, the memories coming back to him now—he remembers, vividly, your voice on the phone, rambling about the stupid thing for five minutes.
you sounded ridiculously excited. obvious now why that was, it still feels just as bitter as it did back then. “what?”
he knows what. he doesn’t know why he’s acting like he doesn’t have a clue what heeseung’s saying.
“sunoo was freaking out yesterday,” he laughs to himself, head tipping back slightly as the chair rocks under him. one foot drags absentmindedly against the floor while his fingers hook around the edge of the armrest. “said he only needs two more people before he reaches the donation limit. i wonder how long the queue’s gonna be.”
sunghoon can vaguely predict where this conversation is going. his eyes narrow a little, and thinks he’ll genuinely kill lee heeseung if he even suggests going to that ridiculous event. if anybody came up and asked him for donations, he’d give it. fine. whatever. just not while publicly exchanging his dignity for it—
“you should go.”
of course.
sunghoon stares at him, blank-eyed with lips pressed together so tightly they almost disappear.
heeseung looks back for exactly half a second before exhaling through his nose, rolling himself backwards in the chair, spinning once and pushing himself off the wall with one foot.
“okay—listen. you need it, man. you’re acting like the love of your life just died, and shit, sitting around and waiting to stop missing her isn’t gonna fix anything.”
sunghoon lets out a quiet laugh through his nose. humourless, if anything. his hand drags slowly down his face, pressing hard enough over his eyes that little bursts of colour bloom behind his eyelids, like he could wipe the exhaustion—or the irritation—straight off his skin. “you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“ah-ah,” heeseung immediately lifts a hand and wiggles his weirdly long index finger right in sunghoon’s face. nothing productive is going to come out of this conversation, sunghoon realises, so he just decides on shutting up for the rest of the conversation. “i know you keep acting like she already decided on hating you. it’s fine, y’know, if she does.”
heeseung sighs before slapping his palms against his thighs. he gets up in one, swift motion. “don’t you think she has every right to, sunghoon?”
his throat tightens.
“i—”
“shut up,” heeseung cuts him off instantly. “you’re such a control freak, it weirds me out. how did sooha even deal with all that?”
sunghoon is already pushing himself up from the bed. he will hang lee heeseung out to dry—upside down, in nothing but his boxers on this cold, dry autumn day.
though, by the time sunghoon actually manages to sit upright, heeseung’s already halfway out the door. with his hand still clasped around the metal doorknob:
“if she hates you, you should probably let her say that herself.”
the door shuts before sunghoon gets the final word.
he sits there, just for a moment. blanket pooled at the waist, room quiet except for a heater that doesn’t work very well. outside, there’s leaves scraping against the roof and sunghoon just stares at the closed door like it might open up again, with a completely different approach or words that won’t scare him the way heeseung’s did.
it does not.
─────────────────────────
you spent most of your summer waiting.
there’s something cruel about time. unstoppable, immovable, and somehow always aware of when you want it to move faster. it stretches itself thin when you need relief and collapses in on itself when you want more.
summer had always felt like that—golden and lazy and unbearably alive through the heat—but this year, it moved strangely, like someone had pulled all the warmth out and left only an afterglow.
your routine had gone to shit.
you slept at four in the morning, most days, and woke up at around eleven. lunch only happened when there was enough to get by in the fridge, and if your air-fryer was clean enough from the night before—jiwon often had to drag you by the ear to make that happen. half your laundry stays unfolded, because god knows where you disappear to in the middle of folding it, and the books from a month ago still stay.
there are hours spent doing nothing, and yet, the exhaustion lingers. stays in your bones, fusing with you, and refusing to leave.
the worst part isn’t even that you miss park sunghoon, either. it’s how often you reached for him, that being without him feels as significant as loss.
how ironic, considering you never had him to begin with.
you’re curled up on your couch, cheek squished up against the fabric and your knees tucked to your chest. oh jiwon is somewhere in this apartment with you—you’re not exactly sure where, but the soft banging of pots is enough to make a guesstimate.
“what’re you doing?” you yell, half-heartedly because you’re still aware enough to acknowlege your neighbours. “jiwon?”
she doesn’t respond. probably something about dinner, you think. the show on tv is loud enough for her voice to fade into the background, anyhow.
summer break ended some time ago—and with it went the warmth and heat and fuzziness that came with the man on the other end of the line. autumn arrives eventually, cruel in the way all inevitable things are, forcing you and everyone else to spend a little longer indoors because of the increasing cold. september is especially vicious; the air is sharper now, thinner, and you stop walking through that park altogether because every bench and every couple under those stupid yellow streetlamps reminds you too much of him.
for a guy that claimed to be so mundane, he sure takes up an absurd amount of your headspace—even now, even after more than a month of waiting and leaving and forcing yourself not to say things you wouldn’t be able to take back, he still lingers.
your hand still hovers over your phone after seeing something stupid online. you still walk past cute cafés and think he’d probably hate this place. you still watch movies and mentally bookmark scenes because you think he’d have too much fun analysing them with you and somehow, make the whole experience annoyingly enjoyable at the same time.
you still doubt yourself, and you still hear his voice afterwards—steady, certain, monotonous and so lovingly boring—pulling you back up before you spiral too far.
the silence fills your room like a slow-moving plague, settling into corners and underneath your blankets and against your walls until eventually, you start relying on old conversations to fall asleep.
you remember his laugh before his face, and you loved him before you saw his eyes. there’s something pathetic in that, you think, almost gullible—that after everything, after all the anger and humiliation and crying and weeks spent convincing yourself that this should not matter as much as it does—you still soften at the thought of him.
you hate that. you hate that he lied to you, and somehow, still ended up becoming so woven into parts of your life—enough for it to feel impossible to pull apart.
you hate it all, but never him.
“heeello?”
you blink before seeing jiwon’s legs standing right in your line of vision. blocking the subtitles, more like it.
she stares down at you from above with one eyebrow raised, afternoon light shining behind her head, casting her face into shadow in a way that feels unnecessarily threatening for someone holding an empty pot.
“what are you doing? get out of the way.” you squint, shifting ever so slightly—and completely uselessly—to get a full view of the text on screen. your head tilts one way, then the other, as though changing the angle will somehow let you see through her body.
she narrows her eyes and tilts her head, hair falling over her shoulder fluidly. she does that motion where she’s about to hit you with the pan, but you flinch hard enough for her to laugh and lower it down. “welcome back! have fun spacing out? i’ve been asking what you want for dinner, for like, five minutes.”
jiwon follows your line of sight and twists around, just enough to get a proper look at the tv, rolling her eyes before her mouth pulls strangely to one side.
“…you know you watched this last night, right?”
of course she knows that. cons of sharing a netflix account with your best friend, and co-habiting with her for the past month.
your eyes drift back to the screen and the episode progress bar, sitting near the end and there’s already that stupid little preview box hovering in the corner asking whether you want to continue to the next episode. you don’t remember a single thing that happened, and can’t find the energy to recall.
you let out a long sigh and prop yourself up properly against the sofa, blanket bunching around your waist. jiwon’s folding her arms now, a slight frown on her face, and you dislike it immensely.
“…what?”
she stares at you for another second before walking over and dropping onto the other side of the couch, pulling one leg up beneath herself.
“…okay,” she says slowly, looking at you in that way people do when they already know the answer. “are we gonna keep pretending you’re okay or am i finally allowed to ask? will you blow up on me again, or—”
“jiwon—”
“it’s fine, y’know,” she babbles on, immediately waving the hand holding the ladle, before circling around the coffee table. she drops down right next to you with enough force to make the cushions dip. pulling one leg underneath herself, she points dramatically to the apartment around her. “i can just stay here forever, cook forever, and clean forever. it’s alright!”
you stare at her, then glance at the pot, and finally, at the folded laundry sitting on the armchair.
you pinch at the bridge of your nose.
“…i didn’t ask you to do all that,” you mutter under your breath, eyes dropping back to the paused show. your fingers knead at the skin there once, twice, before your hand drops into your lap. you let out another sigh and lean your head back against the sofa. “i’m fine by myself—”
jiwon turns immediately. her eyebrows pull together, and her jaw almost goes rigid. “i do it because i care about you. don’t make me regret it.”
she’s already looking away afterwards, fiddling with the sleeve of her hoodie, and reaching over to adjust the blanket pooled around your legs.
your head hurts. the room is too quiet, again, without that show playing, or the music blasting on the home speakers.
how is it that the missing piece in your life is shaped exactly like park sunghoon?
summer. so useless, and yet, you were so alive.
“listen.” jiwon’s voice cuts through your thoughts. you turn, and she’s twisted sideways now, one leg tucked under herself and chin resting against her palm while her other hand reaches over to steal the remote. she clicks it twice before deciding against turning anything on again.
“about that thing this weekend—”
your jaw hangs. “are you kidding?”
jiwon’s eyes widen immediately. she sighs, both hands dragging down the sides of her face before slapping against the backrest of the couch.
“okay, i know we agreed to go together to the charity event, and all the different booths and shit like that, but my dad’s finally in town again, and i just—”
you wave your hand quickly, once before she can finish, eyes not leaving the screen as your fingers start picking at the seam of the blanket. “oh, yeah, no. i’ll just skip. it’s all good.”
jiwon turns properly this time. her forehead creases. “…what? what about the money?”
you shrug one shoulder and scratch absentmindedly at a loose thread near your knee. “it comes back. it’s all good. if it’s that big of a deal to you, ask your dad to apple pay me.”
jiwon stares at you for a second too long before setting the remote down, scooting across the couch in one smooth movement until her knee bumps against yours. she squints slightly, head tilting as she searches your face. “okay,” she says slowly, one hand reaching over to pinch the fabric over your thigh. “not funny.”
you squeal, and she just grumbles.
then, she nudges your knee with hers again. “but seriously,” she says, shoulders relaxing as she turns more towards you and props her elbow against the backrest, “you need to get the fuck outside.”
you let out a quiet laugh. “you’ve been stuck with me this entire time. we need to go outside.”
jiwon shakes her head immediately and sits up straighter, her fingers slipping off the blanket and flat against your forearm instead. “no,” she says. “that’s not what i mean.”
you look away, and she notices. of course, she notices.
her thumb taps once against your skin before she lets her hand drop.
“…i know you’re avoiding seeing him,” she mutters, eyes drifting briefly around the apartment—the dishes, the curtains that haven’t been opened properly all week, the same hoodie you’ve worn thrice in a row—before settling back on you. she presses her lips together and reaches over to smooth the blanket over your knee again. “but you’re throwing everything away for that.”
you don’t say a thing. you feel like a coward. you feel like a liar. you feel like a lot of things, but jiwon’s looking at you like you’re not.
“…you’ve been talking about that stupid fundraiser since february,” she continues. “you made me pay thirty dollars to get matched with strangers…. among other things. you’ll pay me for that, right?”
she realises, a second too late, that you’re not laughing.
you look away, eyes locked on something outside the window. you can’t really tell with how your vision begins to blur. she waits for a response, but when it becomes clear she isn’t getting one:
“you wanted to go.”
your hand comes up and presses against your mouth.
you remember sitting in the library during finals with your laptop open, and your notes everywhere and thinking about it between lectures. your brain would drift whenever revision got unbearable, and suddenly, you’d be imagining what you’d wear and whether heeseung would actually come, and if he’d be as nice as everybody said he was.
it felt harmless then. stupid and harmless. a little reward waiting at the end.
you remember texting jiwon about it. making jokes, pretending not to care.
but now, you remember another thing.
you remember sitting in the exact same library with someone only two feet away. you remember somebody asking if you’d eaten, and somebody telling you to stop being perfect. somebody remembering your schedule better than you did. somebody finding you in that secluded corner, where the world didn’t exist beyond it, if only for a few hours.
you remember leaving that library and not thinking about lee heeseung at all.
your thumb presses harder against your lip. you’ve been biting at a piece of dead skin on your cuticle unconsciously. “that’s embarrassing.”
jiwon frowns.
“…i don’t think i actually wanted him.”
she doesn’t interrupt.
you keep staring at the television instead, eyes tracing shapes that stopped moving minutes ago. your fingers keep smoothing over the blanket stretched across your lap, flattening the same crease over and over until the friction starts irritating your palms. eventually, your thumb catches on loose thread and you pick at it absentmindedly, winding it once around your finger before letting it snap back. “…i think i just liked wanting something. he was hot, yeah, and people liked him.”
“thought maybe…” you bite down on your bottom lip. “i don’t know. maybe if somebody like that liked me back, then that would mean something.”
everyone’s always told you that you had terrible luck.
you remember teachers saying things like that’s unfortunate and friends joking that your life always sounded a little too dramatic to be accidental. wrong place, wrong time—missing buses. getting sick before things you cared about, liking people that didn’t like you back. liking people too late. liking people wrong. liking people at all.
“proving that i’m not all that unlikeable...” you mumble. “but i’m just as unlucky as everyone says.”
it was never that serious to complain about. it mostly served it’s purpose as comedic relief in other people’s lives, but as one knows, after the age of sixteen—everything just seems self-deprecating instead of humorous.
“you like him.”
jiwon’s voice is slightly too quiet for it to be a declaration. she says it softly enough that you could pretend you didn’t hear, or so that you could roll your eyes and say obviously not and she’d just let you.
you try to think about all the reasons why you don’t, and why you can’t. you think about lying, about the trust, about the humiliation and about standing in the middle of the park, crying like that in front of someone who played you like a puppet.
and still, you do not say a thing.
“i think…” she starts quietly, eyes dropping to where your hands meet before lifting back to your face. “it doesn’t actually change anything. the one you like is still sunghoon, y/n. no amount of this—whatever this is that you’re doing—is going to change that.”
“you fell for who he was. the name was irrelevant, wasn’t it?”
jiwon watches you for a while after that, shoulders sinking further into the couch. she studies your face, one hand disappearing into the sleeve of her hoodie while the other stays resting over the blanket draped across your legs, fingers absentmindedly playing with yours.
she glances at the television once—the paused menu, your reflection sitting small and folded into yourself against all that dead blue light—and exhales quietly through her nose before shifting closer to you.
“can i say something else that might piss you off?”
you keep your eyes forward, rubbing your thumb over the edge of the blanket. “what?”
jiwon squints at you for a second before nodding once, slowly, like she’s 99% sure you will get pissed off anyway at the statement she’s going to make.
“okay. i think you’re being unfair—not to him, though. just yourself,” she says. “i’ve been watching you do this thing for a month now. you keep saying he’s bad for you.”
you look down. she notices, of course.
“maybe he is. probably. whatever,” jiwon mutters under her breath, trying to remember what point she was trying to make. “but i don’t think that’s why you’re cancelling on m—”
“you cancelled, by the way.”
“still. you’re just scared that all those feelings will come back, or that they’ll be completely gone, and it’s scary.” she’s looking forward now, too. she finds it harder to be serious when she’s looking at you in the eye. “it was real, right? everything?”
right.
you hum in acknowledgement, low and partially absent, eyes still fixed somewhere near the bottom corner of the television where the subtitles would usually sit. jiwon watches your face for another second too long, before taking it as permission to continue. honestly, she’s a little surprised you haven’t mauled her yet. a month ago, she would’ve gotten a cushion launched at her head by now.
“the more like you pretend he isn’t real, the more it’ll hurt,” she sighs. “you can forgive him, or don’t, i’m not gonna tell you what to do like we’re fifteen again. oh, that was a really bad time for both of us—ow!”
your fingers dart out before you can stop yourself, pinching the soft skin above her knee hard enough for her whole body to jolt sideways with a startled squeal. she swats uselessly at your hand, rubbing furiously at the spot through her sweatpants before shooting you the most deeply offended look she can manage.
“could you just listen to me for once?” she groans, collapsing dramatically into the couch cushions. “i’m trying really hard to be wise here.”
you roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth betrays you anyway.
“there it is,” jiwon points immediately, grinning so wide it almost irritates you. “see? you’re capable of experiencing joy!”
“i’m about to experience violence.”
“that’s my girl!”
she laughs to herself before the smile gradually slips away again, replaced by something more serious. her fingers fold together in her lap, thumbs rubbing absentmindedly against each other as she stares down at them for a moment, gathering whatever was left of her courage. when she looks back up, there’s none of that usual teasing left on her face.
“look,” she sighs. “i’m not trying to convince you that what he did wasn’t awful, because it was. i wanted to punch him just from hearing about it, and i still kinda do.”
she wrinkles her nose. “but i also watched you spend almost your entire summer waiting for him to call. you kept pretending you were watching movies when you were really staring at your phone, and you even stopped walking through that park because every bench reminded you of him.”
your throat tightens.
“you don't have to forgive him,” she continues, shaking her head slowly, reaching over to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “honestly, maybe you never will. maybe you shouldn't. but i don't think hiding from the world is the same thing as moving on, y/n.”
you keep your eyes fixed on the ceiling, on the little crack running along the corner where the paint has started to peel. “what if i see him,” you mumble, barely louder than the hum of the fridge from the kitchen, “and i still want him?”
jiwon's expression doesn't change. she takes a moment before her mouth parts slightly, just enough to answer. “then you'll know.”
"and if i don't?"
she shrugs gently, her hand lingering over yours for another second, thumb brushing your knuckle once before it falls back into her lap. she looks almost sad when she says it. "then you'll know that, too."
the apartment falls quiet again. somewhere outside, a car door slams, and a few birds chirp before scattering into the clouds. someone's drilling something in the apartment above you. someone's yelling something in the street. the world keeps going, indifferent and loud, the way it always does when you seem to be
“okay.”
jiwon watches you for a second longer, like she's checking the word for cracks. she must not have found any, or perhaps a few too many to name, because she just lets it go.
─────────────────────────
by the time you reach campus, the fundraiser is already in full swing.
the entire quad has transformed overnight into something almost unrecognisable. white canopy tents stretch across the lawn in neat, uneven rows, their fabric flapping in the wind whenever the cold september breeze decides to pass through.
handmade banners hang crookedly above each stall, painted with far too much enthusiasm and not nearly enough artistic ability—bright acrylic letters bleeding into one another, beneath glitter and shiny lettering that catches the afternoon sun every time somebody walks past.
“come visit booth 6!” “free drinks at booth 52!” “stand a chance to win—”
somewhere off to your left, somebody is aggressively advertising homemade brownies through a megaphone that crackles every other sentence, while another group has somehow convinced the jazz society to play live beside the engineering department’s robotics display. the music overlaps with laughter, conversations, applause and the occasional groan from somebody losing money at one of the carnival games, until it all melts together into any introvert’s worst nightmare.
jiwon, as foretold, is busy smiling, shaking hands and pretending to enjoy the company of the stepfather she’s complained about for the better part of four years, leaving you to fend for yourself amongst a sea of strangers. you’re beginning to wonder if any of this was even worth not paying her the thirty dollars for bailing. you could’ve been at home instead, cocooned underneath your duvet with instant noodles balanced precariously on your stomach while you binged that stupid show she keeps interrupting halfway through every episode—but apparently you did not need to be “sixty dollars broker,” and allegedly, according to her, “exposure builds character.”
students drift through the walkways in slow, uneven currents, weaving around one another with paper cups warming their hands and tote bags slipping from tired shoulders. autumn has only just begun settling over campus, leaving enough warmth in the afternoon sun to coax everyone outside while the breeze nips at exposed skin, carrying with it the smell of caramel popcorn, burnt coffee, fried food and fresh paint that still hasn't completely dried on half the handmade signs.
every few steps, someone brushes your shoulder without meaning to, and another laughs so loudly it echoes between the buildings. the quad feels impossibly alive, like the entire student body had been holding its breath for weeks and finally remembered how to exhale.
you've just realised how long it'd been since you'd seen campus like this.
exam season had stripped everything bare. the library became the centre of everybody's universe, swallowing entire afternoons until the only sounds left were pages turning, keyboards clacking and chairs scraping softly against carpet. everyone looked permanently exhausted beneath fluorescent lighting, surviving almost exclusively on caffeine and blind optimism, and now they're outside again.
clubs are recruiting first-years with embarrassingly enthusiastic chants, and the fourth-year students are pretending they aren't equally interested in the free tote bags.
autumn seems to bring something different into the air. meanwhile, summer, as you've known it, was spent mostly indoors or at the corner store fifteen minutes from campus, where you'd stand in front of the instant noodle shelf for far longer than necessary before carrying the same cup outside to eat on the outdoor seating. there were a handful of evenings where you'd glance up every time a dark-haired guy walked past, stomach flipping before common sense caught up with you. there were even more where you caught yourself wondering whether park sunghoon had ever been here before, whether he'd ever stood in front of the same vending machine deciding between two drinks, whether he'd look out for you the same way you did.
every single time, you wanted to walk straight into incoming traffic for even entertaining the thought. it's ridiculous. he literally lives on campus.
you spend quite a bit of time walking around the place. the sun isn’t too brutal at this time of day, and for once, you don’t dread seeing a bunch of people you know—there’s moments where you make eye contact with an old friend, a new acquaintance or someone who’s friends with someone you know, and they wave like they’ve known you for years. your feet begin to hurt by the end of the hour, and when you look down, you realise you’re holding an overpriced sea salt latte, a bag of homemade cookies, and a doodle of you a second-year student made for $5.
there’s a few flyers in your bag, too. you don’t even remember being interested in crocheting, but alright. somewhere along the way, you’ve lost the map that some student union members handed you when you first walked in, and for fifteen blissful minutes, you convinced yourself that you’ve never been to this part of the quad before.
it works. for a while.
you’re patting your jeans down. perhaps you folded it or crumpled it together with receipts or other useless junk from the day, but it’s literally vanished. nevertheless, your feet are carrying you to unknown places, through thickening crowds and high-pitched laughter that feels impossible to distinguish which direction it originates from.
somebody almost knocks your latte out of your hand. you almost cuss him out, before he whispers a ‘sorry!’ and joins a snaking queue, spilling onto the footpath.
“my god.”
you’re back at sunoo’s booth. pastel pink, covered in ikea string lights that are certainly not suited for outdoor use, the banner above spelling exactly what you signed up for: soul searching.
it sways gently overhead, now slightly lopsided after surviving what looked like several hours of relentless traffic. whoever had decorated the booth this morning had given up on maintaining any sort of order—heart-shaped balloons floated at uneven heights, paper cupid arrows had started peeling away from the tent poles, and one of the volunteers was hurriedly taping another handwritten sign across the front of the table.
queue full! please scan the qr code to join the line! we'll text you when it's your turn ♡
"honestly," somebody behind you mutters as they walk by. "this is way better. nobody’s standing for two hours.”
“right? i’m hoping they move me to the front,” their friend responds. “i bought the early ones too… i feel so fucking desperate. at least we’re in the line at all.”
you glance towards the front, almost absentmindedly. they weren’t wrong—the line that had wrapped halfway around the quad earlier had disappeared entirely, replaced instead by clusters of students with phones in hand. they’re hopping around and comparing wait times while volunteers hurried between the very few tables available, trying to answer stupid questions before the next wave arrived.
you did pay for this. your latte’s gone warm, anyway, and the condensation is starting to drip down onto your sleeves. might as well find out whether your ticket's even still valid.
the qr code sits laminated against the edge of the registration table, surrounded by little hand-drawn hearts and stars that look suspiciously like sunoo's work. you fish your phone out of your tote, thumb hovering over the camera app for just a second before lifting it. you step closer to get a clearer view, tongue poking at your cheek—
"hold on.”
you glance up, blinking slowly until sunoo comes into focus. he’s dressed in all sorts of shades of pink, from hot to muted to pastel, and his cheeks have hearts face-painted onto them.
“y/n! you actually came!”
he breaks into a wide grin, so wide that it almost scares you. for a brief moment, you wonder if this is even the kim sunoo you know, considering he was never too worried for your attendance when the fundraiser was first brought up.
before you can even say hello, he's already leaning across the table, volunteer lanyard swinging forward as he peeks at the ticket confirmation on your screen. you hadn’t realised it’s already loaded, displaying the ‘early-bird’ status right at the top. in bold, like it wasn’t humiliating enough just being here.
“i paid, so…”
he circles around the table.
“exactly!” his finger points at your phone. “early bird. you’re lucky!”
you nod slowly, like you understand where this conversation’s about to go. truth be told, you don’t, so in order to hide the confusion, your eyes dart around to avoid his.
"…early-bird participants get priority once they join the queue.”
strange. the other laminated sign your eyes land on, which is pasted right behind sunoo’s head, conveniently says otherwise.
“it literally is.” sunoo declares, with such effortless confidence that you might’ve believed him if not for the piece of paper taped up behind him. he still wears that smile, his cheeks rounding in a way that makes it dangerously easy to nod along, right until one of the volunteers at the registration table slowly lifts his head and looks over.
he deadpans. “sunoo.”
“what?”
“…since when?”
kim sunoo doesn’t even bother turning around to answer his fellow volunteer. you suppose being the organiser has its perks, because he simply says, “since today! operational changes are needed, aren’t they?”
all the guy can do is sigh and rub at his temples.
“great!” sunoo beams, already uncapping a marker with his teeth before flicking the cap into his palm. he hunches over the clipboard, the tip squeaking furiously across the paper in quick, decisive strokes, barely pausing to breathe before thrusting it back against his chest. “congratulations, y/n!”
you narrow your eyes. “on what?”
“you’re next!” he tears a small ticket from the pad with a sharp riiiip, stamps it against the clipboard with far more force than necessary, then slides it into your hand like he’s finalising an important legal transaction.
“sunoo, there’s literally people waiting behind me.”
sunoo merely raises an eyebrow. he tilts his head, peering past your shoulder with enough curiosity that, against your better judgment, you glance back too.
you don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
a queue of complete strangers is, in fact, staring directly at the two of you. some look mildly confused, others openly entertained, but most are just pissed off. one guy even checks his phone, like he’s trying to figure out whether he’s somehow joined the wrong line, and how he, too, could join ‘priority-access’.
“huh."
when you turn back around, sunoo’s already smiling again, not a shred of shame anywhere on his face. “you’re making this up, aren’t y—”
“prove it.”
“okay, then.”
─────────────────────────
a volunteer pulls the canvas flap aside for you with an overly enthusiastic smile, hair sticking to his forehead from the (presumably) constant back and forth sunoo’s making him do. for such a small booth team, the place is surprisingly put-together, and the online queue isn’t glitching out the way other booth’s are. you had to admit that you were somewhat glad you came.
“good luck,” he whispers, to which you reply with a confused expression before walking in.
the noise disappears almost immediately.
the bustle outside dulls into a soft, muffled hum behind layers of canvas, leaving the tiny booth wrapped in an unexpected sort of quiet. sunlight filters through the cream-coloured fabric overhead, warming the little space in soft patches until everything inside glows honey-gold.
it smells faintly of vanilla and paper, with the lingering sweetness of somebody’s perfume clinging stubbornly to the air from the last pairing. you wonder where they went to after their five minutes of alone time—did they go to grab coffee? did he say something to piss her off, and she stormed out early? is that why sunoo’s giving you priority?
you stop just after the entrance.
“oh.”
it’s… actually kind of nice.
someone had gone through an embarrassing amount of effort decorating the place. ivy vines wind around the tent poles alongside more tiny string lights, and battery-powered candles flicker lazily in the centre of a small round table dressed with a cream linen cloth.
a little glass jar is overflowing with folded paper stars. it sits between two untouched bottles of water, and it almost makes you wonder how much money they poured into this thing, before you remember that they probably went over the donation limit a long, long time ago.
somebody had even scattered fake rose petals across the tabletop, though several had already drifted onto the flimsy plywood beneath the chairs.
there’s only two seats. complimentary seat cushion, too, also pink and plaid. you sigh, seeing how it was already squished flat from all the people sitting on it before you, but you make your way regardless. the amount of walking you’ve put yourself through has done no justice to your feet, anyway.
the first thing you notice is that whoever’s sitting across from you is going to bump your knees, unless he happens to be significantly shorter.
you don’t really mind it. the tent is only so big, and god knows how they even managed to squeeze a table through that narrow entrance. still, it’s enough to make you silently hope he isn’t particularly tall, either.
you let out a quiet breath through your nose.
beside the battery-operated candle sits a neat stack of laminated cards bound together by a stainless steel ring, each one printed with colourful lettering and tiny doodles tucked into the corners.
♡ conversation starters ♡
you already know this is going to be terrible. who the hell pitched this?
#5 what’s your most irrational fear?
too intimate.
your fingers flip through the stack, anyway. there’s an identical set resting on the opposite side of the table, presumably waiting for whoever draws the short straw across from you.
#8 if you could relive one day of your life, which would you choose?
too deep. nobody thought these through. you keep flipping, snorting under your breath every few cards.
#10 what’s your biggest regret?
#11 when did you last cry?
#12 do you fall for looks, or personality?
your smile fades before you realise it had even appeared at all. another prank by the universe, you suppose.
the cards settle back onto the table with a soft tap. your hands find their way to the armrests, tapping against the wood, anything to stop thinking about the guy you’re not supposed to be thinking about.
outside, somebody cheers loud enough for it to seep through the canvas walls, followed by another chorus of laughter that slowly dissolves back into the fundraiser’s usual chatter. you glance instinctively toward the entrance, expecting the fabric to move.
nothing. the chair opposite you remains empty, and no one’s walking through that tarp.
you check your phone. it’s been three minutes.
you’re drumming your fingers lightly against the edge of the table now, watching the fake candle flicker. the tiny plastic flame sways with every movement of the air-conditioning fan someone had hidden near the ceiling of the tent, convincing enough that you almost forget it isn’t real.
the things you do in pursuit of love, you think.
it’s almost funny, now that you’re sitting here.
you remember signing up for this thing with only one person in mind—someone you barely knew, someone you had no right to like because of all the missing pieces your imagination had so generously filled in. back then, this booth felt like a shortcut. maybe you’d sit across from lee heeseung, maybe he’d smile at you, maybe the universe would finally decide to do you one favour in this unlucky life of yours.
there was a point where you thought you knew your type. the kind of guy that seemed so easy to trip and fall on your face for. maybe it was that new year’s party, when you caught him standing at the front of the house with a cigarette between his fingers, the street light catching against his jaw while everyone else laughed somewhere behind you. maybe it was those tuesday mornings outside the cafeteria. maybe it was the words of everyone around you, but either way, you never really heard his voice, or stood close enough to know how he laughed, what he sounded like when he was tired, or whether he was a better listener than talker.
distance has a funny way of disguising itself as depth. you mistake wondering for understanding, admiration for affection, until one day you’ve built an entire person out of scattered glances and second-hand stories. maybe that was all the crush had ever been—a collection of assumptions, stitched together by not knowing enough.
perhaps, it was never about lee heeseung at all.
park sunghoon is a fucking headache. he lingers in every inconvenient corner of your life, occupying your thoughts long after he shattered your heart and broke your trust that summer night. it’s almost cruel how thoroughly he’s rooted himself into your memory—his voice still finds you before your own thoughts do, his quiet laugh still sneaks into your head whenever something stupid happens. you remember the thoughtful pauses before he’d answer your questions, the accidental sincerity he always seemed embarrassed by, and the unwavering certainty with which he’d tell you that you were capable of things you never believed you could do yourself.
despite the lies, the betrayal, despite everything. despite the way he looked at you that night, like he couldn’t bear to lose you, and still let you walk away—you realise that there isn’t a single part of you that wishes it had been lee heeseung from the beginning.
the canvas shifts.
at first, it’s nothing more than a shadow moving across the pale canvas, followed by the dull scrape of shoes against packed grass outside. somebody murmurs something—a volunteer, probably—and another voice answers too quietly for you to make out.
your heart’s beating out of your chest. the last time you felt like this, it was january first, and also three in the morning.
the flap rustles once before stilling again, as though whoever’s on the other side already regrets doing this. you let out a quiet laugh through your nose, watching the silhouette hesitate in the narrow entrance where the fading warmth of september collides with the dry chill of the portable air-conditioner humming somewhere overhead.
the afternoon sun outlines him first. he’s tall, broad, holding a bouquet of flowers in his right hand. he turns halfway around to mumble something behind him, and through the gap in the canvas, you catch a glimpse of someone suspiciously resembling sunoo. whatever he says earns him a sharp slap between the shoulder blades and an exaggerated shove forward, the bouquet wobbling dangerously in his grip before he manages to catch it against his chest.
your fingers are still tracing the laminated edge of one of the conversation cards when the canvas finally parts. he stumbles through the entrance, muttering what sounds like an embarrassed complaint under his breath, one hand instinctively reaching back to steady the flap before it swings shut behind him.
you only realise who he is when he looks up.
the sleeves are shoved up to his elbows like they always are, but he looks better than the last time you saw him—cleaner, less wrecked, like he’s actually been sleeping well now that you’re not around. his hair has grown out just enough to fall over his eyebrows, and despite everything, despite the month that’s wedged itself between the two of you, you remember every single feature on his face, and just how much you missed it.
that’s when you realise that a month and a half is nearly not enough time to forget.
for one impossible second, relief blooms before your brain catches up to your body.
the world seems like it’s flipping upside down, now. park sunghoon freezes, like he wasn’t expecting either; your pulse is slamming against your ribs so violently that you swear he must be able to hear it. you can hear your blood rushing in your ears by the time you stand up—chair screeching violently against the plywood as you shove yourself backwards, the legs offering some resistance before jerking free with your force.
your knees collide with the underside of the table hard enough to send the fake candle wobbling between the two of you. it’s tiny, plastic flame is flickering, almost mocking.
every instinct you have screams the same thing: leave.
sunghoon notices (of course he does), and something inside his expression crumbles just enough for you to feel like you’ve been stabbed in the heart.
his shoulder sinks by barely an inch, the hand which holds the bouquet to his stomach now dropping to his side. he doesn’t move any closer, too afraid to even breathe audibly, just standing by the entrance with the afternoon light outlining his familiar silhouette.
his eyes are soft, a gentle smile painted across his face, as though he’s trying to show you how much it hurts not seeing you for so long.
you’re just like how he remembers. golden light on your face, diffused now from the tent’s shade, bright eyes looking up at him the same way it did in the summer. perhaps it’s because of his dreams that this doesn’t feel as shocking as he’d thought it’d be—that one evening in the library between bookshelves replays like a highlight reel behind his eyelids, and in a way, he thinks it’s helped with his what little sleep he's managed to get recently.
and, in the same vein, he looks everything like the boy you've spent the last month trying to forget.
“…you.”
your voice is barely a whisper. sunghoon swallows, and his lips part once before closing again. you want to scream at him, maybe even punch him in the face. with that sad look on his face, you think he might even let you.
“y/n.”
you don’t hesitate. the moment sunghoon sees you grabbing your things, ready to turn around and leave—he speaks again, rushed with a tinge of desperation.
“please. five minutes, it’s all i need.”
what could he possibly say that would undo all of this?
park sunghoon bites down on his bottom lip, trying to stop it from trembling. you’re staring at him with glassy eyes, hands shaking from either anger or just pure despair, waiting for an answer that might not even fix anything at all.
your shoulders stay angled towards the exit, eyes not meeting his. you’re afraid that if you look at him properly, you'll remember everything all over again.
“i'm sorry, y/n.”
you should’ve left as soon as you saw that frame in the sun—as soon as your heart sank and your mind briefly flashed to sunghoon.
silence stretches between the two of you. you’re somewhat thankful for the loud noise outside that helps dampen it. the laughter sounds impossibly far away from where you stand.
“not because i got caught lying to you.” his fingers tighten around the bouquet, knuckles paling beneath flushed skin. “i think about it every day. it never leaves.”
your molars grind together until your temples start to pulse. the muscles in your jaw ache from holding back everything that wants to come spilling out, and you realise, belatedly, that you're digging your fingernails so deeply into the canvas strap of your tote that the fabric has started to wrinkle beneath your grip. you’re blinking the salt away, too, trying not to let it drip down your cheeks. “why did you do that to me, sunghoon?”
your voice comes out quieter than you intended. it’s nothing short of humiliating. sunghoon stares at you for a little while longer, and it really does feel like his heart’s being ripped out of his ribcage all over again. there’s nothing nice about seeing someone you love in tears, much less because of you.
“i didn't think it’d go far.” his voice is barely above a whisper now. “that’s not an excuse. i know it isn’t. i realised that really early on.”
his thumb catches on the edge of the brown paper wrapped around the flowers, smoothing the same crease over and over until it begins to tear.
“i just...” he laughs quietly through his nose, and it breaks somewhere in the middle. “i was terrified, y/n.”
your breath catches. you just can’t understand. every word from him feels like relief and a new betrayal all over again, and for a moment, you wonder how you’re still standing here. there’s half of you that feels glad that he cares enough to show up again—and another that never wants to see his pretty face again.
“the only lie i ever told you,” he continues, finally forcing himself to meet your eyes, “was that i was lee heeseung. everything else was real. all the calls, conversations, every second i spent listening to your voice.”
sunghoon says it like a confession. like an intimate secret he’s yet to admit to anyone else but you, because truly, he hasn’t. it’s stupid how long he’s allowed this to suffocate him.
“i was scared of how much i wanted you, and i let it go on, because it was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. i didn’t want to lose you, and i acted selfishly because of that.”
“you could’ve told me from the beginning.” your hand comes up instinctively, thumb dragging beneath your waterline before another tear has the chance to fall. you sniffle once, sharp and involuntary, and sunghoon feels it somewhere behind his ribs. “you could have. do you have any idea how humiliating that was?”
the words roll off your tongue before you can think twice. “i made myself look like a fucking idiot in front of you.”
sunghoon's breathing falters. his grip tightens around the bouquet until the brown paper crumples loudly in the silence, stems bending awkwardly beneath his fingers. he can't bring himself to look away from your face—not when your eyelashes are clumped together with tears, not when the skin beneath them has gone raw from how hard you're rubbing at it.
“i know.”
his voice barely survives the distance between you.
“every time i think about you,” he swallows hard, the muscles in his throat straining around the words. “i think about everything you trusted me with, and all i can remember is that i stood there and let you keep believing me.” his eyes fall to the floor for the briefest moment before finding yours again, impossibly guilty. “you deserved better than that.”
“i put you through so much,” park sunghoon adds, his voice so quiet you're forced to listen for it. “i was selfish. i convinced myself that if i told you the truth, i’d lose you, even if i deserved to.”
his thumb smooths absently over another crease in the bouquet's wrapping paper. “every day i waited after that, for the right time, for when it was easiest for me—it just got harder, and then it got impossible.”
he exhales shakily. “there was never going to be a good time. i knew that.”
you stare at him, at the bouquet he'd probably spent too long choosing. you imagine how out of place he must've looked picking those out, asking the store owner which ones would be good, knowing nothing about flowers, buying whatever was recommended to him without a second thought.
and then you're looking at the circles beneath his eyes—better now than they were before, but still there, still belonging to a boy who somehow looks exactly like the person you spent all summer missing, and the person who broke your heart in the very same breath.
“you could’ve told me,” you whisper again, the words catching somewhere behind your teeth. your fingers curl helplessly around the strap of your tote until the rough canvas digs into your palm. “you could’ve walked up to me that first night. i would’ve—”
another tear slips free before you can force the last word out. your breath catches violently in your chest, chin dropping toward your collarbone as a broken sob tears through you before you have the chance to swallow it back.
sunghoon moves before he thinks. the bouquet lands forgotten against the table with a muffled rustle, baby's breath spilling over the edge of the table as he closes the distance between you in two hurried strides. his hand comes up instinctively—halfway to your face, halfway to your shoulder, he doesn't even know anymore—before stopping inches from your face.
"...y/n."
sunghoon freezes. fingers trembling, not knowing if he's allowed to be this close to you again, not knowing if he gets to touch you just because you're crying. nevertheless, his hand curls slowly into a fist before falling uselessly back to his side.
your shoulders shake harder.
you clap a hand over your mouth as if that'll somehow muffle the sound, but it only turns each breath into something more desperate and more painful. tears slip between your fingers anyway, dripping onto the backs of your knuckles before disappearing into the sleeves of your top.
sunghoon feels sick. everything is telling him to touch you, to hold you, to do everything he can to rid you of the tears staining your face. wiping your tears away with his thumb and all, like how he’s imagined doing a hundred selfish times over the phone—to tell you it’s okay.
something’s siphoning all the air out of his lungs. "...i'm sorry," sunghoon whispers again, voice splintering under the weight of the words. "i’m sorry, y/n. please, don’t cry, please.”
there’s a tiny part of you that wants to lean into him. instead, you let out something between a laugh and another sob. you drag the heel of your palm beneath your eyes, every tear replaced by another before you can finish catching your breath. vision blurry as you stare down at sunghoon’s shoes, he shuts his eyes.
“i didn’t care,” you sigh. “i wouldn’t have cared.”
your ears don't catch the quiet sniffle that escapes sunghoon. his own vision has long since blurred, tears gathering stubbornly along his waterline until the fairy lights overhead fracture into soft, indistinct halos. he doesn't bother wiping them away, not when you're crying like this—not when every broken breath that leaves you sounds like something he's carved into your chest with his own hands.
“i fell for you, hoon.” you look up at him then, your eyes swollen and shining beneath the warm fairy lights strung across the ceiling of the booth. tears cling to your lashes, catching the light every time you blink. “you could’ve told me.” your voice cracks again, almost pleading. “you could have.”
the words seem to find every hollow place inside him.
his shoulders, already drawn painfully tight beneath the navy hoodie, sink another inch, the tension draining from them so suddenly he almost folds into himself. his hand, still hovering uncertainly between the two of you, curls instinctively before slowly uncurling again. this time, he doesn't stop.
fuck it.
park sunghoon’s touch brushes your cheek so lightly you barely feel them at first. gentle, like he doesn’t know quite how to handle you—warm and careful and everything you’ve ever needed.
his palm settles against the side of your face, thumb sweeping gently beneath your eye to catch the tear before it slips past your jaw. your skin burns beneath the touch, not because it hurts, but because you've missed it without ever knowing what it felt like—it's unbearably familiar for something entirely new.
you don’t mean to lean into him, but your body does it anyway.
for the smallest moment, your cheek rests against his palm, and the breath sunghoon lets out is so quiet that it almost disappears beneath the hum of the air-conditioner overhead. a sigh escapes him, almost as if he can’t believe how much he’s hurt you—and before you break into a sob again, you speak.
“maybe...” you whisper, voice shrinking beneath the weight of the thought—of park sunghoon and you, of that stupid new year's party, of library afternoons and late-night phone calls and every version of the future that never got the chance to exist. “maybe we’d be fine. maybe we’d be happy, if that’s what you even wanted—”
“it is.”
there isn’t a trace of hesitation.
sunghoon's thumb stills against your cheek as fresh tears spill over his own, his forehead dipping just enough that he's looking at you from beneath damp strands of dark hair.
“it’s all i’ve ever wanted,” he mutters. “you are all i’ve ever wanted.”
park sunghoon has never been a decisive person.
it sounds contradictory when you consider everything he's responsible for, but those decisions were never really decisions at all. hockey is straightforward once you've watched enough game tape, drilled the same movement until your muscles remember it better than your brain does, or spent enough hours on the ice for instinct to replace hesitation. there is always a coach standing behind the glass with a whistle around his neck, always someone older, better, more experienced to tell you where your feet should be and how to fix what you've done wrong. school isn't much different. people call him gifted, but sunghoon knows discipline has always done more for him than talent ever could. if you study enough, if you sacrifice enough sleep, if you repeat something often enough, eventually the answer reveals itself.
life has always rewarded certainty. show up, work harder, do better—and there is comfort in that. an almost mechanical predictability to it all, completely untouched by human emotion.
but you have never worked like that. this, whatever this is—it has never operated on that principle.
sunghoon has known he loves you for longer than he's been willing to admit it aloud. what he hasn't known—not for a single day since you walked away from him beneath that streetlamp—is whether seeing you again would heal the wound or rip it open all over. every version of the future he imagined ended differently: maybe you'd scream at him, maybe you'd ignore him. maybe you'd look at him with the same quiet disappointment that had followed him into every waking hour for the past month. there was no correct answer to memorize, no strategy to rehearse, and no amount of discipline capable of guaranteeing that he wouldn't lose you all over again.
he even tried searching for it.
three in the morning, phone balanced against his chest, he'd typed every variation of lied about my identity and fell in love that he could think of into reddit, reading through strangers' catastrophes until the sun came up. none of them sounded quite like his, and none of them ended with an answer worth believing. he’s pretty sure 75% are engagement bait.
there wasn't a guidebook for getting back the only girl he'd ever loved. there was, however, an annoyingly persistent lee heeseung.
his friend spent the better part of yesterday refusing to let him back out, talking over every pathetic excuse sunghoon came up with until there were none left to hide behind. sunoo only agreed to squeeze him into today's schedule after extracting the promise of unlimited access to his card for food deliveries over the next month, grinning so hard throughout the negotiation that sunghoon briefly considered leaving on principle alone. jake had sat through the entire story for the first time without interrupting once, only burying his face in his hands whenever the second-hand embarrassment became physically unbearable. jay, jungwon and riki had been considerably less diplomatic.
yes, he'd fucked up. spectacularly.
yes, there was every possibility you'd never want to look at him again.
no, none of them blamed you for it.
they still told him to come anyway. because if you were going to reject him, then he deserved to hear it from you—not from the version of you he'd spent the last month inventing inside his own head. park sunghoon is not every sure if he’ll ever move on from it, from you, though he sincerely hopes he doesn’t have to.
“i can’t—i can’t hate you, hoon. i tried so hard, and it never worked, so what do i do now?”
the words seems to knock the air from his lungs.
sunghoon's thumb stills against your cheek. even now, even after hearing the words, he can't let himself believe them immediately. his thick eyebrows draw together in quiet disbelief, lashes still damp, mouth parted around a breath that never quite leaves him.
“i think about you so much it hurts.” a laugh escapes you, exhausted more than amused, and you shake your head as tears gather at your chin. when you look up at him, the expression in your eyes drives something sharp straight through his chest. “i just don't know what to do.”
your fingers find his wrist without thinking, curling around it lightly. beneath your touch, his pulse stutters wildly, and sunghoon has the absurd, terrifying thought that if you hold him there any longer, you'll feel exactly how badly he's falling apart.
“i still want you,” you whisper. “so tell me, what do i do?”
sunghoon’s face crumples with relief, so sudden that it almost looks like pain. his shoulders shake before he even realises he's crying again. he presses his lips together, turning away for a second as a breathless, disbelieving laugh slips through his nose, and when he looks back at you, his eyes are wet and helpless and impossibly soft.
every sleepless night and every terrible decision has led park sunghoon here, standing in front of you and bracing for an ending that was never truly his to decide. you are the only thing he has ever looked at and thought, i might not get this back if i lose it, and that realization terrifies him more than failure ever could.
everything else feels survivable. the carefully constructed life he's spent years maintaining—he could lose all of it and eventually claw his way toward something new. he knows himself well enough to believe that, and well enough to know that you are different.
the mere thought of you turning around and walking away again is enough to hollow him out from the inside. it followed him into quiet rooms and sleepless mornings, into practices and lectures and every place he tries to forget you. for the first time in his life, there is something he cannot outwork, outthink, or outrun.
and still, even now, that something is standing here with tears on her face and her hand wrapped around his wrist, asking him what to do.
sunghoon’s wiping uselessly at his eyes. “i don't know,” he admits. “i don’t know what you’re supposed to do.”
your chest immediately drops. there’s that churning feeling again. you pick up on every movement of his, from the way his eyes never leave yours to how he can’t seem to speak up.
“i spent months trying to decide that for you, and look how that turned out,” another shaky breath leaves him, and his shoulders shudder with it. “if you want to yell at me, do it. if you want time, take it. if you wake up tomorrow and realize listening to me was a mistake, i’ll understand.”
sunghoon looks into your eyes. somewhere between the apologies and confessions, the distance between you has disappeared without either of you noticing. your knees almost brush, breaths mingling in the tiny booth, warm enough to fog the already close air between you. the fake candle flickers quietly in your peripheral, behind the abandoned bouquet and scattered conversation cards.
he blinks, just once, watching your eyes soften as they stare back at his. they never leave him, and they’re not searching for answers anymore.
“but if you're asking me what i want,” sunghoon mutters, taking a deep breath in. “i want you. i want you to let me stay, and i want it to be your decision.”
“you hurt me.” you swallow. “forgiving you doesn't magically make all of that disappear—but i’m tired. i’m really tired of being scared.”
“so this is my decision,” you step closer until the space between you disappears entirely. “stay.”
oh, park sunghoon is certain, now.
certainly, for the first time, he cares about someone other than himself, more than his stupid hockey games and ridiculous quizzes that he’d ace regardless if he studied or not—
certainly, the girl he loves is here, in front of him. her heart is in his hands and he’s trying not to crush it, because hurting her means hurting himself. she’s uncomplicated, and she’s beautiful, even in this kind of light, even with tears running down her face—looking at him like he’s all she’s ever asked for, despite everything he’s done.
certainly, he loves you.
all of you.
your arms find sunghoon’s waist with a familiarity that steals what little breath he has left. the movement is so instinctive neither of you seem to think too much about it. sunghoon's hand remains against your cheek for one lingering heartbeat, before his other joins it, cradling your face with impossible care, thumbs brushing absently beneath skin still warm from tears.
the space between you disappears altogether.
your arms slide further around his back, bunching the fabric of his hoodie between your fingers, the last of the tension leaves his body in one long, shaking breath. sunghoon’s own limbs slip around your shoulders, drawing you against his chest so gently it almost hurts, his chin resting lightly atop your head as though he’s afraid that if he lets go now, you’ll disappear all over again.
“i love you, y/n.”
the confession comes easier than he expected—true, almost painfully so, for far too long.
you tighten your hold around him, your cheek pressed against the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
“i love you, too, hoon.”
for a second, park sunghoon forgets how to breathe.
all those nights spent lying awake, replaying every conversation until sunrise—every version of this moment he'd imagined, every argument he'd had with himself, every impossible outcome he'd tried to prepare for—they dissolve so quietly that he almost doesn't notice them leaving.
the questions that had followed him for weeks no longer demand answers. the guilt is still there, the hurt is still there, and he knows neither of them will disappear overnight, of course—but for the first time in months, park sunghoon knows one thing for sure:
he does not care, and he will keep loving you despite it all.
─────────────────────────
the fundraiser slowly forgets about the two of you.
by the time you step out of the little booth, there’s an insanely long queue that won’t stop staring at you and sunghoon—a bouquet sits in the crease of your elbow, and the man by your side is smiling so wide that it’s borderline embarrassing. he might as well put a sign on your head.
the sun’s begun sinking lower behind the engineering building, bathing the pathways in that familiar honey-gold light that always seems to arrive when you and sunghoon are together. conversations swell around you as students drift from stall to stall with paper bags hanging from their wrists and half-melted ice cream in their hands. somewhere behind you, sunoo lets out an aggressively theatrical cheer before somebody—jungwon, if you remembered correctly—smacks him hard enough to shut him up.
neither of you acknowledge it.
park sunghoon’s hand finds yours instinctually. he’s not even looking at you to see if you’re fine with it, but it doesn’t matter anyway. your fingers intertwine with his, warm and steady and weirdly tight—you glance down and feel the heat rushing up your cheeks.
“…you know,” you mumble, watching your joined hands swing gently between you as you walk down the wide path. “i think this is technically our first date.”
sunghoon blinks. date? you? you and him? on a date?
the crowd has thinned out considerably, but when you glance back towards the familiar pink tent, the queue is somehow still moving. students continue drifting in and out of the little canvas booths, phones in hand as volunteers wave them forward one pair at a time. sunoo catches your eye from behind the registration table, arms folded dramatically across his chest as if he's personally responsible for the greatest love story in university history. you can't help but to smile, and sunoo notices immediately. with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, he flicks his wrist in a half-hearted shooing motion before waving the two of you away.
you laugh under your breath.
ahead of you, the fundraiser is slowly settling into the evening. a handful of student union members balance precariously on folding ladders, looping warm string lights from one streetlamp to the next until little pockets of golden light begin blooming across the walkways. conversations soften as the afternoon crowd disperses, replaced by the quieter rhythm of people lingering instead of rushing somewhere else. somebody nearby is packing away handmade jewellery while another stall is still desperately trying to sell the last of their brownies to anyone willing to make eye contact.
your hand is still in sunghoon's. neither of you talk.
“oh.”
you glance sideways. he’s staring ahead, eyebrows pinched together in the sort of concentration that seems excessive for something this simple.
you snort. “that’s all you have to say?”
“i'm thinking,” sunghoon murmurs, finally allowing himself a quiet chuckle. his thumb absently brushes against the back of your hand before he looks over at you. “does this mean i have to pretend i don't already know everything about you?”
“i wouldn't say everything...” you mumble, nudging his shoulder with yours before looking away a little too quickly. you don't have to see his face to know he's smiling. you can feel it somehow, in the way his gaze lingers a second too long, in the quiet that stretches between you while he leans ever so slightly closer, just enough that the warmth radiating from his hoodie brushes your arm.
“you blush really easily.”
“i do not!” your eyes widen, yet, still refusing to meet his.
“you're so pretty, y/n,” sunghoon says before he has the chance to psyche himself out of it. the compliment leaves him with such effortless certainty that it almost catches him off guard. “so cute when you're shy. blushing like that in front of me...” he continues, the corners of his mouth lifting into the smallest grin. “i don't think i've ever seen anything prettier.”
you squeeze his hand so hard he almost laughs again.
“god,” you mutter, finally daring a glance at him before immediately looking away again, cheeks burning beneath the string lights overhead. “you're still so annoying!”
the fundraiser eventually disappears behind you. after sunghoon’s insistence on sharing an overly-sweet milkshake, his hands are full with paper bags, filled to the brim with overpriced homemade desserts and a few too many keychains. neither of you remember who suggested leaving first—at some point, the booths become smaller in the distance, and the chatter fades into little more than background noise.
there isn’t really a destination. there doesn’t have to be, you both know that—but it helps with the conversation. it flows easier than any of you expect, familiar, curious and gentle in the same way it’s always been.
you stop by a convenience store because sunghoon insists you’re hungry. allegedly, your stomach rumbled on the walk here, so he rushes into the store so fast that there isn’t enough time to protest. the high-school part-timer stares at him weirdly as he wordlessly pays for both ramyeon cups, spending the next five minutes pretending not to hear you complaining about it.
you eat, anyway. sunghoon can’t help but take a picture, too. you almost hit him on the head for that.
an hour later, the walk to your apartment is slower than it needs to be. autumn has finally settled over the city, the breeze cool enough to make you tug your sleeves over your hands every few minutes. leaves skitter across the pavement whenever the wind picks up, collecting around your shoes before scattering around them again, and somewhere overhead the sky melts from gold into a dark, deep blue.
you pass through that same park—cyclists pass every now and then, bells chiming politely before disappearing further down the winding path, elderly couples taking a night stroll with plastic bags hooked around their fingers. the atmosphere is completely different now, though nothing tangible has really changed.
the two of you keep walking. sunghoon feels like he's going to explode from the amount of dessert you'd somehow convinced him to share with you, but the weight tugging at his shoulders feels lighter now. maybe it's because your hand is folded so naturally into his that neither of you have thought about letting go—or the fact that you managed to get rid of all those bags, thanks to him.
“it's nice to talk to you,” you murmur after a while, your gaze lingering on the river instead of him. the city stretches across the water in ribbons of gold and white, every reflection trembling with the movement of the current. “without the phone. easier to hear you.”
another breeze rolls against the river, cool enough to send little ripples across the water and lift loose strands of your hair across your face.
“uuuuhuh, i’m sure.” sunghoon smiles at you, easy-going and so reassuring it makes your pulse race. “keep pretending like we didn’t meet how we did.”
“the hell?”
you glance at him. all he does is squeeze your hand once—then, the corners of his mouth lift into that small, effortless smile.
your heart gives an embarrassingly obvious thump. you let out a laugh before you can stop yourself, ducking your head almost immediately as warmth rushes into your cheeks. “don’t look at me like that—”
“like what?”
sunghoon stops walking. your footsteps falter a beat too late.
your hands are still joined, the sudden halt tugging you backwards before you can catch yourself. you stumble lightly into his chest, the front of his hoodie brushing against your sleeves as his fingers tighten instinctively around yours to steady you. your free hand lands against the warmth of his ribs, and for one, disorienting moment, all you can hear is the wind behind you and the quiet hitch in his breathing.
sunghoon looks down. you're close enough now that the warm lights stretching across this dim path catch in his eyes, turning the dark brown almost amber beneath the glow. a strand of your hair has fallen across your cheek again, flowing in the breeze—and sunghoon, stupidly, reaches up without thinking.
his knuckles brush your skin first—then his fingertips. they slip carefully beneath the loose strand, tucking it behind your ear with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. it lingers for a moment longer than necessary, five seconds too much just to move a strand of hair away, and his thumb rests lightly against your temple as though he’s trying to memorise the shape of your face underneath his touch.
oh. you can’t tear your eyes off of him.
park sunghoon looks like someone you could know forever. a gaze so gentle that you’d think he’s known whoever he’s looking at for a thousand years—a touch so tender that it’s unbelievable that he’s never loved anyone else.
the smile tugging at the corners of his lips dissolves into something almost disbelieving. sunghoon’s forehead dips, just enough so that your face comes into full focus, and the space between you disappears disappears so gradually that neither of you seem to notice how your noses almost brush.
his breath ghosts over your lips. warm, nothing like the cold air that’s enveloping you both. sunghoon hesitates for a moment—even now, he wonders just what he’s done to deserve this. he wants you to choose, and you do.
closing the distance, your lips find his with all the gentleness of someone coming home after being gone for too long.
for one impossible, weightless moment, the whole world seems to narrow until it is nothing more than the warmth of your mouth against his. the quiet rush of wind rolling off your skin, your hand tightening ever so slightly around the fabric gathered at his chest—every sleepless night, every apology, every version of this moment he'd rehearsed alone in his room dissolves the instant you kiss him back.
park sunghoon's convinced nothing has ever felt this right.
you're soft against him, kissing him with the same quiet hesitation you've carried all evening, as though you're still afraid that pressing yourself any closer might shatter whatever fragile thing the two of you have only just managed to rebuild. meanwhile, sunghoon melts into it like he's been starving—he holds himself back for only a heartbeat before months of missed chances quietly unravel between you, his hand sliding around your waist with a tenderness so instinctive it almost startles him. he gathers you closer, careful enough to let you pull away whenever you want. you do not.
instead, your fingers slip from the front of his hoodie to the back of his neck, threading into the soft hair resting there. the movement draws the smallest, almost inaudible breath from him, and before he realises he's doing it, he's smiling into the kiss.
it’s contagious. you’re smiling now, too.
your lips part around a tiny, breathless laugh, and the sound is enough to make a smile form on his face. sunghoon leans in again without thinking, chasing another kiss, only for the movement to catch you off guard. you stumble back half a step, dragging him with you by the collar of his hoodie until the both of you have to force yourselves to stand properly.
your foreheads bump together as his arm tightens instinctively around your waist, trying to stop you from losing your balance.
“do you kiss all your girlfriends like this, sunghoon?”
“don’t piss me off,” his arm loosens from your waist for half a second, just enough for you to stumble before he catches you immediately, pulling you back against his chest with an annoyed sigh. “i don’t kiss anyone else.”
“i could’ve died right here. do you even care about me? should i just die right now?”
“i’m not even going to answer that, y/n.”
─────────────────────────
“who gave you my number?”
by the time the two of you find yourselves right outside your apartment building, the streets have grown quieter. most of the shops have already pulled their shutters halfway down, leaving only convenience stores and late-night cafés spilling warm light onto the pavement. the walk here had taken nearly an hour—your car is still parked at campus, but sunghoon promised to pay the overnight fee anyway. neither of you remember deciding to take the longer route back to your place, but every turn just seemed like another excuse to keep talking.
you stop right in front of your building. the path is uneven here, the road tilted upward; the automatic doors slide shut behind somebody leaving, and the chime hums softly before settling into silence again.
“sooha,” you smile. the blush that infects sunghoon’s face spreads like a wildfire—you’re the one teasing now, after an entire day of his antics. “you had a thing with her, i’m guessing?”
“well, i wouldn’t call it a thing,” sunghoon sighs, thumb rubbing against the back of yours. he swallows before looking at you again. “i’ll be honest with you—we were hooking up.”
he watches your expression carefully for a shift. anything that'll tell him you were upset, or livid—anything at all. he swore he wouldn't blame himself if you were. how would he have known that the love of his life would waltz right in thirty minutes after sooha's exit?
sunghoon adds on a little too quickly. “it was before you.”
“how long?” you ask, tilting your head. curiosity, it seems, but these are dangerous waters that sunghoon’s treading. based on past experiences, his partners (can he even call them that?) never took to well to a previous acquiantance.
sunghoon almost considers lying, just to make himself sound better, before deciding against it. he's never been too good at that anyway. “on and off. a few months, maybe. nothing that meant anything.”
he exhales through his nose, something between a laugh and a wince. “i know. i wasn't—i didn't handle it well. i never called it anything, and i never made her think it was anything, but i also never stopped it when i probably should have.” he pauses, “that’s my fault.”
it's such a sunghoon answer. blunt and completely unflattering to himself, a lack of an attempt to soften it into something easier to hear. you almost want to laugh at how little effort he puts into making himself look good, like it hasn't occurred to him that he could, and you’d never be able to prove otherwise.
you nod, trying to hold your laugh in at the sight of his face. he looks like he's just seen a ghost, no matter how much he tries to hide it—lips pursed together instinctively, eyes wide and scanning yours for any hint of anger. “okay. good to know.”
you give his hand a small squeeze before beginning to loosen your fingers from his, only enough to shift your grip more comfortably. “i appreciate the honesty.”
sunghoon keeps staring. “that's it?”
“were you expecting more questions, hoon?” you can't help but smile now, your free hand covering your mouth in an attempt to hide how adorable you find him. “i didn't know you back then. you were still staring at me weird from the stairs.”
“i was not staring,” sunghoon shakes his head, a stray strand of hair falling loose over his brow with the motion. “you were staring. i’m surprised heeseung didn't notice.”
your jaw drops, mouth falling open in mock offense. "excuse me?"
“whatever. it’s over now, right?” sunghoon sighs, dragging a hand down his face in dramatic disapproval, fingers pausing briefly over his eyes like he's shielding himself from the sight of your face. "not really trying to share you with him."
“you're so annoying!” you shove at his shoulder, and he barely rocks with it, solid where he's standing, biting back a grin like he's trying—badly—to look unaffected.
sunghoon's mouth curls into a smile that reaches his eyes—dark in this dim light. he's still taller than you despite standing a few steps higher, your face now level with his, close enough that you can count the individual strands of hair falling loose over his forehead.
his hair is still a mess from the wind, and from your fingers ruffling through the strands earlier—sticking up at odd angles he clearly hasn't bothered to fix, like it hadn't even occurred to him. his cheeks are still faintly red, yet to fully fade since you first touched his skin, and his ears are airbrushed with a soft pink he probably has no idea is visible.
you hope no one else has ever gotten to see it on him before.
it's quiet. no dogs this time, for some reason. it’s just the low hum of the streetlight above you, buzzing faintly, flickering once before steadying again. an occasional cricket announces its presence somewhere in the bushes lining the building, and beneath that, nothing. though, there’s just your own heartbeat, loud and unreasonable in your ears, and the sound of sunghoon breathing, slow and careful like he's trying not to disturb whatever this is.
sunghoon’s hand is still loosely wrapped around yours, thumb tracing an invisible circle over your knuckles—it’s not quite a habit yet, but close to being one, you can tell. you can feel the calluses along his palm, rough from what you assume is hockey, a strange and grounding kind of proof that this is real, that he's real, standing this close to you at almost midnight with his heart clearly in his throat.
and then, there’s you. even in this horrible, fluorescent lighting—the kind that makes everyone look a little sick—you look undeniably beautiful to him. almost glowing, or maybe he's just sleep-deprived enough that his eyes are playing tricks on him. either way, he thinks, quietly and with helplessness, that he has never wanted to kiss someone this badly in his entire life.
his gaze drops, just briefly, to your mouth. then back up, like he's asking permission before he's even said anything at all.
“can i kiss you, y/n?”
the question is so earnest it hurts. his voice is breathy, needy, everything that you could possibly ever need in a man right in front of you. you feel like if you fall for it—answer him right now, that your life ends here, because this is a trap, or a dream, or all of it at once.
you’re already leaning into him, tilting your head until your noses are brushing each other’s. sunghoon’s breathing so heavily that you feel it against your bottom lip, teasing, just asking for that final push.
one of his large hands settle at your waist. waiting. always waiting.
the kiss is slower than the last one. a little more desperate, maybe—you feel sunghoon’s large arms wrap around you again, tighter now, tongue swiping against your bottom lip, moving you as he pleases just so he can get the most of you.
you taste like him.
the thought’s driving him crazy. you've already confessed everything worth confessing tonight; now, there is only the quiet luxury of learning each other properly, without distance, without static, without the countdown of a call timer reminding either of you that morning would eventually come.
it’s messy in the way that two people are when they’re starving for each other. borderline greedy, too much tongue and then not enough at all, your hands running along the upper part of his back as you keep him anchored to you. sunghoon’s lips feel so perfect when they’re against yours, he genuinely believes that this is what he’s been chasing for all twenty-four years of his life.
every time one of you pulls back to breathe, the other closes the distance again without thinking, as though separating has become something your bodies no longer understand. your fingers wander instinctively over the broad line of his shoulders before settling against the back of his neck, keeping him close without ever needing to ask.
sunghoon’s hands remain anchored at your waist, warm through the fabric of your clothes, thumbs tracing absent little movements that make your pulse flutter for reasons you can't quite explain.
“not here, hoon—” you mumble against his lips before he pulls you right back in. so annoying. sunghoon’s lips crash into yours again, still just as curious, palm flat against the small of your back.
“hm?” the sound vibrates softly between you before he finally relents, resting his forehead against yours instead. one of his hands slides carefully along the curve of your side until it settles once more at the small of your back, holding you as though he'd forgotten any other way to stand. “...tell me where, then.”
you shake your head once, trying very unsuccessfully to compose yourself before meeting his eyes again.
you’re huffing, trying to catch your breath when your hands fall to his chest. the guy is looking at you with the most feverish smile, eyes narrowing because he knows he’s got you flustered.
“upstairs,” you murmur, barely louder than the evening breeze slipping between the apartment buildings. your fingers fist at his hoodie. “come upstairs.”
─────────────────────────
park sunghoon likes to think that he’s good at sex.
there’s nothing complicated about it, really. he knows he’s good at most things.
his body—he knows it’s the kind most people would kill for, the kind other men spend half their lives trying to build. of that, he’s well aware. hockey, school, laundry, cooking, smiling and talking as if nothing’s ever the matter. he’s reduced it to a science: technique, precision, mastery, painstakingly perfected.
the data is there. they scream, they cry out of sheer pleasure, they moan like no one else exists but him, but park sunghoon. he predicts it in the same way he knows he’ll get that perfect score, and make that one ‘lucky’ shot—it’s calculation in it’s most unsurprising form.
human bodies are scientific. their anatomy is roughly similar, so he knows if he moves just like this, whispers just like that, she’ll fold. she’ll crumble underneath him like it’s her first time ever sleeping with a man, clinging onto sunghoon like what he’s doing is some lost art among the modern male.
there’s significant amounts of advice online to tell him how to please a woman. it’s not rocket science applying these concepts in practice, as he’s done—and sure, it’s done himself favours. there were nights where sunghoon couldn’t believe that he’d ever quit hook ups, but soon realised that that’s just how his brain works: that that’s just what the dopamine rush whispers into your ears as you cum for the third consecutive time.
there is a nice predictability in sex. it’s instinct, and where there is instinct, there is nature and nature is almost always studied—even if it’s an utter waste of time, stress relief aside.
though, when he finds himself stumbling into your apartment, kicking off his shoes and slide his hoodie off his back while simultaneously trying to keep his lips on yours, he finds himself wanting time to slow itself down.
just something about you, he thinks. that look on your cute face, staring at him like you didn’t know what to do with the heat pooling between your legs; you stumble against him a few times while you both try to find your way to your bedroom, shoulders nudging against light switches and shoving a few chairs out of place. your laundry is still on the couch from this morning, you note—but when sunghoon puts his hand on your jaw, forcing you to look at him—the reminder fades completely.
“what am i going to do with you?” sunghoon grins, letting his ass fall to the edge of the bed. sitting up, his hoodie’s discarded somewhere by the entryway, and the only article of clothing left being his jeans. his hands roam your body—up and down, before looping around your waist and pulling you between his spread legs. “so pretty.”
you whimper when his hands begin sliding underneath your top. “can i, baby?”
it’s almost pathetic how fast you nod. your hands rest on his shoulders, eyes locked on the way he leans closer to your belly. sunghoon’s slender fingers move up your warm skin, now burning hot under his touch, and eventually, he lifts your shirt completely.
“you sure about this, y/n?” sunghoon looks up, pupils blown with his cheek resting against your bare stomach. “we can stop. whatever you wanna do—”
“n-no,” you sigh, watching sunghoon’s eyes blink up at you, so dazed. “i want you, hoon.”
he hums at your response, turning his head so his lips touch the skin of your belly. they’re still wet from your earlier kisses, pressing nice and slow until he reaches from your belly button to your ribcage. truthfully, sunghoon’s mind has already gone to mush at the mere scent of you: the sweat from the day and your perfume blending into one, the heat from your body, that he just can’t help but to start leaving hickeys along the exposed area.
“i’ll make you feel so good, y/n,” he mumbles against your skin. “but you gotta be good for me. you can do that, can’t you?”
oh. he’s that kind of guy.
something’s flipping in your stomach—simmering low, intense, nothing like you’ve ever felt before. you stare down at him, face visibly flushed from the way he’s touching you; your knees almost buckle upon hearing his voice, and sunghoon can’t help but let a chuckle out at that in between kisses.
“can’t hear you. speak up for me.”
you swallow, feeling sunghoon’s hands exploring further—until his thumbs are right on your nipples, bypassing your annoying bra, rubbing gentle circles, smiling up at you like he’s done nothing too crazy.
“y-yeah, i can,” your voice comes out a tad too soft for his liking, evidently, because his little grin fades into something more displeased.
sunghoon stands up instead, large hands hooking around the hem of your shirt and helping to pull it off of you. your arms point to the ceiling, naturally, letting the fabric part from you with a gasp—the cold air hits your skin, and the wet imprints of kisses on your stomach feel even icier now.
he moves back to your stomach, taking in your scent; it’s even more potent now when you’re bare like this. curiosity gets the better of him once his nose bumps against your bra, his hair nuzzling against your chest as one of his hands move to unclasp it. effortless.
“sunghoon, stop teasing,” you whine, watching him lean back. sunghoon pulls your bra off of you on one swift motion. it’s an understatement to say that you were pretty—just gorgeous when you’re naked in front of him like this.
he ignores you. asshole.
sunghoon’s fingers hook around your skirt next—not quite pulling it down just yet. then, almost as if you’ve done something wrong, he stands up.
you forget how huge he is for a second. when the dim warmth of your lamp hits him, you lose your breath completely. every muscle is highlighted in orange, the definition outlined by shadows that leave you wanting, and it’s like air is caught in your throat from how unfairly good he looks.
“i’ll ask again,” sunghoon mutters, hands back down to your waist, and then your hips, and then he’s flipping you over onto the mattress. “you’ll be good for me, won’t you?”
whatever. fuck it.
all sense of reasoning leaves your body at once. sunghoon cages you between his arms, staring into your eyes, and the look in them sends pure electricity through your veins. he looks hungry, thirsty, like he needed you right now or he’d die.
and still, he waits for an answer.
“i’ll be s-so good, hoonie, i promise.”
the nickname doesn’t leave a bad taste in his mouth anymore. it’s been a while since he’s heard it—but when it comes from you, god, it sounds like it’s dripping in honey and coaxing him into whatever trap you laid out for him.
“gonna fucking kill me,” he rasps, pulling away before pressing a kiss to your cheek, down to your jaw, then to the patch of skin underneath your earlobe. the feeling of his warm tongue sliding against your skin makes you shudder—combined with his fingers pressing into your back, feeling every inch of skin, savouring the feeling of you;
when sunghoon first walked in, he noticed how unbearably you your room was. decorated in posters of your favourite bands, little trinkets here and there that he has no clue how you keep organized. his eyes glazed over your desk, your laptop, your lamp, and everything that you chose to keep that would now remind him of you—right now, your legs are wrapped around his hips, heels digging into his ass while he grinds nice and slow against the warmth of your pussy—feeling right through your panties, skirt tossed somewhere in the corner of the room.
what was most interesting about your room was that mirror in the corner—perhaps he was a pervert for wondering, only for a moment, if you had ever touched yourself in front of that very reflection. he could imagine your legs spread in desperation, knuckles deep in yourself as you chased whatever high you terribly wanted.
did you think of anyone? did you get off to the sound of his voice? though, most importantly, would you let him ruin you in front of that little mirror of yours?
“can i take this off?” he whispers into your ear, hands roaming down from your neck and to the lace around your panties—you nod again, and the chuckle that escapes his lips only sends shivers down your spine.
your legs fall to the side of his thighs, leaving you bare and spread in front of his eyes. “what about you?”
sunghoon literally laughs in your face. “be patient, baby. haven’t even gotten you nice ‘n loose yet.”
your breath hitches at his vulgarity. the image pops up behind your eyelids: sunghoon’s long, pretty fingers buried somewhere deep in you, curled at the perfect angle and prodding at that one spot that makes you sees stars—how long would it take for him to get there? would he even know how to?
famous last words, as they say. it takes four minutes for sunghoon to have your thighs pinned to the mattress, three to have the tip of his index and middle fingers inside of you and two to get you whimpering like a hot, pathetic mess.
maybe just one to get you soaking his wrists.
“what’s wrong, baby?” sunghoon pouts. his eyes are glimmering in the dark, the tiny light left outside reflecting off his irises. in this atmosphere it just seems like a mockery. “too much for my pretty girl? she can’t seem to get enough, though.”
and then his eyes flick down to where you suck him in—glistening, disgustingly sloppy and wet where you take every inch like it was always meant to be yours. it’s times like these where you truly believe fate is real; because there’s just no way you were this close to going your entire life without this—without sunghoon’s fingers buried knuckle deep into you.
“h-hoon, ugh—fuck!” you squeal when he curls his fingers just right, and he just watches, an eyebrow raised like you were some intriguing specimen. just a body underneath his touch, poking and prodding and spreading you as wide as he can, as best as he can. everything he does seems to illicit some reaction from you, too amusing for him to stop. “please, gonna cum, i’m gonna cum, ngh—”
“so quick?” sunghoon sighs, kissing his teeth. “god, you’re so cute. must be too much, then?”
and then, he slows down. ripping your delicious orgasm right from your useless fingers.
“n-noooo,” you drawl, nails clawing into sunghoon’s veiny forearms as he nods slowly, expecting a coherent answer. what a mistake, as if you could even think straight right now. “it’s not—it’s not, fuck, i can take it.”
sunghoon chuckles, head tilting up just enough to get your pretty face in full view. “reaaally? need my permission to cum, too?”
your stomach flips at the way he says it—low and sultry and teasing, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. rearranging your guts with his hands alone, whispering these ridiculous things to you, expecting zero reactions. is he stupid? has he lost it?
“you trying to snap my fingers off? relax, baby. can’t have that.”
the humiliation washes over you rather quickly, but disappears just as fast when you feel every muscle in your body beginning to lock up. the words can’t even find themselves, too lost in your mushy brain—everything narrows down to the man with his hands between your legs, pumping his stupidly long fingers in n’ out, watching you lose every piece of sanity you have left.
“who’d have known. such a sensitive girl,” and his thumb brushes against your swollen clit with just enough pressure to have you twitching, but never to cross that final, potentially fatal line. “do you always cum this fast?”
sunghoon sighs dramatically. if you couldn’t see his face, you’d have assumed that he was irritated with you—but your eyes haven’t left his, nor the red in his cheeks and his slightly parted lips, groaning whenever you buck your hips against his palm, feeling the friction of your clit against his skin. they occasionally glance down at the tent in his pants, fighting against tight cloth to be freed, twitching and already forming a dark, wet patch where his tip would be.
“oh my god,” you moan, gripping tight around his wrists. there’s a part of you that just wants to sit up and grind against his hand yourself, but that’d be much too embarrassing to live with. “can’t—can’t, i j-jus… can’t, please, hoonie—”
the words ring a bell that he can’t quite recall, is what he would say if his memory was absolutely terrible. the man remembers exactly when and where you said those terrible, terrible things, under a streetlamp and in a park he had never seen before; so sure that he’d never see you again, and now, here you are, losing your mind and at his mercy.
“oh.” sunghoon grins. cocky little bastard. “you close? gonna make a mess on hoonie? c’mon, soak me. won’t stop ‘till you do.”
there’s something utterly perverted about him tonight. hoonie was never an exclusive nickname, of course—generic by all means. sooha had taken great pleasure moaning and whimpering that exact term a hundred-something nights ago, and sunghoon swears that he must’ve been in a completely different body then. wonders how he ever let the name reach his ears without gritting his teeth, but now that you’re here… it’s like a completely different world has opened before his eyes, and his cock has never, ever been harder.
how could he have fucked anyone else when you existed? how could you have slept with other people when he was right there? the selfish thought invades his sick brain as fast as he feels his cock swell up.
never-mind that. this is way more important—there comes a point during sex where all the pleasure folds in on itself and magnifies by tenfold, becoming it’s own force, taking over your nervous system—nothing matters. sunghoon doesn’t matter. your pride definitely does not matter.
so it’s not really your fault, is it? couldn’t possibly be, even if you’re sitting yourself up (with an unreasonable amount of effort) and grinding your hips against his large, calloused hands, and whining like a bitch in heat against his mouth. even less so now that sunghoon’s letting you—his breath is taken from him when your tongue slides against his, wet and soft and everything he needs to get that pretty cunt fluttering around his digits.
“my filthy girl,” he moans between kisses, his warm breath ghosting against your glossy lips. your arms are running up and down his shoulders and finding a place to stay anchored, and when they finally do, sunghoon doesn’t wince one bit when your nails dig in, out, and in again. “just look at you, fucking yourself stupid on my fingers.”
you don’t hear him. genuinely. it’s all buzzing and static and you feel yourself starting to shake from the hip up. you shudder when he flexes his fingers, and it’s like everything you’ve ever done has led to tonight, every choice, every mistake.
“h-hoonie, ‘m sorry—fuck, need more of you,” you press a searing kiss to his bottom lip, almost missing completely and letting your mouth fall open against his anyway. your breath feel like fire against his skin, and sunghoon can only groan when he feels your walls spasming around his slender fingers. “please, i’ll be so good.”
sunghoon does that same, amused grin on his face, just watching you pant underneath him. the expression only reminds you of that night: you in the kitchen, and him, watching you from the front door on new years eve.
the corner of his lips turn upwards and it’s nothing short of pure perversion—tongue poking at the inside of his cheek, face red with heat crawling up his neck, and an eyebrow cocked up. “are you actually begging me right now? while you’re riding my hand like this?”
you nod your head, frantic. of course you’re fucking begging. it’s been an entire lifetime of teasing and sunghoon’s still dangling the idea of fucking you in your face, just revelling in your visceral and absolutely humiliating reactions.
your mind’s going blank. every thought diverges into park sunghoon and every desire has his stupidly handsome face plastered onto it. your stomach’s so tense that it’s starting to hurt, and you feel lightheaded from how often your breath gets taken right from you—so close, and yet, still so far.
“yes, pleasepleaseplease, i—”
“god, you’re greedy,” sunghoon mumbles under his breath, using his free hand to push you backwards. your spine hits the mattress with a recoil, and the springs creak just enough to muffle the pathetic whine that slips off your lips. “just an ungrateful girl. fine, then.”
and then, there’s nothing. just that mind-numbing feeling of having your body be sent to heaven, only to be denied at the pearly gates.
your heart’s pounding at the sight of him: warm, glistening skin under the dimness of your lamp, chest heaving as he pulls his fingers out from your slick entrance—it feels increasingly, unbearably empty as he retracts his ridiculously long digits. sunghoon does nothing but enjoy the view, eyes glazing over the way your body twists and turns at his cruel punishment.
“come on. again.”
who does he think he is, really? you kiss and make up, and in the same day, he makes you beg for a little gratification? does he have any idea what he put you through? to be truthful, you could go on and on about how he doesn’t deserve any sort of control over you—
“please, hoonie. i’ll take everything—fuck, just fuck me already.”
fuck it. you don’t care. it doesn’t matter that park sunghoon is toying with you. you need him, you need all of him, you need every inch of skin that he’s willing to give and every word he’ll spit at you.
park sunghoon isn’t exactly inexperienced with sex. he knows that intimacy is one of man’s greatest discoveries, and it’s only natural that he participates in it. as one does. what’s not normal is that he’s never felt this before: this insatiable, lustful heat simmering in his core, making his cock twitch before it’s even been touched.
god, you look so perfect—spread bare beneath him with inner thighs soaked in your own juices, whining and pleading and begging for a taste of him, as if he wasn’t holding himself back already. you’re truly the greediest, just taking and taking even if he tries to take his time.
there’s blood lingering in his mouth and the metal feels sharp on his tongue, and still, he continues biting on his lip. sunghoon’s eyes never leave yours, hands coming down to unbuckle his belt with a single hand—the other pins your knees open, and while you squirm under the pressure, you never quite gain the courage to defy.
when sunghoon finally leans forward, the scent of him is enough to overwhelm your nervous system; he grunts when your arms wrap around his neck, and your nose nuzzles against his neck like it has nowhere else to go. a deep breath in and it’s like you’ve never felt more alive than now.
“this enough for you?”
he picks up on everything. from the way your eyes never stay on his for too long, to the way you twitch when he presses his briefs right against your cunt—your breathy moans in his ear as he leans in close, and how quickly you stain the spandex with your slick, mixing with his sticky pre.
“this should be fine, right? my girl can cum juuust like this.” sunghoon’s voice is the only thing cutting through the fog in your head. it’s spinning so much that gripping onto him is serving as the only anchor to your consciousness. your nails drag along this trapezius, sinking into the superficial skin, waiting for a reaction that never comes—instead, all he can offer is a mocking smile, fangs bare and taunting.
his hips are teasing. he moves them slow, taking his time with every drag of up and down, the fabric sliding between your pretty folds and swollen clit; there’s a brief second where he feels the tip of his cock slide into you through the barrier of clothing, only to slip free when he slides up again.
“so perfect,” sunghoon whispers into the conch of your ear—you don’t realise what he’s said until you feel his sharp teeth gliding against your helix, before he finally nips at it. “you’re so perfect, baby. made for me, aren’t you? can’t believe i almost let you go.”
sunghoon thinks about how ridiculous he must look right now—humping your poor cunt like he’s in heat, holding himself back for reasons beyond him, whispering these obscenely intimate things in your ears like he doesn’t want to fuck you right this second. the strain on his cock is getting too much; blood’s rushing down, he’s aching, and he doesn’t know how much longer he has left before he flips you over and has your ass slapping against his skin.
“hoon, fuck, i’m gonna cum,” you say, bucking your hips up just once. wrong move. “please, don’t fucking stop—it feels so good.” sunghoon’s head turns in your direction, nose brushing against your cheek before his mouth meets yours again. he doesn’t care that they don’t latch properly, nor that he’s practically drinking in your saliva, or that he’s gonna cum just from feeling the friction between your bodies. all sunghoon truly cares about is that you’re holding him like he’s all you truly need in this world.
“yeah? just from this?” sunghoon’s hand comes up to grip at your jaw, thumb and index pressing deep into the flesh of your cheeks. his body feels heavy on top of you, quick little movements doing the most to get you both over the edge—and though he still seems a little more composed than you, it all goes to shit when your fingers graze the sides of his ribs. “fuck—do it. cum for me, please, y/n—”
his hands run up your arms until his fingers are tracing your palms, slithering between your own, before finally interlacing. sunghoon’s pressing sweet kisses to your jawline as you moan into thin autumn air, feeling the vibrations of his groans against your throat; he moves at a frenzied pace, chasing friction that won’t ever compare to being buried tip to cervix, but it’s all he can get right now.
“i’m fucking cumming, hoon, oh my god—”
twenty seconds. twenty seconds is all he needs to have you gushing all over the spandex of his briefs, and twenty-five is all you need to chase his lips because you know you’ll scream if you don’t. perhaps around thirty for him to stop feeling like the room is spinning, and him along with it—your tongues meet and circle on another’s again, moans clashing between desperate attempts to slow down, and it’s only sixty for him to finally hook his thumbs around his boxers and shove them down his thighs.
thwap.
sunghoon’s heavy in a way you can’t say out loud. words get caught in your throat, with nothing but a pathetic hitch in your breath being audible. he’s so unbelievably pretty, flushed a deep red from the relentless teasing he’s put you through, serving as confirmation that he’s wanted this as much as you have.
he stares for a minute, catching his breath, before his hand reaches for you—spreading your folds wide between his fingers, watching it glisten under the orange light, almost sparkling if he could look close enough. the sheets below are soaked with you—a large, wet patch that’s darker compared to the rest of the pink duvet.
“thought about this pretty pussy for weeks,” sunghoon lets his saliva collect in the well of his tongue, before spitting a thick glob riiight onto your entrance. “and now you’re aaaall mine. aren’t you, baby?”
sunghoon looks up just as the name rolls off his tongue. you look absolutely wrecked, hair tangled in places where you didn’t even know it could get tangled—tear stains running down your face and highlighting the flush on your cheeks so well. your eyes are wide, caught between staring at his leaking cock and his expectant eyes, shifting between the two every now and then;
a reverent sigh leaves you when sunghoon begins pumping himself, nice and slow using his hand, spreading the pre all over his hardened length. sounds of wet slick echo through the room as he strokes, just enough to get himself wet, before his knees shift forward and he’s finally, finally letting himself touch you without a stupid barrier.
“gonna stuff this pussy full,” sunghoon hisses through his teeth. “pump you full of my cum, fuck, i can’t hold back anymore—” his right hand wraps around the base of his cock, the back of your knees brushing against his thighs as he pulls you flush against him. you’re still heaving by the time he taps his mushroom tip against your folds, running it along the wetness of it, once or twice before aligning himself with you.
“you’re so… annoying,” you huff, eyebrows pinched together, watching his jaw go slack at how warm you feel even from the outside. sunghoon’s stomach is in knots, anticipating the moment he finally sheathes himself all the way, how you’d probably claw at his skin from the sheer stretch—
and that’s exactly what you do.
“f-fuuuuck, hoon! it’s too—you’re too—”
park sunghoon is thick. so undeniably heavy and dizzying, pushing past your walls, and as much as you clench and squirm around him, they offer no real resistance. your pussy takes him in like it needs him—squelching when he bottoms out at last, big arms caging your relatively smaller head between them—all the air in your lungs feels like it’s being siphoned out.
who the fuck is this big? when was the last time you’ve had something this huge inside of you?
“o-oh my fucking god,” his eyes screw shut for one, weightless second, before they shoot back open. he stares down at where you two finally meet, your velvet walls fluttering around him so warmly, a desperate whimper clawing it’s way out of his throat that’s interrupted by a messy kiss.
“so perfect, baby, you’re so perfect,” he mumbles against your swollen lips, hips at a standstill because he plain refuses to move—convinced that he’ll cum as soon if he so much as shifts his weight. “wish you could see your face. so pretty when you’re taking me.”
“you’re… fucking… crazy,” you whisper against his mouth before your hands tangle in his hair; they bunch around the dark locks, pushing his lips against yours again, and he laughs between the sloppy attempts to lock your lips together—noses bump and his forehead thuds against yours. “just fuck me, please, hoon.”
“look at what you do to me,” he sighs, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. borderline addictive the way you wriggle underneath his touch, like you know his size would knock you out cold, but you still beg through small movements. “all your fault, isn’t it? and you keep asking for more. just a needy little slut for me, huh?”
and then his hips retract—pulling out halfway, your cunt still weeping from the reduced contact. he looks back down, hair falling over his forehead, marvelling at the way his cock glistens with you. so utterly filthy.
you whimper when you feel the emptiness. his veins slide against your gummy walls as he pulls out agonizingly slow. “don’t wanna hear you complaining tomorrow morning, then.”
sunghoon’s pace is slow at first. gentle, sweet thrusts that still manage to make you see stars—he’s too afraid to hurt you, too busy savouring in the sweet moans that sprinkle in his name every once in a while. he feels hot, every bone in his body begging for him to hurry and stuff you full of his cock—but how could he? you’re taking him so well just like this, and all he wants is to drag every second out longer, until he dies blissfully happy in this pussy of yours.
“fuck, mmngh—” and the man slams his lips against yours as his fingers find yours again. you wonder just how many times you’ve managed to kiss tonight, but the thought immediately wipes itself clean when he angles his hips so deliciously right that you feel him all the way in your throat.
“shit, i can’t—you’re too fucking big,” the sound of your breath shakes, too much for his brain to compute, and something primal claws at his sick brain until all he’s thinking about is folding your knees up and bullying your cunt ‘till it’s red. you moan into nothing, hands running over every hard-earned muscle in his back, eyes screwing shut because looking at him feels like a perverted form of self-torture. “fuck, you feel so good, hoonie.”
“yeah?” and sunghoon literally feels every thread of sanity snap when you say his name again. “fuck, look at me then—wanna see your pretty face.” your thighs shake with every slap of wet skin, his heavy body shifting the bed closer to the wall as he pounds and pounds and pounds. his hands move the damp strands of hair out of your eyes, ensuring the perfect, unobstructed view.
you mewl, all sweet and so coaxing when he presses an innocent kiss to your cheek. it’s wet and salty on his tongue, but sunghoon’s smiling so wide that you think he must’ve truly fucking lost it completely.
“want you harder, hoon—not enough, please,” you whisper against his mole. there’s just something in the way you’re batting your eyelashes at him that he thinks is sending his nervous system into overdrive, but it’s irrelevant now. your pleas sound like honey to his ears, but the one singular thought that keeps circling his mind is if you’ll be able to take him like that.
his hands slide back down, stopping right where your tits are—his thumb grazes the hardened bud before he begins to palm at the mound of flesh. “f-fuck—”
“god, can’t hold myself back anymore,” sunghoon’s nose nuzzles against your neck and he takes his time breathing in your scent. the smell of your shampoo lingers, now masked mostly by sweat and fading perfume, and it faintly reminds him of a familiar library where all he could focus on was you, you, you.
you, beautiful you. you who’s underneath him now, pleading with him to give you what you want—still so naive, still so unaware, asking for things you have no idea what to do with—you, who bats her eyelashes with a curiosity he doesn’t know how to address, not without showing you.
he licks a long stripe along your jaw, rutting into you a little faster now. sunghoon’s hands find their way to the sides of your head; rationality has long left him, and his brain’s all foggy with visions of you. he wonders if he could take you just as well on the counter, on the desk, or by the window, and he just gets needier.
he’s getting sloppy and his brain’s all fuzzy. he’s not even sure what the rush is; when there’s someone else in his bed, he almost always finds it easier to take his time. teasing, foreplay, whatever the fuck you wanted to call it—he realised that the reactions he got were much more visceral.
but now—god, he needs you to cum around his cock as soon as possible.
“f-fuck, ngh—pussy was made just for me,” he mutters under his breath, pushing himself up—he towers over you like this, lowlights bathing his skin in warmth all over again as his arms wander down to your waist, then your hips, and then to the back of your knees. “w-what’s wrong, hm? gotta speak up, baby. let me hear you. all that talking was just for show, huh?”
“f-fuuuuh—hoon, please, t-too much—”
“ah-ah, take it like the good girl you are,” his eyebrows knit together in focus, and a bead of sweat rolls down his face, down his chin and drips right onto the valley of your breasts. “y-yeaaah, see? just like that.”
you’re choking on a sob by the time he folds your knees up—brutal, to say the least. your tits get squished by your thighs as he pins your legs up, sunghoon’s rough fingers wound tight around the soft flesh, bullying his way into your poor cunt.
the sounds echoing through the room might as well be featured in a porno. your moans mix until it’s an amalgamation of yeses, gentle sobs, and sunghoon’s relentless teasing. every thrust knocks the wind out of you, your hands clawing at his wrists and leaving red streaks—but the pain barely even reaches him—the only thing on sunghoon’s mind is how gorgeous you look underneath him, taking every inch like it’s what you were born to do, moaning the name he spent so long hating;
“f-fuck, i love you, love fucking this pussy so much—” he hisses through his teeth, eyes zeroed on the way your eyes roll every time he buries himself to the hilt. your head tilts back, throat bobbing as you swallow back embarrassing moan after embarrassing moan—sunghoon’s making it difficult with the way he presses against your belly with one hand, the other holding your left thigh up. “shit, baby, you can be louder than that, can’t you?”
oh, fuck park sunghoon. fuck this stupidly huge cock drilling it’s way through you, and fuck this ridiculously gorgeous man who has you biting back screams, fuck everything, fuck how good you feel—your vision is clouding, stars exploding behind your eyelids every time you shut them, and all you can do is just sit and take it. “s-sunghoon, a-ah—slow down, i’m gonna fucking cum again—”
he kisses his teeth, now resorting to grinding his hips against yours. the angle is new, almost beautiful in it’s discovery. his hands are too curious, before settling on the fat of your ass, palming and fondling and treating it like his personal stress-toy until—
smack.
the moan you let out on contact is nothing short of humiliating. his palm smooths over the handprint, now blooming red right before his eyes, and your brain actually short-circuits for a second.
“fuck,” sunghoon laughs, mocking, rude and mean all in one. “you into that shit?”
the sting sends electricity through your body. sunghoon pulls his hips back just enough, before sliding back between your pretty folds so slow that it actually makes you gasp. every single time he pushes himself back in, it’s like you have to get used to it all over again—the stretch never becomes familiar, always melting your brain and forcing every coherent thought you have to mere nonsense.
“god, you’re such a fucking slut,” sunghoon’s head tilts back momentarily, his hair falling with the gravity and sending little drops of sweat down his neck and onto his back. his heart’s beating all wild now, cock aching for more friction, more force, more of you; so greedy and full of desire, bringing his hand up to land another harsh blow to your ass.
“a-ah—hoon!” you hiss, but you never really try to stop it. you squirm, hips jerking with every slap he decides to give you, but sunghoon knows your cunt tells a different tale: your pussy clenches around him so tight that it’s suffocating him, just begging for his load, and it’s driving him insane. “t-too rough, i can’t—slow down, fuck, you’re gonna break the bed in half—”
it’s true. the frame’s creaking upon each thrust, headboard slamming against the walls, but why would sunghoon care? fuck, he’ll buy you a whole new bedroom if he has to, so long as you just let him have you like this for a little longer.
“don’t give a shit, haa—i’ll buy you a new one, mm? fuck you again ‘till we break that one too. bet you’d want that, wouldn’t you?” he grins, and the corner of his lips turn up sharply when he sees how utterly fucked out you look. there’s this familiar expression he’s seen on other girls—when sunghoon proves to be too much for them to handle, and they end up tapping out—but it’s none of that on you. no matter how much you cry that you can’t take it, you cling onto him like the only thing you know, want, and need is him.
“answer me.”
and the coil in your stomach begins to tighten almost instantly—you don’t even realise that his hands have made it’s way up to your jaw, thumb and index pressing into the bone. a small squeal escapes your throat, and there it is again; that innocent look written all over your face, making sunghoon’s stomach do somersaults. his grip gets firmer with each passing second, before you finally manage to speak:
“y-yes, fuck, need it—i want it, pleasepleasepolease, sunghoon!”
it’s times like these were sunghoon really is convinced he’ll never quit sex. not when there’s a woman like you, with a pussy like this, with a voice so sweet that it makes his chest ache and his cock drip pre. it’s quite a confusing matter, actually, considering he’s never been one to talk too much during the act—that shit just leads nowhere, and feelings get confused by the time he comes down from his high, but god, he doesn’t think his mouth can stop at this rate, not when it’s you he’s buried in.
“yeaaah? gonna cream all over me, baby? make a mess all over this cock, come on.” sunghoon nods feverishly, both hands pinned to the undersides of your knees now, pushing you deeper and deeper into the mattress. your mind tries to catch up, but the pace at which he moves is too relentless for any real thought to form.
his hair falls over his face when he leans forward, just enough to press his full weight down on you. sunghoon’s washboard abs tense every time your nails claw at his chest and just thinking felt weirdly impossible now. your mind’s reduced to slush, ears ringing with wet smacks and constant grunts from the man above you. there’s an occasional moan that slips from him, to which he realises, far too quickly, turns you on more than you’d (probably) ever be willing to admit. mental note for the next time he decides to rearrange your guts, he supposes.
sunghoon glances down again. just for a moment. in the past twenty seconds that’ve passed, you both don’t realise how close you’ve got, damp foreheads pressed against each other in something sweet in the midst of all the roughness. his grunts have transformed into something else completely—now laced with need and breathy pleas, begging.
“there we go, yeah—cum on my cock, please, baby. i’m so fucking close—”
“i love you.”
the words almost kill him.
something seems to have snapped almost instantaneously. park sunghoon’s lips crash into yours with newfound fervor, and every muscle in his body seems to be operating on the sole purpose of getting you to come undone. he’s so fucking tired, truly—but the pain fades and all the soreness in his muscles from yesterday’s practice is irrelevant now.
“yeah? you love me?” his pussydrunk face is the only thing in view, a small gasp slipping when he feels you clench down on him. his hips begin to stutter, jerk, pace faltering. his eyes stare into yours through the gaps in his damp hair, waiting for an answer. “fuck, say it again—please.”
“i love you, sunghoon,” you whisper, almost sultry, your voice barely reaching his ears but ghosting against his lips anyway. “i-i love you—”
a starving man he proves to be. his lips lock with yours again, and this time, they never really leave. his tongue swirls around yours, drinking up every sound that you have to offer, still rutting into your cunt like he needs to fuck a whole new generation into you. your core tenses up so much that you think you’re gonna pass out from the impending orgasm—all sunghoon does is moan into your mouth, fingers intertwining with yours as he abuses your pussy with ruthless strokes.
“i love you, y/n,” the words are so sweet it makes your head spin. it doesn’t correlate at all with the obscene view beneath you, his soaked pelvis and your thighs pressed up against your stomach—your hole squelches with every roll, now much messier and haphazard, and the high is so close that you can almost taste it on the tip of your tongue. “that’s it, baby. let it out for me, just like that.”
so cruel.
“c-cumming, fuck, i’m gonna cum, hoon—”
a revelation comes to sunghoon as soon as your walls begin spasming around his length—sunghoon has never had sex this good. you get impossibly tighter, and your moans are broken up by your lungs trying to take in more air. you sob when it hits, almost blinding in it’s entirety as sunghoon continues fucking you through it, feeling how you soak him from the inside and how it gets disgustingly easy to pound into you when you’re this wet.
“fuuuck, o-oh my god,” a guttural sound claws it’s way out of his throat. his forehead dips again, lips still glossy and tasting just like you, entranced by the way your pretty lips part in a silent scream that ends as a loud gasp. “you’re so fucking tight when you cum, shit—”
sunghoon is gone. just chasing his own release, sloppy thrusts making your juices splurt everywhere; your moans amplify and you’re barely holding your sanity together by the time you come back from whatever plane of reality you decided to visit. his thumb digs into the dip behind your knees, still trying to push his cock deeper into you, tip grazing your cervix every now and then—god, it’s pure filth. you’re half convinced that you might have to take the stairs tomorrow if you want to avoid your upstairs neighbour.
humans are truly just animals. sunghoon proves just as much with how frantic he is to spill himself inside of you. truthfully, the thought is stirring him on more than he’d like to admit—which is kind of scary, if he thinks too long about it. it’s a shame that he’s incapable of that right now, because all he manages to babble is:
“please, y/n, can i? let me cum inside of you, please, please—shit, need to fill you up, wanna see it dripping out of you all fucking night, please.”
and you, as drunk on him as he is on you, nods like it’s all you’ve ever needed in life.
sunghoon’s hips snap against your ass, eyebrows knit in frustration and lips parted to let an animalistic groan out. you take it, all of it, from the way he kisses you like he wants to eat you up, to the way he thumbs at your clit because he just needs you to unravel with him again. selfish as he is, he can’t have this alone—not when you look so beautiful breaking.
it takes ten seconds for you to cum for the second time, and him, eleven. it’s all heat and lust and pure hunger condensing into one, singular moment, where he buries himself to the hilt and spills months worth of holding back.
your walls pulse around him. your clit throbs unapologetically under his restless thumb, still circling nice ‘n slow as if you weren’t already gasping for air as it is. his dick almost feels like it’s getting bigger, twitching as it shoots load after load, hot and thick as it paints every crevice.
god, what the fuck. sunghoon’s panting when he finally collapses on top of you, the soreness from yesterday creeping up on him—though he has reason to believe it may be more of your doing. his face buries itself into your neck, not before his hands finally let your thighs loose, dropping right next to his, and for a minute, the two of you simply lay there.
sunghoon breathes you in again, slow enough that the scent of you settles somewhere deep in his chest. your arms slip around his neck without hesitation, fingers disappearing into the soft hair at the nape of it while your lips find his forehead in small, absent kisses that feel less like affection and more like habit. he lets out a quiet sigh against your shoulder, eyes falling shut as warmth spreads through him in steady waves.
“you smell good today.”
he lets himself believe, just for now, that it can stay this way, though it is probably foolish. if he were being honest, every sensible part of him should still be waiting for the other shoe to drop, for you to wake up and realise you've chosen the wrong person, for the guilt he's carried around for months to finally become heavier than whatever it is you've found in him. even after all of it, all you’ve dragged each other through—you’re still here, trusting him with your body.
confusing, he thinks. you’re so confusing.
“hoon,” you mumble against his skin. he hums in response. “you’re being weird—oh my god. stop sniffing me, i’m getting ticklish.”
he hums against your skin before taking another deep breath in. “don’t care.”
before you, none of this would have unsettled him. there had been other people, other nights, other attempts at filling the empty spaces—and it had been good. he had learned very early that casual was easy to survive because it demanded so little of him—he could leave before morning and return to his life unchanged, carrying nothing home except the faint smell of someone else’s perfume and the relief of having avoided being known. it never bothered him. if anything, he preferred it that way.
“can we wait a little longer?”
“didn’t know you were into cockwarming. you’re sick in the head.” you sigh dramatically, earning a groan from sunghoon—he shifts his weight slightly, hissing when he feels you squeeze around him again.
“just give me a minute,” he answers. “need to remember my first with you. should we take a selfie?”
you fist at his hair and sunghoon winces. “fuck, i was just kidding.”
four in the morning.
the clock on your nightstand blinks the numbers back at you in soft, white light, stubborn and familiar. nine months ago, that hour belonged to a stranger's voice crackling through your speaker and a crush that felt enormous simply because it was all imagination.
you remember lying awake with your phone pressed against your cheek, convinced the boy on the other end of the line was someone else entirely, and now the room is quiet enough to hear the city breathing beyond the windows.
sunghoon shifts against you, cheek warm where it's pressed to your chest, his hair a soft mess beneath your fingers. when he tilts his head up, tiredness still clings to him around the edges of his eyes, but they find yours immediately, like they've learned the route by heart. there is something almost unfair about it—that the boy who once hid behind another person's name now looks at you with such terrifying honesty.
“can you get off of me now?”
sunghoon lifts his head just enough to look at you, cheek still resting against your chest, dark hair falling messily across his forehead. he considers the question with suspicious seriousness before leaning over to press another lazy kiss against your collarbone. “no.”
luck and fate. such intangible concepts, but the feeling creeps up on you regardless. the universe seems unusually generous now, which scares you—after everything that’s happened, after all the ways the two of you managed to hurt each other before finding your way back, it feels dangerous to believe that happiness could be this simple.
and still—something tells you that this feeling might be yours to keep, anyway, so long as you keep choosing for it to.
sunghoon shifts closer, his voice rough with impending sleep as he presses his face into the warmth beneath your jaw. “i love you, y/n.”
when your eyes flutter open the next morning, the blinds are only half-shut, thin ribbons of sunlight slipping through the gaps and painting pale gold across the floor. there's a t-shirt bunched around your waist that definitely wasn't there when you went to sleep, and your hair is sticking to your cheek in a way that immediately informs you that you’ve slept in way too long.
you stretch with a quiet groan, arms reaching above your head until your shoulders pop pleasantly, then roll onto your left side in search of the cooler side of the bed—but instead, you’re greeted by more warmth.
for a brief, sleepy second, you wonder if autumn has somehow changed its mind overnight. is it summer again?
but then, you see him.
park sunghoon is sprawled face-down across your mattress like somebody dropped him there and forgot to pick him back up. one arm is flung over the edge of the bed, the other trapped beneath your pillow, and his dark hair sticks out in every possible direction. sometime during the night, he'd apparently migrated until three-quarters of his body occupied your side of the bed while you clung to the remaining sliver.
his bare back is outlined by faint shadows of the morning, still unfairly sculpted while knocked out cold. it annoys you, just a little, but enough that you briefly consider stealing the blanket back out of spite.
instead, you stay where you are and watch him.
you watch the slow rise and fall of his ribs beneath your fingertips, the tiny hitch in his breathing every few breaths, and the way one hand twitches occasionally against the mattress as though he's still reaching for you in his sleep.
you lean forward until your lips brush the warmth of his shoulder—but the words you whisper there are too soft for him to hear.
“i love you too, park sunghoon.”
he sleeps through your confession, completely unaware of the smile that finds your face as you settle next to him again. your heart slows just a fraction, calming when your breathing unconsciously matches the rhythm of the man beside you.
time seems to slow itself down. the morning birds are quieter than usual, the grandmother across the street has spared the neighborhood her daily yelling, and when you look over at your calendar, there is nothing waiting for you there.
for a love this gentle, the universe has chosen to be unusually generous.
lucky you!
─────────────────────────
hoonie <3: [Attachment] 20:28
hoonie <3: I’ll be over after practice 20:28
hoonie <3: Yeonjun and Maki keep asking about you it’s starting to piss me off 20:29
hoonie <3: Also did you change my contact? 20:34
y/n: yes heeseung 20:40
y/n: oops i meant Park Sunghoon. my favourite boyfriend out of 10 20:40
warnings/tags: MINORS DNI 18+, established relationship, smut, mating press, oral (m & f rec), unprotected sex, gagging, drool, breast play(?), aftercare (sorry if I miss any).
word count: 899
a/n: thank youuuuu!!!! i was already making this lol. i think i might make a drabble too... not proofread.
nerd bf!jake who forces you to let him tutor you. both of you sitting down on his bed, books sprawled out and open. every time you zone out, he looks over and snaps his fingers in front of you, “come on...you need to focus.” you end up persuading him to give you a kiss every time you get a problem right.
nerd bf!jake who unconsciously bites his lip when he focuses. picking at the skin gently with his teeth. once you point it out he gets flustered and immediately stops. only to do it again about ten minutes later. you snicker quietly from across the room, watching him do his assignments
nerd bf!jake who uses lotion all the time to stop his hands from callusing. he uses pens and pencils all the time that his palm and fingertips turn red and blister. jake ends up sitting on the toilet seat as you put ointment on them. staring up at you, looking at your eyebrows furrowing. smiling to himself at your expression when concentrating.
nerd bf!jake who sits with you in the library as you both do your assignments. making sure your chair is close to his. His leg bouncing under the table gently, every so often grazing yours. he is usually not the one to zone out, but when it comes to you he cant stop himself. glancing at you every so often. loving the way your hair falls on your shoulders and the way your eyelashes look when you blink.
nerd bf!jake who goes to parties with you even though it is not his vibe. jake ends up sitting at an open chair, a red cup of a liquid (something light) inside, glancing around trying to find you. once he does his whole face lights up. you stroll over and sit on his lap, when he pats offering, his hands go around your waist. “you gonna stay with me? can’t leave me alone, right?” murmuring in your ear, a ghost of a pout on his face.
nerd bf!jake who flushes when you compliment him. even after being with you for so long he can not get used to praises fall from your lips. jake finds it surreal, looking down and moving his hands to fix his glasses. making sure that it hides his reddened cheeks.
nerd bf!jake who takes you to cafès for dates. finding the atmosphere so cozy. he always chooses the ones with walls lined with books, vinyls, and artwork. soft music playing in the background as he giggles with you, and the whole time his ears are pink. flushed with the thought, “wow, she’s mine.”
nerd bf!jake who subtly brags to his friends about you. all of them awfully single and not even close to relationships. he likes sharing stories with them about you. just thankful that out of all the guys out there you picked him.
nerd bf!jake who loves going to museums. walking hand in hand though the exhibits, he points at sculptures and artifacts. sharing facts he known, smiling as you look at him, actually listening.
nerd bf!jake who loves your pussy. he would live between your legs and never leave if he could. his tongue flicking at your clit, sucking it gently. loving the moans he can pull from your mouth. his hands gripping into your inner thighs.
nerd bf!jake who loves teaching you anatomy. he knows it’s cliche, but he loves an excuse for being all technical and still having you naked. “and this—this your..clitoris,” breathes out slightly, “it—it has over ten thousand nerve endings,” he starts as he is circulating his thumb right above it slowly.
nerd bf!jake who loves the mating press. he enjoys the closeness and the intimacy that comes from the position. the angle causing you to feel him piston in and out of you. both of your bodies end up all sticky from sweat. but neither seem to care.
nerd bf!jake who loves when you sink down on his cock. having to take a strangled breath as you adjust to him being stuffed inside your pussy. once you start moving his hands stay placed on your waist, pulling you close, his mouth moving to suck on your nipple. his tongue swirling against your peak.
nerd bf!jake who swears you are trying to kill him. sitting on the couch, watching jurassic world (by his request), your hand moves to palm him though his grey sweatpants. his breath hitches and somehow moments later you are on your knees on the floor. taking him in your mouth, he just watches you with soft groans. you taking him all the way, gagging slightly as drool slides down from your lips.his hands grip the couch cushions.
nerd bf!jake who rambles on about comics during sex. him on top of you, rocking into you at a rhythmic pace. glancing down better and seeing you look up at him with such admiration. causing his hips to stutter right then and there, “stop- being so cute,” leading to his pace to get a bit faster mumbling, “gonna make me cum, sweetheart.”
nerd bf!jake who loves affection after sex. cuddling and kissing. just having his arms wrapped around you. knowing you are there besides him, keeping him tranquil as you
nsfw (most) and sfw (minors please don’t interact !) will be updated frequently as I read . . . a lot of love to all these authors 🥰
NI-KI
AROUSAL METRICS by @ptolemaeiia two exes who still love each other locked in a room, one psychological experiment. 6 hours. no escape. (≖ᴗ≖) contains smut, angst absolutelygoated autornim 🤭
TROUBLE by @lovecvrexx. in which you, aka trouble, miss niki while he’s in japan. and as things are about to peak, niki says something that has your blood running cold. (•ㅂ•) contains smut
MORNING BREEZE by @drkbl00d while you're on holiday, your boyfriend finds you in the pool, not next to him in bed. suggestive
EAGER, ARENT YOU? by @drkbl00d giving the younger guy a chance to show you what real love feels like. contains smut
RUDE by @ptolemaeiia. I don’t really enjoy social media aus but this one 🤭 contains smut
DIAMONS ON YOUR BACK by @elsietopia 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 contains smut i love this sm
OUR LITTLE SECRET @muffinmaster-83 when you and your boyfriend are in the same proximity— he tries his hardest to remain professional… but he loves you too much that he can’t hide his true feelings. sfw
FAILING STUDENT by @soulenha nerd riki headcanons contains smut
THE WAY I LOVED YOU @yourtmie angst exes i love this
SUNGHOON
COME KISS ME AND BITE ME by @enchive sunghoon just wants to bite you, so why is the universe making it so complicated for him? alternatively-- the five times where sunghoon wants to bite you + the one time he actually does. contains smut
KISSING STRANGERS by @ptolemaeiia bsf to lovers | you and your best friend sunghoon spend months preparing to move in together as roomates— from furniture shopping to pinterest moodboards, you’ve got it all planned. But when— two weeks before moving in, he starts dating someone— the appartment suddenly feels like a very bad idea… contains smut
JUST LET IT LOOSE by @vivvangel it's just not fair for your boyfriend, sunghoon, to wear the seemingly harmless but way too effective combo of gray sweatpants and a black tshirt. contains smut
JAY
KITTY JAY HEADCANONS by @heebunnii contains smut
PROFESSOR JAY x JUNGWON x reader by @cherrychannel contains smut and taboo
HUSBAND AND CEO JAY HEADCANON by @daniidochannie
JAKE
SERIAL SWEETHEART by @simpjaes Dating the strict, well-liked, and loving Sunghoon came with its hurdles. Normally, the two of you could communicate and work through the downsides, but what if the newest downside of the relationship is learning that his little brother, Jake, has a bit of a thing for you? contains smut
CUCKHOLD JAKE AND HOON by me @cicadarequiem 🤭 smut
STAY INSIDE by @cicadarequiem self indulgent again beware piss kink!
DESPERATE JAKE by me @cicadarequiem desperate jake who misses you sm that he humps on sunghoon’s thigh taboo smut
I WANT BOTH by @ptolemaeiia jungwon x jake x reader threessome
SLOW DOWN by @soltyshshs jake wanted to show you how the lyrics are supposed to be done physically…
EAT OR GET EATEN by @ptolemaeiia can’t stop recommending them it’s just too good sorry (sub jake aphrodisiacs)
REASONS TO HESITATE by @rinaliteracy Jake has a world and Y/N has other. Jake knew he needed help to develop his essay and when Y/N appeared in the picture, he was ready to change everything for her to trust him. Even if that meant Jake had to grab a full book of almost four hundred pages and bring her iced coffee. sfw! angst fluff
HEESEUNG
PRETTY WHEN YOU CRY by @bxbybluelove-x crying during sex with hee contains smut.
RIDING EVAN by @rihyul contains smut
THE WAY YOU TASTE by @ptolemaeiia Lee Heeseung’s solo debut has allowed him to explore a more mature and intimate artistic direction, leading to a provocative collaboration with you. What begins as manufactured desire slowly turns into something far more dangerous: real intimacy neither of you is willing to name. contains smut
THE MORNING by @wonvelvet in which you, jake’s younger sister, accidentally fall in love with his best friend—lee heeseung contains smut
LACTATION KINK HEADCANONS by @cicadarequiem
OUR LITTLE WEAKNESS by @sangbubble brothers dom!hee & dom!hoon x bestfriend fem!reader contains smut
BONUS SMUT AUDIO 🤭 by @hoonirries He never really liked sex in the car because he found it cramped and stuffy, but one day he was so horny and his dick was almost jumping out while he was driving, he stopped in a secluded place and fucked you hard.
SEX AND BURNT PASTA SAUCE by @lovzy7 Your boyfriend, Lee Heeseung, comes home after a long day at work and he's just REALLY hungry.contains smut
SOAKED by @wonxee smut + big dick hee
MESSY by @piercedjake im pregnant now
ORAL FIXATION by @liliwolfstar discovering you have an oral fixation
SHY TUTOR HEE by @bambi-hee sub hee 🤭
RED HAIRED GUY by @taexvan you go out with your friends to clear your head after an intense argument with your ex boyfriend and end up getting distracted by a stranger who seems entirely too comfortable looking at you for that long.
JUNGWON
D*CK BYCYCLE by @nikiducks after a late-night bike ride and Weverse live along the Han River, Jungwon makes an impulsive detour to his girlfriend’s apartment after weeks apart contains smut
BABY THATS MINE by @404sheepnotfound Two people. One bar. One really, really bad night to be alone. contains smut
BIG GIRLS DO CRY @nisc0 a simple joke can trigger Jungwon, resulting in you being bent over the kitchen counter, crying of pleasure, while his cock is deeply stirring inside you, maybe too deep contains smut
sunghoon just wants to bite you, so why is the universe making it so complicated for him? alternatively-- the five times where sunghoon wants to bite you + the one time he actually does.
vampire!park sunghoon x f!!reader, ft. jake
fluff/comedy(?), smut, minuscule angst
wc: 28.9k
cw: MDNI, mentions of biting, violent language that comes with aforementioned biting, eating people in a vampire way, lots of blood talk, first times, mention of poor eating habits, p in v, unprotected sex, handjobs, fingering, i lowkey trolled on the smut ngl
enchive's lttr: im not gonna lie everything i had planned for this fic went out of the window LOL i changed a lot from my initial idea. but nevertheless i hope u enjoy i lowkey felt like i trolled on this too much… ALSO SMALL SPOILER ABT WHAT'S HERE but should clarify . i love sangwon he's my ult but i saw a pic of him on twt where the light made it seem like he had fangs and i got soo dizzy thinking about vamp sangwon too…
Being a vampire was so tedious.
Sunghoon always had to wear sun protection no matter where he went, constantly sporting long sleeves and jeans despite the weather. His face always had a white cast on it from the constant layers of sunscreen he reapplied on his skin. He could never sit near the windows in his classes either, always having to choose the seat farthest from the light. And when the sun began to pierce through the glass and creep across the floor, he would have to quietly gather his things and move before the delicate rays would even get a chance to brush against his (heavily guarded) skin. Summer was miserable for him, and he could never enjoy the beach like his friends did. He always had to obsessively monitor the UV index like a wannabe “alpha male” checking their stocks and bitcoin.
He’d always have to drink his human blood in class, too, always cautiously sipping on the viscous liquid from his black thermos and pretending like it was coffee. The metallic scent lingered in his nose for hours afterward no matter how quickly he swallowed it down, and he’d constantly have to lap at his lips to hide the faint burgundy stains before someone noticed.
Eating normal food was equally annoying. Technically, vampires could consume human food if they wanted to, but it tasted like damp cardboard at best and expired garbage at worst. Still, pretending to eat was necessary when he was around other people, which meant Sunghoon had spent the last several years mastering the art of pushing food around on a plate while nodding through conversations. And not only was it annoying, but Sunghoon genuinely had to fight for his life during lunch whenever his classmates or friends had garlic in their food, which was nearly all the time considering how much garlic Koreans used on a day-to-day basis. (He hadn’t lived long enough to evolve to where he was immune to garlic. Curse immortality.)
Everything was such a hassle. Not to mention the sheer internal humiliation he was facing. Vampires used to be feared once as creatures of the night, blood-sucking ravagers that made people light incense at their doors and hang garlic wreaths on their windows. But that was centuries ago, and now, Sunghoon spent most of his immortal existence trying to pass his university classes and buying bulk sunscreen at the Costco that was so busy he had almost let himself wilt in the sun one day. Don’t even mention the fact that vampires were so romanticized that nobody could take them seriously— he had a real bone to pick with Robert Pattinson.
Despite that, surprisingly, that wasn’t the vampire’s biggest problem.
No, the biggest problem that Sunghoon was facing was you.
His biggest problem sat three seats away from him every Friday from 11 AM to 11:50 AM. His biggest problem smelled so fucking good that it nearly made Sunghoon moan out loud the first time he ever walked past you in class. His biggest problem was the cute little human that was so nervous and meek that not once had you spoken up in class. Sunghoon didn’t know if he hated being around you because it made him almost go feral, or if he liked you because you smelled so delicious that Fridays were genuinely the only thing he looked forward to.
He couldn’t help but always stare at you during class, his brain throbbing with how fucking tasty your blood smelled from under your skin. Sometimes, Sunghoon caught himself imagining what it would feel like to sink his fangs into your throat– to break through your epidermis, taste warmth, dig his fangs into your veins and drink until your pulse finally slowed beneath his mouth. The thoughts were intrusive, violent, and embarrassingly frequent.
And sometimes, when you sat close enough, Sunghoon could practically hear your blood throbbing and rushing through your veins– so hot and tempting. You had to be AB+, Sunghoon could just smell it lingering in the air, the scent of the protein-rich blood type. It made him feel like how he was when he first turned. Back then, even a mere paper cut would send his tastebuds into turmoil. He had never reacted this strongly to a human before, let alone someone in a random university discussion section.
He just wanted to bite you so fucking bad that it made his sharp fangs ache with desire.
“Alright, everyone,” your TA, Heeseung, called out from the front of the classroom. “Since the midterm project is due in a month, I’m assigning partners today.” Everyone’s expressions flickered with disappointment and annoyance, but Sunghoon barely looked up from his laptop. Why were people complaining when it was literally in the syllabus…
Usually, group projects didn’t bother him. Humans tended to avoid him naturally anyway– something about his permanent blank expression and tendency to stare too long made most people keep their distance. It worked out well for him. The less interaction he had with humans, the less likely he was to accidentally reveal his identity. He didn’t care if he ended up with most of the work anyway; he was infinitely more competent than the rest of his peers.
But when Heeseung opened his mouth to reveal the first pair, the two names that he didn’t expect fell from his lips. “Sunghoon and Y/N?” the TA looked at the both of you with satisfied smiles.
Sunghoon’s entire body went rigid, and if he had any blood flowing through his system, then it would’ve flooded his entire face with a flush. Slowly, carefully, the vampire lifted his head to glance at you, mustering up all of the courage he could. And of course, you met eyes with him. You looked equally surprised, blinking at the TA before your gaze awkwardly shifted back toward him. You sent him a small and awkward smile, accompanied with a tiny wave of your hand. Sunghoon could only stare back before he realized he was being kind of rude, so he offered you a nod of his head to acknowledge your greeting.
After class, he planned to approach you after everyone filed out of the classroom, but you surprised him as you came up to him. “Hi,” you said quietly, clutching your notebook against your chest as you approached him. “Uhm, I’m Y/N. I guess we’re partners now...”
Sunghoon stared at your face. Your pulse fluttered immediately beneath your skin, bumping rapidly under your points. He could hear and feel all of it. The steady rhythm of your heartbeat, the smooth flow of blood moving through your veins, the warmth radiating off your body in waves strong enough to take him under. He wanted to thank Heeseung for giving him the best opportunity to drain your blood– fuck, he should treat the TA to a meal or something for giving him the tastiest meal possible.
“Uhm, Sunghoon?”
His eyes snapped back up to your face as he swallowed the drool accumulating in his mouth. “Yes?” he answered quickly. He heard your heartbeat speed up, pounding even harder at his response.
“Uhm, uh… do you want to exchange numbers and text about the project later? I have to go back to my place before I have work…” You shyly smiled. Sunghoon nodded, fumbling his cellphone out of his pocket. You gently took it from his cold hands, punching in your number and saving your contact under your first and last name with “(ethics discussion)” at the end of your name. “Uhm, I’ll see you later!” You waved cheerfully before skedaddling off, your sneakers squeaking against the tiled floors.
Oh, he was so going to eat you.
You texted back at 9 PM, when Sunghoon was comfortably lounging on his couch with a blood bag in his left hand and the television remote in the other.
He perked up, opening your chat box to see you diligently asking about the project.
y/n l/n (ethics discussion): hi sunghoon! i just got out of work, sorry for the late text.
y/n l/n (ethics discussion): do u want to meet up this weekend to start the project?
Park Sunghoon: Yes. My schedule is free this weekend.
Park Sunghoon: We can do tomorrow if that is not too soon.
y/n l/n (ethics discussion): YAY awesome! ur so hardworking
y/n l/n (ethics discussion): uhmm do u want to meet at the library?
Park Sunghoon: Yes. I will be at the library. What time?
y/n l/n (ethics discussion): UHMM maybe liek uhmmm 4pm if that’s not too late? I wanna sleep in hehehe
Park Sunghoon: Okay. We can meet. I will get there early to reserve us a table.
y/n l/n (ethics discussion): oke but don’t feel like u have to get there early!! thanks sunghoon n gn!
Park Sunghoon: Goodnight.
The next day, Sunghoon arrived to the library at 3:15 PM sharp.
He really didn’t mean to come that early– but he was just so fucking hungry, he just couldn’t wait to sink his fangs into you.
He walked around the library, trying to find a secluded area. He scored the jackpot when he found a table nestled in the corner of the vast library, away from any open windows and private enough that most people wouldn’t walk by it. He had already organized all of the materials they needed for the project into neat piles: his ethics textbook, laptop, notes, printed sources, and color-coded sticky tabs.
He sat for the next 35 minutes, leaning back and staring at the project guidelines. Nobody walked past in the last half an hour, making Sunghoon even more giddy. He was gonna bite you, and you were going to be sooo tasty. He was practically drooling at the thought of ingesting your delectable blood, squirming in his seat as his body caught up with the excitement
Sunghoon paused. His eyes slowly drifted around, examining his surroundings once more. He spotted at least three cameras, the lens practically staring him down and winking at him with a red light every couple of seconds. He frowned. What was he thinking? Dracula, he was being so stupid.
He couldn’t just eat you here, especially when he was just assigned to be your project partner. Humans were annoyingly investigative nowadays, too. If you suddenly disappeared after meeting him alone for the first time, he would immediately become the prime suspect. Heeseung assigned you both to be project partners just yesterday in front of at least 19 other witnesses. And even worse— your text messages were sitting right there on his phone, immediately pointing him as the culprit.
Fuck, murder was so complicated in the modern age. Sunghoon missed it when he could simply go in, suck some blood, and disappear into the night to become a village legend.
The vampire grimaced, clicking his tongue irritably and leaned back into his chair with a sigh. Maybe he’d just take a little blood instead…? Ugh, but even though Sunghoon had lived for wayy too long, he still couldn’t find the proper balance between “just a little bit more” and “certain death.” And he was sure that if he didn’t take enough, you’d remember and report him for being a weird cannibal pervert.
Sunghoon’s overthinking was interrupted as his nose caught the whiff of something familiar and enticing.
His tongue instinctively darted out, as if he could taste it in the air. It sat exquisite, heated, and heavy on his senses. He sniffed, trying to hide the fact that he was really smelling the aroma of delicious blood. Soon, you stumbled into his sight, holding an Iced Americano with your sneakers squeaking against the floor. His grip tightened on his mechanical pencil, and he instantly covered his mouth. He felt like Edward Cullen in that science class.
“Sorry, Sunghoon! Were you waiting long?” You pouted, making quick work to set down your Americano on the table and pulling out all of your things.
“It is fine,” he coldly dismissed, looking at his things before looking back up. He was momentarily stunned when he finally looked at you properly. You looked… endearing. You wore an oversized hoodie that swallowed the top of your legs, your hair slightly messy like you had rushed to get ready, and your lips were glossy and plump. He could hear your heart pumping wildly, trying to supply oxygen back to your muscles. You definitely ran here.
“Are– are you mad? I’m sorry…” You meekly mumbled again. He felt a bit sad, honestly, at how pathetic you seemed. You looked like a kicked puppy. Sunghoon sighed, reluctantly reassuring you once more. After all, blood tasted worse when emotions were sullen, and he wanted to optimize your flavor.
“I’m not mad, I promise,” he tried to lay it on thick, a tone of reassurance that he was sure to placate you. And placate you, it did. You instantly perked up, a smile stretching across your lips.
“Yay, okay. Uhm, should we get started?” You asked. He nodded.
“Yes, I already have the guidelines pulled up–”
“Really? Can I see?” You cheerfully cut him off, immediately invading his personal space as you pulled your chair next to him, your head craning to look at his laptop. He caught a whiff of your shampoo, so soft and clean and melding into the fragrance of your perfume. “This looks hard– can I scroll?” You peered up at him with sparkling eyes, and Sunghoon couldn’t say no.
“Sure,” he replied. You smiled and scrolled through the PDF, groaning silently.
“A 10-pager? Seems like it’s not gonna be too hard, but I hope Heeseung isn’t strict. He’s grading it, right?” You looked at him for silent approval. He gave you back a nod in response, his jaw clenching at your close proximity. His gaze naturally drifted down to your neck, where he could almost see through your skin the beats of your pulse throbbing against the junction of your neck and under your jaw. He swallowed and looked back at your eyes, where you looked a bit confused. “Uhm, okay, I’ll share a document, and then we can get started!”
Sunghoon watched as you went back to open your laptop, decorated in cute stickers messily with the remnants of old glue still sticking to the case. “Sunghoon, should we do an ice breaker before we start?” You asked shyly. He raised an eyebrow. An icebreaker? “Like– ya know, to know each other better… I think it’ll make our synergy better!”
“Sure, we can do an ice breaker. What should we do? Name, year, major?” He asked, going along with your wishes. If he did, you’d probably like him better, right? Maybe it’ll help him suck your blood faster…
“Sounds good! Uhm, my name is Y/N, I’m a second year, and then I’m an Philosophy major! How about you?” You chirped, looking up at him eager, your cheeks.
“My name is Sunghoon, I am a third year, and I am a Business major,” he parroted the template. You looked satisfied with his response.
“Oh, I didn’t know you were older than me!” You giggled, clicking something on your laptop. “Sunghoon, what’s your email?” You pouted.
“Here, give me your laptop, I will type it in for you,” he smoothly replied. You slid the laptop towards him, allowing him to punch in his email so that you guys could share the document. You clapped, only your palms hitting together while your fingers outstretched, resonating a silent smacking sound. Meanwhile, he was struggling to type his email, pressing in the line key-by-key with slow fingers. You didn’t seem to notice, too distracted by rose-colored glasses apparently.
“Awesome! I’m so grateful we’re partners, Sunghoon. You seem like such a diligent worker,” You unexpectedly praised him. Sunghoon’s eyebrows raised in surprise at your sudden compliment. Nonetheless, he responded politely with a steady thanks. He opened the shared document, already seeing that you had pasted down the project guidelines to the empty sheet.
“Uhm, let’s see… So, let’s pick a specific argument first! Since our project is about the ethics of human interaction, uhm… let’s see…” You hummed, and Sunghoon nearly mistook your vocal projection for the sound of your blood humming in your veins. He stared at you directly, the contact never wavering from your face. For some reason, your BPM became rapid, and he could sense the warmth of your blood travelling to your face. You kept glancing between him and your laptop screen, your expression seemingly awkward.
“Oh, how about uhm, intent vs. impact! I think it’s prevalent enough everywhere to be easy, but if you think about it enough, you could really get in there!” You suggested, your posture straightening as you looked at Sunghoon.
“Hm? Could you tell me about it more?” He coaxed you gently with a low voice. You pursed your lips, your arms coming up and tensing in front of your chest before you nodded.
“Well…” You tucked your legs beneath your chair thoughtfully, tilting your head to the left and glancing at one of the library shelves before looking back at him, “Like, if someone wants to hurt another person but chooses not to, does that still make them a bad person?” You smiled, eyes silently seeking for his approval yet again, and when you didn’t get it, you continued to ramble, “Because technically, everyone has intrusive thoughts sometimes, right? But I think restraint matters more than the thought itself.”
Restraint. Sunghoon almost laughed. You had no idea, you really had no idea.
“I think intent matters,” you continued softly. “Like… if someone is trying really hard not to hurt another person, then they probably care about them, right?”
Sunghoon stared at you for a long moment before quietly asking, “And if they still want to?” You blinked, a little taken aback.
“Want to what?” You asked, your voice coated thicky with sweetness and innocence.
Hurt you, devour you, sink teeth into your throat until the coppery smell and metallic taste drowned out every coherent thought lingering.
Instead, Sunghoon simply gestured vaguely toward the assignment sheet. “Cause harm,” he answered smoothly, as if his thirst didn’t make his head ring.
“Oh.” You nodded slowly. “I dunno… I think wanting something isn’t immoral by itself.” You shrugged, your voice shrinking, “It’s more about whether they act on it…?” Your voice trailed off, waiting for Sunghoon to approve of what it was saying before further explaining. The older man nodded with you.
“Sure– I think it is a good argument to make.” He smiled. Your entire body seemed to have relaxed when he finally showed you a semblance of his approval.
“Okay, yay, great!” You cheerfully responded, beginning to messily construct an outline of your shared paper. Sunghoon silently watched you as you worked. Your brows furrowed slightly as you began to concentrate, your bottom lip getting trapped between your teeth every few seconds while you typed. Every time you slightly leaned forward to read something on the screen, the neckline of your hoodie shifted just enough to expose more of your throat.
It was genuinely becoming difficult for him to think. Even more so when you casually began suggesting more ideas to him, as if you were mocking his situation.
“Maybe we can talk about how restraint itself is a form of care?” you proposed absentmindedly. “Like… choosing not to hurt someone even when you really want to. Ah, wait but… if you really think about it, if you really want to hurt someone, that could make you like… an asshole or something, right? I dunno…” Your thoughts seemed to flurry out of your mouth. “I’m experiencing so much cognitive dissonance right now thinking about our arguments…”
Sunghoon’s fingers tightened around his mechanical pencil hard enough for the plastic to creak. You looked up at the sound immediately. “You okay, Sunghoon?” You tilted your head with a furrow of your eyebrows and a confused little pout. He nodded, sharply inhaling.
“My mind is crowded.” He breathed out. “Just thinking about ethics too hard, you know?”
“Mmm, I get ya!” You giggled, and Sunghoon was beginning to think you were a little oblivious to your surroundings. Meanwhile, he could hear everything. The soft inhales of your breaths, the tiny swallows in your throat after each sip of coffee, and especially the steady pulse beneath your skin. Your body and organ complexes were disgustingly loud. “Oh!” You suddenly perked up again. “We should probably divide the workload.”
“Okay,” he nonchalantly responded, trying to steady his own breathing, inhaling and exhaling through his nose as you continued to babble on.
“You seem smart, so maybe you can handle the philosophical theories?” You smiled sheepishly. “And I can do the case studies and formatting?” Smart? He supposed living for over a century did give him a slight academic advantage.
“That works.”
“Yay.” You clapped softly again. “Oh, and we should probably exchange schedules too.”
He nodded once more while you reached for your phone, sending him a quick text with a picture of your schedule. He slowly worked through his phone, trying to find a picture of his schedule and scrolling on the screen with a single, determined finger. You watched, curious as the supposed third year university student struggled to find one simple photo. He cursed in his head. Samsung phones have been out for 38 years already, shit– how am I still bad at this?
Sunghoon grumbled under his breath, thumb hovering uncertainly over his screen while he tried to figure out how to attach the image. You stared for a moment before quietly laughing.
“…You don’t know how to send photos, Sunghoon?”
He jumped, not even realizing that you crept up to be beside him. His senses were dulled with the sheer amount of concentration he was using to try to send a photo to you. “I do,” he immediately defended. You tilted your head, looking like you didn’t exactly believe him.
“Sunghoon, you have your brightness at maximum.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” He retorted, his voice sharper than he intended.
“Oh my God.” You dissolved into another laugh, shoulders jumping up and down as your whole body was wracked with the sounds of your amusement. “Give me your phone.”
Sunghoon reluctantly handed it over, and your fingers brushed his briefly. Warm. So warm. His throat tightened instantly, and he swallowed down the bubble of hunger that was creeping up his throat. Meanwhile, you blinked down at his phone before gasping quietly. “Wait.” Your body froze.
Sunghoon stiffened. Shit, did you accidentally find his masterlist of every vampire who went to your university? Did you stumble upon the website he used for discreet blood bag shipping? Oh my Dracula, you probably found that stupid video Jake took on his phone when they were mixing blood packets with cranberry juice to make that stupid Vampire’s Kiss cocktail–
“Your font size is HUGE.”
The vampire breathed a sigh of relief. “What?”
“I swear, my grandma’s phone looks like this too.” You giggled, squinting at his screen. “Why is everything the size of a billboard?”
“My eyes are bad,” he defended flatly, crossing his arms, noticing the way you were momentarily distracted at the motion. He looked down briefly to see his muscles bulging, amused at your reaction. You quickly snapped out of it.
“Aren’t you like– 20 something??”
Sunghoon paused. Technically, he was closer to one hundred and 20 something, but you didn’t need to know that. “My eyes are still bad,” he repeated stubbornly. You dissolved into laughter beside him, the sound startlingly bright in the quiet library. Sunghoon stared at you, momentarily distracted from his hunger by the way your nose scrunched as you laughed so hard.
Cute.
The thought appeared so suddenly in his brain that it genuinely irritated him.
You were supposed to be food. Not cute.
You worked through his phone more, adjusting the brightness to a lower setting. “Dude, your phone probably dies in like– three hours with the screen this bright.”
“I like seeing my screen.” He raised up his hands, the urge to defend himself with every attack on his phone getting stronger and stronger.
“You’re kind of like an old man.”
Sunghoon narrowed his eyes slightly. “You are very talkative.”
Your laughter instantly died. “Oh.” You shrunk a little into yourself. “Sorry.” Your pulse dipped sadly beneath your skin, and Sunghoon immediately regretted speaking. He was beginning to notice that your emotions affected your scent more than other humans. He knew that emotions could affect the taste, but he could literally inhale and digest the aroma of sulkiness permeating off of your skin. Happiness made your blood smell sweeter somehow, relieving like ice cream on a hot sunny day. Meanwhile embarrassment and sadness dulled the fragrance into something muted.
“No,” he corrected awkwardly. “I did not mean it negatively.” You blinked at him. “I just mean…” He paused. Dracula, social interaction with humans was awful. “I do not mind listening to you.”
The silence afterward was deafening, and Sunghoon was almost afraid that he said something wrong when suddenly, your heartbeat abruptly skyrocketed. “Oh,” you squeaked softly. Sunghoon frowned slightly. Why were you reacting like that? You quickly looked away from him, pretending to fix his phone settings while your whole body seemed to rush with blood. “Uhm, okay! I fixed your brightness and your font size a little.”
“A little?”
“Yes. I left it a bit big because apparently, you’re eighty years old.” Close enough, he supposed.
“You are mean,” he deadpanned.
You gasped dramatically. “I’m literally helping you!”
“Yeah? By calling me old?” He poked his cheek with his tongue. You huffed, handing his phone back to him with both hands. Sunghoon took it from you carefully, and yet again, your fingers brushed. So fucking warm, even at your fingertips. He was so distracted that he almost didn’t pick up on how fast your heart was pumping again, and how the blood was hustling towards your cheeks.
You had already turned back toward your laptop, entirely oblivious to the internal warfare happening beside you. “Okay!” You chirped. “Back to ethics before we both fail!”
You pulled your chair closer to him without asking and seemed to have relaxed, because you continued to ramble on about literally anything. Your voice grew louder with every passing minute, words spilling out easier and easier the more comfortable you became around him. He was impressed with the way you multitasked– typing and babbling off as if words simply generated from your throat. Sometimes you’d randomly trail off topic entirely, rambling about your coworkers, complaining about your professors, or making dramatic comments about how hard the paper was (even though you were hard carrying the articulation of each sentence.)
Hours had passed, and before he knew it, the front desk worker’s voice crackled over the speaker. “It is now 10 PM, the library is now closed. I repeated, it is now 10 PM, the library is now closed.”
“It’s already 10 PM? Wow, I didn’t even notice. We’ve been here for six hours!” You gasped, quickly slamming your laptop shut and shoving everything into your backpack. Sunghoon was pleasantly surprised too. Time had gone by so fast that he didn’t realize that 6 hours had already passed since you’ve guys started. He glanced down at his laptop, amused as he only saw one page of the 10-pager written.
“Seems like we have gotten a lot of work done,” he joked. You giggled, nodding as you stood up. You nearly tripped, and he heard your heartbeat spike as you almost slipped on the wooden floor. “Careful now,” he said lowly, watching you with keen eyes as he packed his own bag. You smiled shyly and nodded. He stood up, and you both began to walk together out of the library.
“I’m hungry,” You complained. “Uhm— so, I’ll text you later and we can meet another time this week? Sounds good?” You smiled, giving him a thumbs-up.
“Yes, that works for me.” He nodded. “I will see you later. Text me when you get home so I know you arrived safely.” And yet again, your blood began to splotch on your cheeks.
“Okaayy, will do! Get home safe~” you chirped, before prattling off to the parking garage. Sunghoon waited, looking around discreetly to see if anyone was nearby. He tucked himself into a blind spot, before his figure dispersed into bats, leaving only a shadow of a vampire behind.
“Hi Sunghoon!”
Your bright and cheery voice was something that he had gotten used to over the past week, seeing you at the library almost everyday. Sunghoon didn’t expect to work with you so often, but it just happened naturally, your “hard working days” escalating as each day passed until they became so consistent that it was sort of an expectation to see you so often. Throughout the week, he seemed to get to know you more and more–
Not enough to stop viewing you as his potential blood bag, obviously.
But he wasn’t exactly finding out useful things either, which he feels is somewhat of a step-up. Maybe he’ll earn good karma points for being a sympathetic blood-sucker. He knew you actually hated Iced Americanos, but only ordered them to “fit in.” He found out you gnawed on your little fingers when you were stressed, biting off the dead skin that bordered your nails when things got especially tough for your brain. He also knew you worked too much, slept too little, and apologized every time you spoke for longer than thirty seconds.
Maybe Sunghoon was just getting weirder the more he hung out with you. He didn’t know– as long as he got what he wanted out of it.
“Hello, Y/N,” he greeted back, already situated at a table. The library was too crowded these days with midterms approaching, so instead, you guys found a cozy little cafe to study at in the city. You offered him a ride, but Jake was already going into the city, so he hitched a ride with his roommate.
“Am I late again?” You pouted, your hair frazzled and hoodie haphazardly dangling over the expanse of your head. He shook his head with a charming smile.
“Just on time, I promise.” He gave you a quick nod.
“Wait— you know what? You’re right. You’re the one who’s always early. Why do I always feel late?” You grumbled, sitting down. You looked so delicate, so fragile. The undertone of your skin was slightly off, not as warm as usual. There were dark bags under your eyes, hollowing out your face and making you look gauntly. Sunghoon grumbled under his breath– if you were sick, then how else would he get his protein from your blood?
“Are you okay?” He asked.
You blinked at him, almost surprised by the question. “Hm?” You quickly smiled quickly, as if it was an instinct. “Yeah! Why?”
Your heartbeat was slower than usual, pumping sluggishly as if doing the bare minimum to keep you alive. Your movements were too, even the way you reached for your laptop seemed to not be as hyperactive as you usually were. “You look tired,” he answered simply.
You laughed weakly. “Really? Do I?”
“Yes,” he answered. Your shoulders dropped. It was like finally being seen was alleviating a weird pressure from your body.
“I had two shifts back-to-back yesterday.” You sighed. You pulled your sleeves over your hands, nervously rubbing your wrists together. “And then I stayed up finishing another paper for one of my philosophy classes…” Sunghoon frowned.
Humans were strange creatures, indeed. You required sleep, food, water, sunlight, emotional support, and apparently eight million hours of studying just to survive through the perilous journey of university. How exhausting– he could just stay up all night until his brain felt ready to take an exam, or work on a paper until it was revised to perfection. Being a vampire did have its perks.
“You should have rested,” he stated obviously. You smiled, trying to hold back a snarky remark. Sunghoon seemed to have noticed the resistance in your expression, because he added a very short, “I am serious. You should rest and take care of yourself. This is not good for your wellbeing or health.” Sunghoon suddenly became aware of how blunt he sounded. Most humans usually found him cold when he spoke like that, so he sort of expected a weird reaction from you, but instead, you only stared at him for a moment before a soft giggle escaped your lips.
“That almost sounded like you were worried about me, Sunghoon.” Your voice was almost teasing.
He was, because if you collapsed from exhaustion, your blood quality would worsen heavily, and all of the medicine that would be pumped into you if you fainted from exhaustion would make it taste like shit. “I just need my project partner functioning,” he replied smoothly. Your smile widened at his words.
“Mhmm.” You hummed, your tone indicating to him that you didn’t exactly believe him. He narrowed his eyes, perplexed at the subtle gauge.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Your heartbeat sped up. It seemed to do that a lot around him, and he didn’t know why. All that he knew was that it was making him start drooling a little–
Sunghoon blinked once, forcing himself to focus. Your heartbeat was doing that thing again. It was pumping faster in uneven beats. It was noticeable, and he almost considered asking you if you had a family history of heart conditions or heart palpitations or something along those lines. As you were typing on your laptop, he suddenly picked up on something. It was barely visible to the eye, but of course, his keen pupils locked onto it. Your hands were shaking, trembling delicately at the tips and moving down to wrack at your digits. He inhaled sharply, pretending to take a deep breath when his sharp nose caught a whiff of something unusual– your blood wasn’t as sweet as usual. Were your glucose levels down?
“Did you eat today?” he asked suddenly. You looked up suddenly at his abrupt question.
“…What?” You replied dumbly.
He frowned slightly, wrinkles forming in between his thick eyebrows. “Food. Did you eat.”
Your mouth opened, then closed. You laughed weakly. “I mean, uh, yeah, kind of? I had a granola bar– it was really good! It had chocolate chips, those are my favorite types of granola bars!”
Sunghoon exhaled deeply through his nose. A granola bar was not food. That was, at best, a suggestion of food. “That is not enough.”
That got a real laugh out of you this time. “Sure it is, Sunghoon! Don’t worry, I’ll be fine! Why are you so particular about my breakfast anyway?”
Because if you collapsed or passed out or fainted, it’d be so inconvenient. You’d taste bland, just like the hospital. And then for the sake of optimizing your blood (and morally, he guessed), he’d have to wait until you were in your prime health condition. Because–
“Because you are my project partner.” You hummed like you accepted that explanation, but your eyes lingered on him a second too long, like you were trying to decipher if there was something else underneath it.
“You should order something,” he added after a moment.
“I’m fine,” you said automatically.
Your stomach betrayed you immediately after with an embarrassing grumble. You snapped your head towards him, eyes as wide as saucers. You looked around before slowly sinking into your hoodie so you could disappear inside it. “…That was not me,” you whispered, tightening the strings around your hood. Sunghoon’s lips twitched, amused at your sudden, cute behavior. He abruptly stood up when your stomach made another rumble.
“Where are you going?” You asked, a hint of concern laced in your voice. Your body tensed as you sat up properly.
“Food,” he answered, grabbing his wallet off the table.
“For you?” You raised an eyebrow, your body relaxed at the answer he gave you.
“For you,” he corrected, “We are at a cafe. You should have ordered something before starting your work.”
“That’s not– you don’t need to do that,” you rushed out immediately, already reaching for your bag. “I can just– I’ll go grab something–”
“You will sit.”
His commanding voice left you stunned, and Sunghoon paused for half a second, as if he himself was surprised by his own tone too. He then adjusted his coat as if nothing had happened. “I will return.”
His weird, formal tone made you chuckle under your breath. You watched his back as he left to order something from the table. He looked so endearing as he leaned in, nose nearly pressing against the glass as he carefully read the description. Huh, maybe his eyes were really that bad. But your attention was more focused on the cashier, who was giggling and blushing as Sunghoon pointed out a few pastries. You pouted, a weird sulking feeling in your chest. The older man seemed to sense it for an odd reason, because he looked around with a confused expression before looking back at the cash register.
When he came back, he put down a white paper box filled to the brim with pastries. There was pain au chocolat, a few different fruit danishes, and a Dubai Chocolate mochi donut. You raised an eyebrow at the last choice, to which he shrugged.
“I heard it is trendy amongst young people nowadays,” he explained, also settling down a cup of refreshing iced tea for you. You looked at him, then at the food, then back at him before a shy smile spread across your lips. A quiet breath of laughter escaped your lips. It was so Sunghoon to act so old.
“You didn’t have to go out of your way to do this for me,” you softly said, “I’m sorry… thank you, Sunghoon. I’ll pay you back—“
“No.” He firmly shook his head as he sat down.
“No?” You whimpered out, confused. He crossed his arms and laid back in his chair, which was unnatural for him. Usually, you noticed that he had a perfect upright posture all of the time.
“No, do not apologize, do not pay me back. I did not go out of my way for this. I wanted to eat something too.” He gingerly picked up the Dubai Chocolate mochi donut, breaking off a doughy ball and plopping it in his mouth. You stared at him, gauging the taste based on his reaction. His jaw and mouth didn’t move at all, and it seemed to be stuck for some reason. He then tentatively chewed down, his jaw clenching with every bite.
“Is it bad?” You asked cautiously.
“Very much so,” he honestly answered, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed down the dessert. You giggled. He watched as you picked up the pain au chocolat and take a bite, the crispy pastry wrinkling under your teeth and producing a satisfying crunch. Your body relaxed slightly, and he felt your pulse even out and smelt your blood sweeten. For some reason, his senses were relieved as they picked up on these cues. You then took a sip of the tea, your shoulder scrunching up in satisfaction as you let out an excited hum.
“This is soo yummy, Sunghoon! What did you order?” You peeked up at him through your lashes. Sunghoon cleared his throat and re-crossed his arms.
“I believe I bought a honey-citron tea. Something along those lines. I heard it is good for your health– at least, that is what the description said.”
Yes, good for your health so that you’ll be primed to be feasted on. A nourished human always tasted better.
“You’re so kind, Sunghoon,” you confessed bashfully, your voice quiet and meek. Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, his hands relaxing where they were crossed momentarily as he seemed to ingest the word slowly. He bought you tea because you looked pale, bought pastries because your pulse sounded weak, and watched the color slowly return to your face with a starving stomach. He wasn’t sure that was exactly kind of him, but if it made you think of him better, he could just take it. Why not at this point.
“Okay, let us get back to work when you are full,” he spoke up after a while, finally sitting up straight. You nodded, clumsily wiping your hands on a few napkins before reverting your attention back to your laptop. He watched as you rapidly tapped away on your keyboard, filling your shared document with more arguments and evidence. Your heart rapidly pumped, slamming against your ribs like it was trying to escape your body. Sunghoon was confused– your heart worked in such mysterious ways that not even a century-old vampire could decipher it.
By the time the café lights dimmed and your cups sat long empty, hours had somehow slipped away from both of you. It was only 4 PM, but it somehow already felt so late in the day that even Sunghoon would have been tired. He stared at you as you packed, your movements regaining their sluggish feel as you slowly slid your laptop into its pouch within your backpack.
“Do– do you need a ride home, Sunghoon?” You yawned. Sunghoon smiled, feeling a weird affection as your mouth stretched to escape its drowsiness. It was the endearment that you would feel for a pet, in a sort of way.
“It will be alright, my roommate Jaeyun can take me home.” He nodded. He looked down at his phone, only to see…
jaeyun: LOL
jaeyun: Dude I’m in Busan rn ur never gonna guess who I’m with rn
jaeyun: IM WITH RIKII the vampire who tried biting u cuz he didnt know u were vampire rmbr
Sunghoon: I am waiting to get picked up by you.
jaeyun: WAIT SHIT I FORGOT U WERE OUT 😭😭
jaeyun: lmfaoo mb bro Ur better off flying back to the apt man My bad fr
Sunghoon exhaled. Over a century of living, and this was his most trusted friend and emergency contact. “Nevermind. I guess I will walk.”
“Eh? It’s too far, Sunghoon! Let me take you home!” You fussed. Not wanting to expend your energy arguing, he simply agreed. You looked a bit taken aback, surprised that he conceded so easily to you, but you led him to your car anyways.
Your vehicle had a cute omamori hanging off of the rear view window, some cute figurines stuck to the dashboard, receipts crinkled as they were shoved into the cup holders, and a hoodie splayed out in the backseat, little pieces of you tucked into every possible crevice in the car. Within the confines of your vehicle, the air had traces of fresh cotton and linen from your air freshener, but underneath it all was you. Your warm skin, flavored lip balm, fragrant perfume, and even the hint of your scented lotion, but most prominent to his nose was the unmistakable metallic sweetness that only you permeated.
Sunghoon felt like he should roll down a window or something, because he was practically swallowing down the scent of your blood. He stared at you as you backed out of your parking spot, before beginning the drive to your apartment. “Can– Can I roll down a window?” He gulped. You glanced at him before nodding. He practically jammed his finger trying to press down on the window button, letting out a sigh of relief as your scent washed away in the evening wind. He stuck his head out of the window like a wolf, and the thought would have repulsed him if he weren’t so desperate to prevent himself from sucking your blood right now.
If he sucked your blood and you died, you’d crash the car. Then, the police would come, and they would see the two noticeable bite marks caving your neck in. And then he’d look like a weird cannibal vampire wannabe criminal or whatever– too complicated.
“Thank you for the ride. Text me when we should meet up again. I should be free all week apart from my classes.” Sunghoon nearly barreled out of the car. “Goodnight!” You giggled and waved goodbye, watching as his figure disappeared into his apartment building before pulling off yourself.
❛❛LOVE HUNGER AT FIRST SIGHT.❞ ── 1
Another week had passed, and Sunghoon was beginning to realize that befriending was probably not the brightest idea.
The more time he spent around you, the harder it became to ignore the pulse beating beneath your skin. Not to mention, he had been rationing his portions on blood bags to truly savor the moment when he could finally relish in the taste of your iron on his tongue. He should’ve just kept a distance from you– not be around you so much because day by day, it was becoming increasingly difficult to subtly find chances to drain you dry.
Just like any other day, you both were working hard on your project. With it being finished and needing revision, you were, for the first time, slacking. Your head was buried in your crossed arms, which laid upon the wooden table. Your eyes kept blinking slowly, and Sunghoon would’ve been concerned about your blood sugar again if you didn’t smell so sickeningly sweet.
“I’m– I’m gonna take a nap…” You yawned, your eyelids pulling shut, lashes fluttering so delicately and fanning across your cheekbones. “W– wake me up, five mins…” You slurred. Sunghoon watched as you easily slipped into a slumber, your body going lax and mouth falling agape as soft huffs of air left your lips.
Sunghoon’s fingers clenched into fists, his fingernails digging into the wrinkles of his palms, forming a protective case around his calluses. Every inhale felt like a trap. If his stomach was normal, it would’ve been grumbling right now. He hadn’t had a blood pack since yesterday, and that nearly made him throw up from how fucking disgusting it was– a blood pack of pig’s blood diluted with coconut water? Give him a break.
Your blood pressure was decreasing, dipping down. He could feel the way your circulation became sluggish and sense the lowered levels of oxygen. That means it wouldn’t pump like a water fountain, shooting out in satisfying geysers if he dug his fangs into you. That means it’ll be a slow drink. Wouldn’t that be more satisfying? Slowly draining out your blood as it filled his mouth with metal, filling his stomach milliliter by milliliter. It’ll be a bit watered down, but it’s okay– because you were so vulnerable and delicate now, an easy target for his teeth to finally sink in–
Sunghoon didn’t realize how close he was to you until he could breathe in and have your perfume practically get swallowed with every inhale. He opened his mouth, and his canines extended into sharp points, the tips of them gleaming in the bright light. So close so close so close just a little more and i’ll be so full yes yes yes
“Sunghoon?”
Your eyes fluttered open, and your mouth was so close to his. He awkwardly clamped his lips together shut, clearing his throat. His fangs instantly retracted as soon as you woke up, hiding in his gumline. You blinked, vision clearing and breath hitching at your sudden proximity. You then felt the presence of his big hand resting on the top rail of your wooden chair.
“Sunghoon?” You whispered again. “Has it been five minutes already?” You murmured. He nodded, trying his best to slowly back away and give you space. Shit– what was he thinking? He wasn’t a feral animal, like those werewolves who went crazy at a mere atom of pheromones lingering in the air. But he was surely acting like one– driven by the insane hunger that came with being what he was, a blood-sucking ravager that only cared about the smell of metal and proteins.
“Mhm.” He hummed lowly in response, his voice barely a whisper too. You blinked, still staring up at him. Silence loomed over the both of you for a moment before you spoke up, catching the vampire off-guard.
“Sunghoon… do– do you like me…?” You softly asked, your rationale still clouded by the short sleep your brain was phased into, not sifting the sudden question through the humiliation-check filter in your mind. You sounded uncertain, but Sunghoon had to give you a bit of credit– not even the bravest person he knew some 60 years ago would have the guts to ask this bold question.
“You should not say things like that when you’re half-asleep,” he replied, voice still muted. Your bottom lip jutted out into a pout.
“…Why?” you asked, eyes blinking lightly as if you were somehow amused at his response. His slight reprimand should’ve been the end of it, but of course you had to ask. You always pried into what he was thinking. “…Is it bad if you do?” you murmured, trying to solve the case. You shifted in your chair just a little, rubbing your eyes with your sleeve. “I mean…” You added after a pause, voice still soft and gentle. “It’s not like I’d be weird about it.”
And for the first time in his 120+ years of living, he was stunned, speechless. Sure, he’s received confessions before, but this was surprisingly the first time the young vampire had been in a situation like this, where he was being coaxed into confessing.
“Where is this coming from?” He tried to change the subject. You ignored him and smiled.
“Do you, Sunghoon?” You finally sat up, revealing a mark on your cheek from your good slumber. You stretched your arms wide, your back arching to relieve your body from the tension. You leaned forward just a little, resting your cheek against your hand, and Sunghoon realized for the first time that you might be a bit more coy than he thought.
“Answer my question first.” He crossed his arms stubbornly. You giggled.
“Well, you always listen to me really well and give me thoughtful advice— and I know that’s bare minimum, but you also go out of your way to take care of me. When we walk outside, you always stubbornly make sure I’m on the inner part of the sidewalk. And you always stare at me, Sunghoon. Like— you look at me so much that I always think I have something on my face. But then I check my phone camera and I don't.” You kept pricking up a finger, counting down every “sign” that you believed indicated his growing affection from you.
“You always call me or text me, too. And then you always remember weird things about me. You always notice when something’s wrong, too,” you continued, looking up as if trying to pull more examples from your brain. “Like when I’m tired, or sad, or stressed, and then you always know what to do after to make me feel better.”
By the time you were finished rambling, you had counted past ten fingers. Sunghoon didn’t even realize there were enough instances to count an entire hand to show that he liked you, much less more than two hands. You smiled awkwardly as you outstretched all ten fingers with open palms to him, as if showing off how much he potentially liked you.
“It’s either you like me, or maybe I’m reading into it too much… I dunno…” Your shyness came back tenfold, making your arteries pump ferociously and your cheeks warm with enough heat to set something ablaze. Sunghoon stared at the wrinkles in your hands, each running a river through the lighter skin.
Could a vampire really like someone? Especially someone that he had once calculated the blood volume of? Roughly 4.5 liters. Nine pints. That was approximately how much blood sat inside your body right now, circulating beneath your skin in endless loops. He knew because vampires were taught these things, useful things.
Sunghoon remembered the first time he met you, he wasn’t exactly wondering what your favorite color was. He was wondering how much blood loss your body could tolerate before passing out. The first time you smiled at him, he did not think about your lips. He thought about how inflamed they were with the sensitive multitude of blood vessels beneath the skin.
Now he knew useless things, like your daily habits that you barely noticed yourself, the way that your entire face and neck would warm up with blood rushing to it, not just your cheeks. He knew what you wanted to pursue after college, the life that you wanted to live, and the stupid shit that you put on your bucket list. None of these things helped him hunt or feed like a vampire should. Does that mean Sunghoon liked you how a human would?
“I do. I like you.” He breathed out before he could give it a second thought. You smiled, your heart pumping so wildly that even he was a bit afraid it might burst through your chest. He finally understood why your heartbeat was so erratic around him. Because you liked him too, right?
You ducked your head shyly, smiling into your sleeves. “Okay,” you mumbled softly. “I like you too, Sunghoon.” You blinked slowly. “Should we go on a date after this?” You said, scratching your nape nervously. “I’ve never liked anyone before– it’s new to me…”
“Me too,” Sunghoon confessed, “It is also my first time being in… uhm…” For the first time, Sunghoon was at a loss for words. “You know…” He added, just to be safe. You giggled, shyly outstretching your hand, reaching for his cold one. You were surprised at how frigid his skin was, feeling like a porcelain piece.
“Your hands are so cold…” You murmured, wrapping his large hands into your smaller ones, permeating your body heat to transfer to his. “Sorry,” you mumbled suddenly, looking down at your intertwined hands. “I don’t really know what I’m doing.”
Sunghoon stared at your fingers hooked between his. Neither did he. He had lived through conflicts, technological revolutions, and economic booms, yet somehow, he had never experienced such an intimate and tender moment with a girl. “I do not know either,” he admitted quietly. You smiled and giggled.
“That’s okay, Sunghoon. We can figure it out together, right?” You looked at him hopefully. He nodded. Being a vampire was tedious enough already, and now, Sunghoon had to navigate dating the very girl he intended to turn into a blood bag.
Being your boyfriend might kill him before his hunger would.
❛❛MOUTHS WERE MADE FOR MORE THAN BITING❞ ── 2
The next week, you and Sunghoon scored a 92 on the paper.
Heeseung returned the paper back with only minor comments, praising the both of you guys for your in-depth argument despite how simple the topic was. You both took it gracefully, and ended the Friday off with a dinner date.
You and Sunghoon chose to continue to get to know each other more. Although it didn’t exactly feel like it for both of you, with how close you had both gotten, you had basically known each other for only a month and had already developed feelings.
“It just– I dunno. It doesn’t feel fast to me, but I feel awkward knowing that we’ve known each other for like two weeks, and we already confessed, and then the next step is dating, right? But like– I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel right…” You had candidly revealed your feelings to Sunghoon one night as you sat in your car, drinking milkshakes as a reward after another day of hard work on your paper. He really didn’t understand. After all, after 120+ years of living, time had become such a feeble thing anyway. Whether it was two weeks, three, or even a year, he had all the time in the world to stick a label when you wanted it. (If you even lasted a year before he ate you, that is.)
“That is okay. We can go at your pace. I am not sure how to date either.” Sunghoon’s tongue scooped up the Java Chip milkshake, curling it into his taste buds. It tasted fucking disgusting, but you didn’t need to know that, especially since you looked so content sipping on your strawberry shake.
“That’s okay! We’re just figuring it out, right?” You chirped, your voice brimming with anticipation. He nodded, an amused smile spreading across his lips.
“I guess so.” Moreso, he’s figuring out when he should suck your blood. (But for some reason, the sentiment didn't feel sincere to him anymore.)
You started figuring it out where things were familiar. Study sessions at different cafes you wanted to try, spending countless nights in the library focusing on your respective work. These were safe places that you knew you couldn’t mess up, places that you and Sunghoon knew how to navigate each other in. You sat close to Sunghoon, constantly peeking at his laptop when he worked. He always let you into his bubble, keeping an arm available for you to tug on or hold his hand with.
And then, the familiar routines began to stretch out of your comfort zone. Instead of going to the library, you decided to do dinner. (Well, it was more of Sunghoon playing with his food while you kept gushing about the amazing cuisine.) And then these dinners turned into late-night walks where you both rumbled on about more meaningless things, sometimes meaningful as you interlocked hands and swung them on a pendulum. And then these walks turned into countless hours spent sitting in your car, burning gas because neither of you wanted the night to end.
You bridged the gap between physical touch, too, getting comfortable enough to tug on his sleeve whenever you wanted his attention or allowing him to place a firm hand on your back when navigating crowded areas. Sunghoon realized that dating a human was– it was pretty easy, actually. He didn’t understand why other humans kept complaining about their relationships.
All Sunghoon had to do was be there for you, and it was as easy as pie. He simply listened when you needed to vent, hugged you tightly when you needed to cry, and carried snacks in his bag when he sensed your glycemic index was low. And sometimes, he even used his vampiric perks, following you in a swarm of bats to ensure you got home safely and being accessible even at the worst hours of the night because he never slept.
And before both of you knew it, time had passed so quickly that three months had passed, putting you both into the Spring semester with a new label on your relationship tacked on.
Sunghoon learned way more things in those three months. Not as a person or someone who liked him, not even as a blood bag, but as a girlfriend. He discovered that your love language was words of affirmation, learned that you didn’t really make decisions until you had at least three opinions (with him being one of those three), and that even after being with him for quite a while now, your cardiovascular system never faltered in activity, only heightened.
Yet oddly enough, there was one thing that you and Sunghoon hadn’t breached.
It was his apartment.
He was always over at yours, an extra toothbrush in your bathroom, and his clothes filling your closet to the brim. Every time you wanted to have a baking date, movie night, or just wanted to chill together privately, you guys always ended up at your place. Never his.
Looking back, Sunghoon realized he had become strangely talented at redirecting you.
He’d always suggest to go to yours because you had more baking supplies, your television was bigger, and your roommate, Chowon, was never home. And on the off-chance that your roommate finally did come home, Sunghoon would insist that Jake was so loud that it’d be like having a third-wheel hovering over the both of you the entire time.
Because unlike your apartment, which smelled like vanilla candles, air freshener, and room spray, his smelled like blood. Literally. His refrigerator was currently stuffed with labeled blood bags. The pantry contained emergency freeze-dried containers of blood. It’s a miracle how the iron smell hadn’t suffused to his neighbors. Sunghoon’s bathroom was stocked to the brim with enough sunscreen to slather on a blue whale and still have extra bottles for him.
Yeah, if you went to his apartment, then he’d have to either hide half of his existence, trust you with it, or probably kill you.
As much as the last option was what Sunghoon was anticipating, none of them were ideal..
Which was exactly why, when your text popped up later that evening, his undead heart felt like it dropped to his ass.
Y/N (girlfriend): chowon brought someone over and i think they’re… having sex
Y/N (girlfriend): :(
Y/N (girlfriend): can i come to yours?
He left the text on read shamelessly, throwing his phone on the couch and mechanically going to knock on Jake’s door. “Jaeyun. My girlfriend wants to come over. Code Red,” he bluntly said, trying to hide the panic that was building up.
Jake swung the door open, racing past Sunghoon in a blurred flash, compiling all of the blood bags in the fridge into his empty arms. “What the hell are you standing around for? Go hide the ones in the pantry!” Jake shrieked, scrambling back to his own room to hide the refrigerated packs in the his mini-fridge. Sunghoon ripped open the tall, white pantry doors and began stuffing emergency blood packets into his puffer jackets winter boots in the spare coat closet and– and a rice container that… was purely there just for show, honestly.
“Jaeyun, when did we get this rice container? And why?”
“Oh, it was a gift from Jay…” Jake paused. Sunghoon stared at the Australian vampire, who had punctured a blood bag with a straw and was sucking on the dark red liquid. When the two were absolutely sure that there would be no way that you would even by chance stumble upon a blood pack, Sunghoon grabbed his phone from the couch.
Y/N (girlfriend): hoon?
Y/N (girlfriend): helloo?
Y/N (girlfriend): if u dont want me to come over thats ok :(
hoon (boyfieee): Sorry. I am cleaning to make the place look presentable for You.
hoon (boyfieee): come Now. If you are able.
Y/N (girlfriend): YAYY!
Y/N (girlfriend): can i stay the night hoonie?
Y/N (girlfriend): i jus dont want to have the awkward uhhh… yk… morning after convo with the random guy…
His eyes slowly lifted from his phone to Jake, who was still holding a punctured blood bag like a juice pouch. “She wants to stay the night,” Sunghoon said blankly. Jake nearly choked on the blood he was drinking.
“Your first sleepover is happening before she’s seen our apartment?” Jake hissed. “Dude, you still have your stupid UV sleeves hanging in the bathroom.” Sunghoon looked toward the hallway, where his bathroom was, and where his protective UV sleeves were dangling over the shower curtain rod. “And we don’t even sleep– what are you gonna do? Just lay there for like eight hours?”
He imagined you curled up in his bed, filling the empty space of the full-sized mattress. Your steady heartbeat would thud thud thud right up against his chest, peaceful and content. Your scent would be trapped in his enclosed space with nowhere to escape but into his nostrils. He then imagined the look of horror on your face if you opened his spare coat closet to see freeze-dried packets of blood stuffed in all his clothes, and too many thoughts about biting you as you slept over ransacked any rationale. He ignored Jake’s rhetorical question and shook his head before looking back at his phone.
hoonie (boyfieee): Yes. You can stay.
hoonie (boyfieee): Bring toothbrush. I believe I have everything elese you may need.
hoonie (boyfieee): else*
This was either the worst idea he’s ever had or a great milestone in your relationship.
You arrived 15 minutes later, your car keys dangling from your fingers and an overnight bag slung over your shoulder. Jake was sitting on the couch, watching television when Sunghoon opened the door for you. “Hi Hoon! Hi Jake.” You nodded your head towards the Australian boy.
“Hey!” Jake greeted back with a tense smile, his cheeks puffing up as he sunk deeper into the couch. You waved your hand again awkwardly before directing your focus back to Sunghoon.
“Where– uhm, can I put my stuff, Hoon?” You shyly asked. Sunghoon led you to his bedroom down the hall. It was fairly simple and clean, with black and white bedsheets, his full-sized bed tucked in the corner, and a black wooden desk perched up against his wall to face away from his window. He had so many candles lit, gothic white ones trailing wax down a candelabra. The room smelled just like Sunghoon, clean with base notes of musk and sandalwood. You spun around, taking in his room as you set your overnight bag on the floor.
“Your room is so…”
Sunghoon stiffened. Was it too weird? Too gothic? Too antique? Too vampire-coded? Damn it, he knew he should’ve gotten rid of that stupid iron candle holder– didn’t young people these days have simple glass holders?
“It’s so clean and nice, Hoon! It’s suits you so wel!” You gushed with a smile so bright that it rivaled the flickering flames of his lit candles. His tense shoulders dropped as he let out a small breath of relief.
“Thank you.” He nodded. Your eyes wandered everywhere with innocent curiosity. His dresser had a few, black decorations on it. His clothes were all neatly tucked away. His nightstand had a lamp on it, some hand-cream, and a box of tissues. The blackout curtains were drawn tightly over the windows despite it barely being evening.
“Hoon, you should get more Vitamin D.” You pouted. “I feel like you’re always covered up, too.”
“I take supplements,” he replied hastily. You giggled.
“One day I’m gonna force you outside. Maybe if we’re ever in the mood for it, we could take a loooong hike and watch the sunrise!” Sunghoon only hummed in response. That honestly sounded fucking awful, but he’ll let you be optimistic about your future dates.
You wandered toward his bookshelf next, fingers ghosting over the spines. His shelf was crammed with thick, old books jammed next to each other, pressing up against the sides of the wooden storage. You skimmed your fingertips over one particularly thick book, your eyebrows furrowing together as you read the title.
“Hoon,” you carefully pulled out one hardcover. “Why do you own an Economics 101 book from the 1950’s?” You smiled.
“I like reading about the economy back then, so I do not make any poor financial decisions,” he answered perfectly. Damn, he was good at this.
“Can I pull a book out?” You asked with sparkling eyes. He nodded. You pushed a book towards you, your fingertip digging into the pages behind the spine. You opened it, smiling. “Wow, this is so old too!” You scanned the back of the cover, looking confused. “This is from a library– wow, so cool. It’s like an artifact!”
His eyes bulged out of his head. He knew what book you were looking at. He reached out to grab it from you when your finger traced the remnants of faded ink. “Park Sunghoon checked this book out in 1939?” You whispered. He winced, his outstretched hand curling into a defeated fist. “That’s so cool! You guys had the same name!” Damn, he knew he should’ve returned that library book 87 years ago.
You put the book back, sliding it in perfectly between two other thick books. Sunghoon watched you carefully, his tongue darting from between his lips to nervously lick at them. The two of you stood there awkwardly for a second before your shoulders sagged.
“Sorry,” you mumbled suddenly.
“For what?” He was confused.
“I feel like– I dunno– awkward, like I’m intruding or ruining the mood...” You rubbed your sleeves together nervously. “The roommate thing just stressed me out, and I feel like I asked you so last minute, and– and– I dunno, I feel like I pressured you.”
Sunghoon’s expression softened slightly. “You did not pressure me into anything, Y/N,” he said in that soothing, low voice of him. You looked up at him with hopeful and relieved eyes.
“Really?”
“Yes.” He nodded once. “You can stay here as long as you want.”
Your heartbeat picked up as it usually did when he said anything reassuring to you. You sat down on the edge of his bed, albeit a bit cautious and nervous. “Can we just do nothing tonight?”
Sunghoon leaned against his desk. “Just nothing?”
“Yes, absolutely nothing!” You smiled up at him. He smiled and sat to the right of you, letting you rest your body against his. Your head immediately tucked into his shoulder, hands playing with his right hand while his left arm slung around your shoulders. Your pulse was drumming against your soft slowly, but not as quick as it usually was. It felt relaxed, and Sunghoon came to the conclusion that you were comfortable here, in his space.
Then his eyes drifted lower without meaning to. Your neck peeked out from the collar of your hoodie when you tilted your head back slightly. Warn, thin skin that he could easily pierce into. He could practically trace the route your blood traveled beneath it. He licked his lips again, his ears drowning in the sound of your blood moving in your circulatory system. It only got louder and louder.
Four months. It had been four months since he’s met you, and two since you’ve been dating, yet it’s been three months of dates, hand-holding, and falling asleep on his shoulder. Three months of carrying snacks for you and listening to your problems and memorizing your preferred cafe order that wasn’t Americano.
It made him so hungry, so fucking hungry to be next to you so long– to smell the intoxicating and metallic aroma of your blood.
Sunghoon swallowed hard, and you must’ve heard the sound, because you perked up immediately, facing him as you looked up. “You okay?” you asked quietly, “Hungry? Should we order takeout?” His eyes shifted back to yours. You were so close. You had shifted even closer to him him without him noticing. Your knees thighs were pressing up against each other, and your scent was wrapping around him immediately, washing out the clean smell of his lit candles.
“I am not hungry,” he answered, lying through his teeth.
Because right now, all he wanted to do was eat. His eyes fluttered down to your lips, so soft and red, skin almost bursting with a vermillion hue. The skin was so thin, and if he looked close enough, he could see the wrinkles and the parts where they peeled. Your blood vessels were packed so closely together, gathering enough warmth to set him ablaze.
“We can just stay here– just the two of us,” he murmured, voice dipping into a lower octave and coating itself in a seductive honey. For a moment, a weird thought pushed itself into his mind. Do lips taste different from skin? How would your blood gush from your mouth? Would it flow down in a steady stream, or burst out into tiny jets? You were saying something, your pretty lips opening and closing to project words, but Sunghoon was too distracted with seeing rather than hearing.
Without realizing, he leaned in closer, the proximity between you decreasing. He could smell your tinted lip balm swiped across your lips, pathetically trying to mask the iron scent underneath your skin. Your breath hitched as he began bridging the gap between your faces. Useless thoughts began to surface in his mind.
One bite. Just one. Right there.
His eyes dropped to your mouth again. Your hand abruptly reached up and grabbed his shirt, crumpled up at his stomach. “Hoon,” you whispered softly, your breathy tone almost making your voice sound like a whimper. He gently let go of your hand, bringing it up to gently caress your cheek. Your pulse began drumming so hard against your skin that he was afraid it was burst through and break, and he honestly didn’t mind the sound of that.
“Can I?” he asked, a murmur deep in his throat. You swallowed, gulping down the tension as you nodded. You nodded, not wanting your voice to betray the thick want clouding your mind. He leaned in slowly, fangs instinctively protracting as hunger took over his brain, but as soon as he pressed his cold lips to yours, his canines were flat like they usually were. His mind blanked. He pulled away, leaving you with only a peck as your first kiss.
When he properly looked at your face, your mouth was parted, letting out soft and content breaths. “Hoonie– kiss– please, kiss me again.” You whispered. You didn’t have to ask him twice. He pressed his lips to yours again, firmer this time, charged with a desire to have your breath mingling with his. He understood now why Jake bragged about kissing humans so much– it was addicting. He didn’t even remember why he wanted your mouth on his anymore, all he wanted was to kiss you breathless.
Forget about feeding from you, couldn’t he just devour you like this?
(The next morning, when you went to cook breakfast, you had asked Jake who had just woken up why his fridge was literally empty. And why all of the windows were open, but the curtains were all drawn shut. And why there were enough candles lit everywhere to cause a fire hazard. You also had somehow stumbled upon Sunghoon’s limitless sunscreen stock in his bathroom. The Australian vampire merely shrugged and bolted back to his room.)
❛❛LEAVE YOUR MARK ON MY NECK THAT IT'S YOURS.❞ ── 3
After your first kiss, Jake wouldn’t let Sunghoon live it down for weeks.
Not that Sunghoon had cared, he had better things to think about. Like now, instead of greeting him with your usual shy wave, you’d grab his collar and pull him down for a bashful peck to greet him instead. Or how you looked after giving said-peck, eyes half-lidded and cheeks warm, like you wanted one more but were too shy to ask. And he learned that he might be addicted to kisses now, because all he could think about when you were both apart was how much he wish you were together.
Being a vampire was tedious, but at least it was simple in theory. All he had to think about was drinking blood, biting people, staying away from garlic, and keeping out of the sun. But now, there was a new complication laying down on all of his vampiric responsibilities, effectively crushing all of them as priorities. And that obviously was you.
You were supposed to be one of his simple vampire duties– the biting people and drinking blood part. But you were slowly beginning to be phased out of that aspect of his duties. You were becoming a new duty of your own, in fact, something that Jake liked to call “boyfriend duty.”
“Boyfriend duty?” Sunghoon had repeated slowly. Jake nodded, leaning back in their couch, sipping on a Blood Mary cocktail despite it being 11 AM on a Wednesday. (Jake swore up and down that he had invented the cocktail in the 1920s. Sunghoon honestly believed him.)
“Yeah. Instead of just suckin’ blood, you also suck face.” Jake snickered, amused at his own joke. “Seems like you got a lot on your plate now, Mr. Bloodsucker.”
Sunghoon had sent the Australian a glare, narrowing his eyes as he stood up. None of what the former man had learned firsthand being with you had been in his original “Vampire 101” lessons. There was no precedent in befriending a girl, becoming said-girl’s boyfriend, and reforming the thoughts of food to a person he cared for.
He was still a vampire. The most vampiric vampire ever. He still drank blood from the diminishing stock in his fridge (blame Jake for his unusual recent obsession with bloody cocktails.) He still shoved his hand in the freeze-dried blood bags when he wanted to switch up his meal texture. And he even developed a weird habit of hissing at garlic. (He had no idea where that came from, but that’s for another time.)
But when you were around, he didn’t just feel like just a vampire anymore. He felt, oddly enough, like a human again. Even though he technically died when he was 21 years old over a century ago with bite marks piercing his neck, he has never felt more alive than when you shyly pressed your lips to his with a soft whisper of his name. Sunghoon didn’t want to breach into this territory of thinking, but he was afraid that maybeeee he didn’t want to bite you that badly anymore. But as soon as he heard your heartbeat, his stomach would say differently. He was, to put it shortly, confused.
“Sunghoon, do you think I should add more of the spice packet?”
He looked at the ramen, which was a baby pink color. He snorted. “Y/N, you must have added about three drops of the spice packet.” He gently took the red packet from your hands to glide his chopsticks on either side of it, effectively spilling the entire sauce inside. You gulped nervously.
“Hoon, I dunno if I can handle all that…” You said anxiously. Sunghoon shrugged and began to vigorously stir the ramen with his chopsticks.
“If you cannot eat this, then I will just make you another one.”
You both were in your apartment, making dinner for your movie night. You wanted to order takeout, but the delivery fees almost cost as much as your utility bills, so you both opted for some ramyeon in your pantry. Cooking together sounded more fun anyways. You hovered over Sunghoon, watching as he stirred the pot with a weird precision. His chopsticks were upright, and he was going around the walls in perfect circles.
“Hoon, it looks like you’ve never cooked ramyeon before.” You giggled. Sunghoon shrugged.
“It is mostly Jaeyun who cooks ramyeon. He says he is better at it,” Sunghoon replied. You nodded with an “ahhh…”, watching as your boyfriend worked the pot.
“You look so handsome right now, Hoon. Like a househusband.” You smiled, leaning against the counter. He breathed a laugh out of his nose, incredulous at your sudden comment. His brows were slightly furrowed, shoulders squared and upright as his chopsticks moved with an unnecessary level of concentration for instant noodles.
The kitchen light cast warm tones across his face, softening his sharp features. It still amazed you sometimes– how someone who looked so intimidating in class months ago now stood in your kitchen making ramyeon while wearing a hoodie that you gave him for your one-monthiversary.
“Hoonie, can I tell you something?” You suddenly spoke up. He nodded. “Honestly, when I first saw you in class, I thought you were really cute. I’m really grateful we got to be project partners.”
The vampire was a bit stunned at your confession. He didn’t realize you perceived him before you guys became partners. “You thought I was cute?” he repeated slowly, the question mark hanging off the end of the sentence. You looked away shyly, picking at the sleeve hanging over your hands.
“Mhm.” You nodded. “Scary-cute though.” You chuckled. “It’s ‘cause you always stared at me, Hoon. I swear you did– tell me you did or else I’ll die from embarrassment.”
Your boyfriend only responded with a simple nod of his head. Well, the only reason why he stared so much was because he was always so fuckin’ hungry. Not because he was your secret admirer or anything– but he supposed he didn’t really have to say all that for the sake of preserving your feelings. “I was, Y/N,” he affirmed your suspicions. “You are strangely more perceptive than I had initially thought.”
“Heh, what can I say?” You boasted, looking smug. Sunghoon poured the ramyeon into two separate bowls. “But why were you staring at me so much?” You helped him set one of the bowls on the coffee table, settling down on the couch right in front of the television.
“Because you intrigued me,” he explained, not entirely lying. Your blood intrigued me. You seemed really satisfied with the answer, your sweatpant-clad legs jumping up and down to show how giddy his response made you. You picked up the remote, flicking through the endless options of dramas to watch. Sunghoon really didn’t like dramas at first. He had explained to you that he hated them, saying that they were unrealistic, too cheesy, and had too many logical inaccuracies.
You scrolled through title after title while sitting cross-legged on the couch, legs buried under the fluffy blanket, entirely concentrated on finding something “good enough” to please him. “Oh, how about this? It’s supposed to be cheesy! It’s called EN-DRAMA!” You suggested. Sunghoon read the description, and grew even more perplexed. But he simply shrugged and let you put on whatever you wanted.
You both began watching the drama, slurping down your ramyeon. You were able to tolerate the spice enough to finish your bowl, but it didn’t stop you from hissing. Sunghoon snickered under his breath at the sounds. You sounded like a cute little vampire, and your noises almost made him instinctively let out a hiss of his own. He left his bowl steaming on the coffee table, pulling you into his side, keeping your shoulders pressed together. He strew the blanket over his own lap, resting his head on yours.
For some reason, you were really immersed in the drama, letting out soft gasps as the seven boys in the scene tried to piece together who really confessed. You leaned in closer, your warm palm bracing your body on Sunghoon’s thigh. The vampire sucked in a breath as your body heat radiated through the blanket to his skin. With how poor your posture was in that position, your neck and back slouched, Sunghoon had a clear view of your neck. You were wearing a shirt with the collar cut, pulled down to reveal the expanse of your shoulder and neck. He gulped.
He watched as your left hand drew to your right shoulder, your fingernails scraping against the skin, leaving red marks to surface. “Are you itchy?” he asked quietly, eyes following the path your fingers carved across your skin.
“Hm?” You absentmindedly scratched again. “Oh. I think it’s cuz’ some threads are loose.” You tugged the neckline lower to adjust it. Sunghoon wished you hadn’t done that. More skin peeked through, exposing your upper arm. He could feel the crimson liquid pooling underneath to where you had scratched.
He was starving, and he didn’t even realize it until your precious skin was exposed to his leering eyes. He licked his lips, instinctively leaning forward, his fanged mouth drawn to warm epidermis. “Hoon?” You suddenly looked at him. When you did, you could feel his breath fan across your lips. You instantly covered your mouth.
“Does my breath smell?” Sunghoon pulled away, almost offended. You shook your head vigorously.
“Mine probably does, Hoon! What’re you doing, trying to kiss me after I ate this spicy ass ramen?” You whined. He chuckled at your cute reaction, his palm cupping over your fingers, gently prying it away from your mouth.
“Do you think I care about ramyeon breath?” he asked quietly. Not at all. What he cared about was the plump, swollen, and sheen with the reddish-hue of the broth skin of your lips. “I want to kiss you, even if you have ramyeon breath. Can I kiss you, Y/N? I want to kiss you so bad.”
You nodded eagerly to his plea, feeling a heat curl up in your lower tummy at how calm yet desperate he sounded. He placed a soft kiss to your knuckles, before cupping your cheek and leaning in to press soft pecks to your mouth. You reciprocated, your breathing turning ragged as he kept capturing your mouth with no time to catch up. With every soft kiss, he hesitated, as if thinking whether or not to kiss you again– yet every time, he conceded, meeting your lips with his as if he couldn’t convince himself to stop in the split second he pulled away.
His hand slid from your cheek to the side of your neck, fingers wrapping around the back of it, pulling you in closer. Warm. Your skin was always so warm. You pulled away to properly catch your breath, fingers twisted in the material of his hoodie. “You’re always so cold…” You whispered. “Hoonie, should– should I warm you up?” You shyly asked. He nodded, eyes stared shamelessly down at your lips as he licked his own, tasting the disgusting flavor of the spicy ramyeon. His hands moved to your shoulders awkwardly, patting them firmly as if he were congratulating you for something. You laughed, endeared by his cute action.
“Sunghoon, you can touch me… down here…” You gently held his hands, dragging them to your waist. “Is– is this, okay?” Your voice was barely audible to his ears. Sunghoon nodded.
“Yes–” he gulped, “is– is this okay for you, too?” He murmured. You nodded with a nervous giggle. The position was, admittedly a bit awkward, with his torso contorted to face you as he continued to sit and his hands clumsily placed on your waist. Your body was also angled weirdly into the couch cushions, the blanket crumpled up in your lap.
“Are you comfortable like this?” you asked, soft chuckles spilling your lips from how jittery you were. He looked around, then looked down at your bodies, distantly touching each other. He wasn’t exactly content like this.
“Not really,” he honestly confessed. You adjusted yourself on the couch, your knees bumping up against each other and a muttered apology coming from your mouth. Sunghoon’s lips curled into a confused and intrigued frown as he watched you shuffle, your leg throwing its knee over his thighs. He froze as he realized what you were doing. You had either leg settled on both sides of his own before you gently lowered your weight onto him.
“Is– is this fine too, Hoon?” You mumbled. Your hands instinctively grabbed his shoulders for balance while his own reflexively tightened around your waist to steady you. He nodded eagerly. Your warmth was entirely surrounding him now, and your face was inches away from him once more.
“Hi.” You breathed out, your body trembling from nerves.
“Hello,” he greeted back, his frown flipping into a soft smile, so utterly endeared by how bold yet nervous you were. “Do you feel awkward, Y/N?”
“A little, Hoonie. Am I doing too much?” You bit your lip. As your teeth indented the thin skin, blood drew to where it was pressing, reddening your soft mouth even more.
“Not enough, Y/N,” he responded, surging forward to kiss you again. Sunghoon thought for a moment that, instead of those stupid blood bags, one of these days he could live off of these warm lips, packed with the blossoms of blood vessels that narrowed as his cold lips pressed against them. You kissed back, retiring the silly cute pecks that you did. Sunghoon devoured your mouth, trying his hardest to prevent his fangs from protracting.
He found out a bit funny how much effort he was exerting not to stick out his fangs, considering months ago, he would’ve taken the first chance to sink them into your mouth. But now, all he was focused on was eating you alive in a completely different way— memorizing the shape of your smile between kisses, the tiny breaths you let out when he pulled you closer, and the warmth that kept permeating to his cold skin as you instinctively leaned closer into his body.
His hands tightened at your waist, settling more confidently as his muscular arms snaked around them. The angle was, admittedly still a bit uncomfortable. His hips were beginning to hurt, and your knees kept bumping against the couch cushion, but neither of you bothered to readjust, too caught up in each other’s lips. He pulled away, pupils dilated and entranced on the way your mouth was looking now. They were swollen, slick with the amount of spit you were swapping. They were so pretty looking, almost beguiling him into just fucking swallowing them until the both of you couldn’t breathe anymore. But you were still letting out cute pants, so instead, he sufficed with pressing his mouth to your cheek, before leaning towards your jaw. You squirmed around, bringing your shoulders to the side of his face as the ticklish sensation overwhelmed your instincts.
“Hoon, that tickles…” You whined. He let out a breathy laugh, his kisses trailing down to his neck. As if mocking him, he felt the beats under your jaw drum faster, beckoning him to come near. He licked his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your pulse point. He couldn’t stop– his mouth kept attacking that one specific area, pressing so many kisses to it that you thought he was about to imprint the shape of his lips onto that piece of skin.
His fangs were protracting– he could feel the ache in his gumline signaling to him that his teeth were sharpening. But he didn’t want to bite you anymore. He was sure of it with the way anxiety pricked his nerves with the thought of actually draining you dry to the point where you were cold and sickly.
So instead, his cold lips came together, suckling on your pulse point. You let out a gasp, but the vampire could barely register it. He was sucking on your skin, and for a moment, his irises flashed red. It felt like sucking your blood, without the satisfying flavor of the metal on his tongue. But with the way he was devouring your skin was close– so close so close it almost drew him back to his vampiric instincts of drawing blood. And in a way, he was. He could feel how, under his mouth and below your skin, how your blood vessels crackled and exploded, releasing the tiniest amount of blood to the surface.
He pulled away when you nudged his head gently, only to see a bright purple mark adorning your neck. He looked nervous when you finally made eye-contact. Did he hurt you? Did you not want it anymore? Did he go too far? But all of his apprehensions were washed away as the tide brought in a wide smile. “Hoon… It– it feels really, good, more?”
Sunghoon let out a sigh of relief. “More?” He murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You nodded. His lips curled into a sweet smile. “Okay– but tell me if you want to stop.”
And by the time you told him to stop, your neck was a canvas painted with his love bites, a beautiful artwork of his growing adoration for you.
Days later, Sunghoon and Jake were sitting at the island of their apartment kitchen.
“You know, vampires can’t get hickeys.”
Jake was lapping at a bloodsicle, the frozen hemoglobin staining the Australian vampire’s lips and teeth. “Really?” Sunghoon asked, surprised.
“Yeah, we don’t have blood, genius,” Jake retorted, “Dude, I’m a genius. This popsicle is so damn good. I need to start patenting my recipes or else some other dickhead vampire is gonna claim my shit again.” Jake let out a satisfied moan at the taste of his ice bar.
“Well, is there a next step to our relationship that I must take, Jaeyun?” Sunghoon asked, looking down at his notebook. These days, Sunghoon had been trying to take lessons on relationships. He supposed this was good for stimulating his brain– learning something new and unfamiliar, breaching a territory he was sure that no other vampire had. It had been a while since the hickey incident, and now he was opening up to Jake, wanting to explore more in the vast unknownness of dating.
“Sex, duh.”
“Sex?” Sunghoon looked surprised. “Like– mating?”
“Yeah, sex, man. Y’know? Fuckin’, copulating, making love– that sort of stuff.” Jake bit off a chunk of the popsicle. “But you know, sex isn’t just about reproduction, right? You’ve been alive for like, 120 years already man. Don’t tell me you’re a virgin.”
Sunghoon would’ve blushed if he had blood. Jake’s mouth fell agape. “No way.”
“Well, I was busy with other things, Jaeyun. Like not burning alive and all of that,” Sunghoon grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. Jake sighed, pointing his half-eaten bloodsicle at the slightly-younger man.
“Well, take notes, Sunghoon. Sex isn’t just about mating or feeling good. It’s also about intimacy, trust, and communication. This is a major step for relationships, you know?”
“So, I ask Y/N if she wants to do sex?” Sunghoon asked. Jake seemed thoughtful for a moment before he bit off another chunk of his bloody ice bar.
“Yes– you should breach the thought, but don’t force the topic. Just ask her if she’s ready– well. Okay, hold on.” Jake seemed to be gathering all of his thoughts to formulate a concise explanation and plan for Sunghoon, which the man was patient to receive. “Okay so– first, you guys are like– you guys gotta get in the mood, right? Let’s say you guys are kissing and making out and whatnot. You gotta ask how she feels, ya know? Check in and read the mood, then ask really carefully.” Jake waved his frozen treat around dramatically. “And if she says no, then cool. You just kiss, cuddle, do whatever you two lovebirds usually do.”
Sunghoon wrote down this advice ferociously, nodding his head to everything that Jake said. Everything sounded like common sense– just make sure that you’re comfortable and you both do things you want to do. “Oh, and another thing— don’t think of your relationship as like– having checkpoints. It’s not like, you kiss, then make out, then have sex, you know. I mean, it is lowkey like that for you guys, but don’t dwell on it too much. Relationships don’t have a linear timeline.” Jake expressed. Sunghoon nodded once more.
“Thank you for the advice, Jaeyun,” The vampire sincerely said. Jake smiled and patted the other’s back.
“Dude, of course.”
That night, Sunghoon was laying awake in his bed. (What else would he be doing? Sleeping?) He was scrolling through his phone, watching plenty of Youtube videos about relationship advice and how to get to the “next level.” He somehow found himself in a rabbit hole of niche internet blogs, countless articles flooding his screen about How to Have Sex for the First Time and A Virgin’s Guide to Pleasure.
Although humans were complicated, he was glad that at least he had these guides to help him through his struggles. He read through pieces telling him how to set the mood with candles and roses, editorials about how to properly perform foreplay to prepare someone for sex. It was almost an information overload for his brain– too many possibilities of how your first time could go was actually making the vampire nervous. If it did go at all, of course. He’s been a vampire for over a century, so surely he could wait as long as you wanted to wait before your first time.
Suddenly, a notification swiped down on his phone.
Y/N (girlfriend): hoonieeee!!! WYD!!!
hoon (boyfieee): Hello Baby. I am just reading. Do you need something?
Sunghoon felt a bit smug as he called you a pet name. He had recently learned in a stupid KDrama you guys watched that boyfriends commonly called their girlfriends pet names, and he wanted to apply what he just learned.
Y/N (girlfriend): heheee not much baby <3
Y/N (girlfriend): anyways wanna come over after my final next fri and cook din? been craving sum real food…
Y/N (girlfriend): like steak?
Steak sounded good. Steak had iron in it.
hoon (boyfieee): Yes. I cannot wait to be there.
Y/N (girlfriend): yayyy!!
Y/N (girlfriend): missin u already lol
Sunghoon exhaled slowly, thumb hovering over the screen.
hoon (boyfieee): I miss you too. Do not fret. You will see me soon.
hoon (boyfieee): Do well on your final. I will reward you.
He stared at his own message for a second. It didn’t exactly feel like himself. A reward? Was that the right word? But before he could overthink it, you replied.
Y/N (girlfriend): omg are you gonna kiss me when i’m done
Y/N (girlfriend): i’m gonna ACE THIS EXAM!!!!
Sunghoon laughed. So cute. You were always so cute.
hoon (boyfieee): Focus on studying, needy girl.
hoon (boyfieee): But yes, I will. :)
In a way, it was a reward for himself too, right?
❛❛I'LL EVEN PLUCK THE SUN, THE MOON FOR YOU❞ ── 4
“Hoonie, hi! I bought a meannn cut of ribeye!”
Sunghoon entered your apartment like he owned it. (It almost felt like he did with how often he was over. Maybe he should start offering to pay rent or something.) “Did you, now? Was it expensive? Show me the receipt, baby, I will pay for it.”
“Eek, so dreamy, Hoon, you’re making a woman swoon! But don’t worry, this is on me! And I bought rosemary and thyme and some fancy Kerrygold Irish Butter, but you’re allergic to garlic right? So I didn’t buy any!” You triumphantly said, as if it were the greatest achievement in the world to remember your boyfriend’s food sensitivities. Sunghoon smiled.
“Thank you, Y/N. I appreciate it.” He entered the kitchen, rolling up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. He hugged you from behind, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw. “What sides do you want, baby?”
“I was thinkinggg…. maybe just mashed potatoes or asparagus or something?” You suggested, “Look in my fridge, Hoonie, you can pick!”
The vampire begrudgingly unraveled his arms from your body to wash his hands before he opened your fridge. The cold air hit him in the face so hard that he backed up. He looked through your very normal groceries: eggs, milk, bacon. He scrunched his nose at your terrible way of hiding garlic, tucked away in a bunch of paper towels secured with a rubber band in a deep corner behind your juice carton. It was endearing to see how much you cared for him.
He opened your drawers to see lettuce, bell peppers, cucumbers and– ah, there it was. A bunch of asparagus. He pulled it out and began rinsing the vegetables under the sink as you salted the steak. The steak was bloody, with red juices leaking onto your wooden cutting board and soaking through the splinters. But it was strangely unappetizing. Animal’s blood always was, but for some reason, the smell of it was pungent and repulsive. Sunghoon sniffled, rubbing a finger under his nose.
“Hoon, wash your hands,” you gently chided. He listened to you, moving the vegetables to the counter to rest in a bowl while he washed his hands. He then broke off the thick, fibrous stalks off the asparagus to get rid of the bitter stems. He learned that they were bad for humans. “How do you want to prepare the asparagus, Hoon?” You hummed as you leaned forward on the counter, watching as your boyfriend started snapping the asparagus.
“What do you think is good?” He responded, not really caring because it would taste shitty no matter how well it was prepared.
“Uhmm~ lemon and parmesan? Seared on a pan is really good…” You murmured. Sunghoon nodded half-heartedly, tossing the stalks in the trash. He pulled a pan from your cabinets, flipping it and settling it on the gas stove. You watched intently as he turned on the stove, pulling his phone in his other hand to look up a recipe. He looked effortlessly sexy, with his (oddly transparent) veins emphasized through his skin and his sleeves rolled up to expose his built forearms. You wiped your mouth to get rid of the drool you were about to trail in your mouth.
“Wash your hands, baby,” he chided in the same tone you used earlier. You bounded to the sink and did as told.
“Hmph. Acting like we don’t swap spit every time we see each other. What’s a little drool, anyways?” You huffed. He seemed a bit scandalized at your response, with his eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.
“That is a bit— a bit vulgar…” Sunghoon muttered. You laughed and skipped back towards him, leaning over his side to look at the recipe he was watching. You helped him oil up the pan before he carefully picked a couple of asparagus to settle inside, letting the vegetable sizzle in the liquid fat.
While the asparagus were searing in the pan, Sunghoon was slicing up lemons while you shredded parmesan. “This is so fun, Hoon. I’m so excited to eat– I’m literally drooling,” you rambled. The asparagus hissed in the pan, letting the smokiness of its natural flavors fill the air. You turned on the hood fan as Sunghoon flipped them carefully with tongs. “Oooh, my boyfriend is a chef…! Make room, I’m putting the steak on.”
He pulled out another pan for your steak while you seasoned the meat with freshly cracked black pepper. Your fingers rubbed the spice into the lean cut, your other hand reaching to oil up the pan with a neutral oil. “You like your steak medium rare, right?” You hummed. Sunghoon nodded, letting out a half-hearted sound for an answer. He didn’t like his steak any sort of way.
“Yes, as do you, right?” He looked at you for confirmation. You nodded, letting out a sound of awe as you dropped the steak into the pan. Sunghoon took the asparagus off the stove once he deemed it perfectly seared, pulling out two plates to start the curation of a beautiful dinner display. When you pulled your steak off the pan, it had a beautiful crust and smelled utterly divine. And when you sliced it open, it had a a perfect wall-to-wall cook, the center a gorgeous pink with a gray band lining the edges.
You carefully plated the steak alongside the asparagus, astounded by your once-in-a-lifetime perfect cooking ability. Maybe your boyfriend’s presence buffed your skill a little bit. You snapped a quick pic, a candid one with Sunghoon’s hand blocking a bit of the plate. “Ugh, Hoon, your hand was in the way!” You whined, but when the picture appeared on your phone, his hand was gone. “Oh, I guess not.” You shrugged, completely missing how tense he had gotten at that small exchange. “Well, let’s eat dinner, Hoon!”
Sunghoon obediently took the plate to the small dining table. “Should we watch a movie after, Hoon?” You squealed, clapping your hands eagerly as the seductive aroma of the amazing steak and asparagus filled your senses. Sunghoon nodded. He couldn’t lie, even as a vampire, the steak dinner was tempting him.
You both dug into your meal, you way more ecstatic about it then him. Humans were funny– Sunghoon only needed blood to sustain him, physically and mentally. But seeing you get so excited over a steak dinner compared earlier in the week where you constantly complained about having instant ramen for dinner the fifth time in a week during finals felt more nourishing than even having your blood in a packet. You were chewing eagerly, your cheeks puffing with every bite and muted satisfied sound escaping your mouth.
After dinner and dishes, you both ended up collapsed in the couch with your fluffy blanket entangling both of your bodies together. You were sitting comfortably in his lap, your back pressed against his chest as you watched a random American movie. You were fiddling with Sunghoon’s thick and pretty fingers, rubbing your thumb against his pale knuckles. His chin was resting on your shoulder, mouth buried in the crook of your neck as he absentmindedly pressed kisses to it.
You weren’t really focused on the movie much. How could you be when your irresistible boyfriend couldn’t get his mouth off of you? You squirmed as his lips landed close to your ear, tickling you. “Hoon, the movie…” You mumbled, though you could give less of a shit about it at this point.
“I am watching…” he said, clearly not watching. You snorted softly, leaning further back into him. His arms tightened around your waist instinctively, keeping you settled comfortably in his lap. The television continuing streaming your shitty movie, but neither of you have been paying attention to the plot at this point. (That was barely even there, in the first place.)
Your fingers continued tracing over his pale hands as his lips continued to wander. His arms loosened so his hands could hold you, his large hands splaying across the expanse of your sides. “So clingy…” you muttered.
“Finals stole you from me,” he said, matter-of-factly. He continued to litter your skin with his soft kisses, and eventually, you couldn’t help yourself from meeting his mouth. He smiled as you both kissed, teeth clacking against each other as the innocent kisses evolved into a needy claim of each other. The pace became rapid as you contorted your body, setlting in his lap so that you were properly facing him. Your arms circled around his neck, pulling you closer. Sunghoon could tell you were still being clumsy, but that made it even more endearing. You were acting so needy, and it was igniting a new feeling in the vampire.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jake’s voice became present. “Okay so– first, you guys are like– you guys gotta get in the mood, right? Let’s say you guys are kissing and making out and whatnot. You gotta ask how she feels, ya know? Check in and read the mood, then ask really carefully.” Sunghoon pulled away, a hand moving to gently cup your cheek, his thumbpad gently stroking your soft skin.
“Baby, are you feeling okay?” He mumbled. You nodded. “Okay– you need to tell me if it is uncomfortable,” he murmured. Your fingers slid into the hair at the nape of his neck as you nodded, pulling him back into you. His eyes fluttered shut as he got lost in the feeling of your sweet kisses, devouring him more than he could have ever done to you.
You shifted your hips over his, trying to get comfortable, but the movement pulled out a strangled groan from Sunghoon’s throat. You shifted away, alarmed. “Hoon? Does it hurt?” You softly asked. He shook his head, steadying your body by gripping onto you. His kisses moved down to pepper onto your neck, leaving hickeys in its wake. He was getting so hungry, so hungry… But it wasn’t the typical hollowness that left his stomach growling. It was a flame that kept flickering, pooling an unfamiliar heat in his body that left him shivering.
He bit down onto your neck instinctively despite his fangs not protracting, leaving only safe indents where his teeth were. You whimpered, squirming your head away. He bit again– Oh? This almost felt like the real thing. He was tempted to draw his fangs, but a pressing question had taken priority in his mouth.
“Baby, do– do you want to take the next step?”
The question startled you. You stilled, gripping his buff shoulders to pull him away from you, looking him in the eye. Sunghoon smiled comfortingly, trying to show you that he was completely relaxed, even though he was consumed with anxiety. If he had a functioning heart, it would be rapidly thumping just like yours.
“Uhm– Hoon, I– I dunno…” You confessed nervously, trying to widen your distance out of fear. “Uh– Hoon, I– I’m still a virgin and– and I don’t know if I’m ready yet…” You were stumbling over your words, heavy breaths escaping you as you tried to regulate your nerves. Sunghoon gently rubbed your hip, trying to soothe you.
“That is okay, Y/N,” he said softly, “I am one too. A virgin, I mean,” he added in an attempt to pacify your worries. “And we do not have to do anything you do not want to.” He nodded confidently. You smiled, and he could feel your heartbeat level out as your shoulders relaxed.
Vampirism was inherently about taking, taking, taking. Taking blood, taking lives, and taking apart people from the inside. But nothing about this relationship was about taking, not the way he intended. He was supposed to take your blood, drain your veins dry for all that they could give– but now he was in your space, making you feel comforted, denying his own instincts just to preserve every bit of you.
“I love you,” Sunghoon abruptly whispered. “I love you, Y/N.” He was suddenly overwhelmed with his emotions– guilt and adoration. The idea of him eating you before getting to this point filled him with so much shame that it was choking him. A few months ago, you were just considered a mere blood bag, reduced down to food and fuel. But now, the thought of it made him sick, the thought that he would’ve simply gotten over you in seconds with a deep pitch of his fangs. That you wouldn’t be here, your heart beating for him and only him. That you would just be another cold body without any blood and another unsolved case. Oh. Sunghoon felt like he was going to seriously throw up. He’s not even sure if vampires could throw up.
“You make me feel…” Alive, human, mortal. “... you make me feel so happy.” Is what he finalized with.
You gently grabbed his jaw, turning his face back toward you. “I love you too,” you said. “I love you so much, Hoon. And you make me happy, too.” You nodded. His throat tightened. Of course you loved him, because you only knew his good sides, not the sides that thought about indulging in your crimson proteins or planned to date you just to fucking consume you.
You leaned forward first this time, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before curling back into his chest. Sunghoon wrapped the blanket tighter around both of you, keeping the both of you warm. The movie credits had long begun rolling, nearing the end. You yawned quietly, mouth stretching as a signal of your drowsiness settling in.
“Tired?” he asked.
“Mhm.” You nodded. “Can we stay like this a little longer?”
“Of course, baby.”
Your breathing eventually evened out against him. And while you drifted closer to sleep in his arms, Sunghoon stayed awake. Well, mostly because he was a vampire, but he was sure that even if he wasn’t, he’d remain awake. You looked so calm and peaceful and vulnerable that he felt obligated to stay awake and watch over you, making the most minuscule movements of his life. And Sunghoon would have revelled in that stillness of yours if he was still craving to eat you, but instead his hunger was swallowed down, suppressed by the love he had for you.
Summer came, bringing in a blistering heat. You didn’t go back to your hometown like you usually did. Instead, you stayed in your apartment during the three months off of school, choosing to remain with your boyfriend.
Over the 17 weeks that you guys stayed within proximity of each other, dates lined your calendar nearly every single day. Normally, you would’ve gotten sick of spending so much time with someone, but Sunghoon’s presence in your life settled right where it belonged that it felt like he had always existed alongside you. Your roommate had subletted her room to someone who was barely ever there, giving Sunghoon the perfect opportunity to basically move in with you. He was still officially living with Jake, his name still on the lease. But he practically became your new roommate with how often he was at your place.
The sunny season shined a new light upon your boyfriend. You came to find yourself endeared and amused by how much he cared about UV protection. After you told him you found his stock of sunscreen in his bathroom, he gave up hiding it and began piling his supply in your place as well. You always had an umbrella ready for when he finally obliged to take walks in the morning and long protective sleeves and leggings for whenever you guys went out while the sun was.
Summer left as soon as it came, and suddenly fall was beginning to settle in as a new semester begun.
You admittedly cried a little. Sunghoon was now in his fourth year and you were a third year, meaning that graduation would fall upon him. It felt like you met him too late, you had cried to him one night. But Sunghoon knew both of you had all of the time in the world. He was a vampire after all, he had centuries to kill, and he could spend eternity with you if he wanted to. (He said that to you, minus the whole vampire shtick. You had laughed and smacked his arm, but he meant it entirely.)
Time continued moving despite your protests and tears. Soon, your laptop was flooded with assignments and your notebooks were filled with redundant philosophy and sociology jargon. Even though you said for the third year in a row that you would finally get your shit together, your color-coded journal became increasingly empty and your working hours began to bleed into dawn.
A part of you feared that you would unintentionally find distance with Sunghoon, with how your workloads had nearly doubled since last year. But he found a way to weave himself into your daily life. He walked you to class, waited for you even at the dead of night, and showed up at your apartment with takeout whenever you texted him that you were hungry. (He had simply began putting the hours of the day into you while night time became his productive space. Being a vampire did have its perks.)
Stressful was an understatement to describe your semester, and even Sunghoon couldn’t deny that it was creeping into him too. So when Jake appeared with a wide, anticipatory grin and a Doorlist notification on his phone, the slightly-younger vampire felt like he was genuinely going to punch the Australian.
“I am not going to a party,” Sunghoon deadpanned.
“Dude, it’s Jay’s party. We have to go. It’s his last rager!” Jake whined.
“You and I both know that is not true. We are also a bit too old to be attending parties now.”
“You are never too old to attend a party, Hoon.” Jake nodded. “Matter-of-fact, we’re supposed to be at the legal drinking age right now. We should be at that party. And it’s Jay, man! Remember when he found out that we were vampires, and he was soo chill about it too.”
“Firstly, he found out that you were a vampire, and then you revealed my identity as one under no pressure.” Sunghoon gritted his teeth. “And what if we are in a situation where Jay is intoxicated, and then he says something like, ‘Oh, by the way, these are my two vampire friends!” Sunghoon was blubbering for the first time in his life, his eloquent manner of speaking vanishing.
“Hoon, who is going to believe that?” Jake groaned.
“Drunk words are sober truth,” Sunghoon replied solemnly, “Plus, there will be other girls there. And I do not want Y/N to get the wrong idea.” He nodded, crossing his arms. It was the perfect reason, and he’s sure Jake knew it. So when the Australian vampire spoke up, Sunghoon nearly choked.
“I heard from Y/N’s roomie that they’re going.”
Sunghoon froze, stunned as Jake dropped the final bomb that he knew would make the slightly-younger vampire explode. He ignored the fact that Jake knew your roommate to press the older vampire. “Y/N is going? Y/N did not tell me.” Sunghoon gritted his teeth. He knew he sounded like a possessive boyfriend, but he didn’t care about his tone.
“Oh? Really? She RSVP’d as going on the Doorlist, though?” Jake showed Sunghoon for proof. Sunghoon felt like he was about to explode.
“RSVP me too,” Sunghoon conceded. Jake pumped his fist.
“Yes, bro, let’s go!” He cheerfully said. Sunghoon checked his phone when a notification slid in.
Y/N (girlfriend): babeeee my roomie is dragging me to jay’s party this weekend. can u come with me plsss?
hoon (boyfieee): YES.
hoon (boyfieee): I mean. Yes. Let’s go together. Jaeyun and I will pick you up, okay? And your roommate too, I suppose.
Y/N (girlfriend): yay!! oki, c u hoon <3
❛❛THREE PEOPLE, TWO SETS OF FANGS❞ ── 5
Sunghoon waited outside patiently of your apartment complex, sitting in the passenger seat of Jake’s car. His fingers drummed impatiently on the window switch, just wanting you to come out already.
“Bro, chill, lover boy.” Jake snorted. Sunghoon let out a small hiss, watching the door, waiting for the hinges to creak and the fortified wood to swing open. His leg jumped up and down as he counted the seconds until he’d see you bound down the stairs with a cute smile on your face. Maybe in a cute outfit, too. He’d never really seen your party getups, and you both have never been to the bars together.
The vampire’s breath hitched as the door to your complex swung open, revealing two women. It was you and your roommate and Dracula– you were absolutely stunning. Wearing an outfit that would bring any mortal, and immortal, to their knees. It wasn’t even that revealing or particularly sexy, but you brought out the best of it. Your hair was styled beautifully, bouncing with every step you took. You were smiling widely while talking to your Chowon, radiating a brightness that could rival the sun and scar his vampiric skin.
Jake let out a low whistle. "Damn." Sunghoon's head snapped toward him.
"What?" He growled.
“Not Y/N, dumbass. Chowon. Damn, she’s so pretty.” Jake fixed his hair in the mirror again. The backdoor suddenly swung open, and the noisy sounds of two girls clamoring into the back of a car filled the atmosphere.
"Hoonie!" you beamed. Immediately, every trace of irritation disappeared from the vampire’s face.
"Hello, baby,” he greeted back casually, turning around to look at you. You leaned forward with a small giggle, your knees bumping into the center console as you reached to kiss his cheek. Sunghoon practically melted. Your perfume was intoxicating, and it was almost accentuating your natural smell. Your lips were painted a deep color, and he’s sure that your kiss just left a lipstick mark on his face.
Yeah, Sunghoon wasn’t sure he would survive this party.
You spent the entire ride leaning forward between the seats, chatting animatedly with Jake and Chowon while Sunghoon sat quietly in the passenger seat, occasionally glancing at you whenever he thought you weren't looking. (You caught him staring every single time he thought he was being subtle, and it always brought a small smile to your lips.)
By the time Jake pulled into the crowded street outside the party house, music was already rattling the windows and Sunghoon was sure he spotted some guy already yakking in the neighbor’s bushes.
"Oh my God, it's packed," you gasped excitedly. Sunghoon immediately wanted to go home. The front lawn was crowded, Red Solo cups already littered on the grass. The bass from the speakers was so loud that he could feel it vibrating through the asphalt of the street. There was so many people that Sunghoon was picking up on enough pulses to have his head ringing.
"Fun," he deadpanned. Jake parked on the street, a bit away from the party so that nobody would yak on his tires. The four of you walked to the venue, with your Chowon hitting it off with Jake while you swung your hands with Sunghoon. As soon as you entered the venue, you were sucked into another world with strobing lights to replace the night sky and loud EDM music in place of the chirping crickets. Sunghoon was already regretting his decision. He should’ve just asked if you guys could stay in and have a nice little comfortable date to yourself that didn’t involve over 100 people cramped into a two-story house.
“Be careful. Men are wolves.” Sunghoon said seriously. You giggled.
“Aren’t you a man?” You teasingly asked.
“I’m not a wolf.” He was genuinely repulsed at your question. He was a vampire, a respectable vampire. Werewolves were all instincts and impulses, pheromones and whatnot. Vampires were supposed to be creatures of restraint, sophistication, and control. (Whether that was actually true was up for debate, considering Jake was already losing his mind on the Bloody Mary’s he snuck into the party.)
“Hoon? Should we get a drink too?” You asked, glancing at Jake who was downing his homemade cocktails like he had just found water in a desert. Sunghoon looked around. Everyone else was drunk off of their minds, and the place stunk of booze and body odor. He scrunched his nose.
“Do you want one? I will not get one,” he replied, crossing his arms. You pouted.
“You’re so responsible, Hoon. I’ll try a cup of jungle juice!” You cheerfully spoke. He held your hand, letting you drag him to the bar where Jay’s friend, Sunoo, was standing. He poured a cup that looked like it was wayyy too big of a serving for one gal before sending you a thumbs up.
You took a sip, your eyebrows raising in satisfaction. “Oh? This is dangerous. It tastes like pure juice.”
“Jay’s secret recipe!” Sunoo yelled over the hard bass. You turned around to laugh at Sunoo’s remark when you heard Jake cheer.
“Yoo, Hoon, man, I found Jay! Come say hi!” The Australian rambunctiously yelled, an arm looped around Chowon’s waist. For a brief moment, Sunghoon’s attention shifted to look at the older man. Then, he felt a body press up against him, muttering an apology as it squeezed past. Then another person followed, and then an entire group of freshmen guys yelling about the jungle juice slipped past. And suddenly, you weren’t in his line of vision anymore.
Sunghoon’s head snapped around, trying his best to locate you. He even tried to sniff you out (maybe he was part-werewolf), to no avail. He couldn’t even single out the aroma of your sweet blood with the large crowd, the musty smell of sweaty bodies filling his senses instead. His nose scrunched up in pure disgust.
"Y/N?" He raised his voice, but nobody answered back.
Meanwhile, you were being swept in an entirely different direction. "Hoon?" you called out nervously, standing on your toes to try to get a glimpse of his familiar black hair amongst the seat of people. But the crowd had completely swallowed the both of you up into different currents. "Great." You rolled your eyes, pulling out your phone, only to feel a pang of frustration from the lack of bars.
"Looking for someone?" A voice asked. It was way too soft to be heard above the crowd, yet somehow, you had distinguished it amongst the screams, singing, and EDM. You turned around, your nose nearly bumping into the chest of a stranger. You looked up. He had a gentle and easygoing smile on his lips, an amicable sign that looked like it could put anyone at ease. Yet for some reason, it made you a bit unnerved.
"Yeah," you laughed awkwardly. "I lost my boyfriend." The pale man licked his lips, raising an eyebrow in surprise and vague disappointment.
"Boyfriend, huh?" He replied.
"Mhm." You hummed, a bit weirded out.
"Lucky guy,” he commented. His eyes drifted briefly toward your neck and wrist, before slowly looking back at your face. His smile never left. He leaned in to speak into your ear, "My name's Sangwon."
A chill crawled down your spine. When he stepped closer, his eyes looked exactly like how Sunghoon’s used to when he stared at you during class.
“Yeah, I’m pretty lucky too. Nice to meet you Sangwon.” You nervously chuckled, taking a cautious step back, trying your hardest to put at least some semblance of distance between the both of you despite the packed party. You intentionally didn’t give your name, feeling more and more creeped out the more you looked at him. Sure, he was attractive, but he was giving you the heebie-jeebies for some reason. “Uhm– I’m going to find my boyfriend, yeah.”
“Do you need me to accompany you? It’s really crowded,” he murmured, his voice blaring sirens in your ear despite how soft-spoken he was.
“No– oh no, that’s really okay… I mean, I’ll be fine.” You swallowed. Sangwon tilted his head.
“Your boyfriend wouldn't want you wandering around alone, would he?” His voice lulled almost into a purr. You scoffed, now getting a bit angry at the sheer audacity of this man. Alright, now he was just being downright freaky. Before you could decline again, a wave of people pushed through the room. Someone bumped your shoulder, sending you stumbling slightly. Sangwon's hand immediately shot out to steady you. His grip was cold, almost as cold as Sunghoon’s usual body temperature and way too cold for the hot and heavy-air atmosphere you were in. You stared at him, but made a point not to thank him.
His pointer and middle fingerpads brushed against the inside of your wrist before he let go of your wrist, his digits slowly unfurling around your bone and skin. His smile seemed to widen as he brushed up against the epidermis. “Your heart's beating really fast,” he whispered.
“Uh... what?”
“Probably the music.” He laughed lightly. “And the crowd.”
“Riiiight…” You drawled out. What a freak! You inched away, backing up. Sangwon seemed to follow, as if you had him on a fishing line that magically pulled him. His eyes dropped down, and for a second you were disgusted to see it fall to your lips, but then it dropped lower. You were about to smack him, thinking he was staring at your chest or something, but his gaze shifted slightly to the right. You could see as the red and white lights flashed on his face that his pupils were dilating, his focus seemingly on one thing:
Your neck.
His mouth fell agape, and you could see his canines protruding, thinning of into sharp peaks. Your breath hitched. The pleasant smile he had been wearing all conversation suddenly looked strained, as if he were forcing it into place.
"Are you okay?" you asked cautiously. Suddenly, the breath was knocked out of you as you were pulled back into someone’s chest. You didn’t have to look behind you to know who it was, because the cold and broad muscle was one that you had been slotted up against for endless nights. A firm, left arm wrapped around the top of your chest, locking you into a protective embrace.
“What are you doing with my girlfriend?” Sunghoon hissed. Sangwon's eyes flickered from Sunghoon's face to the arm wrapped around you. Then, slowly, a real and oddly amused smile spread across his lips.
"Oh." The single syllable carried a strange understanding, and it felt like you were suddenly on the outsider of an inside joke. "She's yours." Sangwon raised both hands, as if surrendering. "I'm not trying to cause any trouble."
"You were staring at her neck." The accusation left Sunghoon immediately. You blinked, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion. What an oddly specific thing to say. You looked at Sunghoon, and suddenly you didn’t recognize him anymore. When you looked back at Sangwon, it felt less like two strangers meeting and more like two predators sizing each other up.
“So?” Sangwon sighed. "You know how difficult it is to find good donors these days,” he complained, almost whining. Your mouth fell agape in pure discombobulation. Donors? What the hell was he talking about, and why does it seem like Sunghoon understood?
“She is not– She is not a donor.” Sunghoon swallowed, almost sounding pained. “She is my girlfriend, and I love her.” You would’ve cooed if you weren’t so fucking scared and confused. Sangwon looked you up and down before glancing at Sunghoon again.
"How long?" He licked his lips.
Sunghoon's jaw clenched. "That's none of your business,” he spat out.
"Months?" Sangwon guessed. “Months, and you haven’t fed?
FED???
"What does that mean? Hoonie– baby– what does that mean?” You asked, his protective grip on you suddenly feeling suffocating, the weight of his muscular arm now feeling too heavy for your liking. Sangwon barked out a laugh.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
"Stop. Talking.” Sunghoon didn’t know why he didn’t just pull away. He was so caught up in his anger and disgust
"No, seriously." He pointed between the two of you. "You mean to tell me you've been dating her for months and you're still surviving off bagged blood?"
The color drained from your face. What the fuck does he mean bagged blood. It was like your head was on a swivel with the way you kept looking at your boyfriend and the random stranger.
"...What? Babe, what the hell is he talking about–” You began to nervously ramble. Sunghoon looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. Unfortunately for him, Sangwon seemed to be having the time of his life, a cheshire-like grin spreading on his lips as he kept talking.
"Dude, that's insane. You're telling me you've been sleeping next to this girl every night and haven't taken a single sip?" The words were beginning to form a horrifying picture. Was your boyfriend a fucking cannibal or something? Sunghoon's eyes flashed dangerously.
"One more word and I'll rip your throat out." He snarled. The threat came out so naturally and so unlike your delicate boyfriend who was always precious smiles and soft words.
The EDM was pounding your ear drums, and your heart rate was accelerating. You nervously began to paw at Sunghoon’s arm nervously, your throat closing up and breath stuttering with every heavyset inhale. "H-Hoon..." you whispered. Your voice was barely audible. For the first time since you'd known him, his touch didn't comfort you. It felt like a trap. Sunghoon immediately loosened his grip, hurt flashing across his face.
Sangwon laughed, his eyes wrinkling into gentle crescents despite his mocking demeanor. "See?" He said in a whiny tone. "Now you've gone and scared her. It’s okay, you should feel special. Do you know how hard it is for vampires to love?”
As you looked back at Sangwon, for a split second, your eyes caught something gleaming in the light. A sharp pair of fangs. Your breath caught. You turned around to face your boyfriend.
And when you looked at Sunghoon, he was baring the same set of sharp teeth.
Your boyfriend was a fucking vampire.
You stumbled forwards, out of his grip and towards Sangwon. Realizing you were in between two fucking vampires, you stumbled out to the side, letting your feet lead you away. You heard faintly hear Sunghoon call your name, and hear his footsteps pounding against the floor as they followed after you. By the time you got outside, you thought that the fresh air would let you breathe again, but every inhale seemed to weigh more down on your lungs.
“Baby, please– just listen to me, please, baby.” Sunghoon continuously begged behind you, his voice following you like a loyal puppy.
“Sunghoon– you–” You didn’t even know what to say. What could you? You were standing outside a frat house at midnight after discovering your boyfriend was apparently a vampire. Like the mythical creature that wasn’t supposed to be fucking real, vampire.
“Baby, please,” Sunghoon repeated. You spun around. He nearly bumped into you, his chest nearly slamming against your nose. You backed up, putting some distance between the both of you.
“Are you a vampire?”
The question sounded ridiculous. It wasn’t a sentence that you’d ever thought you’d say. You couldn’t even fucking imagine what situation you would ever use it in, yet here you were, in front of your supposed vampire boyfriend. The second the question left your mouth, Sunghoon's face crumpled. He couldn't even deny it now that he was confronted directly, and his silence was answer enough.
Your stomach dropped. “Oh my God.”
“Y/N—”
“Oh my God.” Your hands flew into your hair. Everything suddenly made sense. The sunscreen, the garlic allergy, the weird staring and formal way of speaking. His fucking books from forever ago and his odd fascination with the Victorian and Gothic eras. His cold skin, his weird fixation with giving you hickeys, and the way he never seemed to get tired. And oh my goodness this is why you could never use the bathroom with him because he doesn’t even show up in mirrors– Your knees nearly buckled, your mind getting crushed with the sheer amount of realizations in your relationship thus far. “Is it true, Sunghoon?” You whispered, “That you’re really a vampire?”
“Yes.” The answer came quietly.
“You lied to me.” Your voice cracked. Sunghoon looked like you'd stabbed him with a wooden stake.
“I know, baby–”
“For months!” You added.
“I know.” He exhaled.
“You let me think you were normal!” Sunghoon’s heart was physically aching, a feeling that he hadn’t experienced a century ago. His heart couldn’t ache. It wasn’t even pumping. But of course, it was you who had pulled out such a strong emotion out of him.
“I wanted to be, Y/N. Please– I really wanted to be normal. For you,” he murmured. For the first time since you’ve met Sunghoon, he looked scared. “I did not mean to lie to you forever,” he said quietly. “I just— I was just waiting for the right time!”
“And when was that?” you demanded. “When we graduated? When we got married? When I was eighty, on my deathbed, while you still look as young as ever, Sunghoon?” Each question made him flinch.
“I do not know,” was all he could say. The music from inside the house pulsed faintly through the walls, but all you could feel was the silence that was lingering over both of your heads.
“Were you really going to drink my blood?” You quietly asked. Sunghoon froze. The question clearly wasn't the one he'd been expecting, but he couldn’t lie to you anymore. He nodded slowly once.
“A long time ago,” he whispered, “But not anymore. Not anymore,” he mumbled. Your question sent him off into a bizarre, desperate, and incoherent rambling. He was muttering to himself, his gaze focused on the hard grass beneath your feet. He took a cautious step forward. “I would rather starve. I promise you, baby.” He sniffled, and when he looked up again, he was crying.
“Sunghoon…” you mumbled, unable to resist cupping his cold skin and wiping away his tear. He nuzzled his cheek into your warm palm, his eyes fluttering shut. He wasn’t the scary bloodsucker that Sangwon made him out to me. No, he was still your sweet boyfriend Sunghoon.
“I–” He choked out. “I– Your blood smelled so good when I first met you…” He confessed. “The first time we became project partners, I wasn't happy because I liked you. I was happy because it made it so much easier for me to just drink you up. But you are sweet– you are so so sweet, Y/N, just like your blood. And every time we met up, we got closer and– and you made me feel something I haven’t felt in over a hundred years. I don’t know when it happened, Y/N, but I didn’t just want your blood anymore. I wanted you.” He was breathless as he rambled on and on, and he would continue until there was no more air in his lungs as long as you were convinced and you didn’t leave him.
“Hoon, I’m– I’m really mad still…” your voice cracked, your fingers clumsily coming up to rub away as a tear slipped down your cheek. “You– you still lied to me… and– and you wanted to suck my blood. I dunno how I feel about that, Hoon…” you murmured, “but I can’t deny that I haven’t been at my happiest with you. And admittedly, I don’t think I can say that I hate you…”
Sunghoon’s eyes sparkled with the tears that lined his ducts. He sniffled, his pale hands rubbing against each other at the palms to help soothe himself. "You do not have to forgive me tonight," he said quickly, as if the words had been waiting behind his teeth. "Or tomorrow. Or next week." His gaze dropped to the pavement. "Honestly, I do not know if I would forgive me." He laughed weakly, wiping at his tear-stained face.
"I understand if you are scared of me, too,” he spoke lowly. You couldn’t deny it. You were scared. Not exactly of Sunghoon, but of everything you had just learned. It was too much for a college student to process. That vampires apparently existed. And your boyfriend was one. And that same boyfriend who kissed your forehead before exams and made you your favorite instant ramyeon when you were sick had once looked at you and thought about draining all your blood.
It was way too much.
"I’m sorry, Hoon– I– I think… I need a second. Away. From you,” you hesitantly said. Sunghoon nodded in understanding. “I’ll– I’ll call an uber. And I’ll call you eventually, Hoon. When I’ve sorted everything out.”
Sunghoon spent a week in absolute misery.
The first day, he kept staring at all of the pictures of you he had on his phone. The second day, he went through your social media, stalking your account to see your minimal amount of photos posted and to see if you had put anything on your stories. The third day, he was contemplating whether or not it’d be worth it to bake himself in the Sun. He wasn’t even sure how he made it through the rest of the four days without actually dying.
"For the love of Dracula, man." Jake threw a throw pillow directly at his face. Sunghoon didn't even flinch. The pillow hit him square in the fact before it slowly slid off. "Get up, you’re embarrassing our entire species. Vampires don’t sulk, we smolder, man." Jake looked at the untouched blood packets littering the coffee table. "And when was the last time you ate, dude? You’re making our apartment look like a fucking crime scene in the making. And you look paler than usual, man, damn. You look like Nosferatu.”
"I am not hungry. And do not compare me to him. That feels blasphemous.”
Jake rolled his eyes. “Have you texted her at least?”
“I am waiting for her to text me. She is the one who said she needed space, so I must wait for her.” Sunghoon sighed, rubbing his forehead despite himself. Jake winced.
“Man, it must be really bad if you’re touching your face..” He gave a firm pat to Sunghoon’s back. “Well, look on the bright side, man. She probably won’t break up with you if she just said she needed space, right?” Jake tried. Sunghoon nodded, but there were no emotions on his listless face.
“But what if she decides to after a week?” Sunghoon sniffled. Jake rolled his eyes.
“Man, I think if anything, if I found out my boyfriend was a vampire, it would make him hotter!” Jake tried once more. Sunghoon nodded again, but there wasn’t exactly a positive or negative reaction. He wasn’t exactly scared of being dumped. He was more terrified of the fact that he could have scarred you. He was terrified that instead of picturing him as your boyfriend, all you would see is a set of fangs, ready to dig into you and kill you at any moment.
He felt like throwing up. It was probably because of the malnourishment, but he felt sick at the thought of you thinking that he would kill you. And the truth was that he did at one point, but even though he changed his mind about it, the concept had still existed at one point. And for you, every perspective and sweet memory the two of you shared was probably now stained by his foolish intentions. He wanted to rip his hair out. He was nearly about to actually when his phone began to ring.
He lunged for his phone on the coffee table, his heart feeling lighter as he read the contact. It was yours. He picked up before the second ring could even happen. “Y/N? Babe? Is that you?” He meekly spoke.
“Hoon? Can you come over?” You asked through the phone. His heart felt like it was breaking into two as he heard your soft sniffles that you tried so hard to suppress.
“Yes. I will be there. I–” He let out a defeated sigh. “I will be there in five minutes. I am going to fly,” he honestly admitted as he walked to the balcony door. His fingers pulled back the black-out curtains for a moment to reveal the weather outside. The Sun was almost mocking him, shining brightly despite his gloomy mood, and he hissed silently as the ray caught on his exposed arm.
“What? What do you mean fly, Hoon? Like– fly with your vampiric powers?” You fussed. He winced.
“Yes. I love you. Five minutes, babe.”
And as promised, he was outside the door to your apartment in five minutes. He was about to knock on the door when it suddenly swung open, revealing you in all your glory. You looked, well, like a mess to be honest. Your eyes were puffy, lips pouty, and you were drowning in an oversized sweatshirt that Sunghoon was sure belonged to him. He would’ve felt upset at your condition if you didn’t wear his clothes, because to him, it was a sign that you still loved him some way.
Sunghoon missed you so much. He missed you so much that it felt like his skin was peeling off. Oh, maybe it was. He was standing a little bit in the Sun. You gently wrapped your fingers around his wrist and pulled him inside your apartment. The curtains were drawn shut, and the living room was illuminated by a warm standing lamp at the end of your couch. The dark atmosphere made him swallow. Were you really sulking in such a dim environment, just as he was?
“I missed you.” He breathed out without thinking. You looked stunned that he spoke up first, but soon, a soft smile spread across your lips.
“I missed you too, Hoon…” you responded, “Let’s– Let’s talk in my room, okay?” You proposed. He nodded obediently. He’d walk into incoming traffic if you asked him in that sweet tone. He followed you and noticed immediately that his sunscreen brand was still on your dresser and that his phone charger was still plugged into the wall. A ghost of a grin haunted his expression.
“Can I just– ask you something?” You exhaled. “How much of our relationship was real? How much of it did you really feel?”
“All of it.” The answer came immediately. You were taken aback at how fast he replied. “I think… for the most part, I was in denial about my feelings. You were my first everything, Y/N,” he confessed, his hands beginning to tremor with the intensity of his passion. “My first girlfriend, my first kiss, and my first love.” He nodded. “Even after over 120 years of living.”
“120 YEARS?” You yelped. He winced, his broad frame curling into himself. He looked less of a vampire and more of a frightened kitten.
“Yes… I am around 120 years old… Give or take?” His shoulders shrugged up with a sheepish look on his face. “But that is not relevant right now…?” He waved his hands dismissively. “All that matters is that I, Park Sunghoon the vampire, am sincerely in love with you.” He nodded, before twisting his expression. “Was that too cheesy?”
“A little bit.” You laughed wetly. You slowly opened your arms, and Sunghoon hesitantly allowed himself to fall into it. Even though he was a muscular vampire, he felt so small in your warm embrace. “I’m still mad, Hoon…” you admitted. “But I can’t lie and say that our relationship doesn’t mean anything to me. Because you’ve been my boyfriend first for a while now, and to me, being a vampire is a secondary thing. Does that make sense?” You kissed his forehead softly, and you could feel the muscles ease under your lips.
“Yes…” he murmured softly. You smiled.
“Although I’ll probably be a little mad for a while. Just ‘cuz you lied to me. And I think I can get past the part where you wanted to suck my blood because you said you don’t want to anymore, I guess. It’s a little muddy there.” You scratched your head. He nodded against your chest.
“I am sorry. I can apologize a million times until you are not mad anymore. On my knees, too. Or you can hang me upside down by my feet like a bat if that makes you happier.” He added. You smiled and gently smoothed down the back of his sleek, black hair before cupping his pale face.
“Maybe later, baby. I just think I want to spend some missed time with my boyfriend right now.”
❛❛THIS SWEET SCENT, FANGS GLOWING RED❞ ── + 1
“Baby, are you okay?”
It had been a while since you and Sunghoon had made up, but somehow looked even sicker than he did when he first appeared on your doorstep. Your boyfriend was already naturally cold and pale, but his white skin somehow turned greyish and practically translucent enough to see the outline of his bone structure. He couldn’t even go out, his skin becoming even more sensitive to UV rays no matter how much he covered himself up. Even a puffer jacket couldn’t stop the sunlight from penetrating through to his skin.
“I am fine,” he said weakly. He was currently bundled up in all of your blankets, laying down in your bed with a hot pack on his forehead. You weren’t sure this would heal him up, and Sunghoon honestly wasn’t sure himself, but he reassured you that it was the thought that counts and that ,“he’s a vampire, so he’ll probably live.”
After three days of his sickness and still no sign of recovery, you called in professional reinforcements.
“Yeah, I dunno man.” Jake shrugged as he casually sucked on his blood pack. He offered some to Sunghoon, who shrugged with a repulsed scrunch of his nose. “Are you hungry, man? You didn’t eat for a like– a week when you guys didn’t talk. Maybe it’s like his stomach shrank or something.” Jake tried to find a reason.
“I have not had a blood pack since before our fight,” Sunghoon admitted honestly, “I tried to, but they taste repulsive for some odd reason.”
“Ohh…” Jake’s mouth formed into a surprised circle. “Have you tried drinking Y/N’s blood?”
“Are you crazy!? That is why we did not speak in the first place, you lunatic!” Sunghoon growled before bursting out into a fit of coughs.
“I mean, you haven’t had any form of sustenance, and you’re disgusted by other blood. If she’s your girl, and you wanted to drink her blood before, logically wouldn’t it be better if you just drank her blood?” Jake suggested.
“What if– what if I hurt you, Y/N?” Sunghoon swallowed, wincing as the dry lining of his esophagus itched.
“I can always push you off, you know?” You smiled. “I’m not that weak and fragile, Hoon.” Your words were firm, but apparently not firm enough to convince Sunghoon. He was gnawing at his bottom lip anxiously, but you could see how his canines looked sharper than they usually were.
“Okay…” Sunghoon finally conceded. Jake left, taking a bottle of his roommate’s sunscreen that he forgot on the coffee table as “payment” for his help. After the Australian vampire left, you settled into bed with Sunghoon. He sat up properly, letting you sit in his lap. The blanket that had covered his long legs was now strewn across your bed, bunched up on the side against your wall.
“If it hurts, just please slap the immortality out of me.” Sunghoon nodded firmly. You laughed, gently cupping his gaunt face so that he could look at you properly.
“I trust you, baby, just trust yourself too, hm?” The pads of your thumb rubbed up against his cheeks. He let out a small breath before burying his nose into the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply, as if he could breathe you into your lungs and keep you locked in there forever. A small pleased grunt left his lips, the sound raspy and dry.
“You smell s’good…” he mumbled. You kept looking at his face, taking note of every microexpression he made. His thick eyebrows twitched together, the muscles forming wrinkles at the center. His nose fluttered up and down like a bunny sniffing out for carrots. And then he opened his mouth, and your heart felt like it stopped. (Sunghoon knew it only paced faster.)
Past his plump lips and lining his red mouth was his two sharp fangs, gleaming with how sharp they were. “Gonna sink them into your neck, baby… right here…” Sunghoon’s voice whispered as his jaw hinged wide open. Your fingers instinctively curled, gripping his t-shirt into your clammy grasp. You squeezed your eyes shut, body tensing to brace for the impact of his teeth. Sunghoon immediately felt the tension ripple through your muscles. He gently skimmed his delicate fingers up and down your sides to soothe you. The gesture was so sweet and gentle compared to the threat posed by his pointed canines.
His touch coaxed the stiffness from your muscles bit by bit. The room seemed to narrow until there was nothing but his cold fingertips, your booming heartbeat, and the warmth of his breath ghosting across your throat.
The second you finally relaxed–
CRUNCH!
The sound exploded through the bedroom. You bit your bottom lip so hard that it drew blood from the thin skin. Your back arched into a rigid bow, chest pressing against his and shoulders coming together to pull into your sides. Sunghoon’s grip on your waist tightened to stabilize your trembling body. He couldn’t speak, too busy with his mouth buried in your neck, but he gently squeezed at your sides to show you that he was there for you.
You felt his lips come down to surround his open mouth before he began to suck. A pleased groan left his mouth as your blood flooded his tastebuds. It was sweeter than anything he could’ve imagined, and for a second, he wondered if Eve felt this way beneath the tree, staring up at the apple before biting into it, only to discover that temptation had never done it justice.
And as soon as that second was over, every thought became incoherent to him, flushing away in a whirlpool. His eyes fluttered shut as he continued to suckle on your neck, his enclosed lips forming a hickey around the two prominent holes pierced in your skin. Sunghoon had spent months trying to convince himself that he didn’t want it anymore because it just wasn’t right, but as soon as the first drop of blood hit his tongue, he was sure he could get drunk purely off the taste alone. You really were AB+, huh.
Every beat of your heart pulsed beneath his lips steadily like a metronome, and every tremor that ran through your body reminded him that you trusted him enough to be this close. Sunghoon’s body was beginning to get flooded with a dizzying warmth that didn’t originate from your blood– no, it was all rushing to his head.
Your boyfriend tightened his grip on your waist, a shaky breath escaping him. If he wasn't careful, he might become addicted to this– the tantalizing cocktail of devotion and satiation that only drinking his girlfriend’s blood could mix up. He drank you down in in slow, greedy pulls, as if trying to savor everything flowing into his mouth. You could feel the faint movement of his Adam’s apple against your skin, each bobbing motion grounding him deeper, as if he were taking more than just blood—like he was taking pieces of your warmth, your heartbeat, your very presence.
Eventually, a dull buzz crept into your head and your strength began to slip from your muscles. Your fingers loosened their hold on his shirt, moving up to curl into fists and weakly rap at his broad shoulders.
He hesitated before pulling off, his breath hitching as he slowly lifted his head from your neck. You took in his expression as his face came back into your focal point. His lips were parted, thinly stained with the crimson tint of your blood, and his eyes were glowing a dark red. Yet, his pupils were unfocused and hazy, as if he was just abruptly woken up from the best dream he’s ever had in his life. As he blinked himself back to reality, his gaze focused on you.
You looked sickly, almost as sick as he was before he drank your blood. You were swaying slightly, your eyes fluttering open and shut like you were learning how they worked for the first time. He licked his lips to gather the remainders of your blood into his mouth. So fucking warm. So sweet. Sooo good, too good. It was everything he dreamt of and more. His eyes flickered to where he punctured your neck. Sunghoon had to bite his lips to suppress an audible groan from escaping his mouth. He abruptly dove back into your neck, but not to drink from you even more. He flattened his tongue and laved it over the two open wounds to seal them with his saliva, effectively cutting off any more blood flow and any more temptation to steal his rationale away.
“Hoon– Hoon, baby…” You whimpered. He pulled back, afraid at the way you sounded almost wounded. But then, he felt it. He glanced down to see your legs, spread and bordering his firm thighs, and in between, your heated core pressed against his prominent bulge. He bit his lip, trembling at the new and pleasurable sensation. “Hoon– did you get hard from drinking– drinking my blood?” You whispered. You sounded flattered and flabbergasted all at once.
Sunghoon felt dread wash upon him. As sexy as the situation was, the explanation was not. He sucked down the humiliation as he opened his mouth to rationalize his sudden spike of arousal. “Vampires do not produce blood. Therefore, when we intake blood, it may rush to certain parts of our bodies. I believe that, with such a– a desirable situation… it effectively decided to trail to my…” He didn’t finish his sentence, letting his newfound virility complete his explanation for him.
You giggled. “Do you– do you want to put it to use, Hoonie?” Your voice dipped down into a velvety purr, and Sunghoon was sure that if he wasn’t a vampire, his dick would’ve been instantly up the moment you looked at him with those hooded eyelids.
“Yes– fuck, yes.” He groaned out, gripping your hips tightly. Your hand tentatively reached down to grope his bulge through his sweats in order to truly feel what you were working with. A small gasp slipped past your open lips as your hand wrapped around his girth– and for the first time that you’ve met Sunghoon, he wasn’t frigid.
“It’s so warm, Hoonie…” You mumbled, your fingers laying over the soft material of his trousers, not quite gripping his clothed cock properly. “I– Can I see it?” You whispered. He nodded, pushing down his sweats and boxers down to his thigh. You gasped as his erection sprung up. It was red, leaking, and full of life.
“Do– do you like it?” He asked, trying to steady his voice so he didn’t seem nervous. You nodded slowly. Your brain was still trying to keep up with the situation– got your blood sucked, now should you suck his dick or…– But your thoughts became useless and all tied down to one thing. Sunghoon’s impressive cock bobbing up and down with every breath he took.
“I like it a lot, Hoonie…” you giggled. You cupped your palm under your chin to spit in it before gliding your enclosed palm down his length. He shuddered, his hips jolting up as soon as your warm hand made contact with his heated shaft. Everything he had learned went out the window– There were no candles or roses prepared, no kissing or making out beforehand either. But if he got to this position, where your delicate hand was stroking him so eagerly, then he guessed he didn’t really need those articles anyways, right?
“Your hand is so soft, Y/N. So warm too– almost as warm as your blood,” he muttered, “You are doing so good…” He hissed through his teeth as your grip tightened on his cock. Even though your spit wasn’t as a sufficient enough lubrication and there was still a bit of friction, he was in his most euphoric state. Sunghoon realized for a second that he would’ve never gotten to experience something so so good and utterly divine if it weren’t for you.
“Love you, baby…” Sunghoon suddenly said to remind you of his genuine affection. You smiled bashfully up at him.
“I love you too, Hoonie…” your voice was so sweet that he could taste it in his mouth. Or maybe it was the taste of your blood still lingering. Regardless, his heart was swelling. He leaned back against the headboard, one large hand flattened on your hip and the other hand bracing his body on the mattress. He was admiring your face, looking at the way you had small indents on your bottom lip from where you bit it and the noticeable flush coming back to your faces. Sunghoon could feel your heartbeat reverberating against your bones– could feel himself within your heartbeat. And he never wanted to feel anything else than this.
“Can I touch you too?” Sunghoon asked softly. You nodded silently, eyebrows wrinkling in concentration as you continued to stroke him. You were more playing with his cock at this point, squeezing your hand in random intervals and intently watching the way precum was beading at the tip with every upward stroke. While you were concentrated, his free hand smoothly made its way to your shorts, pressing two curious fingers up against your clothed cunt. You whimpered, lips curling up in a sensitive pout as your legs twitched together. He pressed harder, observing the way you reacted to his gentle touch.
He jolted as you found your rhythm with your hand, your erratic strokes becoming steady pumps. Your soft palms, slicked with your saliva, was making him dizzy. He felt like all the blood that he sucked out of you was rushing to his dick instead of circulating throughout his body. His hips were gyrating upwards as he absentmindedly chased the pleasure surge. Fuck, it felt like he was about to faint– or die. He’d be fine as long as you kept that firm grip on his cock and kept staring at him so prettily–
“Oh, Hoon!” You gasped. Bursts of his cum erupted from his slit, landing to coat the back of your hands and the sides of your fingers. He swallowed, panting as your hand slowly kept dragging up and down to help ease him from his high.
“Fuck– Oh my Dracula.” He breathed out raggedly. “I did not know that– that it could ever feel this good.”
“You’re telling me you never masturbated in your century of living?” You snorted. He nodded.
“My dick has not been hard since a century ago, babe.” He reminded with a cheeky smile. You giggled, shimmying out of your shorts and pulling down your underwear. You were still a bit shy, but after making Sunghoon fall apart once with just your hand, you were gaining a newfound confidence to pleasure him even more. As soon as you sat back on his thighs to part your legs, it was like all time had stopped for him. His pupils dilated as they stared at your most sacred parts– beautiful and warm and so wet. He licked his lips as a new hunger drummed through his veins. Not a hunger for your blood, but a sudden craving for the sweet nectar your body was producing. He tentatively brought up a finger to rub at your clit, once again recalling what he read in those articles.
“Hoonie– it feels good when you touch there…” You whispered. He swallowed and nodded to acknowledge your words, before extending a second finger to circle your precious bud. You bit your lip as you watched Sunghoon explore your body, his keen eyes trying to catch every single microscopic movement you were making to gauge what was most pleasurable to you. It was endearing, in a way, that a vampire with a century’s worth of knowledge was still able to learn new things.
He daringly used his two fingers to spread your lower lips, revealing your inner parts. You were just wet, so wet that Sunghoon didn’t know what to do with himself. “Going inside…” he muttered as he slowly dipped a finger inside of your hole. He sucked in a breath as your heat sucked in his finger. His digit was wrapped in a warmth so much more heated than your blood. You squirmed, prompting him to keep his left hand firm hand on your knee so that you couldn’t shy away.
“What does it feel like, baby?” He crooned.
“Feels weird– just feels like something is inside, Hoon…” You admitted honestly. With as light as a touch he could possibly muster up, he slowly sunk his finger in deeper until your folds were surrounding the base of his digit. You let out a shaky breath as he pumped in and out– in and out. “Oh– it feels kinda good, Hoon… your finger is so long…” You smiled, feeling his fingertip prodding around inside of you. He eased in a second finger before realizing that he hasn’t even kissed you yet. He awkwardly craned his neck to peck your nose before placing a soft and tender kiss to your lips.
“Tell me how it feels– if it feels good or bad. I want to know everything about what your body likes.” Sunghoon’s breath fanned out against his lips before it disappeared as he pulled back. You nodded, a hiccup stuck in your throat as his fingers twisted around and curled upwards.
“Feels good, Hoon. Your– your fingers feel really good… and it feels even better because it’s you,” you mumbled, your hips beginning its chase towards his hand. “I love you…”
“I love you too,” he responded instantly. It would be a major offense if he let you say it with even a millisecond between his own affirmation of affection. “I want you to– to finish for me. Just as you let me for you.” He licked his lips, thick eyebrows furrowing towards his nose bridge as he pressed in a third finger. “Can you do that for me, please?” He smiled with all of his teeth, showing off his sharp fangs. You swallowed and nodded, letting out soft pants as your body rocked up and down, essentially grinding down on his three fingers.
“Yes– yes, I can, Hoonie. I can…” You whimpered. You sounded so delicious, soft whines escaping your lips that rang melodious in his keen ears. Your tight heat was clenching around his fingers, choking them with how much you were clenching down. It was odd and overwhelming all at once, a sensation that Sunghoon internally promised to explore more. “Hoonie– I think ‘m gonna come.” You breathed out, high in your throat. “I’m coming– Hoonie– ah!” You shrieked, nimble fingers gripping at his wrists as your hips gave one last jolt. He kissed your cheek gently, using his plump lips to ground you as you came. He gave you one, two, three more pumps of his fingers before easing them out of you.
“Are you okay? Is it good?” He eyed the way your legs were trembling, and your hips were still twitching with the aftershocks of your orgasm. You smiled and nodded. He looked at his fingers, coated in your viscous release. Your natural, musky scent was enticing. Enticing enough to eat. He lapped at his fingers, groaning as the delicious taste of your fluids spread across his tongue. You let out a whimper at the sexy sight, your hole clenching as a new spike of arousal hit your core.
“Sunghoon, can– can you go inside…?” Your eyes drifted down to your boyfriend’s hard cock, ready to go again.
He nodded, whispering out a few, “Yeah, yes– yeah…” as if trying to soothe himself before the final entree of your three course sex meal. “Do you think it will be easier for you to sit on it? Or on your back?” He asked, skimming his fingertips across your bare thigh. You licked your lips. It would’ve been easier to take it on your back, but really, you wanted to be on top of Sunghoon and make him lose control, just as he almost had when his face was buried in your neck.
“Can I ride you, Hoonie?” You asked sweetly. He closed his heads, his head slumping forward with a more audible groan.
“Yes– fuck, yes. You can do anything you want to me,” he muttered. You sat up with your knees, adjusting your body until your dripping heat was hovering over his erection. You bit your lip as you gripped his impressive size by the base, steadying it so that you could sloooowwwlyyyy sink down. You winced as your hole began stretching around his thick tip, causing his hands to shoot up and grip your hips.
“Are you okay, baby? Does it hurt?” He tried not to panic, but you could tell he was worrying by the tremor in his voice.
“A little– it’s okay, Hoon. I just have to get used to it,” you said through shaky breaths. He steadied your trembling body, allowing you to lower yourself at your own pace.
“There we go, baby… It is okay… you are doing so well…” he leaned forward to whisper praises in your ear, breath hot against your sensitive skin. “There we go, taking me so good. Just go slow– little by little. I am here for you. We can stop at any time…” he mumbled, trying to ease your body so it could relax and open up even more for him. Airy moans slipped past your parted lips as you gradually got adjusted to his size, your tight cunt taking one inch, then two, and then another until eventually, you were seated on his lap and filled to the brim with his fat cock.
“Oh, fuck. Fuck.” Sunghoon thought he’s never cursed this much in his life up until this moment. Your warm insides were wrapped around him so tightly that, if his body had proper circulation, he was sure that your pussy would have cut it off by now. Your inner walls were massaging his length, feeling up against the ridges of his translucent veins and bringing him a pleasure greater than intaking blood.
“Sunghoon!” You kept gasping out chants of his name, your thighs quivering so much that he he didn’t know what to do. Your two palms kept themselves steady on his chest, bracing your entire body as it adjusted to his cock.
“It is okay, baby. You’re doing so well…” He kissed the side of your cheek, peppering the expanse of skin with soft pecks. “There we go– just sit still. Move when you are ready.” He cooed. You nodded, tears pooling in your waterline as you squirmed around, trying your best to get used to the overwhelming and new feeling of being so fucking full. Soft grunts spilled from your lips as you slowly ascended, and Sunghoon felt like he was being turned again with how much was hitting every part of his nerve. Your slick walls gripped him as you pulled up, sucking him in as if they never wanted to get off of him. He hissed, a hand flying to rest on your hip.
“Hoon– Hoonie, kiss please…” You whined, sounding so utterly undone and pathetic that, as if by magnetic force, his lips immediately attracted themselves to yours. Your hips rolled forward, prompting a groan to pass his parted mouth. You moved slowly, feeling Sunghoon’s girth press up against your walls, moving around to map around every single bit of your insides.
Your kisses became uncoordinated, your lips moving from his mouth to its corners, before falling down to his jaw until you eventually latched onto his neck. Your sweet pecks turned into harsher sucking, and then Sunghoon felt something oddly familiar. You were biting down on his neck, as if you had fangs of your own. The thought made him impossibly harder, imagining your tiny mouth crowded by sharp canines and glaring back at him with red irises. He huffed as he craned his neck back to allow you to mouth at his skin. He smoothed down your hair as he felt you try to suck a mark to imprint your touch– it was in vain, but it was so endearing to him.
A foreign tightness began to coil up in his lower gut. Your movements were becoming erratic now– your hips running towards your peak like a chicken with its head cut off. Your fingertips weren’t holding his biceps anymore, instead your fingers curled until your nails were indenting crescents into his muscles. “Hoon– Hoon…” you mewled incessantly, as if it would kill you if you stopped making such lewd sounds. Your vision was blurring again, and you could feel the wetness of a tear rolling down your cheek. Sunghoon’s thumb gently came up to wipe it away before his large palm encompassed the expanse of your cheek.
“There we go… My baby is so pretty, chasing her pleasure. That is it– come on.” He choked out, his breathing heavier than he wanted it to sound. He squeezed his eyes shut and gulped before letting out a loud exhale as you clenched around him. Fuck it. Sounding seductive and in control was the least of his concern. Not when his beautiful girlfriend was riding him like a champ.
Everything was so fucking warm– your bodies, the air, and especially your blood. When Sunghoon breathed in the hot and heavy atmosphere, the aroma of your sweet, sweet elixir of life made him dizzy. His mind was clouded. Nothing could ever come close to this intoxicating feeling– not even having a second taste of your blood could compare to the feeling of your insides fucking milking him for everything he had. With a load grunt, Sunghoon lurched forward, burying himself into the deepest parts of your insides as he came.
You gasped his name, but Sunghoon could barely register it. His head was ringing as more warmth spurted from his cock, coating your insides white. He hissed, a thumb drawing to your pretty bud to rub you, wanting you to follow him to the finish line. And with a few uncoordinated circles, your arms wrapped around his neck, bringing him into your sweaty embrace as you came around his cock.
“Hoon– Hoon, fuck, I love you so much!” You squealed, nearly incoherent. He didn’t care that you were nearly suffocating him with your tight hug because all he wanted was to feel your tight heat come around him– again again and again. But against his desires, he pulled out, leaving his cum to drip out of your cunt.
“Oh– I was not supposed to finish inside,” he muttered, eyes blown wide. You giggled and pressed a sloppy, wet kiss to his cheek as you sat against his thighs.
“It’s okay, Hoon.” You hummed, cupping his face gently. The warmth from his skin slowly began to dissipate, leaving behind the pale boyfriend that you were so accustomed to. You caressed his soft, cold skin with a loving smile on your lips before pecking his own. “I love you,” you whispered against his mouth, leaving a grin in its wake.
“I love you too…” he murmured back.
Being a vampire was tedious.
But if this is where immortality had led him to– a sweet girlfriend with even sweeter blood– then he guessed he could live with it for another century or two.
genre: smut, homie hopper y/n, ohshc au, mini series, dom! reader, crack, fluff, uni au, reverse harem, parody
pairing: sub! ot5 txt x dom! reader (yeonjun x reader in this chap)
summary: You enrol into a rich ass university under a scholarship scheme. You find out the university is not only famous for its prestigiousness, but also very famous for their host club: a club with five very handsome, very eccentric boys that entertain the bored and affluent students. When you accidentally land yourself in debt to them, you're forced to assist with five events each under a different host. What can go wrong…?!
warnings: subby!yeonjun, dom!reader, afab gn reader, cringe flirting, making out, handjob, cunnilingus, fingering, cum eating, top! yeonjun, riding, finger sucking, feminisation of yeonjun, use of pet names ‘princess’, use of condom, inaccurate depictions of fashion design
word count: 9k Txt host club ml & char profile !
“come on, just come with me after this. I don’t wanna go alone.” Your friend, yoon, nudges you, not so discreetly chatting to you once you’re nearing the end of your two hour lecture.
Your eyes flicker from the board, which you’re still trying to concentrate on, but also, your attention is wearing thin and you’re waiting until the painfully slow last few seconds go by and it finally ends. “I don’t get it. Is this some kind of society?” You whisper back to her.
“Kinda…yeah, it’s a host club-” You don’t hear the rest of what she says, everyone starts chaotically packing up their laptops and notes, abruptly leaving the lecture hall once it ends and flooding the exits with traffic.
You do the same, and so does yoon. Once you’re out in the hallway and away from the trampling stampede, she begins animatedly trying to sell the idea to you again.
“I went to that badminton taster session for you because you wanted to go! And I got hit in the face with a racket, so that means you totally have to come with me this time.”
You sigh inconveniently, adjusting the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder. You supposed you could go to it for her, you were free the rest of the evening. “Fine, what’s it actually about again?”
She rubs at the back of her neck, pausing, looking sheepish and surprisingly hesitant for a second. Your eyebrow raises at this.
“You really don’t know? Surely you must have heard of it? It’s really popular.”
You shrug your shoulders, very intrigued. “No.”
“What rock are you living under...” Yoon exasperatedly mumbles, “Well…you know like, a normal host club? Where males entertain people with like, alcohol and pretend to be like, their boyfriends? Well….we have one. At the university. Except, it’s more like a tea-and-conversation, flirting, with the five most handsome and richest students here.”
You stop walking. She stops walking. Someone behind you nearly bumps into both your backs, giving you both an irritated glare as they walk past. You study her face, but she’s looking at you with complete sincerity. “Oh my god. You’re serious.” You start walking again, faster this time, shaking your head. “You rich people are bizarre.”
When you’d joined the university on a scholarship, you had come to find out just how terrible and outlandish these nepotism children really were firsthand. They operated on an entirely different plane of existence. This manages to top the cake though. They really do fuckall with their time, anything but actually studying. It’s not like it really matters though, they’ll still become heirs of multi-million pound companies anyway.
“It’s not as bad as it sounds. Truly!” Yoon insists, jogging to match your pace.
“How is this allowed?”
Yoon shrugs. “The creator’s family is like, the main funder of the university.”
You’re not surprised. “Of course.” You tighten your hold on the strap of your bag. “So, these people are whoring themselves out basically?” How is this ethical?
“Come on, it’s harmless and fun! It’s Furry Friday!”
“Furry…what?” You try to blink yourself awake, staring off into the end of the hallway, dissociated. Why do you even bother anymore?
“Yeah, and there’s Maid Monday too…it’s just like a cool events cafe. There’s themes. It’s cute!”
“So, do these people sleep with their guests too?” You joke, casting a sideways glance at your friend, giving up with the actual questioning of the existence of this club at a prestigious university.
Yoon looks to her left and right, covering her mouth with her hand and whispers. “Ssh. That’s more of an underground thing. They’re very selective about it and it’s superrr expensive.”
Your face drops. “What?” This is not right. You drag a hand down your face, sighing heavily. “You really want me to go to this with you?”
Your friend nods her head enthusiastically, clasping her hands together. “Please. I need to get over my last scarring situationship.”
You give your friend a pointed look. “Didn’t she like, borrow £700 off you and you never saw her again? There’s not much to get over.”
Yoon grimaces as if she’s living through it all again, not wanting the reminder. “Yes, she had some gambling issues. But, she was so perfect other than that.” Yoon sighs wistfully. “Come on, I paid for both our entry fees already. Food’s included.”
Your ears perk up at that, staring at your friend who now has a sneaky little smile creeping up on her face, knowing she’s already won. You pause. Food is included? You wouldn’t pass up on free food…Damn that your friend knows you well. You huff resignedly. “Okay…I’ll go with you.”
Yoon squeals, bringing your hands to hers and jumping up and down aggressively. “Thanks!You’re the best.”
Now, you stand in the endless queue of other students waiting to get into the club, a snake of a line going right to the end of the corridor and around the corner. It really must be popular. How had you never heard of it before? There’s a permanent sign on the door reading ‘TXT HOST CLUB’. They even have their own personal room at the university? Even from outside, you can already hear loud squealing and high pitched screams at whatever is going on in the room.
Finally, eventually, it comes to both your turns, reaching the front. Yoon shows some ticket online and you’re allowed in, the big gilded doors opening, and you’re momentarily blinded by a sudden light.
You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting, but it’s definitely not this; five guys in animal ears and paws, dancing to some girl group song on a raised platform. The spacious room is all pink with even pink marbled floor, fancy chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and ribbons and streamers decorating the walls and pillars. There’s cardboard cutouts of the members all around the room in absurd outfits, vampires, maids, fairies, princes, sanrio, mermaids, knights, traditional clothing, and more.
You’re escorted onto a free table with Yoon. Even the tables are decorated so lovely with floral lace cloth and a vase of flowers in the middle. There’s tiered cake stands with the yummiest looking sandwiches, cakes, pastries, tarts, and macarons. Laid too, are expensive-looking intricate painted tea sets and teapots. Maybe, perhaps, you could get behind this for the food.
Yoon doesn’t pay attention to anything on the table though, she’s too busy watching the performance, entirely enamoured and delighted, clapping and cheering them on.
“Oh, wow…” You watch it too, in disbelief, still trying to process your surroundings. All of this feels like a complete, bizarre, fever dream, but you have to admit, they were surprisingly pretty good at dancing, synchronisation quite insane for a bunch of random pompous dudes.
“I should introduce you to them all!” Yoon shouts over the music, excitedly pointing at one on the far right. “That’s taehyun! He’s super smart and stoic,” then she moves her pointed finger to the left each time, “that’s Kai he’s super sweet and cute! Oh-and that’s beomgyu he’s super emo and plays guitar, that’s soobin he’s a sweet posh boy and the president, and that’s…” Yoon sighs dreamily at the man on the far left, clasping her hands together, “that’s Choi Yeonjun. The It boy. He’s my fav. He’s such a prince.” She swoons. The poor descriptions weren’t all that insightful to you, to be honest.
Their performance ends with claps and screams, and then, you can finally tuck into the foods on the table, trying every single different assortment of pastries. The hosts had stepped off the platform, coming to the guests and their tables, speaking and chatting to them, the music lowered to soft ambient jazz. You can hear giggling… and barks and meows, and the strange things some guests are requesting for.
“Kai! Do a bark, do a bark!”
“Woof, woof!”
“Soobin, can you say that I’m your owner?”
“Beomgyu, I wanna be your pet!”
“I just wanna be your dog!”
You may have lost your appetite a little. But you try for it not to deter you.
One second, you’re looking down, scoffing the sandwiches on your plate, then you’re looking back up and you’re suddenly surrounded by the five men out of nowhere, looming over your table. You’re terrified, freezing mid-bite. Yeonjun, who you’d recognised as yoon’s favourite, comes to smoothly kiss her hand.
“Ah,” he sighs, “My lovely Yoon. Our loyal guest, will you be requesting for me again?”
Your friend is blushing and giggling, looking moments away from fainting. You raise a brow, gulping down the food in your mouth, turning your head her way with furrowed brows. “Again? I thought you’d never been here before. You didn’t want to come alone?”
Yoon coughs, embarrassed “Uhhm. I never said I hadn’t been here before. Simply just wanted your company this time…”
You shake your head, finishing the rest of your sandwich, still feeling self conscious at the men still by your table. When were they going to leave?
“Ooh we’ve got a new guest, guys!” One of them says, noticing you, you think his name is Kai. The others lean in curiously at you, zeroing in. You feel like an animal at a zoo. This is very odd. Especially since they’re the ones still wearing pet ears and furry gloves.
Yeonjun theatrically reaches for your hand, kissing the back of yours too, grinning and winking. “Pleasure to meet you, beautiful being. I’m yeonjun. Choi yeonjun. What’s your name, pretty?”
“They look frightened…” Taehyun whispers to kai.
The rest of them introduce themselves, shaking your hand like a normal person.
Once you’re done with shoving the last bit of your sandwich down, you quickly dab around your mouth with a napkin and you abruptly rise from your seat, standing up, ready to leave. Your time here is more than done, and you so desperately want to get away from this uncomfortableness. “Well! Lovely to meet you all. Must get going haha...”
“Wait! You haven’t chosen a favourite yet!” Yeonjun stops you.
“Everyone picks one.” Beomgyu, the one with multiple facial piercings says with his hands in his pockets.
“Usually under twenty seconds.” Taehyun adds, checking his extravagant watch that probably costs more than your tuition fees. “The average is 17.83 seconds.”
“Yeah. Which one of us is the most handsome?” Soobin pushes the glasses he’s wearing gently up his nose bridge, tilting his head at you.
They all come even closer to you simultaneously, crowding you, staring at you intensely and expectantly, awaiting your answer. All of their jaws are raised up, sweeping hands through their hairs confidently, and posing for you, doing weird expressions with their faces as if they were in some modelling photoshoot.
“Um…I wouldn’t know.” They’re all very good looking. How were you supposed to choose just one? And how would you have a favourite already?
Taehyun crosses his arms. “You don’t know?”
“Just choose one! Come on!” Kai urges you, jumping on the spot.
“Yeah.” They all start saying and agreeing together, growing impatient and slightly agitated, wanting you to choose one of them already.
So, you try again, staring at each of their faces individually, trying to be pragmatic about it so you can finally get out of here. First, you analyse yeonjun, silky blonde hair, fox-like sharp eyes, piercings all on his ears. Then soobin, soft black hair, glasses, a bunny like nose and mouth, wearing a cute sweater vest. Then beomgyu, brown shaggy messy wolfcut, soft brown eyes, but dark thick eyebrows with a piercing on one of them, a dermal piercing, and lip rings too. Then at kai, fluffy white hair, angelic features overall and a pretty nose, holding a stuffed plush penguin toy in his hand. And finally, at taehyun, big round eyes, high cheekbones and a chiselled face, wearing a whole ass corporate suit for some reason.
“I really don’t know!”
“You have to. Gun to your head. Three—” Beomgyu raises three fingers.
“TWO.” All five of them start to join in, shouting in unison.
“Why are we counting?!”
“ONE.”
“ZER—”
The counting down, for some reason, and the fact that five absurdly attractive, very tall men are still crowded around you and shouting, makes you panic and stress and you feel very under pressure.
“Okay, okay! Oh-umm!-uh-Yeonjun!” You blurt out frantically. You don’t know why you say that name, you just choose the most memorable one to get them off your back.
There’s silence and the others recoil dramatically, betrayed, and they give you such disgusted looks.
“Terrible taste.” Taehyun clicks his tongue. The others are shaking their heads at you.
Meanwhile, yeonjun looks moments away from ascending, “I knew it!” Yeonjun’s eyes are practically shining, grabbing your shoulders excitedly, ecstatic and smug and violently shaking you. He runs a hand through his blonde hair once more, sighing out at himself as if he were in some sort of shampoo advertisement. “I knew you’d pick me.” He punches your arm playfully.
“Ow…” You rub at your arm to soothe it, it actually hurts. He punched you pretty hard. He looks like he’s about to hit you again in excitement, you back away as far as you can, taking a few steps back, fearfully.
You bump into something behind you. It wobbles. And that’s when you hear something smash so distinctly loud and hard onto the pink marble floor, exploding. Hesitantly, you slowly, dreadfully, turn around, thinking you already know what might have happened.
You had caused a very expensive looking sculpture of the five boys with roses in each their hands, to collapse straight onto the ground and smash into millions of smithereens, thousands of tiny little pieces scattered across and flying everywhere.
Everyone in the room turns their heads at the dissonant sound, gasping, teacups freezing halfway to their lips. You stare at the scene completely mortified. You can feel your soul departing your body, mentally already digging your grave to lie in. You could literally cry.
“Oh my god!” Yeonjun runs and drops straight down to his knees at the death of the artwork. “Our most expensive sculpture, all the way from Italy! Custom made from the renowned artist Angelo Pasquarelli, he passed away recently! This was the last remaining piece of art he ever made!”
Well, that doesn’t serve to make you feel any better. At all. You don’t even know what to do. You don’t have any parents that can pay this for you. You can’t even begin to imagine how much it actually costs and how you’ll ever be able to repay it, and how much debt you’ll be in now. “I’m so sorry! Oh my-I’m so, so, so sorry! I don’t know-i wasn’t looking where I was going.”
You can feel how ironic this is. You came here for the free food, now you’re massively in debt somehow.
Taehyun, the treasurer of the club, comes to crouch down beside yeonjun, staring at the remnants with visible pain and anguish too. “This was supposed to be an art investment for the club…I told you we shouldn’t have kept it out here in the open.” He murmurs sharply to yeonjun.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t afford to pay for this.” You admit. “I’m literally only here on a scholarship. Is there any other way I can help? I’ll do anything. Anything at all.”
“Hm. You can’t afford to repay for the damage?” Soobin raises a brow at you, thinking. He pulls the rest of the boys into a huddle. You hear intense whispering as they deliberate your fate.
Yoon panics for you, stepping in. “It’s going to be okay!” She reassures you, feeling slightly guilty as she was the one who brought you here when you hadn’t particularly wanted to in the first place. “I’ll try and pay for some of it for you!”
“No, that’s alright. They won’t have to pay for any of it. No one has to.” Soobin speaks up, all of them finally pulling apart.
You feel so relieved, clasping a hand to your heart that had minutes before giving out entirely. “Oh. Oh my god. Thank you, thank you-”
“You’ll repay us in another way.” Soobin thoughtfully explains. “Next week, the host club is holding a special events week.”
“For the first time ever,” Kai interrupts excitedly, “each host gets their own solo event where we can do whatever we want!”
Soobin nods. “Yes, we’ve never done events purely by ourselves before and we’ll need additional assistance.”
“You,” yeonjun says, flamboyantly pointing directly at you, “are going to become our assistant!”
“Monday to Friday,” Soobin confirms. “One host per day. You’ll help organise events, carry things, run errands, and deal with guests. You’ll work off your debt to the host club.”
“Just five days? That’s it?” That didn’t seem too bad at all, it’s an alarmingly good deal. You were expecting something significantly worse. How hard can it be? Only working five days to pay off the debt for a supposedly very valuable and rare sculpture? You can definitely do that. “Alright. I’ll do it.” You shake soobin’s hand, determined than ever.
“Yayy! Yippeee!” All five of the boys start clapping and cheering delightfully at you. You don’t know why they’re so happy.
“And guess what?” Yeonjun grins gleefully. “My event is the first one.” He takes your arm in his, interlocking and hooking your arms, and then completely drags you away. You throw one last pleading look at yoon through the gilded doors in case it’s the last time you ever see your dear friend again.
But she just giggles at you, calling out. “You’ll be fine. It will be fun!” She cheerfully waves at you being hauled out of the host club room.
“Woah.”
You stand in the doorway of yeonjun’s sleek studio apartment in awe, which hardly looks anything like student accommodation. You wander further inside, taking it all in. It is massive, everything down to the furniture and interior looking way too luxurious, with a fancy kitchen, living room, a big en-suite bathroom, and a walk in closet filled with designer clothes. That doesn’t seem to be enough though since there’s clothing racks near the windows too with garments, a mannequin, framed fashion sketches and artwork pinned on a wall, designer magazines stacked on a unique-looking coffee table.
It’s Buckingham Palace compared to your place. Your student accommodation was one tiny shoe box room, a shared bathroom and kitchen. But you had chosen the very cheapest you could afford.
“Do you like it? It’s a bit small. My bedroom is bigger than this in my mansion, but this is still cool and cosy.” Yeonjun stands in front of the wide floor-to-ceiling windows that showcase the city skyline. He looked genuinely apologetic about it too.
“Mansion…” You shouldn’t be so surprised by now, so many people you have met at the university do live in them, but it still manages to shock you a little no matter how many times you hear it casually mentioned.
Yeonjun turns around excitedly. “Hey, maybe we can go to my house after this and I can show you! Get you to meet my parents already, ay?” Yeonjun winks at you. “It’s just a five minute walk!”
“A five minute walk?” You gawk incredulously, “If your house is so close to campus, why would you ever waste money getting student accommodation?” It fills you more with slight disgust at the wastefulness rather than jealousy.
Yeonjun huffs. “My parents said the same thing. But I wanted to have that uni experience, you know? Plus, I needed to be more independent. It’s a good thing. That student lifestyle, it’s pretty hard sometimes.”
“So…you've achieved this student lifestyle by moving five minutes away from your mansion into a luxury apartment?” Wow, this is certainly going on the list of out of touch things you’ve heard students say.
“Yep!” The confidence with which he answers is quite commendable.
“Oh, okay, so you’re paying for it yourself?” You don’t mean to pry, you’re just genuinely trying to understand a bit.
“No…my parents pay for it.”
You nod. “Right.”
“Oh! Would you like anything to drink or eat by the way?” Yeonjun politely offers you.
“Just some water is good.”
He grabs two high-end bottled waters from his high-end fridge too and passes one to you. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.” Both of you come to plop yourselves on his sofa. “But you cook?” You ask him assumedly.
“I don’t know how. But my chefs come from the house every morning to make me meals. It’s lovely.” He obliviously beams at you, lounging comfortably against the cushions, one arm draped across the backrest.
You just nod along at this point, sipping on your water. You noted chef was plural, but you’re not sure where the independence is. “Well, anyways,”
He sits up right again, shifting closer to you, a bit too close. “Yes! Let’s plan my event.”
“So,” you say, “any ideas?”
“I already know what I want to do.” He seems very proud of this. “Fashion is my passion. Hey, that rhymes. Maybe I could be a poet too.”
“Sure.” You say tiredly, waiting for him to tell you what he’s got planned.
“Flirty Fashion Workshop.” He stares back at you expectantly, smirking like he was expecting some sort of praise for this.
Your face scrunches up. “What the hell is a ‘Flirty Fashion Workshop’?”
Enthusiastically, yeonjun explains. “They’re sewing, I’m showing them how to use the sewing machine like this-” he leans into you, placing his hands over yours as if he were showing you how to work some phantom sewing machine, feeling his breath on your neck as he guides your hands.
“Okay, I didn’t need a personal demonstration on it.” You swat his arms away.
Yeonjun shrugs but winks cheekily at you once again. “Your loss. People pay for this, y’know?” Undeterred, he continues to explain more of his idea, “I’ll make step-by-step, visual demonstrations on how to make basic articles of clothing and they can decorate it however they want with different fabrics and beads and embroidery and creativeness. I’ll come around, helping and flirting, of course. Then, once everyone is done, we’ll have a little fashion show where everyone can model and show off their work! Isn’t that so great?”
You can see the appeal for it, from what you saw earlier, you have no doubt it’ll work and keep guests very satisfied. It’ll probably be a huge success. You nod at him. “Hm. What we need first is all the equipment and materials for this then.”
Yeonjun nods too. “I’ll ask to borrow all the sewing machines from the fashion department. We just need lots of textiles and fabric, threads, scissors, pins, beads, buttons, decorative materials, and other things.”
“Where should we get all of that from?” You query.
“We’ll buy it, of course. Taehyun made a spending card for the club. Off to the city centre!”
“After you.” Yeonjun gentlemanly opens the car door for you, rushing out of his to come around unnecessarily for yours.
The walk to the city centre was just under twenty minutes, but he had insisted on his chauffeur driving you both there anyway.
Yeonjun leads you to a bustling street with independent craft & art shops and fabric markets. The energy is so totally different compared to the commercial, homogeneous high streets you’d passed on the way, it’s bright and welcoming and filled with such unique characters of shops.
First, you buy lots and lots of fabric as you’ll be needing a lot of those. He seems to really be in his element, ecstatically showing you and speaking words about materials and their compositions only someone studying fashion would know, making you touch and feel them all too.
All of the vendors even seemed to recognise him, happily greeting and conversing with him, faces lighting up whenever he walked in. Yeonjun is very chatty, talking to them all for a while. One elderly woman even abandoned a conversation halfway with another customer just to pull yeonjun in for a hug and squeeze his cheeks. He’s not just famous in the host club, you observed.
You’re trudging along countless heavy bags of materials you’ll need for the workshop by now, shoulders and arms aching, you and yeonjun exhausted, hours blurred and overloaded by endless textiles. But it was a little fun, there’s a certain beauty in watching a person be passionate about something, oddly fascinating to follow yeonjun along.
You make one final stop to buy packs of sequins, and finally, you have all the equipment you need. Both of you make a turn on a street, noticing a brightly coloured ice cream shop. All the shopping, conversing and carrying must have clearly gotten to yeonjun, he’s drawn to it instantly like a moth to a flame, trudging you along with him, allowing you little time to protest.
He’s staring at the menu in deep concentration, brows furrowed but practically salivating. “Could I have the largest tub with one scoop of tiramisu and one scoop of rose please?”
You take a little longer to decide what you’ll like, settling on the smallest tub (it’s cheaper), and ordering a scoop of strawberry cheesecake and chocolate. Before you’re about to put your own card down, yeonjun dramatically steps in, practically shoving you out of the way and slamming his own down instead. “No. It’s on me, of course. A prince never lets anyone else pay.” He puts one hand to his heart, closing his eyes like he was reciting something religious.
“Oh, thank you.”
The ice cream scooper seems more affected by the gesture than you are, completely swooning at yeonjun. “Wow, what a gentleman!”
Yeonjun giggles at the compliment. “Hehe. Thank you!”
“You’re such a handsome young man. Ah, young love. Go on, i’ll give you both an extra scoop.” They lean in over the counter, hushing.
Yeonjun gasps. “You’re so kind! Thank you so much.”
Yeonjun is giggling, the scooper is giggling back too. You’re affronted by the whole exchange. Is life just this easily kind to Choi Yeonjun? But, you say your thanks too, not complaining about more ice cream for free. Everyone seems to be absolutely smitten by this dude’s charms. Sure, he’s attractive and he’s got great social skills, but people act like he’s above human. Are they seeing something you don’t?
Eventually, you can sit down at the tables, dropping the bags to your feet. You’re in a much better mood after sitting down and once you’re eating the well deserved ice cream, the creaminess and flavour melting on your tongue, plus the fact yeonjun paid for it is a great bonus, both of you happily talking more about yeonjun’s event between spoonfuls.
“Wanna try my tiramisu flavour? Say ahhh.” Yeonjun brings his spoon to you in an attempt to feed you, a generous scoop of pale brown ice cream perched upon it.
You flat out refuse, instead, bringing your own spoon to take a swipe of his yourself. “Mm. It’s good.”
Yeonjun watches you continue to eat without offering your own. “I wanna try the strawberry cheesecake one too.” Yeonjun leans forwards, tasting yours without asking. He’d taken quite a large amount too. “Mmh! This is yummy! I must get this next time.”
“Hey, I never said you could try mine.”
“Let’s take pics of our date.” Yeonjun ignored you, getting out his phone and taking a series of selfies with you.
You stop and stare at him across from you before you can take another spoon of ice cream. “It’s not a date.”
Yeonjun shrugs again, unbothered. “Did you know I have seventy percent request rate?People would pay a lot to go on an ice cream date with me.”
You set down your spoon in the tub, reminded of something you wanted to ask. You don’t get it. “Why would you make a host club when you don’t need any of the money?”
“I love entertaining people. It’s my thing. I’m good at it.” He’s not looking at you, his brows are furrowed as he tries to fish out the last bits of his rose ice cream from the edges. You’d noticed he furrowed his brows a lot when concentrating on something.
“Fair enough.” You nod in understanding, you can’t deny that. From today alone you’ve witnessed just how many people he can amuse. It seemed people easily gravitated towards choi yeonjun.
“But also I don’t have any siblings.” He pulls his full lips into a slight pout, brows further furrowed, “I always wanted one, so many of them actually. I kept begging but my parents didn’t want any more. And it got pretty lonely when they were overseas so often. I’ve always wondered what it felt like to have siblings. Now I’ve got them!”
It’s your turn to furrow your eyebrows. “By…making a host club?”
“It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. I personally sought out all the members myself. Now, they’re all like my four brothers! I cherish them and the club a lot. It’s very important to me. They’re my family.” Yeonjun warmly beams.
He has that glint in his eyes from earlier on when you were in the fabric markets, and like before you can’t bring yourself to actually hate on it, he’s clearly passionate and sincere about it, so you just hum in agreement.
“That’s actually…sorta nice, still bizarre though.”
Yeonjun grins. “Did that woo you?”
“No.”
You’re back in yeonjun’s studio apartment. It’s completely dark outside by now, the city skyline view from his big windows look different after the sun had set, now it’s all just lots of constellations of scattered lights. You sit on one end of yeonjun’s sofa in the living room with the warm glow of orange and amber lamps he’d put on instead of his main lights, playing low music in the background from his turntable, the ambience nice to focus in.
Yeonjun is on the opposite end of the sofa, a large sketch pad sitting on his lap as he draws out the step-by-step demonstrations for the simple garments, you can hear his constant scribbling too. You’re on your laptop, currently focused on the duration and structure of what should be happening in the workshop and making a small slideshow for it.
“Does it look fine?” Yeonjun lifts his sketch pad for you to see the diagrams.
You scan the illustrations briefly. “Mhm. They’re easy to follow.”
You continue typing. By the time you finish the final slide, your shoulders ache slightly from hunching over the laptop. You lean back against the sofa, stretching your limbs, eyes drifting to the other side of the sofa. Yeonjun is still sketching, completely absorbed, eyebrows characteristically drawn together as he focuses, lips in a slight duck-like pout and his blonde hair now having more of the resemblance of honey under the colours of the lamps.
“Done admiring me? Daydreaming about kissing me?” Yeonjun looks up, lazily grinning as he notices your stare.
You heavily roll your eyes at him. “You’re not my type.”
“I’m everyone’s type.” He confidently states. You shake your head, sighing out at his ego, but he starts again, “Hey, you’re the one who picked me as the most handsome.” Yeonjun puffs out his chest, still pleased by that.
“Yeah, under duress. I only picked you because your name was the first I remembered.”
For some reason, he remains proud. “So what you’re saying is that I’m very memorable.”
You drop your head back against the sofa and the wall behind you. “Lord…”
“You’re bluffing. Bet you do actually daydream about kissing me.” Yeonjun goads. “I wouldn’t blame you.”
You snort. “Kissing? You wish.”
He places his sketch pad away from his lap and onto the part of the sofa next to him, smirking at you. “Oh, I do wish.”
You narrows your eyes at him. “Really? What about?”
He cockily moves and leans forwards, coming close to your face, his stupid smirk never leaving, humoured. “Lots and lots of things.”
You know he enjoys flirting without you doing anything back, meaninglessly flirting with you countless of times today without you reacting. You know he gets a kick out of it, so you decide to retaliate back this time, having had enough of it. If Yeonjun wants to play this game so badly, then maybe it's time somebody plays it back. You’ll see what he does then.
“You know what I think?” You grab him by the collar of his shirt, pulling his face even closer to yours, grinning yourself and making your voice sultry sounding. “I think you’re all talk. Bet you couldn’t actually even kiss me.”
He instantly pulls his face away, flustered, shocked by what you say, eyes wide, not expecting you to say something like that back to him. Especially since you hadn’t entertained anything else he’d said this entire day. “What?” Yeonjun’s face flushes immediately, turning unmistakably bright, beet red from his neck and ears too. His mouth clamps shut. And for perhaps the first time since meeting him, yeonjun seems quite speechless. The legendary flirt of the host club couldn't handle being flirted with back, he was accustomed to being the one in control of every conversation.
There’s an attempt to regain his composure though, clearing his throat and trying to confidently smile back. “I could and I would. Do you want me to?”
“Yeah. Go on then.” You challenge him, chin raised high, poking the bear with a stick.
He’s not sure if you’re serious, and yeonjun hesitates. “Fine.” He leans in, face close to yours again, staring at you falteringly with his narrowed feline eyes, but trying to make it seem formidable. Close enough once more that you can see the mole next to his eye, see the shadows the dark warm lighting casts on his cheek bones, making them that much more prominent, and smell the faint scent of his expensive cologne. You’re equally staring back with heated, daring eyes. You’re so sure you’ve won. He’s not going to do it. It’s all just talk.
Your eyes flicker down to his pouty lips, his rich, cushiony lips. They had such a pretty, distinctive shape to them that you’ve never seen before. For a small second, you wonder what they’d feel like against yours if he did actually lean in more, but you shake it away. Are you slowly being charmed too? Has he put a spell on you? Is this how he does it?
At last, yeonjun draws back, running a hand through his hair.
You’re just about to laugh in victory, knowing he’s lost, knowing his words hold no meaning to them, but then, yeonjun suddenly surges forwards, grabbing your face. His mouth mushes with yours fiercely and you gasp into it, startled. You find your lips move back with his, perhaps you’ll still win if you’re not the first to break away.
Both of you continue kissing for a long time, mouths sliding together, teeth over lips, taking it in turns to suck his bottom lip, then his upper lip. You don’t know if this is still part of the game but it’s starting to feel less significant as time goes on and your lips meet again and again, colliding with soft breaths. You’re enjoying it, yeonjun’s heavenly lips feel good on yours. You definitely feel like you’re under a spell right now, all almost hypnotic. Maybe he’s a witch. You’d like to believe that more than of your own will.
Barely an inch separates when you both pull apart for some air. Yeonjun is staring at you, entranced and dishevelled with rosy cheeks. His usually perfect hair has fallen into his eyes, and his plush lips were beyond swollen and tinted so red, all the blood vessels rupturing there from your kissing and biting. His breathing is totally uneven. The image and how stark it is makes your stomach flip and flutter.
Then, you’re kissing him again.
You’re touching and gripping onto each other’s bodies in different places as you continue to make out. Your lips reach yeonjun’s angular jaw, then down, brushing against the warm skin of his neck, leaving kisses and still being able to smell his lingering, delicious cologne that’s been able to last the whole day. He lets you, tipping his head back as his eyes flicker closed and his hold on your waist tightens.
Playfully, your hand reaches down to stroke his thigh and then his crotch, grinding the palm against the hardening dick in his pants. You like leading the whole of this, it’s amusing. Yeonjun goes completely still with a sharp, shaky intake of breath, mouth falling open. But just as you’re about to pull his dick out to actually touch him, his hand slaps against your wrist, stopping you. “N-no. Let me.”
You tilt your head. “Huh?”
“Let me eat you out.”
Wow. You thought yeonjun would just want to get his dick wet. He certainly looks like he needs a hand wrapped around it right now, but he’s offering to tend to you instead.
You shrug. “Okay.” You’re definitely not one to complain. So, you lie on your back for him.
Yeonjun sheds off all the articles of clothing of your lower half, grabbing the back of your knees to push you closer to him on the sofa. He spreads your legs, his sharp eyes heavily lidded at the sight, practically salivating. “Pretty…”
He wastes no time in diving into your pussy immediately, shoving his face in and licking up a long stripe of your cunt, before completely messily making out with your pussy, groaning and grunting against you, holding onto the flesh of your thighs tighter. You satisfyingly sigh out at the dim ceiling your eyes are fixed on before closing your eyes all together, biting your lip.
You grab ahold of yeonjun’s hair, fingers threading through the soft messy blonde locks and tugging just hard enough to make noises escape his throat in response.
Yeonjun attaches his perfect pretty lips to your clit, sucking, suctioning so vigorously until the bundle of nerves are even puffier than his lips. They feel even better on your clit, like they’re made just for that. He focuses completely on your pleasure, furrowing his brows as he eats you out, humming and whining and groaning, licking and sucking. The sounds of him smothered in your pussy are so audible, taking over the music still playing on the LP, and so obscene, so wet, you can only oddly describe it as if yeonjun is hungrily devouring a bowl of ramen, enthusiastically slurping and inhaling it all.
“Am I finally pleasing you? Weren’t pleased with anything I was doing before.” Yeonjun lifts his head up to look at you desperately and obsessively. He clearly takes this very seriously, intent on making you feel good.
“Mmh, sure. Keep going.” You don’t really care for anything he’s saying, barely listening, you’re nearly reaching the edge, so you grab more of a fistful of his hair, grinding down on his face. You guess he wasn’t wrong about being good at entertaining people.
Knowing you’re close, yeonjun brings his signet ringed fingers to your hole, quickly fucking them into you and lapping at your clit with his tongue, flicking over and over again, your slick gushing out as he does this. It manages to bring you over, thighs clenching around his face and cumming over it. You moan out loud and so does yeonjun at the view of you orgasming, nuzzling into your cunt further and licking up everything you give out.
Eventually, he lifts up from between your legs, your juices coating all around his enlarged lips, that they look like he put on some kind of really shiny plumping lip gloss. With a happy, drowsy smile, yeonjun licks it all off around his mouth. Then, licks his fingers clean off too, his family heirloom ring, dripping in your cum. Usually effortlessly confident yeonjun, looks incapable of forming any actual thought.
“Fuck me.” You tell him, looking down at the way his dick is practically crying to be let out of his pants, slight patch of precum dribbled out on it. You pull his zipper down, freeing his dick and pumping his achy red, leaky cock, rubbing your thumb over the tip and swiping at the fluid on his sensitive slit. Yeonjun curses, hips bucking and mouth hanging open, blissed out at the stimulation.
“Fuck you? Sure…Yeah… I-i can do that.” Yeonjun breathes out, so far gone already.
“You want to make me feel good, don’t you?” You spread your legs again, holding his gaze.
“Yes.” It seems to snap whatever restraint he has left. Yeonjun quickly goes to grab condoms from somewhere, nearly knocking something over in the process. When he finally gets ahold of one, he comes back, tearing the packet open with his teeth in a rush. Which you’ll admit, does something to you.
He frantically pushes the condom onto his cock, and you can only describe yeonjun’s face as purely debauched after he lines up his swollen fat tip to your pussy and pushes in, bottoming out completely, your walls sucking and swallowing him in so good, filling you up so good, both of you gutturally groaning. “Oh my g-ughh…” He moans every single time he pushes back in, mouth slack, long pretty whines and cries escaping him.
You wrap your legs tightly around his waist, pulling him closer and sheathing his dick deeper into you. Your hands slide up his back, digging your nails into the muscles there and yeonjun’s eyes nearly roll to the back of his head at that. It’s not long at all until yeonjun just completely loses himself in the feeling of you, his thrusts quickly building up in speed, slamming his hips harder and deeper, erratically.
He’s so unrhythmic with it, sloppily still trying to fuck you as his brain turns to absolute mush, he can barely do it, his pretty lips staying parted with how delirious he is. Yeonjun’s hips are practically shaking with every roll and you think he might actually fall on top of you. He tries to hold onto you, face falling into the crook of your neck, biting down there, utterly wrecked, drooling all on your neck now with muffled moans and groans.
You’ve had enough of his dumb, useless rutting, growing tired of the position. You roughly pull at his hair to bring his face back up and away from your neck. He looks at you practically cross-eyed, slurring. “Shit, you can’t even fuck me. Pull out.” You tell him.
Yeonjun panics, confused, shaking his head. “Huh? What-please, please.”
“Just pull out.”
He does as you say, whining and wailing at you like a hurt animal. You roll your eyes at his dramatics, shoving him down onto the sofa instead. “Calm down. I’m fucking you myself.”
“No, I-i can fuck you. ‘m sorry. I can do it.” Yeonjun tries to beg, profusely apologising, not wanting to feel useless to you, wanting to make you feel good, tears appearing in the waterline of his eyes from how muddled his mind is.
“Sssh. It’s okay.” You stuff two of your fingers into his mouth to shut him up, but also, wanting to watching him suck your fingers because you’re weirdly fixated on his gorgeously shaped, plump lips now. The sight of him sucking with sparkly tearful eyes is so hot and debasing.
Pulling your fingers out of his mouth, you straddle yeonjun, grabbing his dick. You place it at your entrance and unceremoniously sit down on the whole of his dick fast in one go, taking him all in to the hilt, until your hips meet his. It knocks the air out of yeonjun, theatrically throwing his head back and it has you sighing in pleasure at having his cock inside you again, stretched out at a more delicious angle.
You hold onto his abdomen, swivelling your hips around him and then beginning to ride him as yeonjun moans and mewls out so brazenly loud. “You need me to fuck you, baby. Don’t you?”
“Yeahyeah-mmm.” Yeonjun is fickle as shit, not complaining at all once he feels your pussy, in fact, he likes it more now since he’s not doing any of the work.
You lift yourself off and slam back down, bouncing on him faster and faster at an unrelenting pace and yeonjun just lays there underneath you, looking pretty and almost doll-like with his blushed cheeks and glossed lips in the shape of an ‘o’, happily taking it all in pure ecstasy, tongue lolling out and contently moaning high pitched like a girl.
You can’t help but chuckle at the view of yeonjun beneath you, brushing a strand of damp hair from his sweat-beaded forehead. “You’re more like a princess than a prince, yeonjun. Maybe you should be the princess’s host club instead.”
You thought he might objectify but yeonjun just mindlessly nods. “Kay…long as you’re still fucking me.”
You giggle, bringing your hand to the side of his hot face, stroking your thumb sweetly on his cheek. “You like being taken care of by me?”
Yeonjun nods, preening into your touch, purring like a cat. “Uh huh.”
You can feel yeonjun’s dick twitching uncontrollably inside of you. “Aww, princess, are you close?” You teasingly coo.
Yeonjun helplessly whimpers. “Yes, so close. Kiss me.”
You tut at him. “You’re not even going to ask nicely? What a spoilt princess.” But you do it anyway, leaning down, capturing his addictive lips with yours, kissing him hungrily, filthily, tongues tangling and swirling together as you ruthlessly ride him, both your brains clouded up by the other, sucking on his tongue nastily too. You clench down on yeonjun’s cock purposefully and he satisfyingly cries into your mouth, you swallowing down all his needy sounds.
You continue to bounce wetly on yeonjun’s girthy cock, going up and down at a mercilessly cruel speed as it creates sticky squelchy sounds, fucking the life out of him whilst his cries accelerate, your ass smacking his full balls every single time, grabbing his shoulders hard to hold onto as you do this, intent on reaching both your highs.
“Ohhhmy god. I’m cummingg!” Yeonjun cums first with garbled, mangled, pornographic whines, spilling his seed and filling the condom with his white gooey substance, back lifting off the sofa and arching as he sees stars everywhere. He pants and heaves, throwing an arm over his face at the overwhelming sensation, trying to come back down to earth, going boneless, feeling like a pile of nothingness, like melted ice cream in the sun.
You continue to use his spent dick, so close to your own orgasm too, so in reach as you keep jumping on his cock hard, reaching up in a gummy spot inside of you, prodding it every time so good, eyes squeezed shut in complete bliss, sweating so much, thighs aching. You don’t stop though, bringing your hand to rub at your clit too and you’re quickly able to let go, cumming around yeonjun’s twitching dick. You stay there, riding the after waves of it, slowly still moving on yeonjun’s cock, trying to prolong it until you can’t anymore and it stops feeling good.
You collapse on top of yeonjun’s body, utterly exhausted, allowing him to weakly grab and cling onto you as you both drift off.
“Shit, yeonjun. Wake up.” You attempt to shake yeonjun.
Both of you had managed to pass out on the sofa until the next day after the event planning had very abruptly turned into something else entirely. And now, you’re running a little bit late to set everything up for the workshop, neither of you remembering to set an alarm.
Yeonjun stirs in his sleep but doesn’t wake up, pouting with knitted eyebrows.
“Yeonjun.” You shake his shoulders more aggressively, shoving him.
“It’s too early.” He whines.
“No it’s not. Check your phone.”
He groans, but reaches over to grab his phone, checking the time with one eye open. “Oh. We have to go already.”
“Yeah.”
He gets up and so do you, quickly getting ready the best you can, grabbing the bundles and armfuls of supplies of everything you need and running over to the host club room.
Both of you rush to get everything prepared, checking the number of attendees, placing all the supplies each person and table will need, such as needles, measuring tapes, embroidery, fabric, scissors, pins. You make sure the screen and PowerPoint is up and ready. Yeonjun had gone to the printer to make individual copies of the demonstrations so everyone has one on a table. The sewing machines also needed to be carried one by one, all the way from the fashion department building and back to where the host club room is, which takes a considerably long time and effort. By the fifth trip, your arms genuinely felt like they were going to fall off.
The room was finally ready, guests would start arriving any minute. You collapse into a chair, yeonjun dropping down on the one next to you.
And the event goes satisfyingly well. As you had expected, the guests love the idea, following the steps and learning how to sew simple clothes, particularly loving when yeonjun comes around to flirt individually and help with the sewing machines, giggling and blushing into their sleeves. As the assistant, you go around table to table, checking in and giving extra supplies when guests need them, making sure everything is running and working the presentation on the projector as yeonjun confidently talks and teaches. You have to admit, It feels nice and rewarding to watch the whole event actually come to together after planning it for a long while yesterday and seeing everyone enjoy it.
Yeonjun insists on you being his model, wanting to make a top fitted for your measurements.
You groan. “Why do I have to be it, though? There’s plenty people who would love to be your model.”
“You’re my assistant, so you’re my model. Plus, you’re gorgeous enough.” Yeonjun deviously winks, corners of his mouth curling upwards.
You shake your head and defeatedly sigh. You thought his flirting would stop after you had retaliated back, but he’s flirting even more.
You don’t have much of a choice in being his model, so you stand before him, letting him get to work. You get to see his fashion designing skills in action, he’s very focused, a measuring tape draped around his neck, pin held between his lips, catty eyes squinted in concentration, measuring, cutting, seeing, creating the top and then decorating it. It’s a very pretty beaded, well fitted top with a gaping heart hole. There’s tiny red crystals, sequins and beads on the edges of the heart, cascading downwards like dripping blood, elegant and slightly unsettling. He even manages to make one for himself in the short time frame, making a matching one with a similar concept for himself. His featuring a similar heart motif, though slightly larger, with black crystal embellishments spreading across the chest like fractured veins.
Once everyone is done creating their pieces, there’s music playing on speakers as everybody shows off what they made, walking down the makeshift platformed stage acting as a runway, all the guests cheerfully, clapping and supporting each other, the lovely atmosphere is infectious. Yeonjun grabs your wrist to walk down the runway together, yeonjun ridiculously posing as guests scream and whistle so loud, losing their minds and you do the same, posing, actually having fun.
The aftermath of the event looks significantly less glamorous, the room is a beyond mess, looking like some sort of natural disaster had taken place in it, and unfortunately, both you and yeonjun have to be the ones to tidy and put everything away. The sewing machines nearly killing you off yet again when you have to return them all back to their home.
“Ice cream?” Yeonjun suggests once you’re finally done with clearing the room.
“Yes.” You immediately agree, tired eyes lighting up.
You don’t bring yourself to complain about getting yeonjun’s chauffeured car to the ice cream shop, despite how within walking distance it is, every muscle in your body so sore. You order the tiramisu flavour and yeonjun gets the strawberry cheesecake, swapping ice creams, having liked what the other got more last time.
Yeonjun jokingly offers you a scoop of his ice cream again to feed it to you, holding it out across the table for you. “Say ahh.”
You narrow your eyes, but challengingly accept, eating it just to watch the shocked expression appear on yeonjun’s face as he hadn’t expected you to actually let him feed you. But then, the stunned reaction changes, the idiot is glowing, widely smiling.
“You’re helping with soobin’s event tomorrow.” Yeonjun says after a bit, resting his chin in his hands and smiling at you across the table.
You had almost forgotten that this wasn’t the end, and only the start. Four more events remained, and four more hosts. The thought alone was exhausting. Tomorrow would be soobin's event and you had absolutely no idea what it would involve.
“Hopefully, you don’t like him as much as you like me.” Yeonjun jokes, but keeps his eyes still lingering on you, something almost faintly wistful about it, though he’s still smiling.
Now that you’ve come to think of it, you’ll never likely be working with yeonjun again after this, feeling the tiniest bit melancholic about it. But you snort anyway. “Who said I liked you?”
“You have to have liked me a little, otherwise sleeping with me would have been a very strange decision on your part.” Yeonjun raises a brow at you, grin only deepening.
You laugh despite yourself and so does yeonjun.
“Unless,” he adds, placing a hand over his chest in wounded exaggeration, “the sex was bad and you like me even less now, which would be quite sad.” A dramatic pout pulls at yeonjun’s lips.
As bizzare as yeonjun is, you supposed you get how people can be charmed and pulled in by this man now, because you do find you’re no different than anybody else who likes him anymore.
Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷It’s incredibly discouraging and disappointing when fics have such little reblogs. At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it makes writers want to actually write more :)
A/n: I’m so sorry if this is shit and everyone hates it 🤣🤣 Im too scared to read it all back and then change it all and never post it 🤣🤣 i kinda hate this sm. yes I am aware the ending is so poorly written 🤣 but ayyy yeonjun debut on my blog ! I actually have another fic idea for jjun that I want to write too
GENRE: college!au, smut, paranormal!au, strangers to lovers
SUMMARY: Best friends would do anything for each other, right? So when you tell a little lie to save your friend Minju’s ass, a punishment falls on your doorstep from the Witches' Council: do not lie for an entire lunar cycle. What you thought was simple starts to get complicated when you can't keep your mouth shut and honesty oozes out of your pores in the most uncomfortable and awkward situations. Add Riki Nishimura to the mix, the sharp-eyed boy who starts to take an interest in your sincerity.
WORDS: 21k+.
WARNINGS AND CONTENT: strangers to lovers, reader is a magnet to chaos, explicit smut, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, spanking, praise, overstimulation, Niki big cock agenda, just Niki being a menace in general.
The Witch's Council chambers was an old place outside town that smelled like wood, incense and power. You could easily sense the magic and power like it was engraved in the air, strong and ancient. But the old-fashioned look was interrupted by modern touches: new chairs, a wall projector and council members with iPads, some others playing with their phones. Not the entire council was present; only the president, Na Seorin, and the vice president, Kim Junseo, Minju's father. Off to one side stood the council secretary, Lee Sunjae, who seemed more engrossed in his phone than in what was happening around him, wearing a deep, concentrated frown. He was very, very focused on his phone and at some point he even leaned towards Seorin, asking her if she could send him lives on Candy Crush. She silenced him with an unimpressed look.
There was a small jury of witches and warlocks that you obviously knew, uncles and aunts and even parents of some friends, people who you grew up around. You were sitting with Minju on a wooden bench at the front, being judged in a very dramatic fashion in your opinion. Your back was straight and your knees touching and Minju wore the same position, you could feel the nervousness radiating from her. You didn’t quite know why you'd been summoned there with her, but hell, you wouldn't open your mouth to incriminate yourself until someone else started the whole thing. What was worse, you and Minju didn't have time to talk and organize a lie together.
‘’We are here to clarify the events of last Friday that have caught our attention,’’ Minju’s dad started, voice calm. He turned to face the jury. ‘’We have sufficient reasons to believe that both witches are involved.’’
You raised both eyebrows and tilted your head, wondering what on earth was going on. You weren’t involved in shit. Beside you, Minju whimpered under her breath, probably knowing where this whole thing was heading. Junseo turned his attention towards you and it took everything in you not to shrink under his steel gaze. He looked like a very offended father.
‘’You are a well-known associate of Kim Minju. You grew up together and are very close, as we all know. Responsible, respectful, talented with magic, and disciplined.’’
‘’Thank you, sir,’’ you muttered, lowering your head humbly and nodding. You heard one juror behind you cooing and telling another how polite you were.
‘’Did Minju attend a fraternity party Friday night?’’ He asked.
Oh, so that's what this was all about. You lied without even thinking, in a steady voice, even frowning slightly as if you were confused that he even asked you that. ‘’Um, of course not. She spent the night with me; we were catching up on some reading. It was a quiet night, and we went to bed early.’’
You knew perfectly well that was a damn lie. The last thing Minju would do is spend a Friday cooped up inside studying instead of following Jungwon, her campus crush, to parties. You knew Minju was pretty easygoing and a lightweight, so alcohol wasn't exactly the wisest thing to give her, since chaos usually followed her wherever she went. When you asked her the next day how the party was, Minju only remembered maybe a quarter of it, not even a half. You weren't entirely sure what Minju had done to warrant a damn jury of witches, but you were going to defend your best friend no matter what anyway. Minju was... prone to getting into strange situations. You were used to it.
You turned your face and smiled innocently at the jury trying to sell your act; some thoughtful murmurs reached you while others simply nodded in agreement. You looked at Junseo as if nothing was wrong, with an open and friendly expression, nothing challenging or mocking. His eyes studied your expression and Minju's in a very familiar way, like when you were little and he wanted to find out which of you had eaten the whole drawer of chocolates.
‘’I don't know exactly what this is about, but I guess the only thing I can assure Minju did was snore very loudly,’’ you joked with a chuckle. ‘’We had a super quiet Friday, sir.’’
Minju gave you a playful nudge and you both giggled adorably, the very picture of good, innocent girls that the jury was totally buying into. For a beautiful moment you believed it had worked and that would be all, except that Mr. Kim had an ace up his sleeve.
He just nodded thoughtfully and, without saying a word, simply raised his hand holding a small remote control. The projector sprang to life and displayed a slightly blurry image filmed from a porch security camera. The room filled with sound: loud, silly laughter, someone yelling "aim well!" and "do it again!" A group of clearly drunk college kids came into view, eggs in their hands. Someone threw one and completely missed the house; another projectile did hit the door and splattered a little on the camera.
Minju gasped next to you. ‘’Oh my God. No way.’’
Then Minju's face appeared, her eyes wide and dilated, her mascara slightly smudged, and smiling as if she had just summoned a vortex of pure chaos. You frowned, believing your sight was deceiving you, but no, Minju was throwing or at least trying to throw eggs. She looked absolutely ridiculous, drunk as a sailor and staggering, unable to contain her drunk giggles, hands full of eggs, some failing into the floor. You covered your mouth, trying to control your laugh from spilling.
‘’Oh no,’’ Minju blurted with worry. ‘’My hair looked like that?!’’
You closed your eyes with a sigh and pinched the bridge of your nose. The video continued playing, showing Minju teetering on the sidewalk and trying to aim the eggs, some landing on her shoes while others cheered on her failed attempts. No eggs actually hit the house. Now you understood why the two of them were there. The house that Minju and her friends had vandalized was one of the oldest in town, now a museum, and what not many people knew was that it had actually been a house belonging to the witch settlers. In fact, nobody knew, except for those of their kind. Minju egged a historic house to your community, a very important one.
The screen went dark and a heavy silence fell over the room. The president spoke for the first time, clearing her voice. ‘’Girls, this is not exemplary behavior for witches.’’
‘’I know and I’m sorry,’’ Minju panicked, moving her hands desperately. ‘’I’ve grown since then! I swear!’’
‘’This happened three days ago,’’ her father said flatly.
The president moved her attention to you and you shrank a little in your seat under her stare. ‘’And you have lied to this council and the jury, covering up for the accused.’’
You deflated like a balloon, looking at the floor. ‘’Yes,’’ you admitted with a sigh, there was no point in denying it. ‘’I did. I’m sorry.’’
Seorin sighed loudly. ‘’You’re two young witches still forging their path, but at your age you should already understand certain rules. This room isn't a place for lies, girls. Magic doesn't just respond to power, but to truth,’’ she scolded you two gently but firmly; her eyes were not unkind. ‘’I'm a little disappointed in both of you. I was expecting better.’’
Being scolded by an older, more experienced witch felt just as embarrassing as when you were a little girl. Thank goodness your familiar, Soomin, had taken a short vacation, otherwise you would have been doubly scolded, though you suspected she probably already knew. Some jurors nodded, others agreed, and some looked at you two more suspiciously, as if they thought Minju had more eggs in her pockets and was about to attack them. Perhaps with better aim.
‘’This is obviously not a criminal matter, but every action has its consequences,’’ the president continued. ‘’And this is no exception.’’
Minju held your sleeve while looking at you alarmed. ‘’They're going to burn us at the stake!’’ she whispered urgently.
You rolled your eyes and pushed her softly, scoffing. ‘’Of course not!’’
‘’For you,’’ the president said, looking directly into your eyes, ‘’one lunar cycle without lies. No falsehood or trickery, your tongue will always speak the truth. May sincerity teach you an important lesson, young witch.’’
Your stomach dropped, but you maintained your neutral expression, even as you could feel the faint presence of a spell reaching your body and settling there. Your tongue felt heavy for a second and you touched your lips with a frown, noticing that the sensation appeared as quickly as it vanished, as if something had been tied up and then melted on your tongue like candy. Well, fuck.
‘’And for you,’’ she turned to Minju, ‘’you will be in charge of three hens. You will feed them, care for them, clean their coop and collect their eggs. It goes without saying that not a single one should be broken in the entire month.’’
‘’Oh. These hens,’’ Minju continued, ‘’are they… alive?’’
‘’They’re chickens, Minju,’’ her father sighed tiredly. ‘’That is usually how they work.’’
Seorin struck the gavel once. ‘’With this, we conclude the council meeting. Thank you all for your presence today.’’
Minju fell dramatically to your side, staring at the ceiling with a pout. ‘’Next time I’ll tell the truth.’’
You looked at her sideways. ‘’You don't say.’’
She pouted even more, regretting filling her cute features. ’‘I'm sorry I dragged you into this! But it was kind of worth it, if we think about the grand scheme of things. Like, I kissed Jungwon at the party and I got his number!’’
You looked at her in disbelief and wondered if they would increase the punishment if you hanged her right there. ‘’Minju, we're under a spell for a whole month! I can't lie, and you've become the babysitter for three chickens. Aren't you forgetting something?’’
She stared at you blankly, head empty, just waiting for you to say more after she shook his head no.
‘’You're afraid of chickens.’’
By morning you had already begun to encourage yourself. Honesty was easy, wasn't it? You could do this. It's not like you're constantly lying, you weren't a pathological liar. One month. One lunar cycle. Thirty days. It would be easy. You could do this. People liked honest people, after all.
It's not like the most powerful witch of the coven casted a spell on your tongue forever. There was no chance that a careless word could send you back to the Council chambers with judgmental candles and Minju’s chickens clucking in the distance… right? Right. You could do this. Being honest was a good thing! Maybe this whole mess could turn into something positive.
But one thought wouldn't leave your mind. How did this spell exactly work? Did silence count as an answer? Perhaps it was a good idea to fake pharyngitis and take a few days off. If you could keep your mouth shut and stay quiet, maybe take a lower profile… Huh. That could maybe do the trick.
You were so caught up in mental damage control and possible ways to cheat (or maybe not cheating as such, you would call it... walking the spell's edge), that you barely noticed someone started walking beside you.
Too close, close enough that you could smell his cologne. You glanced sideways and there was Park Jongseong in all his glory and blinding smile, gracing you with his presence. Jay was one of those guys who had a high place among campus royalty, definitely a party prince. Everybody knew him. Everybody wanted him. Always smiling like he knew something most people didn't, confident with a track record to back it up: friendly, athletic, way too good with the girls, as you’ve heard the rumors. Trouble.
Your alarm bells were starting to quietly go off because Jay was smiling at you as if you two were lifelong friends (you weren’t), looking at you as if he didn't notice your expression, which was somewhere between disinterest and slight concern (like saying please think twice what you’re about to say).
Jay wasn't a conceited idiot per se, but hey, you weren't going to give all your trust to one of the campus's favorite heartthrob just like that. You knew his kind (frat, attractive boy) and well, his group of friends had a certain reputation on campus. You weren't particularly interested in getting involved in their games like Minju, who had her sights set on Jungwon and apparently it was working well, without any illegal love potion included. You hoped.
“Hey,” he said easily. “You’re in Professor Park class, right?”
You looked at him and then at the empty halls.
“I am,” you replied flatly.
He chuckled, unbothered by your tone. “Cool, cool. Listen— quick favor. I’ve been kinda… busy lately,’’ Jay made a vague gesture that probably meant parties, games, existing attractively, fucking around, more parties. “Missed a few lectures. You take good notes, right?”
You felt a strange sensation in your chest, like a tickling inside. Your eye twitched a little, too early to deal with whatever that was. ‘’My notes are good, yes,’’ you said.
“Perfect,” Jay said enthusiastically, as if you had come up with the idea and not him. “Think you could send them to me? Or maybe help me catch up sometime? Maybe you could tutor me from time to time.”
You inhaled slowly, ready to say that you hadn't been taking notes lately, or that maybe he wouldn't understand your handwriting, that you didn’t have the time to tutor someone or even just a clear yes so he would leave you alone.
None of that came out of your mouth.
‘’No,’’ you said instead. Your eyes widened, realizing you couldn't have lied. It wasn't what you meant to say, it was just automatically spat it out.
Jay blinked at you. ‘’Oh. Okay.’’
‘’You should be more responsible, Jay,’’ you said, the words spilling out before you could stop it or control it. ‘’This isn't such a difficult class. If you came regularly, you'd definitely do better and be able to keep up instead of relying on people who actually are responsible, instead of being so unprepared, you know.’’
An awkward, confusing silence fell between you, and you quickly covered your mouth, wishing the floor would swallow you whole. If that wasn't guaranteed social death... some passing girls turned their heads, intrigued by the exchange.
Jay continued to stare at you for a few seconds and then let out a small laugh, more surprised than angry. ‘’Wow,’’ he said. ‘’Okay. Fair. Harsh, but fair,’’ he chuckled. ‘’I get it.’’
You shrugged mortified and helpless and bit your tongue hard, trying to hold back the words, but the spell was stronger. ‘’Also, I’m not interested in tutoring someone who prioritizes parties over academic responsibility. You'll just waste my time.’’
Jesus Christ.
Jay raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘’Damn. Alright. Message received.’’
He stopped in the hallway, still smiling, but there was something more thoughtful in his expression, his gaze lingering on you, as if he had miscalculated what he expected from you. Jay was placing you in some drawer of his mind with a new label.
‘’I didn’t know you thought like that,’’ he added. ‘’You don’t take shit from anyone, do you? I respect that.’’
Before you could make things worse by replying, thankfully Jay just gave you one of his boyish smiles and walked away. As you watched him go, your heart calmed and you sank into the nearest wall. Well, that turned out just fine. So much for walking on the edge of the spell, huh?
Not very far, someone was watching you and Jay intently, observing the entire conversation without moving with a growing interest.
Fortunately, you didn't scare away anyone else for the rest of the morning with your big mouth. Perhaps honesty wasn't as simple as you thought if it wasn't filtered, you could only hope that no one else asked you something as direct as Jay did. The spell definitely was out of control. So that was a damn problem. Not only could you not stay quiet, but your tongue was moving uncontrollably with thoughts that hadn't even formed yet. It was as if the truth was being ripped from your soul before your brain was even aware of it.
Minju was halfway through describing chicken’s politics when she realized you weren’t really paying attention to her. Your brows were furrowed, your mind racing, analyzing the damned spell. It was both strong and subtle, binding your tongue to the truth in a way that made it impossible to shut your damn mouth once you started speaking. There had to be some way to stop it. Of course, you weren't crazy enough to cast a counter-spell and actually end up in the Witches’ Council basement. But the chances of getting through the month without any trouble weren't looking so high anymore.
“I swear,” Minju said, poking at her salad, “at first they screamed every time they saw me, but now they only scream a little. And one of them lets me hold her for, like, five seconds. Her name is Buttercup. I don’t know why I was scared of them, they’re kinda cute. It’s not so bad.’’
‘’That’s good,’’ you murmured, barely nodding, eyes unfocused. ‘’Chickens are nice.’’
‘’It really is,’’ Minju agreed proudly. ‘’Also, I don’t scream as much anymore either. I think we’re warming up to each other, you know?’’
You hummed softly, taking a sip of your soda. ‘’It's great that you're building a relationship with your chickens. Bonding is important.’’
Of course Minju noticed your thoughtful and cloudy mood and stroked your shoulder with a frown. She also noticed the faint whisper of magic. ‘’How was your day? Is it the spell? Is your soda not fizzy enou— oh my God. Oh. My. God— okay, don’t look.’’
‘’What?’’ You asked, blinking out of your haze and looking all around. ‘’What’s going on?’’
‘’I said don’t look! Listen carefully,’’ she whispered urgently, going back to her salad and keeping her eyes down. She took a deep breath, preparing herself. ‘’Niki is looking at you.’’
You frowned at her, not quite understanding the urgency of the situation, but you assumed Minju would have some reason. You snorted, keeping your eyes down anyway and trying not to laugh. ‘’Okay, I won’t. So?’’
Minju looked at you in the most offended way possible, pointing her fork at you, eyes full of incredulity. ‘’You must be kidding. Seriously? Niki? Basketball player, very cute, very tall, friend of Jungwon.’’
A face flashed into your mind and you nodded, remembering him too well. The boy with the perpetual look of disinterest. ‘’I wouldn't call him cute but okay. What about it?’’
Your best friend is practically vibrating with happiness. ‘’What do you mean, what about it? He’s looking at you! This is so good! This mean we could have a double date!’’
‘’Okay,’’ you murmured under your breath, ‘’I don’t wanna know how that occurred to you. Besides, I don't think he's looking at me for that reason. He’s probably planning my social death right now. Don’t mind him, Min.’’
Minju fell from his cloud of excitement. ‘’What? Why? Why would he?’’
‘’I refused to help Jay this morning; the stupid spell made me say a bunch of crap. Basically that he was a party animal with little interest in academics and something about not wasting my time in him.’’
Minju made a face, measuring the damage in her head. The bond between the boys was no joke. Jungwon, Heeseung, Jay, Jake, and Niki were like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse if they were five of them and in a frat— incredibly attractive, magnetic, with the kind of presence that simply drew attention. Whether it was their looks, their grades, the trophies they won with the basketball team, the gossip or their fraternity parties, someone was always talking about them. Loyal as hell, crossing one of them meant crossing the whole group of friends. And it wasn't a good idea to do that with the guys who basically controlled the narrative on campus.
Minju tried to smile again. ‘’Oh. Uhm, it doesn't sound very polite but he doesn't look murderous to me. He looks… in love,’’ she sighed cutely.
You looked at her, not entirely convinced and then subtly moved your head, until your eyes did find Riki Nishimura not far away, staring at you as if he could burn you with his mind. Or trying to.
He looked murderous.
Or maybe that was his everyday face. To you, he looked as always, as if he were bored and at the same time thinking about how he could start some chaos and blame others for it. Niki was leaning back in his chair across the courtyard, one arm lazily slung over the backrest, long fingers slowly swirling his ice americano coffee cup in circles. His posture screamed indifference, but his eyes betrayed him completely. They were fixed on you— not in passing, not accidentally. Intentionally. Burning. There was nothing shy about it, but you guessed that someone like Niki didn't know what shyness was in the first place.
It was a little creepy how his eyes had an almost predatory gleam in broad daylight. They weren't flirtatious as such, more like... analytical. Observant. Curious. As if he'd seen something and wanted to figure out exactly how it worked before getting close. He had a sharp, intense gaze, a feline spark that felt more like a panther than a cat. You couldn't deny it, he was one of the most attractive men you had ever seen, no truth spell needed to admit that. His cheekbones alone deserved a separate analysis for sure.
Niki didn’t look away when you caught him. Instead, he held your gaze for too long as if he was challenging you to not look away. His chin tilted and a hint of mockery appeared in his dark eyes, or perhaps it was an effect of the sun, as if he was saying Yes. I am looking. Problem?
You lose on the spot because your stomach did a strange flip under his piercing stare and you looked away, refusing to let him make you blush like a schoolgirl. You turned to Minju again. ‘’Right. I mean, it could be, who knows? That guy only has one expression for everything,’’ you shrugged.
She gasped. ‘’Of course not! He’s actually nice.’’
You arched a brow. ‘’Have you ever saw him smile?’’
‘’Maybe he’s one of those people who has a neutral face. You’re not the smiling type either,’’ she reminded you, mimicking your expression.
‘’You’re trying to say resting bitch face,’’ you offered, taking another sip of your soda. ‘’Or maybe he's just constantly constipated.’’
It was impossible for Minju not to laugh a little at that, and the two of them shared a few giggles that quickly died away when a shadow appeared over the two of you.
‘’What’s so funny?’’
A deep, definitely masculine voice sounded behind you. Minju jolted, eyes wide, while you turned far too slowly in your seat— straight into Niki standing there like he belonged in your space. Relaxed. Unbothered. Looking down at you from his full height, and fuck he was actually tall. Jungwon was at his side, smiling like it was a completely normal social interaction and not a potential social nightmare to you. You bit your tongue in advance.
Before anyone could speak, Jungwon's gaze flicked to Minju and he gently reached out, removing something of her shiny hair with a hint of hesitation, as if reality were playing a trick on him. It was a white feather.
Minju froze as Jungwon studied her and then the feather held in his fingers, his lips trembling as if he wanted to laugh but he was a little confused anyway.
‘’What’s this?’’ He asked her, amused.
You and Minju looked at each other speechlessly as the silence stretched long enough into awkwardness, not knowing what to say or how to explain. But of course, the spell didn't hesitate.
‘’It is from one of the chickens Minju is currently responsible for caring as a disciplinary punishment from the Witches' Council,’’ you quickly said.
Minju let out a strangled noise, horrified at your outburst. A second later you realized what you said and covered your mouth, frowning and looking panicked at Minju, shaking your head in a way best friends communicate meaning help me the fuck out.
Jungwon blinked between you both. ‘’Oh.’’
Niki’s eyebrows lifted slightly. ‘’Is that so?’’
‘’Yes,’’ you continued helplessly, ‘’Minju was actually telling me how her relationship with them is progressing and she's not so afraid of them anymore.’’
Minju buried her face in her hands and took a calming deep breath instead of screaming before looking at Jungwon, trying to smile and pretend that everything was normal.
‘’She’s right! I got some new pets,’’ she laughed with forced enthusiasm. ‘’Three chickens!’’
“That explains the feather,” Jungwon said, nodding solemnly as if this makes perfect sense. He placed it on the table. “Chickens are cute. Good luck with… that.”
‘’Thank you,’’ she mumbled, smiling too wide.
You wished with all your heart that no one else would speak to you, that perhaps the boys would just keep walking and think you were a couple of weird girls. But fate couldn't be that kind to you. Instead, Niki's attention never left you, searching for your eyes even while you were picking up your things, ready to bolt. You weren’t about to spill all your secrets and actually earn a worse punishment.
‘’Where are you going? Class?’’
You froze, feeling the spell regain its power and refusing to let you lie. ‘’I do not have class right now,’’ you explained, defeated.
Niki let out a quiet laugh, eyes gleaming. “Ah. Then why are you leaving?”
‘’I really don't want to continue this conversation in case I say something terrible or incriminating,’’ you admitted and made a face, grabbing your purse ready to bolt from there. God, just shut up!
Niki smiled slowly. Dangerous. Too handsome. The way something malignant finds out a new soul to torment. “Relax,” he taunted you. “We’re just talking. Do I make you so nervous that you want to run away?’’
You stood up abruptly, almost colliding with him. ‘’Yes. That is precisely the issue.’’
Niki stepped aside without argument, gesturing with exaggerated courtesy. “After you, princess.”
With what little dignity you had left and afraid of revealing some witch secret that would end with you being burned at the town bonfire (or having to move to another town), you left almost running. Niki's eyes watched as you disappeared among students coming and going, a slight smile raising the corners of his mouth.
Minju, bless her soul, tried to fill the heavy silence in your favor. ‘’Uh… she’s been pretty tired these days, you know, exams and stuff. She's usually more... quiet. But she’s super nice!’’
Jungwon nodded buying the explanation but Niki simply saw the bottle of soda you left; it was his favorite flavor. ‘’Is she?’’
The last thing you expected when you entered your home was a very, very angry owl staring at you from the stairs. You groaned under your breath as you approached, knowing you were about to get the scolding of a lifetime. You forced a smile onto your face and circled the scowling bird, slowly beginning to climb the stairs under her stare.
‘’Oh, Soomin, hi! You’re back already? How was your vacation? God, how the time flies. Anyway, I have so much work to do so—’’
‘’Don’t,’’ she warned, staring at you with huge, unblinking eyes. You gulped. ‘’Don’t even think to leave this conversation.’’
‘’But Soomin—’’
The owl hissed at you, feathers puffing. ‘’How is it possible that I'm only gone for a week and you've been punished with a spell?! And I'm only finding out about this today?’’
You froze mid-step and slowly turned to face her. Her small, feathered face was somehow the same one your mother used when you broke something expensive as a child. Pure maternal disappointment that could be read as: how have I ever had to put up with you.
‘’A week,’’ she repeated, flipping her wings in stress, ‘’just a week! I left you here trusting you’re a functional adult now and you got yourself in a trial and a punishment?!’’
‘’It wasn’t kinda an official trial—’’
‘’Of course it was official! There was a jury! The president and— I think I’m about to faint,’’ the owl wheezed, wobbling a little enough to worry you.
You quickly approached the bird trying to hold it, but as soon as you got close, Soomin began hitting you with its wing while hissing with renewed strength.
You yelped, cornered to the wall. ‘’Ow! Stop!’’
‘’You lied to the Council! You didn’t call me!’’ She growled, flapping at you with tiny, furious little hits. ‘’You lied in front of the entire Witches’ Council! Do you have any idea of how serious this is?’’
‘’Soomin, please, you’re being so dramatic,’’ you said, running a few steps up. ‘’It wasn't that deep! It's just for one lunar cycle.’’
The owl tilted its head and, of course, followed you, still giving you short, scandalized taps with its wings that weren't painful but ridiculously humiliating. You wondered how many people in the world could be scolded by a bird.
‘’Just a lunar cycle? This is a disaster,’’ Soomin continued, pacing back and forth on the stairs like a furious professor or a stressed lawyer. Probably both. ‘’A complete catastrophe. One week. I leave for one week and you ruin your life. You’re gonna tell me exactly what happened and oh, look at that, you can’t lie to me,’’ she mocked you. ‘’Because you’re cursed!’’
You scoffed and lifted your hands up in a calming gesture, staring down at her tiny form. ‘’Listen. It was just... a very confusing chain of events that somehow ended with me under a spell. I clearly didn’t expect that. How could I have known that was going to happen?’’
‘’Why did you lie in the first place while being interrogated?’’
You hesitated for a second, enough to make Soomin narrow her eyes. ‘’Oh, no. No, no, no, no. That face means it was a stupid reason.’’
You sighed, leaning against the wall, the spell working too well. ‘’I was trying to cover up for Minju. She got drunk and egged the histori—’’ you noticed how Soomin’s feathers started puffing again and you made a face, taking a step up. ‘’Historical house— she went to a party and I told the jury she was with me the entire night.’’
Soomin narrowed her eyes. If owls could facepalm… ‘’So it was a stupid reason.’’
You rubbed your temples. ‘’Hey, I’m actually struggling here. Today was my first day and already made some fucks ups,’’ you groaned, covering your face. ‘’I don’t think I’m surviving three full weeks. This is hard!’’
‘’You’ll find the way to do it because it’s what you deserve,’’ Soomin scolded you. ‘’That’s what you get for lying.’’
‘’It was just a small lie! All of this is so dramatic! You have any idea what this means to my social life?’’
‘’You don’t have one,’’ the owl responded, blinking at you.
‘’That’s not the point,’’ you replied, crossing your arms defensively with a frown. ‘’Now I definitely won’t.’’
Soomin perched on the railing and gave you another motherly look of pure disappointment. ‘’From now on, you won’t be unsupervised anymore,’’ she said firmly. ‘’I’m not leaving you for extended periods of time ever again.’’
You pouted and leaned your head on the wall. ‘’A month,’’ you muttered in pure misery and sadness. ‘’Twenty nine days to go.’’
Soomin shook her head. ‘’Unbelievable,’’ she scoffed. ‘’I raise you for years and this is what happens the moment I take a break.’’
You blinked. ‘’You’re appeared like three years ago, you didn’t raise me.’’
‘’Emotionally, I did.’’
You and Minju looked incredible. There was no other way to describe it, to be honest and full objective. Shorts that showed off your legs, zip-up jackets that clung to all the right places and accentuated your waist, your hair in a high ponytail that could have been in a sports-themed fashion editorial.
You had both made a deal, before the whole punishment mess happened, that both would enter their athletic era; meaning no more sedentary life and naps. It was time to get healthier, enjoy the nice weather and all that shit that was supposed to be good to your body.
You were dying.
Literally. Lungs gone.
You didn't know when you thought it was a good idea to suggest to Minju that you both take an open hockey class as a form of exercise, but it was definitely you trusting too much that your back would hold up. And your knees. And practically your entire body. It wasn’t the case. Who knew running while holding a stick could be so difficult?
By the end of the class you had moved parts of your body that you weren't sure you could coordinate at the same time in the first place, bent over your knees and gasping for air. Sweat trickled down your back as if you'd run a marathon from continent to continent, not just an hour-long class. Minju wasn't in the best shape either, dragging her hockey stick towards the benches while groaning, like she was leaving a battlefield.
‘’I think I saw angels,’’ Minju panted beside you, ‘’when they made us sprint the second time.’’
‘’I saw God,’’ you wheezed. ‘’She suggest me to sit down.’’
On the other side of the field, the men's team was finishing their practice too. From afar you could hear their shouts, grunts, and jeers. These classes were supposed to be the Student Council's idea to provide free, open sports spaces for everyone, but the men definitely treated it like the National Championship. Fast, competitive, sticks and shoulders clashing. You recognized some of the guys and wondered who in their right mind would do two different sports in the same week and survive. Apparently, Niki was one of them.
The way he moved was ruthless, efficient, controlled. You couldn't help but watch him from afar while you drank water because, well, why not? A girl could enjoy the view. His hair was slightly damp, pushed back from his forehead. His t-shirt clung a little to his torso, and it was impossible not to notice the trace of his abs and the muscle in his arms. His body moved with force and speed. And although he seemed incredibly focused, his eyes still occasionally wandered. Towards you. Searching.
Again. Again. One more time, until Jungwon noticed and it made him snort with a knowing smile.
After practice, while your lungs were slowly coming back to life and Minju was showing you videos of her chickens, on the other side of the field a group of boys were making a straight line towards you. It was too late to run when you looked up and Jungwon was approaching with an easy smile, Jay by his side and Niki just a step behind, hands in their pockets and a serious expression.
‘’Hey,’’ Jungwon greeted warmly, eyes drifting to Minju. ‘’How’d it go?’’
‘’We survived,’’ she smiled at him, proud. ‘’Barely. But it was fun. I can’t still feel my legs.’’
Jay arched a brow, chucking. ‘’That intense?’’
‘’You have no idea,’’ you whispered to no one, positioning yourself behind Minju as naturally as possible while you put away your water bottle and grabbed your bag. So, a new game plan was set. If no one specifically spoke to you, you couldn't say anything catastrophic, right?
All you needed to do was make yourself a little invisible.
For a moment you thought you were actually succeeding. Jungwon was clearly only interested in Minju, with whom he was animatedly discussing hockey (or so you thought, because you had no idea about the terminology they were using). That was the moment: back away slowly, as if you'd decided in the moment and hadn't overanalyzed it for several minutes. Slowly, imperceptibly, so no one would smell your fear. Just a few steps toward freedom, just a bye under your shoulder and no one would get hurt.
Jay noticed right away, calling your name.
‘’Hey,’’ he said casually, glancing at you and your outfit, taking in your legs. ‘’You look good today.’’
You froze. Oh no. No. Please, no. The spell didn’t wasted a fucking second.
‘’I know,’’ you said confidently. ‘’These shorts gave me an incredible ass.’’
Silence. Minju choked, eyes huge. Jungwon’s brows shoot up. Jay bursted out laughing, full delight, not at all bothered.
‘’You’re so sincere,’’ he said with a grin. ‘’Confidence. I like that.’’
Niki didn't laugh or say anything. He was simply watching you, studying the way you spoke without hesitation and the subsequent panic that followed, as if you had no filter.
Jay playfully nudged Niki with his elbow and kept the conversation going. ‘’You guys watched us play?’’
You prayed that no one else would say anything to you directly, taking another step back.
Of course, Niki’s voice interrupted your attempts. He looked straight at you. Calm, low, direct. ‘’Did you?’’
You swallowed, as if that could stop the truth from rising like bile up your throat. ‘’Uh, y-yes.’’
‘’And?’’
“You looked very attractive,” you admitted helplessly, eyes flicking to him for half a second before staring at the grass, accepting your destiny. “With your hair all sweaty and pushed back.”
Minju made a tiny distress sound, Jungwon tried to look neutral watching the exchange and failed, and Jay grinned knowing he found free entertainment and material to taunt his maknae. But Niki didn't mock you, or smiled, nor did he seem embarrassed or smug. He tilted his head and continued looking at you with heavy, but not cold, eyes. Just… attentive. Listening. Like he never heard that sort of answer before.
‘’Did I?’’ He asked, mildly.
‘’Yes,’’ you said immediately, planning your own death. ‘’It was distracting.’’
Jay looked at Niki, considering your words. He was enjoying it too much. ‘’Distracting, huh?’’
Niki ignored him and moved a little closer to you, just enough to make the air shift. ‘’Then maybe,’’ he said quietly, eyes steady on you, ‘’you should stop watching.’’
‘’I would, but you’re hard to ignore,’’ you murmured automatically, slamming your eyes shut. ‘’Okay. I’m leaving now.’’
‘’We need water!’’ Minju intervened, taking your arm and leading you away with an apologetic smile. ‘’Bye, guys!’’
Jungwon was smiling and waving, Jay was saying something about Niki's sweaty hair being gross and Niki... his eyes followed you the whole way. Smiling a little.
Already deciding.
Avoidance is power, you told yourself.
Clearly you couldn't control the spell. Okay. Nor could you control who spoke to you. Obviously. But you could control the exposure. Limited interactions, minimal risks, avoid potential red flags that could lead to humiliation. You were going to finally walk the line of the spell or die trying.
It didn't matter that Minju was officially dating Jungwon and that somehow included his friends who orbited him and, due to their proximity, your best friend, like damn satellites. You wouldn't be rude. Just... brief and efficient. Simply as that. In the middle of a night where you were staring at the ceiling wondering how you ended up in this problem while you were in a chocolate ice cream coma, that's when it occurred to you.
You couldn't lie, but you could control how you told the truth. You wouldn't be lying per se... you'd simply be revealing the answers in long, technical sentences. Careful words, a controlled tone, crafted and directed honesty. That wasn't lying. You were simply adapting to the rules of the game. Expanding your vocabulary. Making things complicated wasn't lying. The spell didn't imply that people had to understand you.
In the dating world, some friends canceled plans because of their boyfriends. Minju did it for her chickens. She bailed on hockey practice before it even started when her security app sent a notification.
“One of the girls laid an egg and she looks emotionally overwhelmed,” she had said seriously, already packing her bag. “I need to supervise.”
‘’She’s just a chicken,’’ you stared at her.
‘’She’s sensitive.’’
That's how you ended up alone, suffering, exhausted but not as dramatically as last time. Or maybe you just didn't have anyone to complain to. Either way, once practice was over, you actually enjoyed it a little. Other girls were stretching and chatting, laughing and drinking water, while you sat on the benches. You breathed a sigh of relief when you took down your ponytail and let your hair fall, enjoying the fresh air.
Perhaps doing outdoor sports wasn't so bad, you supposed. The sunset and the breeze caressed your damp skin, and for a second you relaxed, enjoying the silence. You tilted your head slightly toward the sky, toward the last rays of the sun, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. You even smiled a little, not ruining your social interactions for a whole day felt like a huge victory.
You weren’t aware of it, but at the other side of the field the boy’s team were finishing warm-up drills. Niki’s focus shifted, as he had done all week, to you. Finally alone. Illuminated by a halo of sunlight, looking so pretty and relaxed, not like the times he had approached you and you looked ready to flee.
By the time you sensed someone’s presence it was too late, opening your eyes to Niki standing close enough that you had to tilt your chin up slightly to meet his gaze. You got startled with a small yelp and your heart rate went crazy while Niki was completely and clearly unashamed of staring at you like that in the open.
He broke the silence first. ‘’Minju abandoned you?’’
You were ready for this. You cleared your throat and sat straighter. ‘’She had a chicken-related emergency.’’
Niki blinked once, nodding like that made all the sense in the world. ‘’I thought you were avoiding us,’’ he said plainly. ‘’Avoiding me.’’
You inhaled, choosing the words carefully in your head. ‘’I’m being selective with my interactions at this particular moment.’’
His mouth twitched slightly. ‘’Selective? And I didn't make the cut?’’
Panic spread across your brain, that was dangerous territory!
‘’I'm trying to minimize situations where I have to interact verbally because… because I'm avoiding saying things that can amplify the exposure of my personal, reserved thoughts and put me in complicated circumstances.’’
Niki’s eyes sharpened. ‘’So I complicate your life?’’
This fucker. You froze for a second, feeling the spell around your tongue, ready to pounce head first into the truth. ‘’I believe you increase the odds a little,’’ you admitted, maintaining your calm tone.
He took a step closer, his knees almost touching you. ‘’And why is that?’’
Because I can't decipher the way you look at me.
Because you don't react like everyone else.
You didn’t say any of it. ‘’You ask direct questions,’’ you said instead, finding the right words. ‘’And I struggle with filtering in those interactions.’’
His eyes fell on the curve of your shoulders, the way your hair waved in the breeze, your cheeks a little pink from exercise. ‘’You look better like this,’’ Niki said casually.
You frowned. ‘’Like what?’’
‘’Less guarded.’’
Your brain short-circuited, and thankfully, not even a powerful witch's spell could fix that. But before you could die crushed by Niki's dark eyes, he was the first to look away towards the other side of the field, where his team resumed training.
‘’We’re not done,’’ he started, and you suspected he wasn’t just talking about hockey. ‘’Stay.’’
You blinked. ‘’Stay? Why?’’
He gestured subtly with his head towards the bleachers and you followed his line of sight. Oh. A few girls were there, watching the boy’s practice. Some talking, others taking photos. Waiting for boyfriends. Watching situationships or prospects.
You looked at Niki again, not fully understanding the situation. Actually, more in denial. The implication was too obvious to ignore, but it still confused you a little. Why the hell Riki Nishimura wanted you there of all people?
‘’You can sit there,’’ he said, like it was the most normal outcome. ‘’Watch.’’
You kept staring at him, blinking slowly. ‘’You’re recruiting spectators, Nishimura?’’
His mouth twitched again, trying not to crack a smile. ‘’I’m inviting you.’’
Your stomach lurched catastrophically. ‘’You want me… to sit there and openly watch you?’’
‘’Yes.’’
‘’No.’’
He didn't react badly to your refusal, he simply studied you. ‘’Why not?’’
You swallowed and searched your brain for an answer that made sense. ‘’Because that could create some assumptions.’’
He tilted his head, a spark of mischief in his eyes. ‘’What kind of assumptions?’’
You narrowed your eyes a little, knowing that now he was playing with you. He knew what kind of assumptions, the cocky bastard.
‘’I would prefer not to fuel potential situations that could lead to rumors that are not substantiated… based on our interactions. Misinterpretations could arise.’’
He searched your eyes while lowering his voice a little. ‘’What if I want them substantiated?”
Fuck this frat boy. You let out a loud sigh and thought about your next move. There was no chance you would let Niki throw you into the stands full of girlfriends, when the possibility of the spell going out of control due to the pressure and the crowd was so high. You were barely taking baby steps into the edge of the spell, not doing fucking somersaults on it.
So you took the next best route: evade. ‘’You’re very confident,’’ you managed to say, trying to smile.
‘’Yes.’’
‘’That's very... threatening to my… filtering,’’ you groaned, feeling the spell tightening.
He kept his eyes on you, pleased by it. ‘’Then stay,’’ he muttered, almost soft. ‘’Face the danger.’’
‘’That’d end with me saying something incriminating,” you warned him with a sigh.
“I’m counting on it.”
Alright.
You stood abruptly, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “This is exactly the kind of scenario I am strategically eliminating.”
He didn’t move out of your space immediately. “You’re running again.”
“I am exercising discernment.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “Same thing.”
You looked at him once more, trying to appear composed and with a serene face, even though your heart was beating strangely inside your chest. ‘’I'm not equipped to deal with you right now. Bye.’’
That made him stop for a second. And then: ‘’Good.’’
‘’What? Why’s that’s good?’’
‘’Because when you are, I'll be here. I want to see it.’’
Niki walked back onto the playing field, leaving you behind as if he hadn't desestabilized your nervous system.
From that day on, things got progressively worse, little by little, as if the loose ends were starting to tie themselves up. And by loose ends, you meant Niki's friends. The strangest part was the stares you got from other girls. Some were curious and interested, others hateful. The campus had eyes everywhere, that was obvious to anyone. The five horsemen and their lost bachelorhood were the talk of the town. First Jungwon, then Jake, who would be next?
The initial plan to avoid social interactions wasn't working too well. Maybe it was because you were just one soldier, and well, Niki's army was bigger, not to mention the whole campus. Little things started happening. Like Jay sitting next to you in class, much to your alarm, and you even considered pretending not to know him. But if there was one thing impossible in the world, it was getting Jay to shut up. He talked about everything. Your head was completely empty by the time he launched into his anecdote about the basketball team's mascot falling into the pool last week.
The party invitations came in a more personal way. It wasn't like fraternity parties required it, but maybe it was something about the social hierarchy you weren’t aware of…? You had no idea and weren’t about to ask Minju about it. You assumed people just showed up, like you had done a few times before. But then Lee Heeseung basically blocked the library entry and asked you (more or less threatening you) if you would like to come to one of their parties. It took you too much by surprise to put together a coherent sentence, so you basically scuttled out the side with a yelp and a hurried ‘’no!’’.
That’s how you ended like this. Looking insane.
A scarf wrapped around your head as if you were a Hollywood actress from the 40s hiding from the paparazzi (you weren't), oversized black glasses that definitely weren't your style and didn't serve much purpose on a cloudy day, shoulders hunched as you slid along the edges of buildings like a cartoon thief, trying to blend into the shadows. Head down, quick steps, incognito mode activated.
The problem was that the Silverveil’s campus was a curse in itself, starting with its architecture: lots of open spaces, glass walls, and lots of people who liked to talk. And of course, him.
Nishimura Riki.
You had acquired a new knack for finding Niki in a crowd, though it wasn't too difficult. Tall, existing effortlessly, hands in his pockets with a semi-bored expression. You saw him at the other end of the courtyard, laughing at something Jake said, his laugh short and sharp, and just that sound made your stomach clench.
Abort. Abort. Abort.
You spun around instantly, nearly colliding with a group of students, muttering a quick apology before making a beeline run towards the nearest column. You leaned your back against it and took a breath, waiting a few seconds before poking your head out and inspecting the area.
No five horsemen of the apocalypse. No teachers. No curious girls asking if you can introduce them to Jay or Heeseung— or asking if it's true they're in a polyamorous relationship. No hockey coach asking why you didn't go to the last class and you not answering that you'd rather sleep for ten hours than drag your ass through that torture again.
Good.
You adjusted your scarf, lowered your glasses further, and leaned again— only to freeze. Niki was definitely close. Too close. So close you could see the lazy way he walked, unhurried, making his way along without even asking, as if he weren't chasing after anything. As if he knew exactly where he was going.
You pulled back fast, heart slamming against your ribs. Shit.
‘’Who are you spying on?’’
His voice came from behind you, low and amused, close enough that you felt it more than hear it. Slowly, too slowly, you turned around and there he was, devastating so. Niki’s eyes scanned you from head to toe, taking in the handkerchief, the glasses, and your expression somewhere between guilt and panic, as if you were assessing your chances of running away.
For a second he just looked at you, until one corner of his mouth lifted.
‘’No one in particular. I’m just… examining the perimeter and human elements near me.’’
Niki arched a brow, somewhat amused and slightly judgmental. ‘’Is this a disguise or a styling choice?’’
Panic surged through your mind, flooding your entire brain, barely remembering the plan and survival mode before the spell revived. ‘’I’m avoiding being recognized to prevent unnecessary social interactions that could result in irreversible harm to me.’’
Niki let out a short laugh, surprised and real, eyes bright with something dangerously close to interest. “Wow,” he said. “That’s… specific.’’
You squeezed your eyes shut for half a second, heart trembling. “I would appreciate it if you did not interpret my current behavior as an invitation for conversation.”
“And yet,” he replied lightly, stepping closer instead of away, “you’re still talking to me. You are hard to go unnoticed, too.”
You swallowed. “This is an unfortunate consequence of your proximity.”
He studied you like you were a puzzle he didn’t know how he wanted to solve, which piece picked up first, gaze lingering just a beat too long. “You know,” he started, voice dropping a little, “I’ve been looking for you all morning.”
Your heart stuttered. “Did you? That information is… distressing.”
Niki smiled fully now, slow and unreadable. “Good,” he responded.
And suddenly, hiding felt impossible and dumb. You were pressed against the column when Niki moved closer, cornering you enough so that you couldn't leave without brushing against his body. Niki lifted a hand, slow enough that you saw it coming but not slow enough to stop it. His fingers brushed your cheek for half a second before hooking under the arm of your sunglasses.
‘’Hey!—’’
He slid them off your face with infuriating ease. The world suddenly felt too bright. Too exposed. His gaze settled on your eyes immediately, intent and unreadable, like he was cataloguing something important. Up close, you noticed details you really shouldn’t be noticing: the curve of his lashes, the way his expression softened when you weren’t hiding behind dark lenses, a faded scar on one of his eyebrows. The smell of his cologne.
“Hm,” he hummed, studying you. “So that’s what you were hiding.”
You stopped yourself, jaw tightening. “…That statement is inaccurate since you don’t know my intentions and motives.”
Without breaking eye contact, Niki casually slipped the sunglasses onto his own face. They looked ridiculous on him. He also looked unfairly good as well.
‘’There’s a party tonight,’’ he said, like it was the most normal conversation he ever had. ‘’Our frat. You coming?’’
There’s no way in hell I’m going, you thought. Instead, you said: ‘’Attending an event of that magnitude is not in my immediate plans.’’
He stepped back, finally giving you air. “That’s a shame,’’ he smirked, then tilted his head, lowering his voice just enough to feel intimate. “If you want these back,” he added, tapping the edge of the sunglasses, “you should come.”
You opened your mouth to renegotiate the deal or tell him it was ridiculous, but Niki turned around and left without looking back, just like that. Hands in his pockets, wearing YOUR big glasses, carefree, as if he hadn't left you there with the words on your lips and your heart racing, or with people nearby pretending not to have seen everything.
By the end of the day, it was everywhere.
People saw Niki.
People definitely saw the sunglasses.
People definitely saw Nishimura Riki wearing your sunglasses like they were his in the first place and didn't steal it from you in plain sight. The bastard had the audacity to actually wear them throughout the day, even with his friends, completely unbothered by the small chaos he caused.
You even heard some whispers throughout the day that made you stare at nothing while some people gossiped about your life in real time. You sat in class, notebook opened, half-hearing your professor, doing doodles and making an effort to write something even if you barely care. That’s when you heard the whispers.
‘’...Is that her?
‘’Mmmh. I think so.’’
‘’Ya, she’s pretty. No wonder Niki’s dating her.’’
You stopped doodling and paid more attention, your eyes were on your professor as you grip tightening around your pen. Waiting for more gossip to spill.
‘’They look like an idols couple or something.’’
‘’My friend saw them flirting in front of everybody. Is that serious.’’
‘’Really?’’
‘’I know, right? He’s wearing her glasses. She’s friends with Jay too, I think.’’
By the end of the day, it was everywhere, and Minju was proof of that, because at some point during the day your best friend dragged you to the nearest cafe and interrogated you in a very similar way to the Witches' Council. With two lattes and two muffins and Minju unsuccessfully trying to contain her excitement, you sighed in defeat.
‘’Okay,’’ she started, resting her hands on the table, trying to calm down as if that would make her hear better. ‘’I’m ready. Tell me everything! What’s is going on with you and Niki?’’
You shrugged. ‘’There’s nothing going on,’’ you murmured, taking a sip of the latte. ‘’I think? I can categorize it for sure. Try be more specific.’’
Minju narrowed her eyes. ‘’Someone from my Economics class saw you and Niki earlier,’’ she paused. ‘’She said he took your glasses, like, he took them.’’
‘’That’s true. I was robbed in broad daylight and slightly criticized by my fashion choices, I think,’’ you frowned.
Minju blinked and deflated a little. ‘’That’s not… how she described it.’’
You stared at your best friend, unimpressed. ‘’I’m literally incapable of lying, remember?’’
‘’So? What you’re gonna do?’’
‘’Honestly, I don’t know,’’ you sighed, massaging your temples. ‘’He told me I can get them back if I go to their party. He can keep them, I guess.’’
Minju gasped, slapping a hand over her mouth. ‘’Oh my God. You’re being courted!’’
‘’More like terrorized. He stole from me!’’
‘’He’s flirting, you dumbass!’’
‘’He committed a crime,’’ you stated.
‘’You’re brushing!’’
You groaned and covered your face with a whine. ‘’Leave me alone.’’
‘’Listen,’’ Minju said, in a softer tone. ‘’I’ve never seen Niki doing something like that, he’s very reserved. He’s always looking at you like… like he wants to eat you alive. And to be honest, you don’t look at him very differently.’’
You pressed your lips together and watched your coffee as it had the answers of the world. Somewhere on campus Niki was probably smiling to himself, that you were sure of, perfectly aware that he did exactly what he wanted.
Stressed you out, checked.
Provoked you, checked.
Left you with an invitation you could’t stop thinking about, checked.
The worst part? You didn’t care about getting your sunglasses back.
The sky has been gray and cloudy lately, but you hardly care. It was another hockey practice and only half your body was there, your functional neurons checking out a long time ago. Physically you existed there, but your mind? That was a thing with a life of its own. Your body moved when it should, your stick hit the ball when it was your turn, even your legs seemed more coordinated than before. The reality was that your mind was deep in a daydream about the thing you wanted most: your warm bed.
You were planning it in detail, too distracted and entertained.
Hot shower, giant pajamas, a greasy double hamburger— eating cross-legged under your blankets while something mindless played on your laptop. The beginning of your weekend. No campus. No accidental honesty. No dodging dangerously perceptive boys. Just a pause in time to exist without stress.
You jogged half-heartedly across the grass, barely registering the shouts of your teammates playing. The cloudy weather made everything feel slower, heavier. Your eyelids even drooped for a second. And then— a memory flashing too fast, your brain betraying you.
Niki. Uninvited.
How close he stood the other day, the way he said face the danger. His low, deep voice, the way he looked at you like— no. You shook your head slightly, refusing to let yourself do that. But the images, his face, it kept flickering in your head. His smile, his smirk, his intense eyes. Him watching you like—
‘’Watch out!’’
Too late.
A body collided with you, hard, from the side. One of the girls tripped mid run to hit the ball, and suddenly the world turned upside down without warning. Grass. The grey sky. Impact. Your head hitting the ground hard enough to make you stay still with a low groan. There were some black points in your vision and for a second everything sounded muffed, until a sharp whistle pierced the air.
The girl approached immediately, kneeling beside you in alarm. ‘’Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I didn't see you— are you okay? Don’t move.’’
You blinked a few times, staring at the sky. ‘’I’m fine,’’ you mumbled, pressing your hand on your head, making sure it was still there. ‘’It’s my fault. I was… geographically misplaced.’’
She looked confused but relieved. ‘’Oh…? Okay. Don’t stand up anyway, just take your time.’’
The coach jogged over, calling your name. ‘’Are you okay?’’
‘’Yeah,’’ you muttered, sitting slowly. ‘’It was just grass, it’s okay. Nature softened the hit, I guess.’’
And then, a shadow fell over you, but it wasn’t your coach or a teammate. You didn’t need to look up to know, a sense in your body recognizing the presence before your mind did. But you did look anyway and you suck a breath, cursing in your mind.
Niki dropped beside you, crouching immediately, his expression serious. Shifting into something you never saw before, sharp and alert in a way that made your stomach flip for entirely different reasons than falling into the ground.
Before you could process what was happening or even talk, his hands found you— sliding under your head, cradling carefully like you were struck with a metal baseball bat and not softly bonked by grass.
Your brain short-circuited and you let out a startled squeak, trying to push his hands.
‘’I’m fine!’’ you blurted, trying to push yourself up.
His hands didn’t move, still holding your skull. ‘’Don’t,’’ Niki said gently.
Your heart was beating too fast for someone who just wanted a nap and a burger.
‘’I literally fell on grass,’’ you insisted, noticing more people staring. ‘’This is not a serious injury, really.’’
Niki ignored you completely and looked up at your coach. ‘’She should go to the infirmary,’’ he suggested, voice steady and persuasive. ‘’Just in case.’’
Your head snapped towards him, confused. ‘’Just in case of what?’’
‘’Concussion.’’
You blinked, then laughed. ‘’No way. It was a gentle meeting between my head and nature. I’m perfectly fine.’’
Niki looked down at you. ‘’Do you know how concussions work?’’
The spell was faster than you. ‘’More or less.’’
‘’More or less,’’ he repeated, a small glint of amusement in his eyes. ‘’So you don’t actually know.’’
You clenched your teeth. ‘’I’m clearly conscious. I’m not dizzy. I can form intelligent sentences.’’
‘’Barely,’’ he said under his breath.
You gasped in outrage.
Your coach softened visibly by his tone. ‘’It’s very sweet that you’re worried about your girlfriend.’’
There was a split second of silence. And then:
‘’I am not his girlfriend,’’ you yelped at the same time Niki said smoothly, ‘’Thank you. I’ll take her.’’
You stared at him with both betrayal and alarm. ‘’Excuse me?’’
But Niki was already moving, and before you could react or scream his arm slided under your knees, other behind your back and the ground suddenly disappeared.
You grabbed onto him reflexively, noticing that you were quite far from the ground. ‘’What are you doing?!’’
Carrying you apparently cost him zero effort, holding you like it was nothing. A small part of your brain noticed his arms flexing and his hard chest, but you pushed those thoughts down.
‘’You might faint,’’ he replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘’I’m not taking risks.’’
You covered your face while Niki carried you bridal-style out of the field, leaving behind teammates whispering, gasping, other laughing, definitely rumours taking a new shape. You swore you saw Jay snapping a pic, but for your mental health you told yourself that was a hallucination induced by mortification.
You squirmed in his arms, refusing to give up. ‘’Right, I will faint from humiliation!’’
‘’You’re so dramatic,’’ he chuckled. ‘’Just stay still.’’
‘’This is completely unnecessary,’’ you hissed, kicking the air. ‘’I can walk. Put me down!’’
‘’No. Stop overreacting.’’
You gasped in pure incredulity at his nerve. ‘’Me? I’m the one overreacting? You engineered this!’’
He glanced down, amused. ‘’How? You were the one so distracted in the middle of a game that you hit your head. What were you thinking of, anyway?’’
The spell enveloped your tongue. ‘’I was thinking about my plans for tonight when I fell. On. Grass.’’
‘’You. Hit. Your. Head.’’
‘’On grass,’’ you groaned, resuming your kicks in the air. ‘’It’s not serious!’’
‘’You don’t know how hard you hit yourself,’’ Niki tried to reason with you. He adjusted his grip on you, too comfortable to care about your protests.
‘’I do? I was literally there?’’
‘’So was I. Saw the whole thing.’’
‘’Put me down, Nishimura.’’
‘’No.’’
‘’I don’t particularly enjoy being paraded like this. People are looking!’’
‘’You’re being cared for.’’
‘’Against my wishes!’’
His expression, despite the teasing and the smirk, is sharp. Watchul. With something deeper, until you realize what it was. Protective. You hated the way your pulse reacted to it, and at some point along the way you relaxed enough to rest your cheek against his chest. You were giving him the silent treatment anyway, all pouty and clinging to what little dignity you had left.
The infirmary smelled like lemon scented cleaner. It was bright and quiet, a small place with a desk and a few simple beds to lay. Niki set you down on one of them, his hands lingering on your body enough for your heart to do a backflip before he stepped back in a very professional way and not suspicious at all.
‘’Sit,’’ he said, unnecessary. You did.
The nurse came up with a clipboard under her arm, looking between you and Niki. ‘’What happened?’’
Before you could open your mouth, Niki started speaking. ‘’She fell, hit her head hard. Black spots, disorientation. She tried to stand up immediately,’’ he accused you.
Your eyes widened. ‘’That’s not—’’
‘’I feared she might have a concussion,’’ Niki continued, crossing his arms and looking at you like you were a very bad behaving kid, ‘’she insisted she was fine and that’s a sign that someone is not fine.’’
You stared at him in disbelief. ‘’I fell on grass.’’
‘’She collapsed after the hit,’’ Niki told the nurse.
The nurse hummed, clearly entertained and nodding to the story, writing something on the clipboard. ‘’Mmm-mm, I see. And you carried her all the way here?’’
‘’Yes,’’ Niki replied like it was the most obvious thing to do. ‘’For her safety. She needs a check-up.’’
You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed.
‘’Well,’’ the nurse smiled, turning to you, ‘’you seem pretty alert and you didn’t lose consciousness. Let’s have you rest here for a bit just to be safe,’’ she handed you a small box of juice from her desk. ‘’Drink this, sugar helps.’’
You took it obediently, giving Niki a bitter side eye.
The nurse stepped back to her desk and then paused, taking the paper from the clipboard. ‘’I’ll be back with some paperwork,’’ she sent you a knowing look. ‘’Behave, you two.’’
The door closed behind her and then silence followed.
You snorted softly. ‘’Don’t worry,’’ you said while stabbing with too much force the straw into the juice box, ‘’we’re not having a making-out session here.’’
The words hit your ears a second later and you froze, remembering the fucking spell. You immediately shoved the straw in your mouth like it might save you.
Niki tilted his head, looking at you. ‘’We won’t?’’
You choked when the juice went the wrong way and you coughed until your eyes watered. ‘’—What!?’’
Niki patted your back softly, too entertained for someone who was playing hero. ‘’You heard me. That was a question.’’
You glared at him over the juice box, cheeks burning, spell threatening you. ‘’I'm not going to do anything that doesn't involve the nurse's medical advice, Nishimura.’’
Niki stepped close and you felt it— his fingers brushing the hem of your shorts, idly tracing the edge like it was the most natural thing to do.
‘’I like it when you call me that,’’ he muttered in that deep voice of his.
Your suspicions and alarms went off at the same time and you gave him another warning look, moving your thigh away from his fingers.
His touch followed you, but now it was his giant palm covering your thigh and gently squeezing it.
‘’Don't,’’ you scolded him.
He stooped, mostly. His hand still hovered there, but didn’t move further.
‘’You got me worried out there,’’ he said, quietly.
You studied his face— the crease between his brows, the lack of amusement or teasing. ‘’You didn’t have to carry me all the way here,’’ you mumbled.
‘’I wanted to and I’d do it again.’’
That landed harder than it should, straighter to your chest and even lower. A pause fell but it was soft, quiet, not quite awkward. It felt more like something seeking place and settling down.
‘’Why do you run away all the time?’’ He asked, curious, searching your eyes.
You swallowed and put the empty juice box to the side with a sigh. Your shoulder slumped a little, tiredness waving in your voice. ‘’Sometimes I feel…’’ you explained quietly. ‘’Like… there’s something in me that doesn’t let me lie, even if I wanted to,’’ you chuckled softly.
Niki leaned in, eyes sharpening with interest.
‘’And I don’t know how people would take that,’’ you continued, staring at the floor. ‘’What if I said too much and I hurt somebody? Or I show too much of myself? I don’t like that exposure. I don’t have any… shield or control. So I just wanna avoid those things from happening.’’
Niki didn’t interrupt you, listening attentively. He was silent for a long moment. ‘’You want to protect yourself,’’ he explained easily, making you tense a little. ‘’I know you think running makes you invisible, but it doesn't. It just makes people look harder.’’
You looked up and glanced at Niki, noticing that his face had gotten too close to yours, his eyes focussed on your lips. But before you could respond, the infirmary door opened and the nurse came back. Niki straightened up immediately as if nothing had happened and ran a hand through his hair with a sigh, the other still resting warmly on your thigh.
You didn’t scold him again or move away.
Growing up as a witch was a series of completely out-of-context situations thrown right in your face for you to deal with. Like the time everything inside your house floated constantly for a month before you could get that power under control. Or the time you saw a rabbit, thought it was cute, and overnight your yard was overrun with rabbits from all sizes and colors until the town newspaper reported a rabbit overpopulation in your neighborhood. You hadn't realized you were controlling their energies and, unintentionally, summoning them.
So yes, you were somewhat used to surprising situations, but you still almost had a heart attack when you opened your backpack in the middle of class and two huge, deep, yellow eyes stared back at you from the darkness inside the bag.
You nearly screamed. But the sound somehow got muffled in your throat as you quickly zipped up your backpack and cradled it against your chest like a contained bomb. Slowly, very, very slowly, you leaned forward over your desk and opened the zipper again, enough for Soomin to hear you.
‘’What are you doing here!?’’ You whispered.
‘’I’m doing a surprise check in,’’ the owl whispered back. Inside the backpack, Soomin shifted with the quiet rustle of feathers. ‘’Supervising.’’
You squeezed your eyes shut and slowly pulled up the zipper again. You spent the entire class sitting stiffly in your chair, your backpack resting on your lap like the most suspicious object in the world while you pretended to take notes and that everything was normal and you didn’t had a fucking talking owl with you. Every small movement from inside the bag made your spine lock up and discreetly observe your surroundings, in case anyone noticed anything.
You felt the presence of the spell like a fucking dagger waiting to pierce your heart. Your mind kept cycling through every possible disaster scenario: the owl popping her head out, someone hearing her talk, someone asking you what was inside the bag. You had never been so aware of every single person in the room. When class finally ended you were one of the firsts to get the hell out of there, relief hitting you like oxygen after drowning.
You fled the lecture hall still holding onto your backpack.
‘’Don’t run! I’m getting dizzy,’’ Soomin whispered from inside the bag.
‘’You snuck there! Now enjoy the ride,’’ you hissed quietly. ‘’What are you even doing here!?’’
‘’I’m monitoring and supervising, I told you I wasn't leaving you out of my sight and you been acting weird lately.’’
You pushed through the hallway doors, scanning the corridor for a quiet corner where you could finally unzip the bag and properly scold the feathered menace inside. Unfortunately, fate had other plans, of course it did, because you walked straight into Nishimura Riki.
You stopped in your tracks.
He had one hand in the pocket of his jacket, leaning lazily against the wall like he had nowhere urgent to be. When he noticed you approaching at suspicious speed with your backpack clutched like a hostage, his brows lifted slightly. Then his gaze drifted downward and slowly pointed. You followed the direction of his fingers, to the round owl head sticking out of your backpack.
Soomin blinked at him. You froze. Soomin froze as well. For a long moment the three of you just stared at each other in a very tense and confusing silence. Niki muttered your name, a little doubtful.
‘’... Is that an owl?’’
Your brain ran through every possible lie in the world that you could think of, but obviously they all ran into the magic brick wall of the spell. ‘’Uh… uh… this is an animal that can be found in the forest.’’
You stopped talking immediately after that. Niki stared at you, then at the owl, and again at you. He didn't seem alarmed or confused, more like he wanted to understand why you would have an owl with you in the middle of the day instead of questioning how strange it was.
‘’Right,’’ he said slowly. Niki leaned a little closer, examining the bird with curiosity. ‘’And what is it doing in your backpack?’’
The truth tightened in your throat. ‘’It just… climbed in there.’’
Silence fell again, looks were exchanged and Soomin even tilted her head, taking in the boy in front of her, examining him in the same way Niki was doing. Then, he glanced at you and let out a quiet, amused breath through his nose, like he just decided not to question the situation too deeply. Niki was late to class, anyway.
‘’You’re kind of weird,’’ he said, the corners of his mouth twitching. He looked at the owl again. ‘’What are you going to do with an owl?’’
You tightened your hold on the backpack, feeling Soomin shifting inside. You sighed. ‘’I’m… going to have a talk with her.’’
Ni-ki glanced down at the owl head still poking out of the zipper. The owl stared back with wide, unrepentant eyes. He nodded slowly, like that explanation made complete sense. Then he reached out without warning and casually pinched your chin in a gesture too gentle and familiar that made your brain short-circuit for a second.
‘’Okay. We’ll talk later, yeah?’’
You just blinked at him, eyes huge and nodded. ‘’Uh-uh. Sure.’’
‘’Good luck with your…’’ he frowned and gestured vaguely at Soomin. ‘’Your forest animal.’’
And with that, he pushed away from the wall and walked down the hallway, disappearing into the flow of students like the entire interaction had been perfectly normal.
You stood there for exactly two seconds. Then you spun around into a more hidden corner and put the backpack down with a groan.
“Soomin—!”
The owl immediately hopped out of the bag. ‘’Oh my God, who was that?’’
‘’What?’’
‘’That tall, intense dude. The handsome one with dark eyes,’’ she commented conspiratorially.
‘’You snuck into my backpack, infiltrated in the university, caused me the most stressful class of my life, and you want to talk about a boy?’’
‘’Yes. Spill.’’
You rubbed your face, asking for patience from above. ‘’That’s Niki.’’
The owl studied the hallway where Niki had disappeared with a thoughtful expression. ‘’He’s very attractive.’’
‘’He is,’’ you conceded.
‘’He touched you very confidently,’’ she observed.
‘’Uh— I mean— he kinda does that—’’
‘’And it didn’t bother you,’’ Soomin furthered her observations, blinking slowly. ‘’Are you dating him?’’
‘’No!’’
‘’You’re secretly seeing him? This is some of prohibited romance?’’
‘’What? Of course not.’’
‘’He’s your boyfriend and didn’t tell me?’’ Soomin asked with a squeak, entertained by the gossip.
‘’I already told you no,’’ you tried to reason with her.
‘’... Why are you blushing?’’
‘’Because... because... it's hot and I feel strange, now shut up,’’ you groaned, picking up the bird and putting her into the backpack again like you could trap the conversation inside it.
She gasped. ‘’You like that tall boy!’’
The spell crackled throughout your body, your mind and tongue couldn't agree on what to say, but the truth did its job. ‘’I— I— I think— yes— but—’’
‘’I like that boy too. He didn’t scream when he saw me.’’
‘’You’re a bird, not a monster.’’
‘’That’s not the point,’’ Soomin scoffed. ‘’He was very gentle with you. I approve that.’’
Soomin watched you very carefully and you felt a little nudge in the heart of your magic. Her eyes softened.
‘’Oh,’’ she said. ‘’You’re so doomed.’’
You grabbed the zipper and slammed the backpack closed.
Later that day, after you took Soomin home and she promised you there would be no more surprise inspections, the library greeted you with silence and concentration. The setting sun reached some tables, the soft sound of pens writing relaxed you somehow, and the distant hum from the air conditioner in the distance served as white noise.
You were exactly where you liked to be, seated by the window, notes spread neatly. Pretty and colorful highlighters. Life under control, for once.
That didn’t last long.
You were finishing a paragraph about an idea you had written when a chair scraped against the floor across from you. You didn’t look up immediately, which was a big mistake.
‘’Okay,’’ a low, masculine voice said. ‘’Serious question.’’
Your pen froze mid word and you lifted your gaze, finding Niki sitting across from you like he belonged there. Elbows resting on the table, dark eyes locked on you with immovable focus.
You stared at him, putting down your pen slowly. ‘’Oh, no,’’ you doubted, straightening up as if a bomb were about to drop on you at any second.
‘’Would you date me?’’
You stared at him completely blanky, certain you mishearded. There was no question in his tone. No hesitation. Just calm certainty, like he had already considered the options and selected the obvious one. You blinked again and looked around you, wondering if that was in fact a daydream and not reality. Maybe you casted a spell of illusion without realizing it?
The spell stirred to life. ‘’I don't know,’’ you finally muttered. ‘’You just can’t ask me that out of nowhere!’’
His eyes sharpened, resting his chin on his hand. ‘’I just did. Let’s date.’’
‘’Niki,’’ you sighed, sending him a warning glance when he smirked at your tone. ‘’I don’t think that’s a good idea.’’
‘’Why not?’’
The spell tugged your tongue begging for honesty, warm and insistent, and the silence prolonged until you found how to stretch the truth. You inhaled softly, trying to collect the right words.
‘’You look like the kind of problem I'm not really qualified for or sure I will be able to manage. Like… advanced detached emotional skills I don’t possess or want to entertain.’’
He didn’t flinch, or left, or smirked anymore. He considered your words leaning back into the chair, arms crossed, studying you like he was deciding how to make sense of what you said.
Niki leaned forward then, forearms on the table like he was about to touch you in any second. The distance between you and him was slowly shrinking, but you felt like the walls were falling down onto your head.
‘’How can you know that? We don’t know each other that well,’’ he explained patiently.
That was fair and he had a point. You hated that. You nodded and exhaled, unable to lie. ‘’That’s true.’’
He waited, sensing how you were trying to expand your answer into something that made sense but it wasn't sharp and cruel. Niki’s focus didn’t waver.
‘’I don’t know you that well,’’ you recognized, ‘’I am simply overlaying the information I have based on observational data in social interactions to form an opinion of you.’’
One corner of his mouth twitched. ‘’Observational data. Meaning you’ve been observing me.’’
‘’I mean, not on purpose or significance,’’ you explained further. ‘’And that’s not the main takeaway.’’
‘’Tell me,’’ he encouraged you, leaning even closer. ‘’What kind of problem do I look like to you? Use your data to enlighten me.’’
“You look,” you said carefully, stretching the sentence as far as it would go, “like someone who is used to getting attention without asking for it. And who doesn’t have to work very hard to keep it.”
His gaze didn’t waver. “And?”
“And,” you continued, because the spell would not let you escape halfway, “I don’t enjoy competing with other females. Especially not recreationally and emotionally. I like stable sentimental involvements.”
Niki snorted, entertained by you, clearly. ‘’I’d be an excellent boyfriend.’’
You laughed, between surprise and incredulity, it slipped so naturally out of you that you couldn't stop it. ‘’How would you know? You’ve never had a girlfriend.’’
He arched his brow. ‘’How would you know that?’’
You narrowed your eyes, taking in his challenging tone. ‘’There’s usually a different girl every weekend,” you said, far too matter-of-factly. “Statistically speaking, long-term attachment does not appear to be your preferred pattern. It’s very notable that you’re rarely alone and there's no fixed tendency on your type either.’’
But Niki didn’t look offended or insulted, or even caught, he was intrigued. ‘’Have you been keeping track?’’
Your spine straightened. ‘’Not actively. It’s more a knowledge from a passive environmental awareness situation, like… occasionally overhearing comments in the women's restroom from time to time.’’
“Environmental awareness,” he repeated. ‘’So, gossip in the women’s bathroom. That formed your opinion of me?’’
“Well, it's like noticing changes in the weather or bird migration patterns, I guess. I’m just exposing the data I gathered.’’
Niki slowly reached for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. ‘’You’re comparing me to migratory bird patterns? That’s your angle here?’’
“I compare your social habits to recurring seasonal behavior,” you corrected quickly. ‘’Don’t spin this on me.’’
‘’So you think I’d be a bad boyfriend.’’
“I think,” you corrected, choosing each word with painful care, “that you give the impression of someone who enjoys options,’’ you said, honestly falling with surprising weight. And maybe a touch of vulnerability. ‘’Not the type of male to do stable emotional interactions.’’
For a moment, he didn’t deny it. “And that bothers you?”
“It doesn’t bother me in a personal capacity right now,” you responded, then sighed when the curse nudged you again. “But it would complicate things if we get hypothetically involved together.’’
The corner of Niki’s mouth curved upward, slower this time. “So you’re considering being hypothetically involved with me.”
“I am considering the hypothetical scenario in which I evaluate the feasibility of such involvement,” you clarified, aware of how ridiculous you sounded.
His knee brushed yours under the table and neither of you moved. ‘’Mmm, I see. But you didn’t say you won’t date me, you say you didn’t know. Explain that, then.’’
You stared at him, blinking slowly, pretending you didn’t move your fingers away from his.
‘’I said exactly that I wouldn't know how to handle the problem you represent, theoretically.’’
‘’I’d let you,’’ he simply answered. ‘’Just say yes.’’
The tension between you shifted—less teasing now, more charged.
‘’Let’s test your theory.’’
‘’My theory?’’
Niki played with one of your rings. ‘’Date me,’’ he proposed, ‘’find out if I’m actually a problem. Get to know me, do your research with your own data. What do you think?’’
Your heart flipped, lost connection with your brain and poured with automatic honesty. “I am… not opposed to gathering additional data under controlled circumstances to reassess my preliminary assumptions.”
‘’I like you,’’ Niki simplified, caressing your knuckles. ‘’And I wanna know you more.’’
That simple declaration sent your heart into failure, and your cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. “I find you objectively unfair,” you said, forcing steadiness into your tone. “Your face structure combined with your confidence level creates unnecessary distractions.’’
His eyes darkened slightly at that, satisfaction flickering across his features. “So that’s a yes.”
‘’It’s not a no,’’ you sighed, a little lost in the conversation. Keeping track of the truth was already hard, but doing it under Niki’s eyes and intentions was too hard.
‘’Saturday at the frat,’’ he straightened, victory settling over him like a final move in a game only he knew they were playing. ‘’Come to the party. We’ll be alone and nobody will bother us.’’
‘’But—’’
But before you could say anything else, Niki stood up and walked around the table until she was standing in front of you, leaning in until your breaths mingled and you closed your mouth. He stroked your cheek and lifted your face, holding your chin, studying you closely with a knowing look.
‘’I know you're going to try to run away,’’ he said, eyes flickering to your lips. ‘’I know you talk the way you do because you're trying to prolong the truth. I know you want this because you're not really pushing me away,’’ he murmured, his thumb rubbing your lower lip absently. ‘’You look at me the way I look at you, and it's driving me crazy, baby.’’
You were out of words. Niki’s gaze returned to your eyes, satisfied at the effect he had on you. He stood up, full of triumph and smiled at you, he actually fully smiled, and you just stared at Niki like you were seeing the sun for the first time.
‘’We’re dating now,’’ he mumbled, giving you one last look. ‘’And if I don't see you there, I'll come looking for you. Choose wisely,’’ he advised, already stepping back.
And that's how Niki left, leaving you stunned and recalculating in a corner of the library, your heart pounding and your cheeks flushed.
And somehow, in a way you didn't quite understand, the day ended with you officially dating Nishimura Riki.
The fraternity house was already shaking by the time you went through the door. It wasn't surprising, because everyone wanted to be there. Nobody in their right mind would miss the chance to get close to one of the guys, to mingle with them, to get their attention. The chances of fun and craziness were too high; everyone knew about the reputation of that frat's parties.
The air was thick with the sweet and sour aroma of alcohol, juice mixed with vodka and beer, bottles and glasses piling up everywhere. The music was so loud it pounded in your chest, the flashing lights made your footsteps blurry, and people were everywhere talking, laughing, kissing, dancing. It was the kind of party everyone would tear apart piece by piece the next day and gossip about everything that happened, because it was the kind of party where something was always happening.
You knew that your best friend was probably entangled with Jungwon in some corner of the party. You avoided touching any drop of alcohol, because adding that to a spell powered by truth was the worst idea in the world, even though that what you wanted most at that moment was a drink.
You felt as if you had willingly walked into the lion's den, and well, you had. There didn't seem to be any safe zone; your eyes were constantly scanning for Niki to appear. This was because of the collection of accurate data, you lied to yourself. That's why you dressed so daringly. A short skirt that showed off your legs, loose hair, overly glossy lips, a long-sleeved top with a neckline that dropped just enough to show your collarbones.
It was absolutely not because of him. And then, you felt it.
It was a shift in the air, a tiny recognition of something about to happen. The weight of somebody’s attention, the feeling of being watched. You turned your face over your shoulder and locked eyes with Niki across the room, near the stairs, where he was watching you intently.
He was surrounded by friends and other people you didn't know. When his eyes noticed you, it was as if his expression changed completely, fading into something focused and determined, satisfied. His eyes traveled over you slowly, unhurriedly, like a caress; taking in your skirt, your legs, your bare shoulders, the soft, exposed skin. You breath caught under his intense gaze, instinct kicking in from feeling like a prey.
You turned around and blended into the crowd with ease, trying to control the mild panic and excitement coursing through your veins. You knew he was still there, keeping a close eye on you, and that running was a terrible idea. Because Niki loved a chase. You knew you were delaying the inevitable, buying more time than you had, testing limits just because you could.
You wondered if he was still following you. Wouldn't he get distracted? Wouldn't he get bored and rather pick another girl? Would he get annoyed?
At some point you gave up and your fingers circled a plastic cup with something sweet and strong that warmed your throat and made you immediately regret it because of how good it tasted, how easy it was to drink it. You didn't know exactly where in the house you were, but it wasn't the heart of the party, it wasn't packed with people, and the music wasn't as loud.
A hand wrapped around your wrist, and you didn't need to turn around to know who it was. His thumb caressed the spot where your pulse quickened, his chest pressed against your back just enough for his breath to brush against your hair.
His mouth brushed against your ear, sending hundreds of shivers down your neck. ‘’Still running from me?’’
You barely turned your face, as his grip loosened from your wrist to your waist, where both hands squeezed it tightly, as if he feared you might escape. ‘’I was strategically relocating.’’
Niki laughed shortly, the sound against your ear. ‘’You saw me and tried to escape.’’
The spell cursed through your mouth before you could register it. ‘’Yes.’’
His body pressed closer to yours, making you hold your breath. ‘’Why?’’
You swallowed, searching for the right words, absentmindedly licking your lips. ‘’I wanted to know if you would follow me,’’ you admitted.
He shifted, turning your body carefully so you could face him fully. Niki’s hands were still on your waist, his touch more relaxed, but not less possessive. Up close, his eyes seemed darker, wilder, dilated under the flickering lights.
“You wore this on purpose,” he said, gaze dipping briefly to your collarbones before returning to her face. ‘’For me.’’
‘’I wore it because it's socially required to wear clothes at public events.’’
His thumbs caressed and pressed the skin of your hip, shaking his head. ‘’Not good enough. Try again and be honest.’’
The spell pushed you, taking control. ‘’I wore it because I knew you’d be here,’’ you responded before you could wrap the thought into something safer and confusing. ‘’And I wanted you to look.’’
His jaw tightened, not in anger but in restraint. ‘’You’re starting a dangerous game,’’ he warned you, voice warm and husky. ‘’Careful.’’
You shook your head, staring at him. ‘’I’m not playing,’’ you frowned, spilling truthfully.
One of Niki’s hands slid from your waist to your back, pulling you flush against him, deliberated. The air shifted around you, your hands resting on his chest and not moving him away, too blinded by his eyes to care if anyone in the crowd saw you.
“You’re driving me insane,” he admitted, barely audible.
“You like it,” you replied, and the tremor beneath the honesty was too evident.
His gaze flicked to your mouth. “For the record,” Niki said, “I’m about to kiss you.”
Your heart bounced, melted, reformed, and continued bouncing against your ribs. Maybe it was the spell, the drink you had, or maybe you just didn't want to fight against honesty anymore, but you smiled a little.
‘’If you don't I might, Nishimura,’’ you lightly threaten him.
The small distance that existed vanished like a whisper, slowly, the tension that had been built up for a long time slowly letting go, something bigger entered. He kissed you as if he had waited too long to do so and didn't want to waste another second.
It wasn't desperate or clumsy, but decisive, as if he knew exactly where and how to strike. You melted into a kiss almost immediately, letting him do as he pleased with you. He made his way into your mouth and explored it slowly, savoring the strawberry and vodka from before and your own taste. Both of your breaths caught in your throats as neither of you let go, too immersed in the kiss for breathing to be a priority.
Your hands tangled in the honey-blonde hair at the nape of his neck, your nails slowly sliding down his skin to his neck, making him hiss into the kiss, his hands touching you more freely, exploring, daring to slip inside your skirt.
You had no idea how, but between a kiss and a breath, more kisses and muffled moans against each other's mouths, at some point your back hit a door. Niki opened it, pulled you both into a room, and cornered you against the door again, closing it with a click you barely registered. His mouth went down to yours again, one hand on your throat and the other on your jaw, as if that way he could hold you down to devour your soul in peace.
When both had to separate again because their lungs couldn't take any more, you two were a bit of a mess. Niki's full lips were swollen from kisses, barely colored by your gloss, his hair a little disheveled, eyes shining with barely contained desire. You weren't looking much better either, your skirt twisted and wrinkled from how many times Niki had grabbed and crumpled it, your cheeks flushed, and your lip marked by Niki's bite.
Niki kissed you again, but this time more gently, first your lips, then the corner of your mouth, your throat, the line of your exposed collarbones. He turned you both gently, walking into the room while continuing to kiss and gently suck on your skin, making you sigh and hold onto him, until you laid on a bed and a little bit of sense got to your fuzzy brain.
Only then you fully looked at your surroundings.
The light was dim, with a lamp in the corner casting a warm glow. Sneakers were arranged against the wall, some everyday shoes and some basketball shoes. Hanging from a hook near the closet was a jacket with a number and Niki's last name embroidered on the back.
You tilted your neck to get a better look and Niki interpreted it as you were giving him more space, smiling against your neck and continuing the trail of slow, wet kisses, making himself room between your legs.
You blinked, still finding details to look at. ‘’This is your room,’’ you said.
Niki stopped briefly, looked at you and then placed a kiss on your lips. ‘’Welcome.’’
‘’This feels like important information,’’ you arched a brow, curious.
‘’We’re busy,’’ he replied simply, leaning again to press another kiss to your mouth. Your pulse quickened, and you let him distract you with his mouth, wrapping your legs not so timidly around his waist. His lips trailed down the spine of your throat, biting the sensitive spots that made you dig your fingers into his shoulders, breathless.
Your eyes opened for a second, but it was enough to notice something at the other end of the room. It was a medium-sized cabinet hanging against the wall, made of wood and glass, a display case. Inside, carefully arranged under warm strip lighting were small collectible figures— you knew them too well. Cute, round-headed, soft features, expressive.
Hirono.
Not one. Not two. Several. Arranged too neatly to be random, they were all different, but aligned according to the collection they belonged to. It was a curated exhibition.
The stunned gasp you let out was too loud and made Niki froze for a second, looking up from your neck. ‘’What?’’
You couldn't control the little laugh that bubbled up from you, a mixture of disbelief, excitement, and delight. ‘’You have Hirono figures!’’
Something too interesting happened. Niki blinked, as if that was the last thing he expected to hear from you. For the first time he seemed hesitant, as if he had been caught up in a confusing crime, but at the same time, something else flashed across his face... a touch of shyness.
He cleared his throat. ‘’What?’’
You twisted slightly in his hold to point at the display case, smiling. ‘’They’re in a diorama, aren’t they? You arranged them by series. The right ones are from the Mime set and the middle ones are,’’ you squinting your eyes, leaning in, ‘’Little Mischief. Right?’’
Niki stared at you, eyes glowing. ‘’You know them?’’ He asked slowly.
‘’Of course,’’ you looked at him incredulously. ‘’I collect them too.’’
He stepped back a little to get a better look at you, holding himself above you. ‘’You’re lying.’’
‘’I can’t lie,’’ you replied automatically, too focused on the figures to notice the slip. ‘’They even look like you, Nishimura.’’
His eyebrows shot up and he snorted. ‘’They do not.’’
‘’They do,’’ you insisted with a laugh. ‘’Look at them! Their eyes and little nose. Moody, slightly frowning, probably judging everyone internally.’’
He stared at you for a moment, as if debating whether he should be offended or not. ‘’I do not look like a Hirono figure.’’
‘’The resemblance it’s very accurate,’’ you defended your theory.
He looked back at the figures and then at you, something unreadable flickering across his expression. No one noticed those figures when they entered his room. Not the guys on the team or his friends; maybe Jungwon took a picture of them once but didn't ask any further questions about it. Definitely not the girls who came and went and whose names he didn't bother to remember afterward.
But you did, without a second thought, without trying to impress him. “You’re the first person who’s ever said anything about them,” he blurted, before he could stop himself.
The confession floated between the two of you, as soft as the muffled music that could be heard from below. You felt your face slowly lose its smile, your expression becoming gentler.
‘’They're arranged as if you cared about them, as if you'd thought it carefully. Of course I noticed.’’
He closed the small space and kissed you once again, while his fingers brushed a strand of hair from your face. ‘’What am I gonna do with you?’’
‘’You’re the one who dragged me here.’’
‘’You talking about my collection distracted me more than necessary.’’
You smiled a little. ‘’They’re cute.’’
He shook his head, stealing another kiss. ‘’You’re cuter.’’
The spell sparkled but this time you didn’t feel it like a threat or a trap, just letting it take its course. ‘’You look unfairly attractive when you’re flustered,” you observed.
‘’I’m not flustered.’’
‘’Liar,’’ you scoffed.
Niki huffed a quiet laugh and kissed you again, slowly. His hands slipped back under your skirt, and you didn't stop him, letting his palms cover and caress your thighs as he devoured your mouth like someone who had all the time in the world. You wrapped your arms around his neck and let each kiss melt you more and more, until the migratory patterns of birds no longer mattered to you, nor did the spell, letting Niki convince you with every touch that he wasn't a problem you could easily run away from.
Maybe it was because your lungs had their daily dose of suffering when they made you run ten laps around the field, or maybe the concussion from days ago was a delayed effect, but you were just too dizzy.
Niki's body pushed you further against the wall, as if the way you were pressed together wasn't enough and he needed more. It wasn't a soft kiss, but the kind of kisses Niki gave where you were convinced he wanted to steal the air from your lungs and replace it with him.
The bastard knew exactly which buttons to push, his warm hand cradling your jaw while the other one was inside your shorts, long fingers buried deeply in your dripping cunt. His thumb gently stroked your cheek, in that way he knew it would melt you too quickly. It did.
When he pulled back you were too disoriented to remember where you were; hidden from stares under the stands in broad daylight, feeling like two highschoolers furiously making out before getting caught. Your heart was pounding as if you had made ten more laps, moans stuck in your throat trying to keep them at bay, but the way Niki was fingering you was merciless.
‘’Come watch my training,’’ he murmured against your ear, lips kissing the sport under it. His fingers found the spot inside you that made you whimper, stroking it over and over. ‘’I want to see you there, sitting all pretty and mine. Where I can look at you.’’
He had tried to convince you for several days, and you had to admit the man had a certain charm that made you hesitate. Maybe it was the amazing orgasms. Once you had almost agreed, but when a girl you didn't know greeted you and asked what you did to get Niki and if it was true that he had a huge cock like his friends, you panicked a little and abandoned the idea. The spell was coming to an end and you weren't going to give in.
‘’If you don’t,’’ he added, voice dripping into something dangerous and playful at the same time, ‘’I won’t kiss you again. Or worse.’’
You blinked at him, cunt clenching around his fingers, cheeks flushed. ‘’O-or worse?’’
Niki hummed and nodded, fucking you faster until you gasped against his lips and he swallowed every moan of yours while you cum, holding you as your thighs trembled and crushed his hand between your legs.
He deliberately brushed his fingers against your clit one last time as he withdrew his hand and brought them to his mouth, sucking your juices while continuing to look at you. Niki didn’t say anything else, just kissed you, so fondly and threatening at the same time, and walked away towards the field like nothing had happened. Wearing an eating-shit smirk, whistling softly to himself.
You stared at him, recalculating your entire existence, just as you had from the moment Niki decided to be a part of your life weeks ago.
You told yourself that maybe it was the afterglow of a good orgasm, or maybe you just had nothing better to do, or perhaps a part of you really wanted to watch Niki training, all sweaty and focused. The day felt like it was about to explode into a storm at any moment, the sky gray and covered with thick, threatening clouds waiting for the perfect opportunity. There was hardly anyone watching the boys, just a few girls a few steps up in the stands— Minju was there.
Buttercup as well.
Minju had grown fond of her chickens and had bought accessories to take them everywhere. Her most recent purchase was a backpack with a hard, clear plastic cover that was actually for walking cats, but the label didn't specify that it couldn't be used for chickens.
She was leaning forward, with lovestruck eyes and a silly, dreamy expression, watching Jungwon run. Inside the plaster carrier Buttercup was dozing off, relaxed and round. Your best friend noticed your hesitation and smiled at you, tapping the spot next to her with an expression that said, "you better sit down or I'm capable of tackling you to the ground if you take one step back."
You sat.
The world didn’t combust instantly. Minju beamed and turned her attention back to the field. You gradually relaxed and leaned forward as well, resting your chin on your hand as you openly watched Niki. He had just finished a drill and was talking to Heeseung (who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but running there, clearly struggling) (he was the last victim to be convinced to join the open class), when his eyes flickered up to the stands and landed on you.
You swore you saw his pupils dilating. Something in his expression changed and his smile was slow. Darker, satisfied, making your stomach flip and your pussy throb. But it didn't stop there. Niki was focused on training, of course, but every now and then he'd glance at you, as if making sure you were still there. You met his gaze each time, even smiling slightly and enjoying the way it seemed to affect him.
You'd discovered that this was a two-way street, and that Niki, the unattainable and serious Niki, was capable of getting flustered. Like when he asked you which Hironos you collected and if he could see them, and which one was your favorite. Or the time you just kissed his neck and brushed his hair back without thinking about it too much, and Niki blinked and then melted against you.
The training session ended and the boys scattered everywhere, some going for water, others lying on the ground to stretch, but not Niki. He walked straight to you, determined eyes that held you still in your place, your pulse spiking with anticipation.
He kissed you in front of everybody, hands cradling your face.
Minju gasped, you swore Buttercup made a similar sound, other peoples gasps reached your ears as well, but honestly it could have been a trick of your mind. Nothing existed around you but you and Niki.
He pulled back enough to grin at you, eyes soft and bright with a touch of mischief. ‘’Hi, baby.’’
You blinked, trying to gather your thoughts. ‘’Uh… Hi.’’
‘’Ready to go?’’
You nodded, still a little hazy and flustered. He took your hand, pulled you up, grabbed his bag, threw it over his shoulder, and got you out of there in less than two minutes. He also ignored Jay throwing kisses at him while leaving.
Niki decided to break the silence first, your hand in his gently swaying, intertwined. ‘’There’s a party tonight at Jake’s,’’ he started, stealing a glance at you. ‘’Jay’s pretending we don't notice, but he wants to get a girl's attention.’’
You arched a brow, interested. ‘’Is he trying to set a trap there or what?’’
‘’That’s what I thought,’’ he huffed a laugh, drawing you closer to him. ‘’He’s been weird lately. Restless. Anyway, Jake wants us to keep an eye on the party. He know how things can get.’’
You gently bumped your shoulder against his, trying not to smile and failing. ‘’Is this your way of asking me to come with you?’’
‘’This is an opportunity for you to continue collecting new data to establish your patterns. Or have I already convinced you that I'm not a problem?’’
‘’Hmm. You are... doing an acceptable job in proving your case considering my prior judgment based on social environmental observation. Maybe you'll give me back my sunglasses too, Nishimura?’’
‘’They will remain my hostage until you accept that I was right and that I can be a good boyfriend.’’
You didn't correct him and Niki noticed.
Jake's house was exactly the chaos you imagined it to be, maybe a little smaller and more contained than the frat parties, but no less alive and vibrant for it. Before you could go inside and find Niki, something small and black, furry, jumped out from the side and meowed at you. The cat blinked slowly at you, and you tilted your head, studying it, feeling an energy emanating from it that stopped you before you could pet its head. You chuckled softly in disbelief, glancing at the cat and then back at Jake's house as if you were mentally running through the odds.
‘’I can’t believe it,’’ you mumbled, staring at the knowing eyes of the cat.
‘’Welcome, dear,’’ the cat purred. ‘’I’m Minhyung and you're the one with the truth spell, aren't you?’’
‘’Unfortunately.’’
The cat meowed and laughed, shaking his head. You had to admit, it was too cute and fluffy to even care that it was probably an ancient soul, so of course you petted his ears softly.
‘’Aish, that punishment was too much. Anyway, your boy’s inside. It’s a house full of witches tonight,’’ Minhyung observed, tilting his head so he could get more pets to his ears and neck.
You entered the house, greeted by loud pulsing music and drunken laughter. You recognized some faces among the dancing crowd, the dim light and the smell of liquor, like Jake taking a girl upstairs and Jungwon and Minju huddled in a corner devouring each other's faces. You slowly made your way through the party, not quite knowing where you were going or where to find Niki, your body trembling with anticipation. It was impossible not to.
In the short time you and he had spent together, Niki had done an incredibly good job training your body. Maybe it was the slow making out sessions in bed, or the way he buried his face between your legs like an starved man, or the intense way he looked at you sometimes, as if he were thinking about throwing you to the ground and fucking you until you couldn't take any more.
You just wanted to find him, sit him down on the nearest surface you could find, and ride him while you kissed him. And maybe then watch something while spooning.
Your steps led you to the almost deserted backyard and you pursed your lips, examining your surroundings without much success, when a hand encircled your wrist and you were cornered against the wall.
Niki placed one hand beside your head and the other settled comfortably on your waist. His eyes drifted to your lips, slowly and deliberately, as if he were thinking about how to kiss you.
‘’You took your sweet time,’’ he said, tilting your chin up. ‘’I was wondering if maybe you backed out.’’
You rolled your eyes. ‘’I said I would come. Why, Nishimura? Would you have missed me?’’
‘’Yes.’’
His thumb brushed your hip and you felt it everywhere, staring at his full lips while he was closing the distance and—
Your phone started ringing with the most annoying alarm ever.
‘’Wait—wait— let me turn it off—’’
Niki exhaled though his nose, amused. ‘’Seriously?’’
You frowned a little. ‘’I don't even remember setting an ala—’’
You glanced at the screen, blinking completely shocked like you quite didn’t understand what was written on it.
FULL LUNAR CYCLE COMPLETED!!!
You gasped loud, dramatic, so loud that startled Niki.
He looked at you urgently. ‘’What?’’
You stared at the words like it was some divine intervention. You let out a shriek and jumped on your place, laughing.
‘’Oh my God!— OH MY GOD!’’
You threw your arms around Niki’s neck so suddenly that he catched you firmly to stop both of you from falling over. You were screaming and laughing and Niki laughed too, more startled and confused than anything, automatically wrapping his arms around your waist to steady you.
‘’It’s over! I can't believe it! I did it!’’ You laughed again, a little hysterical. ‘’It’s over, it’s over!’’
He blinked down at you, the pure face of confusion. ‘’What is?’’
‘’I survived the whole lunar cycle! It’s over! I’m free!’’
You were practically bouncing in his arms, pulling back only to grab his face and grin at him like you just won millions.
‘’A month,’’ you started, smiling too wide. ‘’An entire lunar cycle! made it!’’
Niki stared at you, arching a brow. ‘’Lunar cycle?’’ He repeated slowly. ‘’...Is this about your period or something?’’
You didn’t even hear him, skipping away from him and spinning around the yard with your arms in the air. ‘’I can shut up! I can lie! I have options!’’
He watched you like you officially lost your mind.
You approached him again and took his hands, jumping with a smile. ‘’Do you have any idea how hard is to live without lying even once?’’
Niki’s eyebrow shoots up. ‘’You haven’t been lying this whole time?’’
You beamed at him. ‘’I haven’t!’’
He squinted at you, nodding. ‘’That… explains a lot.’’
‘’I’m free,’’ you whispered dramatically. ‘’It’s over.’’
Niki stared at you for a whole moment and then, very slowly, he smiled. Not a smug smirk or his teasing grin. A soft, pretty, full smile. Warm and completely smitten by you.
You were still dancing in tiny, excited circles close to him when Niki reached out, grabbed you by the waist and pulled you flush against his body in one smooth motion.
‘’I have no idea what’s happening,’’ he admitted quietly, brushing his nose with yours. ‘’But you look too adorable to care.’’
He kissed you, deeply, sighing into the kiss like he just found the place where he belonged. Niki held you against him, hands firm and possessive, like he was anchoring you to him. The party noises blurred into something in the back of your mind and you melted against him, fingers curling into his shirt.
When he finally separated from your lips, a thread of saliva joined them both, which he slowly licked from your mouth. He rested his forehead against yours, his hands wandering further down until he grabbed your ass.
‘’So,’’ he murmured, staring at your eyes, ‘’does this mean you’re going to start lying to me now?’’
You smiled, slow and seductive, stealing a short kiss from him. ‘’That,’’ you whispered sweetly, ‘’depends.’’
His eyes darkened. ‘’On what?’’
You tilted your head, pretending to think about it while biting your lip. Niki’s gaze followed the movement.
‘’On how good you’re gonna fuck me tonight.’’
Niki promised himself that Jake would never find out, despite all their years of friendship, that he used his parents' empty room to have sex with you in the middle of a party. But it was so fucking worth it.
Maybe you had bitten off more than you could swallow because Niki took your challenge too seriously and you were paying for it with orgasms that didn't let you string a single thought together, your body simply reacting to his will. His mouth was closed over your nipples, alternating between sucking one and then the other until they were red and tender as you moaned and your vision blurred with a second orgasm incoming, his fingers pushed inside your soaked wet pussy.
‘’That’s it,’’ he mumbled quietly around your nipple, sucking it again while you arched and moaned. ‘’Just take it, baby. Cum again for me, let me stretch this pretty pussy for my cock.’’
You gasped from overstimulation, listening to the wet noises your pussy made each time Niki thrusted his fingers inside fast and hard, clinging to his hair and pushing it towards your tits, Niki growled and sucked your nipples roughly, swirling his tongue. You came with a muffled scream and whimpered when Niki didn’t stop, your pussy tightening around his fingers as if you didn't want to let them go.
He chuckled darkly, staring at you completely fascinated at the state you were. Panting, teary, marked everywhere by his mouth; red hickeys blooming all over your neck down your chest, to the pretty and soft skin of your breasts, nipples swollen from having sucked them for so long. So prettily destroyed by him, and it was just the beginning.
‘’Fuck,’’ you whispered, a trembling mess, tears failing from pleasure. You sobbed a short laugh. ‘’You’re such a menace, Nishimura.’’
Niki straightened with a proud smirk and began working his belt, your eyes immediately fixed on the tent in his pants. You licked your lips and replaced his hands, opening his pants and pulling down his boxers until his hard cock sprang out, hard and veiny. Too big.
‘’No way.’’
‘’What?’’
‘’It’s… so big,’’ you breathed in short gasps, encircling his cock with both hands and pumping it slowly, making him moan. You looked at it from under your eyelashes, rubbing the tip with your thumb, spreading the precum leaking. You were a girl open to accepting challenges, but this worried you a little. ‘’I don’t think it’ll fit, Niki.’’
Niki simply smiled smugly, his dark eyes filled with desire. He flipped you onto the bed, making you yelp because of how sudden and abrupt it was. Your pussy fluttered and a new gush of wetness soaked you, feeling his hands wandering through your body, gripping and squeezing your waist, your thighs, the curve of your ass.
‘’It won’t fit,’’ you repeated shakily, even as you let Niki position you however he wanted. Face pushed down, ass up, your back arched so prettily that made him grunt and spank you. You whimpered and you turned your head, trying to look at him. ‘’Are you listening to me?’’
‘’Of course I’m listening,’’ he said, positioning himself behind you and caressing your ass with his cock, gently rubbing against your skin. He slipped his cock between your folds and began to rub it lazily back and forth making you feel how hard it was, how big it was. You dripped all over him with a moan each time the head of his cock grazed your throbbing clit. ‘’Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make it fit just fine. You’re ready for me, you trust me, right?’’
‘’Y-yeah,’’ you moaned, feeling the tip of his cock lining up to your hole, barely pushing. Niki grabbed your hips, held you down onto the bed and slowly guided his cock inside you. ‘’I do.’’
The head of his cock pushed against your entrance, forcing its way in little by little and stretching you completely. You gasped and opened your legs wider as he pushed his cock inch by inch, making you whimper at its thickness. Fuck. You had never felt so full, so stretched out and open, a loud moan leaving without you could control yourself.
‘’Relax for me, pretty girl,’’ he said quietly, still keeping the slow but unforgiving pace. You tried not to tense up, but everything was both too much and too little, gently sniffing against the bed as your pussy tightened around Niki's cock. ‘’Just like that, taking me so well.’’
Niki hissed softly, feeling your cunt wrapping so tight his cock was the hottest thing he ever saw; how your pretty, wet hole creamed his length.
‘’You’re doing so well, baby,’’ he whispered, hands holding you in place, big hands caressing your waist, your ass. ‘’Opening your pretty pussy for me, letting me fill you. You can feel it, don’t you? How deep it goes?’’
You nodded, drool dripping into the pillow as coherent thoughts left your head and all you could feel was his cock inside you, making you clench so hard around him it made him moan. Niki's thrusts were slow and deep, and you swore it made you feel him all the way to your stomach. He was buried too deep inside you, each push of his thick cock stretching you further until the pleasure was too much.
His pace quickened, his cock sliding in more easily because of how wet you were and how he had opened you up. ‘’Look at you,’’ he sneered, giving your ass a firm squeeze. ‘’Taking my cock so well, greedy pussy’s sucking me in,’’ he moaned, low and dirty. ‘’Fucking take it like a good girl.’’
Your moans grew louder and your eyes rolled back in your head as he began to fuck you faster, pounding you hard from behind. You cried from pleasure into the mattress, your pussy tightened and dripped around him, milking him with each thrust that went so far you were sure his tip was grazing your cervix. Niki was fucking you so hard that the bed moved, hitting the wall softly and you could’t do anything but to take it, a moaning mess.
‘’Not so mouthy now, right?’’ He scoffed, giving you another spank, making you whimper and squeeze his cock harder. ‘’That’s what I fucking thought,’’ he chuckled, burying himself into your cunt faster, with a low groan.
‘’Niki,’’ you moaned, barely able to form a sentence, not feeling anything but his thick cock and his ruthless pace, the way he was filling you. ‘’Please— I’m gonn—’’
‘’Ah, ah, not until I say so,’’ he warned you, laughing when you whined and sobbed when another spank landed on your ass. ‘’Not until you fucking say this pussy is mine. C’mon, baby, don’t keep me waiting. Say it.’’
‘’I-it’s—,’’ you moaned again, cunt stretched out and throbbing around him, every thrust sending you over the edge. He hit your g-spot over and over, making you tremble. ‘’It’s yours—’’
‘’That’s right,’’ he mumbled, slamming into your harder, deeper and desesperate; sweat dripping from his temple. ‘’Say I’m not a fucking problem.’’
‘’Niki!’’ You sobbed softly, hardly holding back from shattering. He just hummed darkly, almost amused. You shook your head quickly and moaned again, too gone to even care to lie, your pussy throbbing around his cock, needy and desperate. ‘’You’re not a problem—’’
‘’Cum for me, baby, milk my fucking cock,’’ he ordered, voice rough and husky going straight to your core. The pleasure was so intense that once you reached the peak, it simply destroyed you, leaving you trembling and broken. You were too full, overstimulated, squeezing his cock as your climax coursed through you, leaving you a whimpering mess. ‘’I’m filling this pretty hole until it overflows,’’ he promised, voice used and hoarse. ‘’Beg for it.’’
You looked at Niki from the pillow, eyelashes with unshed tears and a completely spaced out expression from being fucked too good, cheeks flushed and makeup smudged. You blinked slowly and licked your lips, milking his cock with the spasms of your cunt.
‘’Don’t pull out,’’ you gasped softly, reaching for him. Niki didn’t doubt it for a second, holding your hand while slamming into your pussy almost brutally. ‘’I want it inside—please—fill me up,’’ you begged with a broken moan. ‘’Mark my pussy with you cum—’’
Niki cursed under his breath, railing you almost at a punishing pace, using your hole until you were both moaning with raw desperation. You never felt anything so intense before and your body couldn't handle it, making you come for the fourth time with a scream as Niki buried himself deep inside you, coming with a hoarse moan.
You collapse onto the bed, your knees giving away, your whole body trembling and sensitive. Every part of you was throbbing, used and spent. Niki spilled his load inside your cunt and you moaned softly at the feeling, flooding your womb with hot ropes of cum, making you feel so full. His body covered yours and you could feel his racing heart in your back, staying inside you as you both tried to catch your breath.
You laid there, enjoying his weight against you, the sensation of his cock filling you, and his hot cum slowly escaping from your hole. Niki moved a little and you moaned, tensing up a little, but he gently silenced you, slowly kissing your neck until you relaxed again.
‘’Shhh, it’s fine,’’ he said quietly, coaxing you with more soft kisses. ‘’You’re okay?’’
You nodded and sobbed a little, still holding onto his hand. Your mind felt… flying somewhere. A wave of need filling you that you didn't understand, only knowing that you wanted his warmth surrounding you. ‘’Don’t leave.’’
‘’I won’t,’’ he reassured you, slipping out of your cunt carefully. You hissed because of the sensitivity and Niki kissed your shoulder, silently apologizing. ‘’C’mere.’’
Niki settled on his side and pulled you close to his chest, studying your face while drying the wetness from your cheeks with his thumb unhurriedly, fondly. You snuggled into his chest and sighed, too drunk on orgasms to even think, just needing him closer. Niki kissed your forehead, lips lingering there, arms wrapping securely around you, making you completely content and warm. Heart fluttering happily, but that was another thing.
‘’So? You’re gonna start lying to me?’’
You chuckled tiredly, smiling to yourself with your eyes closed. ‘’No if you keep the good work, Nishimura.’’
pretty puppy boy is so down bad for you. the feeling is mutual.
pairing: puppybf!jake x afab!reader
fluff, jake falls in love at first sight, mentions of kisses, smut, oral (fem receiving ), sub!jake and sub!reader yum, mutual masturbation hell yea, they're both brats, messy sex, pussy obsessed puppy jake, not proofread as always
puppy!jake who literally felt time slow when he was first introduced to you. sunghoon side eyed him when he noticed how jake visibly straightened, ears perked, eyes blown wide open. it took about three to four dude's from his friend to make him enter reality again.
puppy!jake who simply just stared at you when you told him about yourself. he drank up every word, replaying the facts in his head, careful to not miss a single details.
puppy!jake who had to force himself to look you into the eye and stop his eyes from darting down to your lips. but how couldn't he? the gloss on your lips reflects so prettily in the sunlight, how can you expect him not to stare at you :c
puppy!jake constantly wanted to be around you when your friend group was hanging out. he didn't necessarily even need to talk to you, he just wanted to sit close. with time he stared hovering, never leaving your orbit, shooting sharp glances at once who looked in you in ways that friends don't.
puppy!jake who had sunghoon give him peptalks to talk to you more :c sweet boy just got so shy and stuttery when he was around you, which was silly since you were the exact same and HE DIDNT EVEN NOTICE !!
puppybf!jake who thought you might be more dominant in the bedroom, judging by your composed nature but he was oh so wrong. to be fair, there have been signs that you didn't have a single dominant bone in your body. the way you nuzzled, basically completely melted into him when you were cuddling, hugging him so tightly as if he were to disappear into thin air any second. the way you practically turned into mush whenever an single ounce of praise left his lips. mans was just too whipped to see it.
puppybf!jake giggles inbetween kisses :((( well it's more like he full on giggles into your mouth because mans refuses to remove his lips from yours but if he DOES then the giggles get even more intense and he gets so giddy and u can barely catch your breath before he's on you again.
puppybf!jake has never been touched by anyone before and gets soooo desperate and whiny when you slowly move your hands up and down his body. the slightest movement towards his dick has him twitching, throaty whines escaping him without pause. and the worst part? the way you look at him, eyes wide with fascination, in disbelief that it's you who gets him like this. like him, you haven't been touched by anyone either and one before you realised what happened his hands were in your panties and yours around his dick :c both of you just staring at each other, jaws slack and breathing heavily.
puppybf!jake always has his hand on you. always. hand holding, intertwined pinkies, hand around your waist, playing with a strand of hair it doesn't matter if he's around you he must touch you or he withers away.
puppybf!jake who loves laying on top of you. his cheek is pressed against yours, eyelashes tickling you when he blinks. out of nowhere, quick kisses attack your cheeks while you watch something on your phone (he sees it as a challenge to get your attention, sweet sweet boy). every now and then he repositions himself, making sure his arms dont't leave you tho dont get it twisted. once he found a new comfy position he flops down again with a sigh, nuzzling into your neck :c
puppybf!jake who humps the mattress while eating you out . he just loves the sounds you make, it makes him absolutely feral. whether that is the sweet moans and gasps leaving your lips or your messy pussy causing obscene sounds to echo from the walls. whenever he goes down on you he always ends up legit making out with your pussy, nose nudging against your clit and he looooves smelling you. doesnt mind when you move around, he just moves after you, lips never leaving your pussy. he's utterly obsessed with you and your pussy, hes on you like a magnet.
puppybf!jake who once nutted before you even touched him properly. in his defence, you were literally licking your way down his v line, it was evil of you. poor pup got so whine and embarrassed afterwards and wanted to tease you back but he couldn't go through with it and just ended up eating you out for two hours straight. that boy has an insane oral fixation lucky you.
puppybf!jake goes brat to brat with you. you both just rile each other up in perfect harmony, knowing exactly what pushes the other over the edge. of course you and up fucking on the ground because neither of you were able to resits the other for a second loner lol
puppybf!jake who almost came instantly when you started babbling incoherently the second he was inside you. " feel so good jakey you make me feel so so good, fuck, please don't stop." he was a goner, brain turned to mush. all he could focus on was the way your face twisted in pleasure, brows furrowed and mouth agape. "so pretty for me, can't believe you're letting me have you im so lucky." the praise bubbled out of him without him even noticing, but what he does notice is the way you clench around him. "jesus," he manages to hiss out, having to lean backwards a little to snap out of his haze. you whine, clawing at his bicep "come back here." all it takes is a roll of your hips and he falls back down on you, teeth digging into the soft flesh of your chest, giving it a slight suck.
puppybf!jake ties his hair up because he wants you to pull on it so badly but he's too shy to tell you and when you do on a whim he gets extra vocal yum.
puppybf!jake does the puppy head tilt at random times, no thoughts behind those eyes, scratch that the only thought on his mind is u, that boy loves u so much and he get's the saddies sometimes when he realises how much he loves you and then he goes extra extreme puppy mode and the head tilt and puppy eyes come out sobs.
puppybf!jake who loves messy sex more than anything. your first time had been sweet and slow, all shy giggles and soft gasps. but now? now we're at the slippery slope olympics. if your cum isn't running down your legs he hasn't eaten you out properly (he also wants his face to be drenched in it, don't get it twisted). there's just no better feeling than pushing his thick cock into the warm deliciousness that is your pussy :c he cannot help but stare down at your mixed fluids, thick strings of cum connecting you. it drives him NUTS.
puppybf!jake loves to pretend he's all tough when the two of you are out. he puffs out his chest a little when he sees others look at you, arm protectively circling even closer around your waist. but the second you look at him with your sweet eyes he gets all giggle because who are we fooling he's such a softie for you.
puppybf!jake who tries so hard to listen to your yapping intently, but after not even a minute he'll randomly blur out a "totally" or "mhm, yea" and then just kisses you mid sentence. he's whipped what can i say.
puppybf!jake is also lowkey a nerd who can't see well so he reaches over to the nightstand one day while he's balls deep inside you because "it wouldn't be fair if i can't see you look so pretty for me." his glasses get all fogged up and he clumsily tries to wipe them clean which ends up getting them dirty so he just carelessly throws them aside. as much as he loves seeing you, hearing and feeling you is enough for now.
puppybf!jake loves skin to skin contact even in a no sexual way. just simply having you flush against him, no layers, it's his absolute favourite thing. he traces little patterns on your skin, admiring your moles, veins, scars and curves. he wants to memorise it all :c
puppybf!jake who promises he entered another realm when you touched his ears while riding him for the first time. your body on top of him was enough stimulating as is, poor boy couldn't stop groping all plush parts of your body but touching his ears?? my boy froze up for a solid 5 seconds. "wait, shit did i do something wrong?? are you okay??" your panicked voice was the only noise heard as jake seemed to have stopped breathing, eyes closed shut. next thing you know he crunched forwards with a groan and warm liquid spilled out your pussy and all over his thighs<33
lins notes: everybody thank miss @puppybelles for making me lock the fuck in for this (im making out with her as we speak)
taglist: @saeivra (comment or send me an ask if u wanna be added to my taglist <33)
𝐏𝐑𝐄𝑳𝐔𝐃𝐄 ﹒∬﹒ in which your boyfriend refuses to let you choke him, until he’s dazed enough to let you have your way with him. try before you deny, right?
♣️ nishimura riki x f. reader ✦ smut (18+) established relationship 𝓦. choking, riding, unprotected sex (don’t do it!!!), creampie, 1.2kWC.
MILAN’S 💭 NOTE need more sub riki, pls and carrots.
the topic of choking, or simply wrapping your hands around your partner’s throat was something that had been brought up a few times within you and riki’s relationship.
it was something that you had consented to long before you two even began having sex together, when you would discuss the things that you were into and not into. and of course, with your permission, he had done so once or twice—wrapping his silver-clad fingers around the base of your neck and would squeeze lightly if you begged him to.
it was a small gesture that you didn’t even have to ask for most times. he’d just slide his hand up between your breasts while he was thrusting deeply into you, and would find your throat in his hand. he knew how much it turned you on and how much you loved when he took control.
but there was something in you, that adored the idea of having the tables turn. what if you took the reins this time?
riki had let you be on top before, sure, but he could never bring himself to let you choke him. any time you brought up the idea, he quickly shut it down.
the worst part was that he didn’t really have a reason for it. he wasn’t afraid of you dominating him or anything, he wanted you to. but choking was where he crossed the line.
maybe it was an attempt at keeping up his ‘nonchalant’ image, which is absolutely ridiculous. so many times he’s tried to act as if your very existence doesn’t have him folding, when he knows that as soon as he’s inside of you, all of that crumbles. in reality, he’s a sucker for you.
but one way or another, you’d convince him.
you thought about it now, even as you were on top of him, bouncing like your life depended on it.
riki was settled beneath you, panting and letting out groans that were beginning to sound a little desperate.
the air in your room was hot, the smell of sweat and sex swirling around with the subtle sweet scent of a candle you’d put out before you had gotten in bed.
clothes scattered the floor, your panties somewhere unknown—to which you’d be searching for in the morning.
things had gotten heated before you and riki decided to settle in for the night. what started as playful banter and wrestling, turned into him snatching off the bit of clothing that you did have on.
both of you were more needy than you thought, grinding against each other until you couldn’t take it anymore.
“you feel so good, fuck,” riki panted, his hands sliding from your waist to cup your ass. he squeezed, starting to move his hips in sync with yours to help you grind down on him.
moans spewed from your lips, leaning into his touch. your skin felt like it was burning up, the feels of his hands on your body igniting something within you.
the lewd sounds only fueled you, the squelching of your walls around him getting louder each time you settled back down. his length glided in and out of you with ease, covered in cum and your own arousal, some of it reaching between your thighs.
the thought of wrapping your hands around riki’s neck wouldn’t leave your head, your pussy clamping down on him tightly each time it crossed your mind.
riki whined helplessly, his abdomen flexing as he continues to grind upwards.
“riding me so good, mama,” he sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. “might have to fill you up again.”
his words had your hips moving faster, desperate to push him over the edge.
but while he was so focused on the feeling of your walls fluttering around him, you placed your hands on his chest, sliding them up slowly. you acted as if you were just caressing him at first, feeling down to his abs and back up.
your hands made their way back to his chest, and up further to his collarbone. you let your fingers rest there for a moment, thinking you were being sly, but riki caught on pretty quickly.
his fingers wrapped around one of your wrists as he panted, trying to form a coherent sentence.
“d-don’t,” he mumbled hoarsely. “don’t even try it.”
you whined, trying to move your hands further but he caught the other one.
“please, baby,” your pleas were amusing to him, but they didn’t help anything.
he readjusted himself so that his feet were planted into the mattress, his pace becoming rougher.
your mouth opened as strained moans fell from them, throwing your head back.
“r-riki—“
your words were cut off with the harsh snap of his hips as he rutted into you, skin slapping filling the space of your bedroom.
he cursed silently, too focused on the obscene sounds coming from beneath you both.
you took it upon yourself to ask him once more, begging him to let you wrap your hands around his throat.
“let me, baby,” you gasped, feeling his tip hit that spongy spot deep inside of you. “it’ll feel s-so good, i promise.”
riki didn’t say anything, he couldn’t. but the look in his eyes told you everything. they were lidded and filled with nothing but love when he looked up at you. he trusted you.
he gave up on trying to pretend like he wasn’t curious about it; why you wanted to choke him so bad and what it could feel like. he was so drunk on the feeling of your pussy that he didn’t care what you did to him at that point.
you placed your hands where they were before, making their way up to the base of his neck. you let your fingers dance across his skin for a moment before fully wrapping them around it.
you squeezed, not hard enough to make him lose conscious but enough for him to feel some pressure.
before you knew it, he had thrown his head back, letting out the nastiest moan you’ve ever heard. his eyes were rolling to the back of his head when you applied more pressure.
“f-fuck!” he whimpers, his hand wrapping around your wrist again but not trying to stop you this time. he wanted more.
you moaned at how fucked out he looked—his hair pushed back and damp with sweat, his brows furrowed.
“‘s that good?” you asked quietly, loosening your grip for a moment.
riki nodded frantically, his breath quickening.
“do it again.. n-need you to do it again, ‘m gonna cum.”
and you gave him what he wanted, fingers gripping his throat once more as his thrusts start to become sloppier.
“cum for me, ki… want you to cum inside, please.” you purred.
riki’s moans grew louder as he let go, his cum filling your insides once more, warm and sticky. but his thrusts didn’t stop.
“keep fucking me,” he panted, his hand covering yours now as he movers it further up his neck.
he urged you to choke him now, as if he wasn’t just telling you to forget about the idea all together.
“choke me like you h-hate me,” he groaned. “harder.”
content — headcanons, established relationship, college au, fluff, meet-cute, pining anton, nervous anton, first date, green flag anton, clingy anton, domestic fluff, studying together, taking care of each other, period comfort, matching keychains, obsessed with you anton, literally the best boyfriend ever
note — i need me a bf like him
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
college bf anton
college bf anton who noticed you around campus months before you ever spoke. you were just there—in the library, at the dining hall, walking between classes—and every time he saw you, his heart did that stupid little flip. he never thought he'd actually get to talk to you.
college bf anton who bumped into you at the campus cafe—literally. you spilled coffee all over him and panicked, trying to wipe it off while apologizing a million times. he just stood there frozen because 1) you were touching him and 2) up close, you were even prettier than he remembered.
college bf anton who malfunctioned completely when you asked for his number. "I wanna buy you a coffee to make up for this," you said.
college bf anton who got all giggly and kicked his feet when you texted him the next day asking to meet up for that coffee redo.
college bf anton who still ended up paying for that coffee (he wouldn't let you, no matter how much you insisted) and somehow found the courage to ask you on a real date by the time your cups were empty.
college bf anton who was a nervous wreck before that first date. begged wonbin for fashion advice (wonbin rolled his eyes and helped him pick an outfit anyway). called shotaro for date tips (shotaro said "just be yourself" and anton almost threw up).
college bf anton who showed up to that first date with flowers and the biggest, most terrified smile you'd ever seen.
college bf anton who, after five dates, tried to ask you to be his girlfriend and fumbled every single word so badly that you just laughed and said yes before he could even finish.
college bf anton who plans a weekly date every saturday because you don't have classes and he wants to make sure you always have something to look forward to.
college bf anton who waits at your classroom door after your last class, even when you're not walking back together, just so he can see you for five minutes before you go your separate ways.
college bf anton who shows up at the library with food and snacks when you're studying, kissing your temple and whispering, "take a break, baby. eat something."
college bf anton who nags you to take care of yourself during busy weeks—"did you eat?" "when did you last sleep?" "please drink water, i'm not kidding"—because he loves you and someone has to.
college bf anton who sometimes forgets to take care of himself too, and looks up from his laptop at 2 AM to find you at his door with takeout and the softest eyes. "thought you might need this," you say. he almost cries.
college bf anton who sends you a selfie every single day you're not together. just his face, usually mid-laugh or making a stupid expression, with a text that says "miss u" or "thinking of u" or just "👀". and he demands one back every time.
college bf anton who secretly tracks your cycle on an app and shows up at your door on the first day of your period with chocolate, painkillers, a heating pad, and zero explanation. just "i brought stuff. let me hold you."
college bf anton who learned how to braid your hair because he got bored during a lecture and watched a youtube tutorial. now he asks to do it all the time.
college bf anton who has a photo of you in his wallet—the nice one you took together—and a goofy picture of you pulling a face as his phone lockscreen.
college bf anton who, once he got comfortable, would not shut up about you to his friends. wonbin knows your coffee order. shotaro knows your fav artist. sohee knows your favorite movie. they all know way too much. anton doesn't care.
college bf anton who sneaks into your dorm or apartment at least once a week because "i just missed you" and falls asleep with his face buried in your neck within minutes.
college bf anton who drags you to his friends' frat parties just to take you dancing—pulls you onto the floor, spins you around, tells you you're beautiful in your ear so only you can hear. it's how you both let off steam after hard weeks.
college bf anton who carries your bag across campus whenever he sees you struggling, slinging it over his shoulder next to his own like it's nothing.
college bf anton who gave you a plushie three months into dating and said, very seriously, "this is me when i can't be here. you have to take care of it." you sleep with it every night.
college bf anton who got matching keychains for both your university bags so everyone knows you're together. not that anyone needed the hint—he makes it pretty obvious.
college bf anton who keeps pda subtle—hand holding, arm around your shoulder, a quick kiss goodbye. but sometimes, when he really misses you, he'll pull you into a back hug in the middle of the quad and just stay there.
college bf anton who "accidentally" leaves his hoodies at your place so you have to wear them. you text him "you left your hoodie" and he always replies "i'll get it later." later comes, he stays over, and somehow the hoodie ends up back at your place again.
college bf anton who is so insanely proud of you it's almost embarrassing. you got an A on a paper? he's telling everyone. you finished a project? he wants to celebrate. you just existed today? he's still proud.
college bf anton who, overall, is just the best boyfriend ever. not because he's perfect—but because he loves you so visibly, so completely, that you never have to wonder.
(every night) got you running in circles, i know (touchin’ me) get your paws off my dolce cologne — hush, the marías
⤷ ゛jake has always been prone to crying, no matter the situation. ˎˊ˗
top!jake x bottomfem!reader ──── smut, pwop, mdni ⟡ jake cries (dacryphilia), reader cries a lil bit, jake cums first but don’t worry he’s not selfish, jake moans and whines, there’s no explicit dom/sub dynamics, they’re both a lil subby if anything, but jake is the one laying pipe and reader is the one taking it so, overstimulation, cursing, established relationship, jake is referred to as ‘yunnie’ and ‘jaeyun’ like once, jake calls reader ‘baby’, unprotected sex (don’t do this), jake finishes inside reader (don’t do this even more), gets a bit fluffy at the end for like two sentences / 1k wc
a/n: i need me a man that’ll whine and cry while putting me through the mattress 🤤 GIVE ME MORE MEN THAT MOAN LET IT OUT PLEASE ITS HOT also ty guys SO much for 1k notes on my jungwon post !! it means a lot ♡ enhypen is 7 and f belift
jake had always been the soft type. the type of man to cry over cute puppies at the animal shelter; to coo at the sight of an old couple out on a date; to sob when he was buried to the hilt in your tight cunt.
well that last one doesn’t seem to line up with the first two, but given that jake is currently buried balls deep inside of you, it’s not like you can think of much else other than the heavy drag of his cock against your walls.
“f-fuck. oh fuck, baby,” jake’s voice cracks with each hard thrust he delivers into you, his hips stuttering like his body is trying to decide between going harder and stopping altogether because it just feels so overwhelmingly good. jake’s arms slide around your waist and under your back to clutch you close to his chest, his forehead dropping down to your shoulder as his weight pins you to the mattress.
“jake—hng!—yunnie, please!” you moan into his ear as your arms fly up to cling onto his shoulders, your nails dragging across the bare skin of his back and drawing a hiss from between his teeth. each push of his cock drags his pelvis against your clit, the motion making your eyes roll into the back of your head.
“‘m sorry. ‘m sorry, baby. fuck! god, you feel so good,” jake praises, his whiny voice and broken moans making your stomach flip and your gummy walls clench down around him. “shit, don’t-don’t do that..”
yours and jake’s joint moans are nearly enough to cover the lewd squelching of your soaked cunt and wet slap of skin against skin. by now, you’re sure that anyone within a mile radius of you could hear you and jake going at it like rabbits.
jake’s face slides from your shoulder to press into the pillow right by your head in an attempt to quiet himself down. you can still hear his moans, the filthy, muffled sounds making the nerves all across your body light up.
“hhnnng,” jake lets out a pathetic sounding whine as he slowly drags his forehead back to your warm shoulder.
it only takes a second for the feeling of something wet slowly dripping onto the skin of your neck grabs your attention. “j-jake?”
a loud sob is all you get in response, his body shaking as his hips don’t stop moving. “fuck. fuck it’s too good, too good,”
jake blabs incoherently, his brain too far gone to form proper sentences by now. his thrusts seem to get rougher, his hips shoving you up the mattress with each kiss of his tip against your cervix. the sensation makes your jaw drop open and your eyes roll back into your head as tears prick the corner of them. he pulls himself back from your shoulder. his face is flushed a pretty pink, his normally soft, fluffy brown hair is sticking to his forehead from sweat, and his cheeks are littered with tears. your cunt clenches down hard despite knowing the sight shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does.
“fuck, i’m cumming, i’m cumming! fuck, fuck, fuck!” jake’s chin falls to his chest and his eyes squeeze shut as his plump lips fall open in a long groan. his hips pump his cock into you a few more times before he freezes up and buries himself to the hilt completely. he throws his head back, the action exposing the bump of his adam’s apple and the sharp line of his jaw.
jake’s hips grind against your folds to milk himself of the last of his release. you can feel his tip leaking into you, his cum warming your lower stomach and drawing soft whimpers from your lips. you think he’s done, but the second he stops cumming his hips are back at it.
“c-cum… fuck, you gotta cum too, baby. god, please cum, please cum, please cum,” he’s overstimulating himself for your sake, his body twitching with sobs from the slight pain that bleeds into something addictive.
“yunnie!” you yelp. “oh fuuuck, jaeyun,”
jake’s fingers dig into the plush skin of your waist, his hands dragging you down to meet his thrusts. you can feel his hands twitch, clenching and unclenching into your flesh as if your body is the vessel for his sanity and he’s trying to cling onto the last bit of it.
“jaeyun! mmph, ‘m close, ‘m so close,” you gasp out, your head lolling back against the pillow as a few stray tears escape down the side of your face. jake looks just as wrecked as you—if not more—his tears dripping onto your stomach and cries ripping from his throat.
“uh, uh, uh! yunnie!” you chant out his name, your hands flying up to cling to his vein covered forearms as your orgasm crashes over you quite quickly thanks to the image of him crying over your body.
jake tries his best to fuck you through as much of your orgasm as he can, making sure you’ve finished creaming his cock before his body decides it can’t keep up anymore, his arms giving way as he collapses onto you.
no words are exchanged: just faint panting and small sniffles as both of you try to catch your breath. the feeling of your chests pushing against the other with each rise and fall of your breathing helps bring a sense of emotional connection in addition to the literal, physical connection of your bodies. jake’s large hands slowly smooth along the bare skin of your waist as your fingers comb through the locks of his hair. slowly, you help soothe each other down from the intensity of your climaxes.
when jake finally seems to clear enough of the fog out of his head, he pulls his face from your neck and smiles boyishly at you, the sight warm and familiar. he wastes no time pressing sweet kisses all along the skin of your face, leaving no spot untouched. you giggle and squirm around slightly, but let your eyes flutter shut to revel in his innocent affection nonetheless.
your boyfriend is so soft. you almost feel bad for wanting to see him cry like that again.
beach date with riki and reader is in a bikini and he cannot stop being all handsy with her n staring her up and down super suggestive but nothing crazy but also super fluffy!!!! ❤️
Salt and sunscreen.
౨ৎ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ : boyfriend! ni-ki x girlfriend!reader
ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: fluff , suggestive , established relationship
sʏᴘɴᴏsɪs : during a rare break in Jeju island , Ni-ki takes his girlfriend on a beach date. But when she shows up in a tiny pink bikini, he struggles to keep his composure ... a day full of playful waves, stolen kisses, and ice cream.
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: Suggestive themes, a lot of skinship, mention of arousal/boner, riki being a simp
Summer in Jeju was no joke, even with the hotel room's air conditioning working overtime, the morning sun was already creeping through the cracks in the curtains, painting warm stripes across the bed.
The second thing Ni-ki became aware of was that the warm spot beside him was empty.
He cracked one eye open, still half-lost in sleep, and found her.
Y/N was standing in front of the small mirror by the window, backlit by the soft morning light, wearing nothing but a tiny pair of underwear and a loose tank top. She was holding up two pieces of fabric..bikinis, he realized as his brain slowly came online , turning back and forth, trying to decide.
He watched through half-lidded eyes, not ready to let her know he was awake yet.
She held up a black one. Then a pink one. Then the black one again.
He bit back a smile.
Cute.
Eventually, she seemed to make a decision, setting one aside and hanging the other on the edge of the mirror. As she turned back toward the bed, her eyes met his and she jumped slightly.
"Riki!" she gasped, one hand flying to her chest. "How long have you been awake?"
He stretched lazily, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Long enough."
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "Good morning to you too, baby." She padded over to the bed and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "Did you sleep well?"
He caught her wrist before she could pull away, tugging her down until she was half-draped across his chest. She laughed, bracing herself on either side of his head.
"No," he mumbled, voice rough with sleep. "Mosquitoes. Heat. Worst night ever."
"Poor baby," she cooed, clearly not sorry at all. "Want me to kiss it better?"
She laughed again and kissed his nose, his cheek, his chin. He let her, basking in the warmth of her and the morning and the simple fact that they were here, together, with nowhere to be and nothing to do but exist.
Eventually, she pushed up. "I'm going to finish getting ready. You should shower."
He groaned dramatically. "Two more minutes."
"Riki."
"One more minute."
She was already walking away, tossing a smile over her shoulder. "Shower. Now. I want beach time."
Twenty minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom, towel around his waist, hair still dripping, to find her standing by the window.
She changed.
The bikini was baby pink , soft and sweet and the sexiest thing he'd ever seen. The top was simple but hugged her perfectly, and the bottoms sat just right on her hips, a tiny bow on each side. She paired it with a small white shorts, unbuttoned, hanging low.
She looked up when he walked in, and something flickered in her eyes.
"Is it..." She bit her lip. "Is it too much?"
Riki froze.
For a solid second, his brain stopped functioning entirely. All he could do was stare at the soft curve of her waist, the way the pink made her skin glow, the tiny beauty mark just above her hip that he wanted to kiss until she forgot her own name.
"No," he managed, voice coming out rougher than intended. He looked away quickly, grabbing blindly for his bag. "No, it suits you. It's... yeah. Good."
He could feel her watching him, probably confused by his sudden avoidance. He couldn't explain that if he looked at her one more second, he was going to do something stupid. Like cancel the beach entirely and spend the day in bed.
Focus. Shirt. Pants. Where are your pants—
"You okay?" she asked, amused.
He cleared his throat. "Fine. Ready to go."
She definitely noticed. He could hear the smile in her voice when she said, "Okay, baby. Let's go."
The walk to the beach was so relaxing.
His hand fit perfectly in hers, fingers intertwined, swinging slightly between them. The sun was warm but not scorching yet, and the streets were mostly empty, just a few early risers and local vendors setting up their stalls.
The beach itself was nearly deserted when they arrived. Just the gentle sound of waves.
Riki spread out their towels while Y/N kicked off her sandals, wiggling her toes in the sand with a happy sigh. Then she stripped off her white shorts, leaving herself in just that pink bikini, and laid down on her stomach.
He tried very hard not to stare at the way the fabric curved over the soft swell of her ass.
"We should put on sunscreen before the sun rises entirely." She exclaimed holding up the bottle and looking at him through the most irresistible doe eyes he'd ever seen. "Could you do my back?"
Say no. Say no and jump in the ocean right now before you embarrass yourself.
"Yeah," he heard himself say. "Sure."
She handed him the bottle and settled back down, face resting on her folded arms, eyes closing peacefully. He squeezed some lotion into his palm and knelt beside her.
The moment his hands touched her skin, he knew he was in trouble.
She was so soft. Warm from the sun, smooth as silk. He started at her shoulders, working the sunscreen into her skin slowly..maybe slower than necessary..trailing down her spine, spreading across her lower back.
Her waist. The dip just above her hips. The very top curve of—
His fingers brushed the edge of her bikini bottom, and she made a pleased little sigh.
He froze.
"Mm," she murmured, eyes still closed. "That feels nice. We really needed this."
Yeah, he thought, forcing his hands to stay professional. Really needed this.
He finished her back as quickly as he could without being obvious, then practically launched himself back to his own towel.
When he looked over, she was already half-asleep, face peaceful, chest rising and falling gently.
But childish side couldn't resist.
He moved silently, slowly, like a predator stalking prey. She didn't even twitch until his shadow fell over her and by then, it was too late.
"RIKI WHAT THE—"
He scooped her up effortlessly, one arm under her knees, the other around her back, and took off running toward the water.
"RIKI PUT ME DOWN—" She was screaming and laughing, pounding uselessly against his chest. "I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE—"
They plunged into the waves together, emerging seconds later gasping and sputtering. Y/N came up swinging, splashing him directly in the face.
"YOU'RE DEAD," she shrieked. "YOU'RE SO DEAD NISHIMURA RIKI."
He was laughing so hard he could barely breathe, splashing her back, the water around them turning into a war zone. She lunged at him, trying to push him under, and he caught her easily, pulling her against his chest.
"Fuck you," she laughed, breathless, water streaming down her face.
He grinned down at her and then his gaze slipped.
Just for a second.
The water moved around them, buoying her up, and he caught a glimpse of the swell of her chest, the way her bikini clung to her, the droplets of water trailing down her skin.
"You're staring," she said.
His eyes snapped back to her face. "Sorry. Zoned out."
"Mmhmm." She didn't look convinced. But she also didn't look mad.
Instead, she curled a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down into a kiss.
It was soft at first, just a brush of lips, saltwater and warmth. Then she nipped at his lower lip, and he groaned, pulling her closer, one hand splaying across her lower back, pressing her against him.
When they finally broke apart, she was smiling.
"Wanna actually swim now?"
"Whatever you want, baby."
They spent the next hour playing in the water like kids.
He taught her how to do a handstand (she failed spectacularly). She tried to climb onto his back and ended up dunking them both. They raced to a distant buoy and back he won, obviously, but he let her claim victory anyway because the look on her face was worth it.
By the time they dragged themselves back to shore, they were exhausted and starving.
Y/N wrung out her hair and dropped onto her towel, immediately reaching for the bag she'd brought. "I made sandwiches while you were asleep this morning."
Riki's eyes widened. "You made sandwiches?"
"Don't sound so surprised." She pulled out a neatly wrapped container and handed it to him. "Turkey and cheese. Your favorite."
He opened it and stared at the contents like she'd handed him gold.
"You're an angel," he said solemnly. "A literal angel."
She laughed, unwrapping her own sandwich, and they ate in comfortable silence, watching the waves and the slowly growing crowd on the beach.
He caught her looking at him once with a soft smile on her face.
"What?" he asked, mouth half-full.
"Nothing." She shook her head, still smiling. "You just look really cute right now. Like a little boy eating at the beach."
He scowled, but there was no heat in it. "I'm not cute."
"So cute," she sang. "My tall, scary boyfriend, eating his sandwich like a little kid."
He lunged at her, and she shrieked, scrambling away, but he caught her easily and pulled her into his lap, sandwich forgotten.
"Say it again," he growled against her neck.
"You're—ah!—you're cute—"
He tickled her until she couldn't breathe, until she was gasping and laughing and begging him to stop. Only then did he release her, pulling her back against his chest with a satisfied smirk.
"I hate you."
"You asked for this."
She didn't answer. Just tilted her head back and kissed his jaw.
After they finished eating, Y/N's eyes caught on something in the distance.
"Riki." She grabbed his arm. "Riki, look—ice cream!"
He followed her gaze to a small stand near the boardwalk, brightly colored and already attracting a small crowd.
She turned those eyes on him again, and he was absolutely powerless. "Please please please can we get some?"
He sighed dramatically. "Fine."
She was already on her feet, pulling him up.
The ice cream was cold and sweet and perfect.
She got strawberry. He got chocolate. They walked along the water's edge, barefoot, trading licks and laughing when the other tried to take too big a bite.
He was mid-lick when a drop of melted chocolate slid down his chin and dripped onto his collarbone.
"Shit--," he started to say and then she was there.
Warm. Soft. Her tongue trailing up from his collarbone to his jaw, catching the last of the chocolate.
He froze.
She pulled back like nothing had happened, taking another lick of her strawberry ice cream, and kept walking.
"Yah," he managed, voice strangled. "Y/N."
She glanced back, innocent as anything. "What?"
"You—that—" He gestured vaguely at his entire body. "You can't just—"
She smiled sweetly. "Can't just what, baby?"
He stared at her, ice cream dripping forgotten down his hand, and felt his entire face go red.
This woman is going to kill me.
And then he felt something else.
Oh no. Not now. Not here.
He was already half-hard from watching her in that bikini all morning. The ice cream thing had pushed him dangerously close to full attention. He quickly angled his body away, praying she wouldn't notice.
"Mmm," she said knowingly, eyes flicking down for just a second. "Looks like someone liked that."
"Shut up," he muttered, ears burning.
She laughed, bright and beautiful, and grabbed his free hand. "Come on. Let's go back to our towels."
They settled back onto the towels, and Riki pulled out his Polaroid camera : the one he'd bought on their LA tour and hadn't been able to stop using since.
"Hold still," he said, aiming it at her.
She posed immediately, propping herself up on one elbow, looking every inch the vision she was. He snapped the photo, and it whirred out, slowly developing.
"Let me see!" She reached for it, and he let her, watching as her face softened at the image.
"Woah i look pretty today" she murmured.
"You always look pretty," he said without thinking.
She looked up at him, eyes warm. Then she set the photo down and opened her arms. "Come here."
He went willingly, curling up beside her on the too-small towel, one arm draped across her stomach, head resting on her shoulder.
"Riki?" she said softly.
"Mm?"
"Today has been really perfect."
He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." She was quiet for a moment, fingers running through his damp hair. "It's the first time in a long time I've forgotten about... everything. All the stress. All the problems. Just... been here. With you."
His heart clenched.
"Me too," he admitted quietly. "This is probably the best day I've had in years. Maybe ever."
She turned her head, kissing the top of his head. "Really?"
He nodded against her. "I forget about everything when I'm with you. The schedules. The pressure. All of it. You make it stop."
Her hand stilled in his hair, and when he looked up, her eyes were shiny.
"I love you," she whispered.
He lifted himself up just enough to kiss her deeply.
When they broke apart, her hand had drifted to his thigh, fingers tracing gentle patterns on his skin. The touch was innocent, but everything else about the moment felt charged.
They stayed like that for a long time with the warmth of the sunset, the Polaroid photos slowly developing beside them capturing a moment of perfect happiness.
pairing: college basketball star! nishimura riki x reader
wc. 39.4k words YIKESSS longest fic i’ve written
cw. mutual pining, enemies to lovers to exes to lovers, rom-com-drama, a very charming riki, revenge plot (psychological sabotage, gaslighting, verbal degradation, mild obsession, public humiliation attempt, confrontations, manipulation of personal belongings, emotional manipulation), crying, accidental injury (basketball hit to face), sexual innuendo/locker-room misogyny, intense argument, swearing, another attempt of humor, banter, yearning ofc bc is it me if i didn't have the male lead down catastrophically?, morally grey characters and complex relationships, food and eating mention, college au (obvi)
synopsis: you never cared for athletes. but campus golden boy—riki nishimura—made ignoring him impossible. what begins as petty annoyance spirals into banter, tension, and a chemistry you can't help but acknowledge. until one overheard comment turns everything sour, sending you down a path of revenge, sabotage, and a clusterfuck of feelings you can't outrun anymore. and somewhere between revenge and regret, you and riki have to figure out whether you’re destined to destroy each other…or fall in love instead.
author's note: hi everyone!! literally everytime i'm about to post a fic i get extremely nervous bc i never know how it's going to be received. but please, have a little lenience. as some of you may know, i underwent an insane writer's block and do have frequent depressive episodes. this is me slowly but surely trying to get myself back together and trying new things. this is relatively rougher than my others and i'm not so confident in it but i love you guys regardless and how you've been supporting me. i will always say i am forever indebted and blessed to have such nice people on my blog!! so here's riki nishimura must die.
lightly based on but heavily inspired by: john tucker must die (2006)
disclaimer: i do not condone half of the shit happening in this fic. as you know, i always promote positive and safe relationship dynamics in my work but again, trying something new. reader's discretion is advised.
You didn’t understand sports.
For the life of you, you couldn’t wrap your brain around the hype that went into it. The screaming, the ragebaiting, the rioting, the gambling. None of it made sense to you. You’ve seen the animals it turns people into and it makes you not even want anything to do with that type of crowd. Though, you do respect athletes. The time, hard work, and discipline it takes to be that good at something is so profound and honestly, you can’t help but applaud. However, there was someone—rather, something—that respected athletes more than you. That was Decelis University. Your school, your university as a matter of fact.
Nationally ranked, Division I, Decelis University ran alongside heavy hitters in the college sports scene alongside schools such as UConn, Purdue, St. John’s, Florida, Duke, the like. Decelis didn’t just respect athletes, they built shrines for them. Kissed the ground they walked on and worshipped them like some sorts of heavenly figures. Nothing was bigger than sports. Not finals week, not homecoming, not even free weekly food trucks on the quad. Game nights shut the whole campus down—professors excused absences, the bookstore stocked special merch, and students camped outside the arena like it was Coachella. And at the center of it all was Mr. Riki Nishimura.
Six-foot nothing-but-trouble, starting point guard, baby-faced assassin with a highlight reel that ESPN couldn’t stop drooling over. The kind of guy who could miss class for two weeks straight and still have professors grinning at him when he finally walked in. Though his frame didn’t scream trouble, his game said otherwise. His playing style was all crossovers and footwork, the kind that had commentators whispering words like Kyrie Irving and generational talent. He didn’t just play basketball. He performed it.
If Riki were a heavenly figure, he’d be Christ.
To you, he was just a regular human being. Why exalt someone that did nothing to benefit you personally? Did he cure world hunger? Leak the cure for cancer—because you could promise one exists. Build homes for displaced families? Relieve students of crippling debt? Anything? The answer is no. So why? Why? Why do athletes make more than doctors? Teachers? Why do people that save the world and make positive contributions to society not get even a sixteenth of the recognition of those that run up and down a court or field for a living? That, you couldn’t find the answer to.
But besides that, Riki was everywhere. It was freaky, seeing his face plastered in various campaigns beside other college athletes. You couldn’t even walk into the dining hall without Riki’s face smirking at you from a Gatorade cutout. He was on billboards, a few campus shuttles, hell—probably someone’s phone wallpaper. You could almost see his New Balance campaign now, how many times you came across it. And the stupid slogan, hearing him say: “Nishimura. New Game. New Balance.”
Okay, while the line was kind of clean—it was just him that pissed you off.
And it was insane because you never even met this guy to judge him. While you were in proximity to him, your best friends being cheerleaders and sharing the terrifyingly large court with them—you really had nothing bad to say about his character. For all you knew, Riki could be an amazing guy with an even more amazing personality. But you never knew him, never spoke to him, never even locked eyes with this guy if it weren’t via an obnoxious billboard. You’d never seen this man play. Every time you stumbled on a highlight, you swiped away. He didn’t do shit to you, you simply hated the hype around athletes. Around sports in general.
Even in basketball, it was all so negative. All the commentators and fans did was discuss the past. ‘Jordan this. LeBron that.’ And if not that, they’d find some way to bash a player they claim to love. If you love this player so much, why say they’re washed up? At least you could respect football fans—they were delusional behind their teams.
Still, you didn’t hate Riki. Didn’t even dislike him.
Not until today.
—
Like most days, you sat in the Decelis Arena. Right on one of the bleachers in the student section. Your best friends, Yasmin and Bella, were cheerleaders and shared the arena with the basketball team most weekdays. So you hung out there, got some work done as you watched your girls from their side of the floor. The coach never said anything, it was an open practice as far as you were concerned. Plus you never gave them any issues. Never distracted, just stayed quiet and typed on your laptop—it was great. You got to be around your girls and be productive. The only downside was looking to the left and seeing the men’s basketball team.
But it wasn’t so bad to hear them get degraded while they were conditioning and running drills. The sound carried in the arena—sneakers squeaking, basketballs smacking the hardwood, coaches barking like drill sergeants. On the other end, your girls were bright and polished, high ponytails bouncing in perfect sync.
You sat tucked on the bleachers, typing away, invisible. As their practice came to an end, the men kept going. But Yasmin and Bella walked up to you and you felt them before you heard them. Thus, you closed your laptop as you peered up at them with a bright smile.
“You guys look dazzling as ever,” you teased, though Yasmin’s mascara was halfway down her cheek and Bella looked one toe cramp away from retirement. They stopped in front of you, grinning but panting in exhaustion as they simultaneously wiped sweat off their foreheads. “Dude,” Bella huffed as she plopped next to you. “I can’t do—” Yasmin pointed at her fiercely. “I don’t wanna hear that shit, Bells. I told you. ‘Can’t’ isn’t—” “In our vocabulary,” you and Bella chorused, laughing at the girl’s optimism.
Yasmin Alamilla was one of the kindest, most supportive women you’ve had the pleasure of meeting. Always cheery (no pun intended), wise, and to be honest, at times her optimism when you were feeling low was almost annoying. Because how can one person just be so happy all of the time? But you loved her from the moment you met her and wouldn’t trade her for the world.
Bella Powell was the opposite. Sharp-tongued, dramatic, and stubborn in a way that could make you want to strangle her one second and hug her the next. She complained more than anyone you knew, but she was also the first to show up at your door with fries and milkshakes when you weren’t feeling it. Loyal to the bone—even if she’d never admit it out loud.
“Yeah, yeah whatever,” Yasmin rolled her eyes with a smile. “You’ll be thanking me later.” She leaned her head back as she sipped from her purple water bottle. Bella groaned as she helped you pack your stuff, holding your backpack open as she looked at the girl still standing. “I will thank you, just right now my body’s not thanking me.”
“Did you stretch beforehand?” you asked. The answer was no. But before she could admit it, a freshly pumped basketball came beaming across the court. It wasn’t a throw; it was a bullet. A missile. Before anyone could yell “Heads!” or even “Duck!” it was already too late. The ball cracked against the side of your face, cheek first, the sting blooming hot and instant. The sound was sickening, a hollow thwack that echoed louder in your head than in the gym.
Your vision tilted for a split second, your cheekbone pulsing like it might’ve cracked under the pressure. The ball ricocheted to the floor, rolling harmlessly now, but your cheek burned like fire. Yasmin’s gasp came first, Bella’s curse second. Your pencil pouch slipped from your hands, pens scattering. The feeling was akin to when you’re taking something out of the toaster oven and you accidentally touch the hot rack—only this time the burn wasn’t a split second. It felt everlasting.
As shock rang through the arena, you could hear a pin drop. And that wasn’t even the most embarrassing part—it was the collective “Ooh…” from the people around you. “Yo—” a voice cut through the chaos, low and sharp. Sneakers squeaked across the court as Riki jogged over, sweat still glistening down his temple. He scooped the ball up in one fluid motion, spinning it on his finger before tucking it under his arm like he hadn’t just nearly concussed you.
“You good?” His eyes flicked to your face—quick, but not quick enough to hide the way he lingered on your cheek. “I’m fine,” you lied through gritted teeth, pressing your palm against the sting. “Doesn’t look fine.” He crouched slightly to your level, smirk tugging at his lips even though his brows pinched with something closer to guilt. “Bet you’ll have the Wilson logo on your face for the next hour.” Bella shot him a glare. “Not funny, Riki.”
Riki turned his head to Bella, amused, then looked back at you—smirk faltering as his gaze locked on you again. “Seriously, though. You want ice?” Maybe you were just reading into things. And as someone who tended to take up the observer role, you truly felt in your heart of hearts that this guy was the asshole you thought he was. To make a joke out of your pain—and no one’s saying he had to call the national guard—but to spin the ball like he was putting on a show? Rage bloomed hot in your stomach.
“I’ll get my own,” you muttered. Riki’s smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth, that same infuriating confidence he always carried. “Next time,” he said, tossing the ball up and catching it effortlessly, “don’t sit so close.” And just like that, he pivoted, jogging back to drills, sneakers squeaking against the hardwood, leaving you to gather your pens and seething pride. You pressed your palm harder against your cheek, the sting sharp, and glared after him. Unbelievable.
The girls bent down to pick up your scattered pens and highlighters. Bella scoffed, “He’s such a dick sometimes. I’m so sorry, babes.” Yasmin frowned, brows creasing in worry. “That ball hit you something serious.” She handed you your fully stocked pouch. Tears brimmed your eyes. “I’m solid, this shit just hurts—Ow.” You hissed, leaning forward. “Here. Take this.” Yasmin rushed to grab Bella’s frozen water bottle and gently rubbed your back.
Yasmin gave you a soft, sympathetic look. “You really should’ve sat farther back. That kid’s got rockets for hands.”
You groaned, wincing as the sting radiated through your jaw. “Yeah, thanks for the tip,” you muttered under your breath, still glaring toward the court. Sure enough, Riki was back at it, running drills, tossing the ball between his teammates with that infuriating ease, smirking every time someone fumbled a pass.
“Ugh,” Bella muttered, nudging you. “You hate him already, don’t you?”
You didn’t answer immediately, your fingers tightening around the strap of your backpack. Hate was a strong word. But there was no denying the wrath that had just been lit inside you. Something about the way he’d spun that ball, flashed that smirk, and then walked away like none of it mattered…it was aggravating.
But you stood, your hand still glued to your cheek as you grabbed your bag. “I don’t hate. I detest. I resent. And I hold grudges because I’m childish.” You grit out, luckily the bottle gave you some relief.
And as the two of you walked out of the arena, you moved the bottle from your face for the first time, the air hitting the stinging sensation and making you wince. “Does one side of my face look fatter than the other?” You stopped midway on the sidelines to give them space to inspect you.
Bella squinted dramatically, tilting your chin this way and that like she was about to submit you to America’s Next Top Model. “Hmm. Honestly? You look like you just lost a round to Mike Tyson.”
“Bella!” Yasmin swatted her arm, glaring before softening as she leaned in. “It’s not that bad. A little rough, but the swelling isn’t obvious yet. Ice will help.”
“Yet?” you groaned, pressing the bottle back to your cheek like it was a lifeline. “Oh, fantastic. So tomorrow I’m gonna look like Quasimodo.”
Bella snorted, looping her arm through yours as you all started walking again. “A little bit, but at least you can brag that the Riki Nishimura was in your face and ice was involved.”
“Shut the hell up,” you laughed.
Yasmin shook her head, trying not to smile. “You’re impossible, Bella.”
“Impossible but not wrong,” Bella sing-songed, squeezing your arm. “Half the girls on campus would kill to have him that close, even if it meant getting smacked with a ball.”
Yasmin smiled, “yeah but those aren’t the balls they wanna be smacked with.”
You pointed to her with a dry look. “That’s disgusting.”
—
Next week
—
You returned to their practice despite debating even coming back to this place ever again. But this time you took the Head Huncho’s advice and did in fact sit a little higher up on the bleachers. The girls were getting changed and in the meantime, you got set up on the bleachers. Typical stuff. Laptop, cola, and your person—you.
The arena was relatively silent as it was just you and the sound of you unzipping and settling into the spot you were gonna be occupying for the next hour or so. So you got to typing, chipping away at the Philosophy essay you had due in a week.
You heard footsteps coming your way and just assumed it was Yasmin—no one seemed to be as light on their feet as her.
“Forgot your water again?” you called without looking up, fingers still flying across your keyboard.
Except…no answer. Just the scrape of sneakers against the bleachers and a low chuckle that definitely didn’t belong to Yasmin.
Your head snapped up, and there he was—Riki Nishimura himself—standing two steps below you, spinning a basketball against his palm like he was born with it.
“Bold of you,” he said, smirk firmly in place, “to sit in the line of fire again. Thought you learned your lesson last week.”
You narrowed your eyes, instinctively bringing a hand to your cheek even though the swelling was long gone. You opened your mouth to respond but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Your jaw clicked as you turned back to your computer.
He didn’t stop though, he just got closer. “How’s your face? I got you good didn’t I?”
“Fine,” you said robotically.
“Really?” He tilted his head, not seeming convinced.
“Really.”
“Hm…” He nodded, the same smirk planted on his face. “Did you sleep on your right side for a few days?” He tested, letting his words hang with a teasing undertone.
You sucked in a breath, fingers hovering uselessly over the keyboard as you turned to glare at him. “Do you go around asking random girls about their sleeping positions, or am I just lucky?”
Riki’s grin widened, infuriatingly boyish. “You’re funny.” He let out a small laugh, taping his fingers mindlessly—like this was second nature. Because it was.
“You really are as insufferable as they say.”
“And you,” he said, pointing the ball at you like a teacher with a chalk stick, “sit through two hours of sweaty practices when you probably don’t even like basketball. Which, respectfully, makes you insufferable.”
Your face was plagued with repulsion. “I’m here because my friends are cheerleaders. I’m here for them. There’s people whose world doesn’t revolve around you, you know?” You scoff. “Fuck off, seriously.” Going back to your laptop, you angrily type. Your keyboard one more click away from not having a letter F.
“Yes…Bella and Yasmin.” He hums as he points at you with a knowing look. “I like them. Both very beautiful girls.”
You ignored him because he hadn’t said anything untrue. But in any case, he needed to tread lightly when mentioning your friends.
“They are,” you said flatly, eyes glued to your screen.
Riki tilted his head, smirk tugging wider as if he’d caught a flicker of irritation in your tone. “Relax. I wasn’t hitting on them.” He spun the ball in his hands, the squeak of rubber filling the silence before he added, “Not my type.”
You arched a brow, finally glancing at him. “Oh, so you have a type?”
His grin was infuriating. “Don’t we all?”
“Careful,” you sing song. “New Balance wouldn’t want to know you’re out here objectifying women instead of selling sneakers.”
He huffed out a laugh, “cute, cute. You’re very cute.” Riki bounced the ball between his legs haphazardly, lifting a leg cavalierly as he looked at you. “You know, I really like girls like you. Girls that don’t like me. Turns me on.”
“Oh my gosh, I never told you. But I write my name with yours in my notebook every single night before I go to sleep. I’m in love with you.” You deadpanned, saying this with no inflection whatsoever.
For a second he actually froze, like you’d handed him an unexpected plot twist. Then the grin came back—slow, smug, all teeth. He bounced the ball twice before holding it steady in his hands. “Is that right? Interesting bedtime ritual.”
You felt your stomach do a stupid little flip and immediately hated it.
“You know what?” he continued, like he was considering the absolute worst and most entertaining idea. “I like a challenge.”
You raised a brow. “Do you now?”
“I do.” He tapped the ball once, twice. “Let’s see how long it takes me to make you say that without the sarcasm.”
“I’d sooner die.”
“That’s the only thing that keeps me going.” He moves back. “Keep that pretty face safe for me.” He waves, batting his eyes as he jogs to the other side of the court. Dribbling the ball and swiftly passing it to one of his teammates, laughing with them as they overhear his teasing.
And still, that seething rage in your stomach hasn’t left in over a week.
It still persists. Even more so now.
—
Later that day
—
It was a nice, peachy evening. Clouds akin to cotton candy and the sun a cute lollipop in the sky. Bella and Yasmin were headed back to their dorms to get ready for bed. If they valued anything it was their beauty sleep. Which…real.
You, however, couldn’t enjoy your night. No. Not even in the slightest. In just twenty short minutes, you had a class. Never did you think you’d be one of the people taking an evening class, but your registration slot was less than favorable.
But some good music and walking off your heavy dinner was enough to keep your mood up. You zipped your hoodie up tighter as the evening breeze picked up, tugging at stray strands of hair that had escaped your ponytail. The sidewalks were practically empty, the campus bathed in that soft, peach-and-lollipop light that made everything look harmless. But you weren’t harmless. Not tonight. Not when every memory of Riki Nishimura—grinning, teasing, infuriating—was still pressed into your brain like a damn watermark.
You hated that he was everywhere. Again, in the dining hall right on the fountains—his jersey number—three—next to a Gatorade logo. Now, as you’re walking—a shuttle passes.
He was unavoidable, his every being plagued your existence and before it was used to just be a ‘whatever, this is just annoying’ kind of way. But because he seemed to know you now, and target you in some way—it escalated from annoyance to near disdain.
But of course, it seemed like you couldn’t think about him without it costing you.
He smoothly stepped right in front of you—a smile as bright as the sun—cutting you off in your path. “Hey girl,” It honestly seemed like he came from nowhere and you stopped short, bumping right into his chest.
He smelled like fresh laundry and faint cologne, the kind that lingered just enough. Worse, his chest was warm, solid—completely unfair. Head to toe in the signature New Balance sweats—grey—with the popular 530s to match. Very typical of him.
You looked up at him, and this was the first time you’d seen him really up close. Upright that is. He wasn’t as small as the camera, or as huge as the cutout—or even his ego—made him seem. Granted, he was tall. Standing a solid six foot one. Beside his teammates, he was shorter. Which made sense, you didn’t need to be extremely tall to be a point guard—you knew that much.
He carried the duality of a superstar and a regular guy all at once. Nothing about him was special yet, every last thing about him is. But you didn’t dare fix your lips to say anything remotely positive about him.
You pursed your lips and sighed in defeat, not even having the energy for this at the moment—you quietly brushed past him without another word. But you didn’t make it very far, he was much faster than you ever were.
“Ooh, not so fast, mama.” He quickly stepped in front of you, holding his hands up in defense as you bumped into him again.
So in response, you stepped to the left.
He also stepped to the left.
You stepped to the right.
He also stepped to your right.
You tapped your foot in frustration, nostrils flaring as you glared at him. Eyes narrowing when you saw the feign of ennui on his face. “I’m very good at this game…” He frowned, sighing as he waited for you to break.
You lifted your non-dominant hand and checked your watch. You had less than fifteen minutes to get to your class and you didn’t have time to waste. With a groan, you looked back at him. “What the fuck do you want?”
The smile he greeted you with reappeared as he clasped his hands together. “Okay so…I wanted to apologize.”
“Apology accepted,” you nodded curtly as you brushed past him once more. He still reminded you that he wasn’t letting you go just yet. You sped walked in the direction of your class and he followed closely beside—his long legs eating up the space between you without another breath.
“Wait, I’m not done.” He matched your pace as he looked down at you. “Just let me get my shit off then I’ll leave you alone forever.”
“Why do I feel like I’m not the only girl that’s heard that before?” You peered up at him with a sarcastic smile.
Riki nodded slowly, accepting the jab. “Okay. Well, I just wanted to say I was sorry for being so rude to you. I should’ve been more careful—while my pass wasn’t terrible, my teammate didn’t catch it and it just happened to hit you—”
“Why’re you blaming others in the midst of your own apology?” You scoffed as you turned a corner to go to the lecture hall.
Before he could open his mouth, someone from afar shouted his name out. “Hey Riki!”
You instinctively turned your head the opposite direction. Not because you thought people would give a fuck—they most likely wouldn’t. It just seemed to be reflexive—you didn’t have much of an explanation for it. Almost like the one-off, fictitious bubble you thought you had with him burst and you couldn’t look at anything but the bushes to bring you back to reality.
Two people pulled up beside you two in a golf cart. Riki’s mood perked up as he greeted them. “Oh, hi guys,”
“Where you headed?”
Riki turned his head to you. “Where you going?” He said lowly, obviously taking your shyness into account.
Your eyes flit to the side then back to his gaze. “South Hall.”
He turned to the pair—two girls—with a bright smile on his face. “South Hall.”
The girls leaned over the steering wheel, beaming. “Hop in! We’ll give you a ride.”
Before you could wave them off, Riki’s hand landed lightly at the small of your back, steering you forward. “Perfect. We’re headed that way.”
Your head snapped up at him. We?
The girls brightened instantly, scooting their bags to make space on the back seat. “Yeah, climb in! Saves you the walk.”
You opened your mouth to protest—no way were you getting chauffeured across campus like his plus-one—but Riki was already sliding into the cart with that casual ease, patting the seat beside him like this was your cue.
“I’m fine walking—” you started.
The girl driving, her nametag reading Sydney—waved you off. “Girl, please. It’s nothing, we’re headed that way anyway.”
“Yeah, they’re already headed that way.” Riki smirked as he watched you step onto the cart. His hands up subconsciously to be ready to catch you if you slipped.
You settled into the tan leather seats. “Thank you, girls, I appreciate it.” You nodded with a small smile on your lips, clutching your bag tighter than necessary. Sydney grinned back at you in the rearview mirror, while her friend—Maya, judging by the lanyard swinging around her neck—twisted halfway in her seat to wave you off.
“Of course! We know how far South Hall is. Nobody should have to trek that after dinner.” The cart kicks as you pull off, breezing past the landscape and contemporary architecture. Paid for courtesy of the money that the athletics teams brought in from various donors and student dollars.
“Especially not after getting smacked in the face with a ball,” Riki added, leaning back like he owned the whole cart.
You shot him a look so sharp it could’ve cut glass. “You love bringing that up, don’t you?”
“History’s important,” he replied smoothly. “If I don’t remind you, who will?”
Maya giggled like he’d just delivered the funniest punchline of the century. You swore half the school was under his spell.
“Honestly, Riki’s right,” Maya said. “That pass was crazy. You didn’t even cry though. Respect.”
You pressed your lips together, fighting the urge to explain yourself. Because the truth was, you had flinched—you just did it internally where no one could see. But now, thanks to Riki, your little moment of public humiliation had become folklore. “You saw it?”
Maya nodded, “yeah, I’m the basketball coach’s assistant. Well I didn’t see it but I, for sure, heard it.”
“The smack heard around the world—” Riki laughed, curling into himself as you slapped his rock-solid arm. “Shut up,” you hissed, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.
Maya reassured you, “it’s okay. It’s contained. Only a few people saw it.” She shrugged, “the amount of times the guys on the team themselves have been hit is like…”
“Incalculable.” Sydney chimed in as she made a left turn, breezing past other walking students. You frowned at the sight, you wish you could fit them all in the vehicle.
“Totally,” Riki added. “You remember that game against Boston when Jay—”
“I’ve never seen any of the games.” You interjected, narrowly inspecting your nails—but as soon as you said that the cart almost jerked to a full stop.
Sydney’s head whipped around, eyes wide. “You what?”
Maya gasped, clutching her chest like you’d just told them you hated puppies. “You’ve never—ever?”
The cart slowed as a group of students crossed, giving Riki the perfect stage to swivel toward you, brows lifted in mock offense. “Hold on.” His voice was calm, but his expression was all wounded pride. “You’ve been sitting in my arena, my practices, for how long—and you’ve never watched a single game?”
You blinked at him. “I’m there for the cheer practices. Riki—I’ve never even seen you do more than dribble the ball.”
“How is that possible?” He furrowed his brows.
You frowned in thought. “I just never paid any mind to your side of the floor. I just…look where the girls are or my laptop. Mostly my laptop.”
They finally pulled up to the lecture hall. Both you and Riki slid out—thanking Sydney and Maya as you did. “Good luck, girlie.” Sydney gave one last smile before speeding off ahead. It went by a lot faster than you thought.
By this point, the two of you stood on the sidewalk right in front of South Hall. Taking in the silence for the moment as you both looked at the horizon. The sun melted behind the glass neuroscience building. Causing the both of you to turn your gaze to each other as the light reflected into your eyes. The moment Riki did, he grinned. “Okay. You can stop acting cool, no one’s around.” He whispered. “I know you’ve seen me play—one of my games at least.”
You slowly shook your head. “I swear I haven’t.”
He conceded, “Fine. Well…as I was saying before we were interrupted. I’m sorry for hitting you with the ball last week. It was an accident, and I also apologize for being a bit of a dick to you.”
You squinted up at him, arms crossed. “A bit of a dick?”
Riki laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “A little bit…” He pinched his fingers together. You gave him a look as you waited for him to take it back. Letting his words simmer. “Not even just the tip?”
You sighed, running your hands over your face. “Boy, if you don’t get the fuck out of my face—”
“I’m sorry, okay, okay!” He laughs as he waves his hands in front of your face. “I was joking…”
“Mmm…” you tilted your head at him, your heart beating a bit faster than it was before this conversation began.
He pursed his lips as he smiled down at you. A glint in his eyes that you don’t recognize. “I have an idea.”
“What?”
“As a token of my apology, I want to invite you to my next game.”
You stared at him like he’d just suggested a blood pact. “Absolutely not.”
“C’mon.” His grin widened, like he’d been expecting that answer. “Front row, VIP. I’ll even have your name on the pass list. You don’t even have to cheer for me.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Fine, then come and boo. Loud. Make a sign if you want—‘Down with Nishimura’ or something.” He mimed holding up a poster, his expression all faux-serious. “I’ll wave at you from the free throw line.”
You snorted despite yourself, quickly covering it with a cough. “Why would I waste my Friday night watching sweaty dudes run back and forth?”
“Because sweaty dudes running back and forth is basically my art form,” he shot back smoothly. Then he tilted his head, eyes narrowing just a little. “Besides…you owe me.”
Your brows furrowed. “For what?”
“For traumatizing me,” he said without hesitation. “Do you know how much it hurts when someone tells you they’ve never seen your masterpiece?”
“That’s something called ego.”
He leaned in, close enough that his voice dropped into something teasingly low. “Same difference.”
For a beat, you just stared at him, pulse tripping traitorously. “Dream on, Riki.” You turned, reaching for the heavy doors of South Hall, but his voice caught you right before you slipped inside.
“One game,” he called out, tone softer now. “Just one. If you hate it, I’ll never bother you again.”
You froze, hand on the handle. He had to know you weren’t the type to fold under pressure—so why did his voice sound less like a challenge and more like a genuine ask?
Slowly, you glanced back. He was standing there with his hands shoved into his sweats, rocking back on his heels, watching you with a grin that wasn’t entirely smug.
You squinted. “You expect me to believe that? You’ll leave me alone?”
He pressed a hand over his heart, feigning sincerity. “Scout’s honor.”
“You’ve never been a scout in your life.”
“Exactly, so I’ve got nothing to lose,” he said easily. “C’mon. You sit in the bleachers twice a week anyway. This time, you get a show.”
You opened your mouth to shoot him down again—but the words got stuck. Maybe it was the sunset painting him in gold, maybe it was the echo of his laugh still buzzing in your chest, maybe it was the faint thrill of saying yes when every fiber of you wanted to say no.
You saw why people liked him. When he wasn’t being a pompous, meat for brains, insipid asshole—Riki could be described in a very simple word: charismatic. Everything that he is, does, seems to rub people the right way. But the fact that it took over a week to get a full apology from him always rang in the back of your mind.
“C’mon mama, wherever you need to be, you only have five minutes.” He sang, as he glanced at his blue Superman watch.
You didn’t want to be bought by him, this was just some sick foreplay, if any. He said it himself, he likes people—girls—like you. The ones that despise him and aren’t so easily won. He probably thinks you two are flirting—he has been. You haven’t—not intentionally that is.
The last week has shown you the type of person he is. He’s rude, careless, inconsiderate and for sure undeserving of your time. “Quick question.”
He looked up at you, lifting his brow. “Talk to me.”
“Those girls that drove us, Sydney and…Maya. How do you know Sydney?” You pulled the sleeves of your zip-up over your wrist.
Riki cocked his head to the side, “she’s Maya’s girlfriend. Why?”
Okay so, that didn’t exactly satisfy the answer you wanted.
But this is the problem, you wanted so badly to catch him in something. To see if someone was going to pop out of the bushes and tell you that you’ve been Punk’d. That you were a fool for even thinking that one of the most prolific basketball stars this university’s ever seen wanted your time and attention. But he seemed to. Or maybe it was his guilt. You couldn’t tell.
And that was what was eating you alive. That you couldn’t tell. But curiosity was a bitch and maybe Friday night could’ve been for you.
As you looked at him again, he was already looking at you. “So?” He smiled gently, hopeful glints in his eyes.
You sighed, “how do I buy the ticket?” You throw up your hands in defeat as you look to the side and up at the nearly set sun.
“Yes!” He cheered, pumping a fist in the air like he’d just hit a buzzer beater. Opening his arms wide, “can I give you a hug?”
You narrowed your eyes at him, arms crossing tighter. “Absolutely not.”
“C’mon, mama, I earned it,” he pleaded, arms still spread like he was about to embrace the whole campus. “You just admitted you’re coming to see me.”
“I admitted nothing,” you corrected, stepping around him toward the South Hall doors. “All I said was I need a ticket.”
“That’s the same thing.” He jogged to keep up with you, a grin plastered across his face. “In fact, it’s even better—you asked me for one. That’s like—” He paused, holding his hands out like he was framing a painting. “—a confession of interest.”
You stopped, deadpan. “I’m not interested,”
“And yet, hater,” he said, tapping his temple as if he’d solved world hunger, “I’ll see you Friday.”
Before you could come up with a scathing comeback, the bell tower chimed the hour. You groaned, clutching your bag. “I’m late. Thanks for that.”
“Thank me later,” he called as you hurried inside. And when you risked one last glance over your shoulder, he was still standing on the steps—hands in his pockets, that infuriating grin aimed right at you like he’d already won.
And maybe, just maybe, a tiny part of you worried he had.
—
“Wait what?! Riki invited you to his game?!”
“Say that any louder would you?” You threw your hands up in irritation as Yasmin’s eyes bulged out of her skull at the news.
Bella covered her mouth, stifling a laugh as she flipped the waffle maker open. “Wait—hold on, hold on.” She pointed the spatula at you like it was a gavel. “You, you, the number-one Riki Nishimura hater on campus, got personally invited by the man himself, and you said yes?”
You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “I didn’t say yes, I just…didn’t say no.”
“That’s a yes,” Yasmin gasped, and she quietly clapped her hands. “Oh my gosh, you’re going to a game! Our little cynic is finally embracing school spirit!”
The dining hall was typically bustling around this time. Early in the morning, people want to load up on breakfast and catch up with friends before the inundating life of college consumes them. You, Yasmin, and Bella met up at nine AM for breakfast every single morning, no exceptions. Ten on weekends.
“Fuck the school, fuck the spirit.” You groaned. “I’m going because he wouldn’t shut up about it. It’s a one-time thing. A pity acceptance.”
Bella raised a brow. “A pity acceptance is still an acceptance, babe.”
The waffle maker dinged. She lifted the lid and slid a perfect golden square onto her plate, smirking as she doused it in syrup. “Honestly? I’m proud. You’re about to see the campus cult leader in his natural habitat.” She immediately doubled back to put more mix in the press. You and Yasmin always split a waffle.
The beautiful, olive skinned girl squealed again. Grabbing your hands and interlocking them. “This is huge! You’re gonna love it—the lights, the crowd, the energy—”
“The egos,” you cut in, tugging your hands back.
“The athleticism,” Yasmin countered, unfazed. “And hey, if you don’t like the game, at least the cheer squad will look amazing. I’ll even throw in a wink just for you.”
You wrapped an arm around both girls’ shoulders, to which they rested their heads on yours. “At least I’m guaranteed some type of joy. Seeing my hot friends in their cute cheer outfits.”
Bella laughed, rubbing your tummy as she lifted herself up to check your waffle. “I’ll even give you a lap dance if you ask nicely.”
“Bella!” Yasmin swatted her with the back of her hand, laughing so hard her mascara almost smudged.
“What?” Bella grinned, cutting your shared waffle with surgical precision.
You snorted into your mango juice. “If Riki’s game is even half as entertaining as this breakfast, maybe I’ll survive.”
“Oh, you’ll more than survive,” Yasmin said confidently. “You’re gonna be converted.”
“Is this guy really that good?” You grabbed two plates for the two and slid them to Bella.
The two girls nodded in unison. “Putting all dickhead-ism aside, babes. He’s extremely good.” Bella said as she put the halves on both plates.
Yasmin nodded, as you both walked back to your table. “Yeah, it’s freaky. I don’t know, but you’ll see Friday.” She shrugged as you sat at your table.
Bella pointed her fork at you. “You’re gonna hate how much you agree with her.”
Before you could fire back, a shadow fell across the table.
“Agree with who?”
You nearly choked on your strawberry. Yasmin yelped so loud half the dining hall turned. And Bella? She smacked her fork down like she was about to get very violent.
Standing there, plate balanced casually in one hand, was Riki Nishimura himself. Grinning like the devil.
“Don’t do that!” Yasmin scolded, clutching her chest.
“Do what?” he asked innocently, setting his plate down at the table behind yours. He placed his hand on the back of your chair—something weirdly intimate. You couldn’t assess the feeling. But you felt his body heat radiate off of him.
Bella and Yasmin knew Riki in passing. The basketball team and their cheerleaders—the team that the girls were a part of—were familiar with one another. From the university standpoint, the cheerleaders would hype up the crowd, boost morale, the works. On the other end, a lot of them would date other athletes. Which sounds cliche in hindsight.
Riki ‘dated’ many cheerleaders in his day, mostly during high school. Now, he’s calmed down—only having screwed around with three of them in his years at Decelis. Three in two years isn’t that terrible.
But that was the thing with Riki, he screwed. That’s all he could do. Wanted to do, really. He knew the power he held here and what man wouldn’t enjoy the flock of women that threw themselves at his feet? Especially when his status was what it was.
Riki would make it clear that he didn’t want anything more with them. Abundantly clear that it was just sex, nothing more or less. But of course, there would be a few that would try to change him. Claim him, go around saying things about him that weren’t true to scare other girls out of dating him. Once he started getting attention, sponsorships, ESPN coverage, he couldn’t risk his image being tainted at the hands of a one night stand. From his perspective, he’d rather get in trouble for things he did on his own than something someone else said. Especially if it weren’t true.
Besides that, the girls and him essentially ran in the same circles. Plus, Yasmin and one of the other basketball guys had a one-off fling. Brief, fruitless, literally lasted three weeks. Bella was pretty and Riki was sort of eyeing her for a minute, but that crush died. Nothing that Bella did, he just saw you.
“Nothing. Do nothing, Riki.” You looked up at him with a sarcastic smile. “What do you want?”
“Oh, I love the welcome wagon.” He nodded curtly as he lightly, very playfully punched your arm. “Just wanted to remind you that Friday shall not be forgotten.”
Yasmin smiles, “it’s not! We were just talking about yo—” Bella immediately kicked her leg, roughly—nearly leaving a bruise. Yasmin’s yelp turned into a strained laugh, way too high-pitched. “—yo, yogurt. We were just talking about yogurt.”
The blonde nodded affirmatively, slowly but going with what the girl writhing in pain said. “Uh-huh. Strawberry yogurt. Very…important conversation.”
Riki squinted, biting into his toast with suspicious slowness. “Yogurt. Right.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “You guys know you’re terrible liars, right?”
Bella shoved a piece of waffle into her mouth to avoid answering. Yasmin’s eyes darted everywhere but him. And you? You just stared back at him, unimpressed.
“Relax,” Riki grinned, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “If I wanted to eavesdrop, I’d sit at this table, not behind you. Though—” His knuckles rapped against the back of your chair again, teasing. “This seat has its perks.”
Bella groaned into her plate. Yasmin kicked her under the table this time.
You rolled your eyes. “Don’t you have a young woman’s life to ruin?”
He quirked his brows, stealing a slice of kiwi from your plate. “Who, like yours?”
Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
Riki just chewed the kiwi like he hadn’t just thrown a grenade on the table. “I’m saying—” he gestured vaguely with his fork, “—you’re acting like I’ve got a whole victim list when clearly…” His eyes slid to you, gleaming. “…you’re volunteering.”
Bella choked on her waffle. Yasmin slapped her back, sputtering. “Who do you think you are?”
“What? I’m clarifying,” he said innocently, though the corner of his mouth was doing that thing—the smug almost-smile that made your blood heat. Then, without another word, he grabs a chair and his plate from the table he had the food on. Getting comfy as he set himself up. “I’m so sorry I just love girl chat.” He squealed as he scooted inward and entirely too close to you.
Bella’s head snapped up. “Did…did you just squeal?”
“I did.” Riki leaned his elbow on the table, grinning like a cheshire cat. “I’m very in touch with my feminine side.”
Yasmin looks at you with a disappointed sigh, “I see what you were talking about.”
Your fork froze mid-air. “Wow. Betrayal this early in the morning?”
Yasmin just shrugged helplessly, sipping her coffee. “I’m sorry,”
Riki gasped, clutching his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. “You’ve been slandering me before I even sat down?”
Bella stabbed her waffle with unnecessary force. “We didn’t need to. You do it all yourself.”
He turned to you then, eyes glinting, completely ignoring the other two. “So that’s the verdict? I walk in here, innocent, just trying to enjoy my kiwi—”
“You mean my kiwi?” You gesture to your nearly cleared off plate of fruit.
“It’s not like you were eating the shit.” He reached in, going for the last few slices. But before he could, you turned the bowl—bringing it out of his reach. Riki froze mid-reach, his hand hovering in the air.
Without any effort, he reached down to the leg of your chair—pulling you closer into his side with the strength of a singular arm. Your heart skipped, and you yanked back slightly, more surprised than scared. “Hey! What—”
Riki didn’t budge, just leaned forward to grab the bowl. “What?” His eyes flicked to the bowl of fruit, then back to you, unrepentant as he tested you. Dared you to speak again in a teasing way.
Bella and Yasmin froze mid-bite, their expressions somewhere between horror and fascination. Yasmin whispered, “Uh…maybe…maybe intervene?”
Bella just buried her face in her hands. “Nope. Not my problem.”
—
Friday came faster than you thought it ever could. Which is strange because any other week goes by excruciatingly slow for you. Greatly enough, you didn’t figure out why. Maybe it was the thought of seeing Riki on the court, all energy and mild aggression personified, or maybe it was the memory of him cornering you over a damn kiwi bowl. Either way, you found yourself walking across campus, purse slung over one shoulder, feeling a mix of dread and curiosity that you didn’t entirely understand.
The arena loomed ahead, banners flapping in the evening breeze as crowds of people made their way inside. Your chest tightened, not from the usual anxiety of social situations, but from the knowing—knowing that he was here, somewhere in the midst of all that chaos, grinning like he owned the place.
After the interactions you had with him, you wondered if Riki ever got nervous before games. If he did some bizarre ritual or had a good luck charm like a pair of socks he wears every game that he hasn’t washed since he was ten.
Your lace-trimmed long sleeve was very cute and delicate, definitely not the “athlete-supportive” outfit anyone would expect at a basketball game—but somehow, it felt like armor. You tugged at the hem nervously, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach.
Inside, the arena buzzed with energy: the squeak of sneakers on the polished court, the rhythmic stomps and chants of the crowd, the banners waving overhead. Somewhere in the middle of it all, you knew Riki would appear larger than life, and honestly…the thought made your palms sweat.
He didn’t lie, there was a seat reserved right in the front row with your name on it.
You blinked at the small placard. Your name. Front row.
A mix of irritation and curiosity bubbled up. Who even does that? And yet…part of you couldn’t deny the thrill. Sliding into the seat, you felt the floor vibrate as the players warmed up, sneakers squeaking and balls thumping as the team warmed up.
Then you saw him moving across the court, every motion effortless, commanding, magnetic. Even from a distance, you could feel the energy radiating off him, drawing your gaze like gravity. He caught your eye for a brief second, slyly winking at you as he chewed on a mouthguard.
His attire was great. Yes, he wore the school colors—purple and white—on his uniform. A large number three at the center of both sides of his jersey. But on his right arm, he had a white arm sleeve. White finger tape decorating his fingers as on the opposite leg—his left—he had a leg sleeve. You’ve seen basketball players wear stuff like this, it seemed to be the style.
Your eyes scanned the middle of the court and you spotted Bella and Yasmin—dolled up and looking as gorgeous as ever as they sat on the sidelines. You beamed and immediately took out your phone to snap a photo of them. Oh-so-inconspicuously sending that photo in the group chat. An ‘I’m watching your every step’ message. Nothing too weird, you know.
The laugh in your throat bubbled as you broke out into a smile, and for a moment, the noise of the crowd faded into the background. Bella’s perfectly lined eyeliner, Yasmin’s gleaming hair, the way they leaned into each other as they whispered—you could practically hear the unspoken jokes.
Until it was time for tip-off.
—
The buzzer sounded, a sharp crack that made your chest skip a beat, and the ball soared into the air.
Riki lunged with impossible timing, leaping higher than anyone else, his arm sleeve flexing with the motion. The crowd erupted as he slammed the ball down with a satisfying thunk, immediately taking control of the game.
From your front-row seat, every movement was mesmerizing: the pivot of his legs, the effortless bounce of the ball, the way his jersey clung just right when he twisted mid-air. And, of course, the occasional glance your way—a subtle lift of the brow, a tilt of the head—just enough to remind you he knew you were watching.
Riki crouched low near half-court, dribbling the ball between his legs with that smooth, controlled rhythm that made it look effortless. His eyes flicked up, scanning the defense like a chess player anticipating every move. He didn’t rush—never all-out too early. Every feint, every subtle shift of his weight was calculated, teasing the defenders, building tension, like he was saving the real fireworks for the perfect moment.
A defender lunged, trying to predict his next move, but Riki only stayed focused, spinning the ball through a precise between-the-legs crossover. He leaned forward, eyes locked on the basket, energy coiled and measured, every step deliberate.
And then—explosion. He exploded past the defender, weaving through the chaos with that signature agility, rising for a perfect, graceful layup that made the crowd roar. Even in motion, his gaze flicked toward you, subtle and teasing, like he was daring you to blink.
—
He always took smart shots.
Surprisingly enough, Riki was far from a ball hog. He moved like a conductor through the chaos of the game, every dribble, pivot, and pass precise. He orchestrated plays, drawing defenders toward him and then slipping a perfect pass to a teammate cutting to the hoop—playing the point guard role perfectly. Every shot he took was calculated; every assist and pass, effortless. You watched, captivated, as he built the momentum of the game with a controlled fire that was both intimidating and magnetic.
Halfway through the second quarter, he caught the ball just inside the three-point line, eyes scanning, defenders breathing down his neck. He dribbled, a subtle hesitation, then spun between his legs, pivoting with that signature agility. A defender tried to stop him, but his shoulder grazed Riki just enough to make him stumble—foul called immediately.
He didn’t miss a beat. Rising for the layup, he absorbed the contact and still managed to sink it cleanly. The whistle blew—and one.
As he landed, he slapped his chest with that confident, masculine gesture, exhaling sharply, eyes glinting. The crowd clapped, teammates high-fiving him.Every move seemed designed to entertain as much as to dominate. He drew cheers from the crowd, coordinated plays with teammates, and every so often, that teasing glance toward you reminded you: this was also a show for you.
—
On defense, Riki was a pest. Annoying. The kind of player who never gave you room to breathe. He crouched low, arms wide, reading the offense like he had the playbook in his head before it even unfolded. Every time his opponent tried to drive, he cut them off with quick, sharp footwork, shadowing every step.
And when he went for a steal? Ruthless. One second the ball was in his opponent’s hands, the next Riki had stripped it clean, darting down the court. He didn’t just defend—he got under skin. By the third quarter, you could see the frustration written across the faces of the guys stuck dealing with him.
He thrived on it too. That sly grin crept back whenever a frustrated guard shoved into him a little too hard, trying to break free. He’d just shrug it off, tap his leg sleeve like try again, and lock back in.
Even from the front row, you could tell—he wasn’t just good. He was exhausting to play against.
—
There were a few times he should’ve got called for a technical foul but wasn’t. A few of the other guys on the team trash-talked. But Riki’s mouth was the worst. You could tell, just like the rest of them, that they got extremely competitive in the heat of the moment. Which was understandable, but you wondered. There have been many times you’ve seen women’s games and the refs have so much to say to them when they get snippy. But the guys are essentially having a dick swinging contest right before the entire country to see.
He’d get in the defenders’ faces, bump their shoulders. Take out his mouthguard specifically just to shit talk right in their faces. Whispering foul words to intimidate the player that you couldn’t make out.
The guilty part of you was sort of turned on by it, seeing Riki this way. This was the most masculine you saw him. Not the smug tease hovering over your shoulder in the dining hall. Not the boy grinning as he chased you up to class. Here, on the court, chest heaving, jaw tight, trash talk spilling easy—this was Riki in his rawest form. And you hated how much your stomach knotted watching it.
—
By the last thirty seconds, the gym was shaking. 126–126. Decelis ball. Everyone in the stands already knew where it was going—Riki. He dribbled up, face locked in that sharp, predator focus you’d never seen off the court. Two defenders closed in, practically climbing his back. The crowd roared, waiting for him to take the shot. Of course he would. He always did.
He didn’t.
At the last second, Riki snapped his wrist and swung the ball out to a teammate wide in the corner. Perfect pass. The kid launched it. Swish. Decelis up three.
The arena exploded, bodies leaping, the bench clearing to scream. Riki didn’t even crack a smile—just hit his chest once, hard, and pointed at his teammate like that’s you.
The other team scrambled for a last shot, missed, and the buzzer went off in a storm of whistles and screams. Decelis: 129. Them: 126.
Your ears rang as everyone flooded the court. Players crashing into each other, coaches losing their minds, fans pressed against the rails. And in the middle of it all was Riki, tall and shining and untouchable, sweat dripping down his jaw.
While you covered your ears, trying to ensure you didn’t lose your hearing at the tail-end of this event—you got it now. More than anything did you understand why these things weren’t just games. They were spectacles.
If people were like this for regular in-season games, imagine what the playoffs and (hopefully) championship games would be like. But besides that, you realized what made your pulse race wasn’t just the scoreboard or the roaring crowd—it was him.
Riki, standing there like the center of gravity, chest rising and falling, teammates mobbing him in a blur of jerseys. He hadn’t even taken the final shot, but everyone knew he’d been the engine. The conductor. The spark.
He accepted the praise, but he immediately found the kid that he passed to—hitting his chest as he nodded. Smiling through his mouth guard as they both had some weird, guy conversation.
Some celebratory music was playing from the arena speakers, as the fans cheered and stomped, the sound rattling through your bones. Players kept shoving Riki, grabbing his shoulders, hollering in his face like he’d just saved the world. He took it all with that cool, unbothered grin, dapping them up one by one.
But then, as the noise stretched on, he peeled away. Sweat dripping down his temple, jersey clinging, he jogged over to the scorer’s table. You frowned, watching as he grabbed the ball from the official’s hands, spinning it once in his palm like it belonged to him.
And then—of course—his gaze cut straight to you.
Your stomach twisted as he looked at you, expectantly—waiting for your approval. Waiting for your okay. For you to tell him how great he already knew he was. But he wanted to hear it—see it—from you.
Without a word, you nodded slowly—tipping your bag of sour gummies at him as you leaned back into your seat.
His grin widened around his mouth guard, sharp and almost childlike as he turned back to his teammates—doing cheesy celebratory dances as the arena cleared out.
You shook your head, laughing softly as you cleaned up your area. Grabbing the wrappers and water bottles you went through—you hated leaving messes for people to pick up when you were fully capable of doing it yourself.
As you walked to the trashcan that was about ten feet away, the girls wrapped their arms around you from either side. Bella’s perfume hit you first, sugary and strong, while Yasmin’s lip gloss smudged your cheek as she leaned in.
“Front row, huh?” Yasmin sing-songed, her grin wicked.
Bella gave you a look that said girl, explain, even as she pretended to focus on the giant foam finger she was waving.
“In my defense, I didn’t think I’d be put there.” You put your hands up, stepping back.
The blonde smiled, poking your arm. “Okay, WAG—”
“No!” You laughed, swatting her hand away. “Not WAG! I’m not—I didn’t—”
Yasmin’s grin widened, clearly loving your flustered flailing. “Relax, relax. We’re just saying, you know…front row. Big stage. Him.”
Bella snorted, waving the foam finger like a banner of proof. “Yeah, yeah, admit it—you enjoyed it.”
You rolled your eyes, tugging your bag higher on your shoulder. “I did. The game was good.” Nodding in thought, “y’all were right.”
Yasmin smiled, “see?! It’s so cute like, we all come together just to sit down and be in community and cheer and it just—”
“Okay Miss Frizzle,” Bella placed her hand onto the girl’s shoulder as you all shared a laugh. Bella tugged you guys close, hugging you both tightly. “Okay, so are we ever gonna have the conversation where we cover the fact that Riki totally wants you?”
You froze mid-step, the weight of Bella’s words hitting like a surprise full-court press.
Yasmin snorted behind her hand, eyes sparkling. “Ooh, she’s gonna deny it. Watch.”
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, trying for casual, but your voice betrayed you anyway.
Bella rolled her eyes, smirking. “Uh-huh. Totally casual. Front row, him looking like a Greek statue on the court, and he somehow looked in your general direction for most of the game? Totally casual. So friendly.”
You nodded, brushing your curls behind your ear. “Mhm, you said it, not me.”
They both give you a look. Sharing one with each other as they both moved you out of the way as there were flocks of people still trying to make their ways out of the arena in one piece. But you somehow forgot about their existence, this has been happening a lot to you the last few hours. And most of your life.
This sort of dissociation—only minding the people close to you. The ones you thought were special. Like today, you’d be in a sea of people and if you knew three—you kept them close to your chest. There’s been so many times where people would run into you, or come up to you and greet you and you’d not know who they were until they reminded you that you had your eleven-thirty history class with them and they sat right behind you.
This is why Riki crashing into your life these last two weeks has been so surreal for you. And maybe, just maybe, this might be the reason for your subconscious rejection of him. You never actually hated him, you understood that. You simply didn’t like that you and the entire university were being forced to like him simply because he was good at a sport.
By this point, the arena was empty sans for you three and some custodians that swept up the floor with pristine efficiency. Proving they’ve done this a thousand times over.
Yasmin opened her mouth to respond, yet she was interrupted by one of the girls calling from one of the double doors. “Bella! Yasmin! C’mon, Coach is making us take photos and we can’t go without you guys.”
The brunette nodded, “we’re coming!” She called out as she turned to look at you. “Be right back.” She whispered, hugging you tightly—kissing your cheek as she scampered off to the door.
Bella smiled as she watched Yasmin make a quick break for the doors. Turning back to you, she nodded to the door. “Wanna come?”
You shrugged a shoulder. “Sure I—” From the corner of your eye, you see a tall figure jogging toward you. The sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished floor pulled your attention, and before you could even finish your sentence, there he was. The man of the hour.
Still in his jersey, dried sweat sticking to his skin, his hair damp at the edges. He had ditched his mouthguard somewhere between celebrating and now, flashing that unbothered grin that made your pulse do a somersault. The ball was tucked under one arm like an extension of himself, and his pace—quick, determined—made it obvious: he wasn’t jogging toward anyone. He was jogging toward you.
Bella’s brows shot up, her lips curving into a slow, dangerous smile as she stepped aside like she knew she was witnessing a movie scene unfold. “Ohhh, this should be good,” she murmured, already backing toward the doors to “give you space” but absolutely intending to eavesdrop from ten feet away. She debated, but ultimately decided to go find the team before she had to run ten laps before next practice. “I’ll catch you later, love you.” She whispered, rubbing your shoulder before she scurried off.
Your feet stayed planted, though your mind screamed at you to do literally anything else. Riki slowed to a stop in front of you, chest rising and falling, eyes locked onto yours like Bella, the arena, the custodians didn’t exist. “Hi.”
Just that—soft, breathless, like he’d been holding it in all night and finally let it spill. He shifted the ball under his arm, free hand tugging at the hem of his jersey like it could keep him grounded. His eyes, though, weren’t grounded at all—they were skating across your face, memorizing, cataloguing, daring you to look away.
“Congrats,” you managed, your voice a little too high, a little too airy, like you hadn’t been practicing something cooler in your head since halftime. “Star of the game, huh?”
His grin returned, a little crooked now, more boy than legend. “Nah. Don’t start with all that.” He leaned in a fraction, enough for you to catch the lingering salt of sweat, the heat radiating off him. “Besides…wasn’t really playing for the crowd tonight.”
You raised your brows in slight shock, your heart skipping a little at the flirtation. “Are you flirting with me, sir?” Stifling a laugh as you cock your head.
Riki laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he nodded. “Yeah. I am.”
Your stomach dipped like the floor had given out under you, though your face did its best to play it cool. Folding your arms, pretending his answer didn’t just rearrange your insides, you said, “Thank…you?”
Riki’s laugh came again, low and disbelieving, like you’d just crossed him up on his own court. “Thank you?” He echoed, shaking his head as he adjusted his grip on the ball. “That’s your response?”
You shrugged, trying to look unfazed even as your pulse thudded in your throat. “Well, what do you want me to say?”
That crooked grin tugged at his lips again, boyish and sharp all at once. He angled his chin at you, eyes flicking over your face like he was searching for the crack in your act. “I was hoping for something more like…‘finally.’”
That single word hung between you, heavier than the arena’s fading buzz. Your arms loosened, the folded front slipping without your permission. “Finally?” you repeated, soft, like you weren’t sure if you wanted to challenge him or dare him to keep going.
“Yeah,” Riki said, voice quieter now, less bravado and more truth. “Been waiting for a shot. Figured tonight I’d stop warming the bench.” He let the ball go, letting it bounce. He tapped it gently, letting it come back to his hand. He extended it to you with one arm. “For you, beautiful.”
You blinked at the ball, then at him, like he’d just offered you his jersey, his sneakers, and possibly his firstborn all at once. “For me?”
Riki’s smirk tilted into something softer, more earnest. “Yeah. MVP keeps the ball. Tonight…” he shrugged, eyes never leaving yours, “that’s you.”
Without anything else coming to mind, you just take the ball hesitantly. Like it would explode if you were to handle it wrong. “Oh my gosh, Riki…” you smile brightly. “Thank you.”
He laughs softly, “you said that already, mama. You don’t have to thank me.” He waved off as he sighed shakily. “Look…I know…we got off to a rocky start—”
“Rocky?” You echoed, one brow arching as you hugged the ball tighter against your chest.
“Hostile’s the better word.”
You nodded curtly, “for sure.”
Riki chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck like he was taking the hit on purpose. “Yeah, I deserved that.”
You tilted your head, lips twitching. “Glad we agree.”
His grin softened into something a little less cocky, a little more boyish. “But…if hostile was the start, I’m hoping this—” he nodded toward the ball in your arms, “—can be, you know, the reset.”
“So you wanna be friends?” You bounced the ball, dribbling it as you stared down at it. Ensuring it didn’t go anywhere—zero hand-eye coordination on your end.
Riki’s smile brightened as he watched you. “Friends is a good start, that’s not all I want though.” His eyes darted between you and the ball that you seem to have so much trouble dribbling but he just let you go.
Your dribble went sideways, the ball nearly escaping before you caught it with both hands, clutching it like a life preserver. “Not all you want?” you repeated, squinting at him. “You don’t even know if I can make a free throw.”
Riki snorted, entertained at seeing you try this with zero grace. “But I do know you can’t dribble. I’m sorry but you are absolutely terrible.”
“Hey! It’s not even my job to be good at this shit. Sorry I’m not like what’s-his-name.” You switch hands and dribble the ball at an irregular rhythm.
“What is his name, sweetheart?” Riki pursed his lips as he watched you with his hands clasped behind his back.
You snapped your fingers as if it were able to trigger a thought. “Um…Allen Iverson! Yes! Allen Iverson.”
Riki blinked, then burst out laughing, so loud one of the custodians looked over in confusion. “Allen Iverson?!” He bent forward, hands on his knees, grinning at you like you’d just told the funniest joke of the year. “Oh my God—nah, don’t do AI like that. He’s turning in his grave right now—”
“He’s not even dead!” you cut in, indignant, clutching the ball tighter.
Riki straightened, smirk pulling at his lips as he pointed at you. “Exactly. And you still killed him with that comparison.”
You gasped dramatically, eyes wide. “Wow. You’re mean.”
“Nah,” he shook his head, stepping closer again, grin softer now. “Just honest. And besides…” his gaze lingered on you, enough to make your heartbeat stumble, “…you’re way cuter than Iverson anyway.”
You got back to dribbling. “I don’t know…” you sang. “I used to have a crush on him when I was young.” You were focused, tongue sticking out in concentration as you played with the ball.
He blurted out. “Okay, I’m sorry, I can’t take this anymore.” He scratched his forehead. “You gotta keep your eyes up, mama.” Scrunching his nose a bit as he put his hand on his hip.
“No, Riki, I’m gonna lose it if I do!”
“Well I’m already losing it.” He laughs at your stubbornness. “You looking down isn’t helping you. If this were a game, I’d steal the ball from you.”
Your eyes stayed down, at this point, you were just pulling his leg.
He swiftly stole the ball from you. “Hey,” he said firmly, grabbing your chin gently and forcing you to look at him. He bounced the ball at a quick rhythm, “look at me.” Dribbling the ball between his legs as he leans down to your height.
Your breath caught, heat rushing to your cheeks at how close he suddenly was—his palm warm and steady on your chin, his eyes locked onto yours like he dared you to blink.
The ball thudded against the hardwood in a perfect rhythm, the sound echoing in the empty arena. His smirk deepened, lips curling as if he’d just proven his point without saying another word. “See? Easy. You keep your eyes on me, and the ball takes care of itself.”
You scoffed, though it came out softer than intended, your voice a little shaky. “That’s…literally not how physics works.”
“Sure it is,” he countered smoothly, still dribbling with one hand, chin tilted with that effortless confidence. “Ball control is focus. And right now, your focus…” he tapped your chin lightly before pulling his hand back, “…is exactly where I want it.” He stops dribbling and presses the ball into your chest.
“You’re such a showoff.” You crossed your arms over the ball, trying to reclaim some authority, though your heart betrayed you with a rapid thump.
Riki tilted his head, grin sharpening just enough to be mischievous. “And you’re—
“Yo Riki!”
The both of you turn to see someone from behind you. Turns out it was three people, only one of them shouting out from across the floor. His teammates most likely. “You coming?!”
Confusion coated your features. That and annoyance was on Riki’s as well until realization found him. “Wh—oh shit!” He quickly turned to you with a small smile. “The team’s having an afterparty at one of the frats, wanna come?”
Your eyes widened, “a frat party?”
“Well, yes and no. One of the guys on the team, Maki—we have the same name, funnily enough. Whatever that’s not the point—the point is, he’s a part of Phi Gamma Theta. The party’s at his frat house and it’s his turn to buy the beer.” He nods with a shimmy of his shoulders.
You turn to his teammates that are eyeing you both expectantly, mainly him. At this moment, you really didn’t want to go. Like at all. And you were most certainly going to deny him! But you were so surprised that he was so quick to let you into his world in this way—so quickly. While you liked that he wanted you in the spaces that he occupied, you were weary of both him and the company he kept. You simply didn’t know him that well.
While it didn’t hurt to make new friends and take on new social scenes, you seriously debated how to spend your Friday night. Bella and Yasmin were going to their dorms right after this they said. They’d been putting in serious work this week and were taking every last day of their weekends to do nothing. You were just going to study for your Latin quiz on Monday—which you hardly did because you were too worried about the Philosophy paper due this afternoon. So either way, you lost. “Uh…I think I’m gonna stay in tonight. Latin quiz on Monday and I’ve hardly studied.”
Riki nodded, “for sure, that’s fine.” He waves off, looking to his teammates and holding up his index finger. Indicating that he wanted a second. They went back to where they came, most likely the locker room. “Text me when you get to your dorm?”
You quirked a brow, that confusion making another appearance. “I don’t have your number, Riki.”
He tilts his head, “you for sure do.” His eyes fell to the basketball in your hands then your eyes again.
Your gaze followed where his once was, shifting the ball around in your hands until you come across a slip of paper taped securely to it. Reading: To my MVP. Then the digits followed. Laughing, your heart rate spiking more than you’d like it to. “You’re such a cornball.”
“And I got your number from Yasmin already so…don’t even think about flaking on me.” He wagged a finger in your face. “I’m a little crazy too, I hope you know.” He teased.
“Too? As in, you think I’m crazy?” You narrow your eyes as you fold your hands over the ball. He smiled as he reminisced, “well, when one takes a fresh basketball to the face and doesn’t cry, I’d like to think there’s a little something in your wheelhouse.”
You stared at him blankly. “Goodnight, Riki.” Then lightly tossed the ball, watching it bounce right off his forehead before he could react. And funnily enough, it fell right back in your hands. “Huh, I guess ball control really does work.”
Riki laughed, rubbing the spot as he stepped closer. “See? Never lied to you.” His hand hovered briefly at the back of your head before he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Thanks for coming. I mean it. Text me when you get in, okay? Actually—” his grin flickered back as he shook his head, “don’t even bother. I’ll text you in thirty minutes.”
And this might’ve been the very moment that he got you.
Him getting closer to you as he showed this affection felt like it was in slow motion. Did it last twenty seconds or twenty minutes, you couldn’t tell. As the faint scent of his sweat overtook your senses, you found yourself breathing him in. Taking in every ounce of the time you had with him in this arena.
Despite the salty liquid, he smelled of something clean. Like linen, or some sort of fruit—citrus. More so an orange. His body was cooler now, but the heat from his body trying to cool itself down and instead it felt like the heat was all on you now.
You did this a lot. Taking him in. Soaking up every second despite his presence not wanting to admit how much you enjoyed it. That awareness lingered in your chest, heavy and sweet, like honey that refused to dissolve. You hugged the ball against your stomach, pretending it was the only anchor keeping you steady. Because if you didn’t, you might’ve reached out—might’ve let your fingers graze his jaw, might’ve leaned in just a little too much.
He didn’t make it easier, either. Still so close, still looking at you like you were something more than just a distraction. His grin is softer now, less cocky. Like he was letting you see the part of him he didn’t hand out to just anyone.
—
The second you get to your dorm you don’t even text him. You immediately sit at your desk, prop your phone up and move all your books to the side. You felt like you just did ninety lines of cocaine, every bone in your body jittering, every nerve spiked.
To be fully transparent, you hadn’t felt like this since Christmas when you were ten and your parents got you the entire Dork Diaries series after hearing you ask for it since December the year before. Fuck all the Bratz dolls, the Barbies, the dollhouses. Those be damned. Nothing mattered more to you than finally reading the book where Nikki actually didn’t say her comebacks in her head and when Mackenzie wasn’t finally the victim anymore. However, you didn’t get that far in the series anyway.
There had to be a day that you found your Brandon Roberts, and it might’ve not been today. But until then, you had to document every moment to your best friends.
As you rang them on the group video call, they both popped in. Yasmin was perched at her desk with a face mask and a fluffy headband like she was running a skincare commercial. Bella was sprawled across her bed, the camera only showing her nose up like she couldn’t be bothered with life.
“Why you calling us like the world’s ending?” Bella groaned, her voice muffled by her pillow.
“Because it is,” you shot back immediately, tucking your legs under your desk chair. “Guys—I think Riki kissed me.”
So, both of them were gagged—full stop.
Your screen sparks to life. Yasmin’s in a fluffy headband, cheeks already flushed. Bella’s camera is a nose-up drama shot and both of them look like they’ve seen a ghost and a dream at the same time.
“No way! Wait—what—dude! I thought you didn’t like him like that!” Bella beamed as she smiled into the camera. Holding her heart to keep it from bursting and oozing into the phone. You tilted your head, “I’m easy, I fear…” you bit your finger as you all giggled at your tone. Burying your face into the desk, you screamed into the hardwood. Yasmin asked. “Wait so…what do you mean ‘you think?’ I’m pretty sure you’d know if someone kissed you, girl.” She leaned back in the chair, smiling still as she smushed slime. Letting the glue mold in her hands as she popped some of the air bubbles.
You grabbed a stress ball from your drawer. “Long story short—”
“Hold up—sorry to interrupt but after I left how long did y’all talk for? Y’all stayed on the floor?” Bella nodded, trying to scope out the scene.
You nodded, “yeah, and we stayed for like…twenty minutes after?”
Yasmin squealed, holding her cheeks. “Ugh, I’m so happy for you! What did y’all talk about?”
Shrugging, you shook your head in thought. “We just…talked. It wasn’t anything heavy. But he did say he wanted to be more than friends; and me coming to the game was a way for him to hopefully bridge the gap between us.” A smile spreads onto your face slowly. “It was nice…”
“So how did a kiss happen?” Bella hummed, fully sat for this debrief.
You clear your throat dramatically, adjusting yourself in your seat. “So basically, he gave me the game ball—” Both girls jumped up like you announced you just won the lottery. “Rejoice! Thank goodness, my girl is finally gonna get some dick!” Bella cried out to the popcorn ceiling, raising her hands in jubilation.
“But he taped his number to it—and Yas! You gave him my number?!”
Yasmin ducked lower in her chair, a guilty smile creeping across her face while her slime made a wet squelch. “...maybe. Don’t act like you’re mad, you’re literally glowing right now.”
You tossed the stress ball at the wall, rolling your eyes so hard they might’ve gotten stuck. “That’s beside the point!”
Bella was already wheezing, halfway off her bed. “No, no, no, wait. He taped his number to the game ball? Like…actually taped it? That’s the most middle school-romance-movie shit I’ve ever heard. I live.”
“And it said ‘To my MVP,’” you admitted begrudgingly, dragging your hands down your face like confessing to a crime.
Both of them lost it again. Yasmin fell sideways in her chair, face mask peeling at the edges, while Bella screamed into her pillow like you’d told her BTS showed up at your dorm.
“Oh my god,” Yasmin gasped between giggles. “He’s corny. He’s so corny. But in the best way. Like…cereal box prize corny. The kind you keep forever.”
Bella sat up, eyes wild. “Nah, that’s husband behavior. Do you hear me? Husband.”
And despite yourself, you smiled so wide your cheeks hurt. “Then when we both parted—he and the team were going to a party at the Phi Gamma Theta house. He invited me but I didn’t wanna go—anyway—as we were leaving, he kissed my forehead—AH!” You screamed into the desk again. Not even caring if you got a noise complaint. You cleared your throat as you got back up. “Sorry.” They shook their heads, waving you off without a care.
“Anyway, he kissed my forehead, thanked me for coming, and said to text him when I got here—I haven’t yet.” You grabbed another toy, your slinky, and played with that. “And that if I didn’t he’d call me in thirty.”
Yasmin nodded, “so why didn’t you text him yet?”
Bella chimed in, “so she can see if he’s the type of guy to do what he says he’s gonna do, Yas.” She nodded with a smirk, tapping her temple in thought.
“Well, he should be calling any—”
Your phone buzzed as it rang from an unknown number—most likely Riki’s seeing as you hadn’t saved it yet. “Oh my gosh, fine shit is calling! What do I do?! Wait! He’s video calling me too!”
“Answer it, fuckface!” Bella laughed.
You yelped, fumbling for the green button as your hands shook. “I—I don’t know if I can!”
“Girl, are you serious?!” Yasmin screeched, squeezing her slime like it owed her money. “Just answer! He’s literally waiting to see your face!”
Bella was practically vibrating off her bed, one hand covering her mouth while the other waved frantically at the screen. “Do it! Pretend you’re calm, but like—you know just play it cool.”
“Okay, okay!” You took a breath and quickly clicked the green button.
Then before you knew it, there stood Riki. Hair slightly damp from the shower and outside air drying, fresh faced, and a black tee that you could only see the neckline of. The streetlight and LEDs that the frat had up illuminated his face so warmly. It was so bizarre, from the neck downward, Riki was beyond what you could imagine an athlete’s physique being like. Lean, agile, cut, not even an ounce of fat on him—but even then, you realize that he was still so handsome anyway.
He smiled when he saw you. “Hope you didn’t forget about me.”
You waved, “no, I could never.” Opening your arms as you spread the slinky and let it fall back into your hands.
“How was the debrief?” He brushed his hair back, flashing his watch, laughing softly as he saw your shocked face. “What? I have sisters, ma. I know what you girls do.”
You sputter like a bad engine, “uh…I—it was fine?”
Riki chuckled, that low, easy laugh that made your chest feel way too tight. “That’s code for none of my damn business, I assume?”
“You’d assume correctly.” You nodded slowly as you gathered your books. Flipping to the right pages. “How’s the party, brochacho?” Saying absentmindedly as you grab your tablet to notetake.
He laughed softly at the name as he wandered about the lawn. “It’s alright, not really feeling it tonight. Just wanted to make sure you were in one piece. That you didn’t walk into any balls on the way there.”
You rolled your eyes, “yeah I have some balls you can walk into.”
“Shut up,” he smiled as he sipped from his red cup.
Talking to him was calming, like talking to a friend you’ve known for years. Smooth, simple, easy. The nerves came and went with him. They never stuck.
“You been drinking?” You copied your important notes down from the textbook. Trying to pay attention to the material but your mind was obviously elsewhere.
He shrugged, “some beer. Took like a pull of some weed but…” He trailed off with a little sigh, lips puckered in that half-pout that made him look younger than he was. The camera dipped slightly as he adjusted the phone, showing the glow of the house behind him, people laughing, voices spilling into the night. Sitting on the sidewalk, and on their phones as they nursed drinks. “Not really my scene right now.”
Your pen stalled over your tablet, notes forgotten. “Wow, the big campus star skipping out on free booze and bad music? What’s the world come to?”
“You must not know me,” he snorted, laughing at the irony. “I’m always a buzzkill at these shits. I feel like they only invite me just in case.”
Humming, you stood up and gathered your stuff for your shower. Not to take one now, but to prepare your clothes for when you did. “In case of?”
“Just for safety. I sort of…act as a buffer. If we’re caught drinking on campus, it’s a problem, blah blah. Coach is notified but we’re not gonna get real disciplinary action.” He shrugged a shoulder.
You nodded slowly, “oh to be a man.” Out of view, you bent down to your drawers to pull out your pajamas and fresh underwear.
“No, even the women’s teams do this. Any smart coach wouldn’t let it get to the Dean. We’d get punished internally for shit like that. Run laps, suicides, sacrificing a Saturday to wash his car, I don’t know. Looks bad on him if he benches starters.”
You laughed as you folded your pajamas. “Nah that would piss me off. Making you do suicides for one beer? I’d kill myself, actually.”
Riki shrugged, amused. “You’d be surprised. Guys hate it more than anything. Pride chips away at the sight of a whistle.” He nudged the camera so you could see a pair of teammates arguing over pizza in the background. “Anyway, I should probably go make sure no one’s starting a riot.”
You tucked a loose curl behind your ear and grinned. “Go be the responsible one, then. I’ll be the one who aces Latin because I studied all night—” you said as you sat back down, deadpan, and he snorted.
“Mm. Sure you did,” he teased. “The dining halls are closed by now. If you get hungry just tell me. I’ll send you whatever you want, okay?”
Your pen hovered over your tablet, heart hitching. He said it so simply, like it wasn’t a whole production, like sending food across campus at midnight was just so normal. “Aww, Riki. You taking care of me with that NIL money?”
“Hell yeah,” he said, furrowing his brows. “I worked hard for that shit.” Laughing as he sipped from his cup. “It’s hard out here.”
You laughed, shaking your head as you scribbled half a Latin conjugation that didn’t even make sense. “Oh my God. Not you acting like a single mom trying to stretch the paycheck.”
“Don’t play with me, I am the single mom of this team.” He turned the camera toward the chaos of his teammates wrestling over the last pizza box. “Look at my damn kids. Do you see what I deal with?”
“Serving Reba McEntire realness.”
Riki rubbed his eyes, deadpanning. “Go study, sweetheart.”
“You should wear a red wi—”
“How about that Latin test!” He smiled happily—albeit mocking to shift topics.
Your laughter rang through the call, and for a second he just looked at you, the corner of his mouth tugging up like he couldn’t help it.
“Alright, go ace your Latin,” Riki said, softer now.
“You go wrangle your kids,” you shot back, smiling.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Night, Riki.”
The screen went dark, leaving you with the echo of his voice and a grin you couldn’t quite wipe off.
—
Two weeks later
—
They say the first high is the best. That once you get it, you spend the rest of your days trying to chase the one you got at the start.
You didn’t get high—at least not like that anyway.
In your situation, riding the high of Riki Nishimura’s attention felt like its own kind of intoxication. Every ping of your phone, every dumb meme he sent between classes, every “good morning” text when he was already at practice—it was steady, constant, addictive. And instead of chasing it, you were starting to wonder if he was raising the bar higher every time.
And in retrospect, Bella was right. Why did it seem like once that buzzer hit, a switch flipped in your mind and you were just indoctrinated like the rest of the Decelis student body? Like he knew exactly what he needed to do to get you.
You couldn’t put your finger on it but you didn’t want to overthink anything. So many things that you couldn’t comprehend put you here in this very situation and you didn’t want to ruin it by reading too deeply into it.
Needless to say, Riki has seamlessly made his way into your routine. You didn’t think he’d find a place within the days that are overtaken by your needs and wants, your best friends, and classes. But if he did anything, it was make your life easier.
Riki never asked you to ditch your friends to be with him. He understood that he only had you for lunch and dinner as you had breakfast with Bella and Yasmin everyday.
He messaged you to check up in between classes, already having memorized your schedule. Ensuring that you had snacks so you didn’t lose stamina between lectures—he had successfully put you on to these protein bars, amazing. And they didn’t taste like chalk.
Riki even went as far as to start waiting outside your lecture halls—never in a way that felt suffocating, just casual. Leaning against the wall with his hood up, earbuds in, scrolling on his phone until you stepped out. Like he wasn’t the six-foot star guard of Decelis basketball but just some guy, killing time until you showed up.
Sometimes he walked you to the dining hall, sometimes to the library, he always just carried your bag like it was second nature. It wasn’t grand gestures—no flowers, no flashy displays—it was little things. He made space for you without demanding it, and you couldn’t lie, it was disarming.
The girls noticed, of course. Yasmin raised a brow every time your phone lit up with his name. Bella, never subtle, outright called him your “NBA boyfriend” and asked if she should start practicing her court-side wave. But kept reminding you that Riki was boyfriend stuff without the actual title.
And maybe you should’ve protested harder, maybe you should’ve insisted it wasn’t that serious. But deep down, some part of you was starting to like the way it sounded.
That conversation had rang in the back of your mind for the rest of the day. And you just kept hearing Yasmin’s “...boyfriend behavior without the title” line, over and over and over again.
Because was it really true? Were you in a situationship? Really, it’d only been two weeks, is that an appropriate time to get to know someone to further ask them on a date?
In essence, the things that Riki did for you to show he cared, were indeed boyfriend things. Sending you food when you didn’t want to leave your dorm or the spots around campus were closed. Making sure you ate and drank enough water. Never demanded your time even though his life especially, always demanded a lot from him—he ensured that there was some time out of his day for you.
You knew he liked you and he let you know he did. But did he like you enough to take you seriously? Were you just something to do? Something to take his mind off the budding fame and popularity? Funnily enough, before you came to Decelis, one week before your first year, your parents had told you in harmony: don’t date athletes.
Maybe your rejection of Riki at the beginning was just a subconscious effort to suppress your attraction to him from the very start. So that must be why it was so easy to come to terms with liking him.
Because you always did.
The girls had left your dorm room to go on about their evenings. You just chilled on your beanbag and looked pretty as you watched one of your favorite gamers fail at Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader?
Besides the Riki stuff, you were at peace. Homework done for the rest of the week, you just showered, hair done, nails done. Two of your classes were cancelled tomorrow. Tomorrow was Friday. Life was great!
Just as you were about to reach for your box of graham crackers, your phone buzzed. Lighting up and alerting you that it was indeed eight PM and someone texted you.
brochacho: hi pretty, you at your dorm?
you: good evening, and yes i am.
brachacho: good. i’m downstairs. come get me!
Your hand froze mid‑reach for the graham crackers, eyes darting from the notification to the door like he might magically materialize through it.
Downstairs? Now?
You quickly typed back, thumbs flying:
you: what do you mean you’re downstairs???
The three dots appeared almost instantly.
brochacho: literally downstairs. in the lobby. come get me.
Your pulse jumped. This wasn’t a text saying “hope you’re good” or “goodnight.” This was him—physically here—while you sat in pajama shorts with a crumb in your hand and a streamer yelling about measurements on your laptop.
You scrambled up from the beanbag, nearly tripping over your blanket as you tried to get your bearings. Should you change? Brush your hair? Put on perfume? He hadn’t said why he was there. He hadn’t even asked if you were free.
Another buzz.
brochacho: don’t stress. i’m not kidnapping you. just wanted to see you before bed.
You swallowed, staring at the text like it might tell you what to do next. All you knew was your heart was hammering, and Riki Nishimura was in your lobby.
you: ok, give me a sec.
And without a second thought, you tidied your space. He’d never been here before, he only ever walked you to the building itself. You didn’t like surprise visits but shit, why not?
After folding your blankets and placing them on your bed, then spritzing some vanilla room spray, you held your racing heart. Taking deep breaths as you slipped on your baby pink crocs, grabbed your ID card, and deadbolted your door.
You stepped into the hallway, the carpet soft under your feet, and exhaled slowly. The fluorescent lights above hummed faintly, casting long shadows along the walls. You could hear faint laughter echoing from down the hall; the muffled bass of music drifting up from somewhere in the building. Your heart was still hammering like a drumline, and every step toward the staircase made it beat faster.
Sliding your ID into your pocket, you gripped the railing as you descended the narrow steps two at a time. Normally, you’d take it slow, careful not to rush, but tonight, nerves and excitement propelled you forward. You peeked through the stairwell window down into the lobby, spotting him almost immediately. Riki was leaning casually against the front desk, arms crossed as he scrolled on his phone, hood down and hair a little tousled from the walk. The soft light from the lobby ceiling brushed over his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the way his eyes seemed to catch the gleam from the floor’s polished tiles.
He glanced up, and that small, knowing smile spread across his lips, the one that made your stomach twist and flip like it was auditioning for gymnastics. His eyes scanned the stairwell, catching yours as soon as you emerged, and a tiny spark of mischief danced in them.
You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing pulse, adjusting the hem of your shirt like it would somehow make you appear composed instead of the jittery mess you felt like inside. The lobby seemed impossibly large all of a sudden, the echoes of your footsteps loud and exaggerated as you approached him. “What do you want?” You smiled as you reached in for a hug, how you always greeted each other.
He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, resting his cheek on the top of your head. “There’s that welcome wagon.” The vibrato of his voice rang through the lobby as it was muffled by your curls that always smelled like strawberries. “I come bearing gifts.”
You hummed, pulling back but letting your hands linger on his thin waist that you were beyond envious of. “Isn’t that considered love-bombing at this stage?”
He snorted, “yes, but it’s not really a gift.” He reached behind him for a blue crocheted bag and held it up with a bright smile. “I brought dinner. I made some and didn’t wanna eat alone.”
“Nice,” you laughed softly. “But where’d you get the bag from? One of your other twenty girlfriends?”
He rolled his eyes, “my baby sister likes to crochet and I stole it. Don’t tell her I said that.” He smirked, tucking the strap over his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world to stroll into your dorm with a handmade bag of food.
You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head. “You made dinner? What, like, instant noodles level or are we talking chef Riki over here?”
He laughed, a low, warm sound that made your chest tighten. “I make a mean pasta salad.”
You nod to the staircase door. “Good enough,” the door clicked as you swiped your ID card over the receiver. Riki followed behind you, reaching above your head to open the door for you as he closed it behind him. “You made that in your dorm kitchens?”
He shook his head but it wasn’t like you could see him. “Nah, I don’t live on campus. I thought you knew.”
You paused mid-step, turning on the landing to look at him. “Wait, what? You don’t live here?”
Riki tilted his head, a little amused at your wide-eyed reaction. “Nope. I’ve got an apartment off-campus. Closer to the gym, less noise. Plus, dorm showers? Couldn’t do it anymore.” He made a face like the very idea offended him.
Your brows lifted as you kept climbing, crocs scraping against the concrete steps. “Hold on. You’ve been walking me back here all this time and then…what? Walking another fifteen minutes to your place?”
“Ten if I’m moving fast,” he corrected with a shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s not that deep.”
Finally you both made it to your dorm—a place he hasn’t seen. Only little parts via video call. You hesitated at your door. The reality of it hit you—Riki Nishimura was about to see your room. Not the polished corners you’d shown him over FaceTime, not the carefully angled shots that hid the mess, but the whole thing. Every detail.
Pushing the door open, you stepped aside to let him in first. He slipped past you without hesitation, and immediately the air felt heavier—his presence filling the small dorm like it was too much space for one person and not nearly enough for him.
His gaze roamed quickly but thoroughly. The string lights draped above your bed. The pile of books stacked on your desk. The blanket you’d folded too hastily, still a little crooked at the edges.
He didn’t say anything at first, just kicked his shoes off by the door where he saw you had two other pairs lined up.
Riki had some manners.
“Finally, I get to see the whole thing.” He looked at you then back to the space, looking at the wall covered with photos by your bed. These he also hadn’t seen.
Some of these were photos of you and your family. Seemingly at your high school graduation. You had changed a lot since then, just by the looks of it. Your eyes were a little duller, but you looked happy to be out of there. “Who’s that?” He pointed to the tall boy that stood next to you in the photo. Darker skin, hair pulled back into cornrows as he was dressed in very casual wear. Shorts and t-shirt for the hot weather you graduated in.
You approached, leaning forward so you could see what he was referencing. “Oh!” You snorted, “that’s my little Bother.”
“Your who?” Riki smiled as he turned to you.
“Bother,” you repeated with a grin, shaking your head. “That’s Elijah, my little brother. So—brother, bother…it stuck when we were kids.” You nodded. “And he actually grew into it because he became the biggest pain in my ass.”
Riki laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he glanced back at the photo. “He doesn’t look little at all. Dude’s towering over you.”
“Tell me about it,” you groaned, folding your arms. “He hit his growth spurt at, like, thirteen and never stopped.”
“How tall is he now?”
You tilted your head in thought. “Huh…I couldn’t even tell you how old he is.” You shrugged, bursting out into laughter as you grabbed the crocheted bag and sat on the floor. “But he’s around your height? Maybe a little shorter.”
He followed you down to the rug, sitting parallel to you and crossing his legs into butterfly position.
Riki leaned back on his palms, studying you with that amused little glint in his eyes. “So what you’re telling me is there’s another version of me out there, just younger and genetically programmed to annoy you?”
“Basically,” you said through a laugh, tugging the drawstrings of the bag open. “Except Elijah’s way louder, thinks he’s funnier than he is, and eats like he’s never seen food before.” You pulled out two plastic containers, setting them between you.
Riki snorted. “Sounds familiar. Pretty sure that’s just me with different branding.”
You shot him a look, biting back a grin. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself. He’s worse. But I think you two would get along, though.”
“You think so?” he chuckled, reaching forward to help you peel off the lid of one container. A soft aroma of herbs and parmesan filled the air.
Laughing, you grabbed the two plastic forks he put in the bag. Someone came very prepared. “I know so, actually…” Pause. “Nevermind.”
“No, no, tell me.” He said softly, unzipping his hoodie and placing it next to him. “I’d love to hear about your family.”
His tone made your stomach twist a little, but not enough for you to make him aware of the effect it had on you. “Elijah…” you snorted. “Actually wants to come to Decelis. You know…after he graduates high school?”
He nodded slowly, “okay? And that’s embarrassing?”
“Oh my gosh, no. No. Nothing about my brother is embarrassing, it’s just that…” You scrunched your nose as you twist your fork. “He’s a…big fan of yours.”
Riki blinked at you, mid-bite, his fork paused halfway to his mouth. “...A fan of mine?” His tone landed somewhere between amused and genuinely startled, his brows lifting as though he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or press you for details.
You dragged your fork through the pasta salad, trying to play it off, but the heat was already creeping up your neck. “Yeah, like…he likes college basketball a lot already but he thinks that me attending school with and being in the same year as one of the top prospects is cool.”
He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Man, your brother’s got way too much faith in me. But…that means a lot. More than I’d probably admit to his face.” He takes a bite of the pasta.
“Woah…” you furrow your brows. “Since when do you doubt your skills? He’s not saying anything different than anyone else does.”
He chewed slowly, his gaze dropping to the plate as though your words weighed heavier than he expected. When he finally swallowed, his voice was softer, almost thoughtful. “It’s not that I don’t believe in what I can do,” he said, rolling his fork between his fingers. “I just…know how fast it can all go away. One bad game, one injury, and suddenly all that hype doesn’t mean anything.”
He lifted his eyes back to you, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a small smile that didn’t quite hide the seriousness in his tone. “So yeah, I guess I don’t let myself buy into it too much. Easier to laugh it off than start thinking I’m invincible, you know?”
As grateful as you were that Riki was sharing a very vulnerable part of him for the very first time, you couldn’t help but think of yourself—as self absorbed as that is. You were beyond normal. Yes, you had your hobbies, friends, interests. But you never even realized the amount of pressure that Riki underwent each and every day.
His every move was watched by strangers. There wasn’t a moment that you walked beside him on campus and someone wasn’t greeting him or trying to get his attention. Some people even started doing the same for you seeing as you were now semi-associated with him. That alone bugged you.
You let your fork rest against the edge of the container, your appetite forgotten for the moment. The realization pressed into you heavier than the warmth of the room—Riki didn’t just carry his own dreams; he carried the expectations of everyone watching him. And there were a lot of eyes.
It explained the careful way he handled himself, how even his jokes carried a twinge of deflection, how he managed to be approachable without ever letting people in too far. You’d brushed it off as confidence before, but now you saw the cracks. The weight of being Riki Nishimura wasn’t something you could ever fully understand, but sitting across from him, you suddenly wished you could take even a sliver of it off his shoulders.
You shifted slightly closer, nudging the pasta container between you. “You know…” you started carefully, trying not to make your words sound like pity, “I may not be able to relate to that but I want you to know as…someone who genuinely cares about you…” You huffed, looking up as you picked your words carefully. “That you are so beyond talented. Like have you seen you play?” You laughed, reaching out to hold his free hand. “The Kyrie comparisons are not far-fetched.”
For a moment, he just stared at your hand resting over his, fork frozen in mid-air again like he’d forgotten how to move. Then, slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased. His thumb brushed against your knuckles once, deliberate but subtle, almost as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to.
“I mean it. You’re absolutely undeniable and while I can only imagine how much pressure is on you, I never want you to forget to live in the moment. Nor forget who you are in the process.”
For a beat, his gaze stayed locked on yours, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. The fork slipped quietly from his fingers, forgotten against the edge of the container. His hand stayed under yours though, warm and steady, like he was afraid to let go.
You gave his hand another squeeze, leaning in just a little closer. “Riki, you’re not just some highlight reel or a name on a scouting report. You’re…you. The guy who makes sure I eat, who shows up at my dorm with pasta salad in a crocheted bag, who can make me laugh even when I’m trying not to.” You smiled softly, your eyes searching his. “You’re already enough—more than enough—even without all the basketball.”
His jaw tightened, like he was fighting something inside himself, but his eyes softened. That little spark of mischief you were used to seeing in him wasn’t there this time—just something vulnerable, raw. And a tinge of something you could only identify as guilt. But you didn’t see how that could apply to this situation. You didn’t pry further.
Riki nodded, then smiled. It didn’t quite reach his eyes but he turned his hand beneath yours to grip it and brought it to his lips to press a kiss to your knuckles. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
Assuming this topic was just extremely touchy for him, you turned your hand to hold his cheek, lightly scratching his jaw. “No need for a ‘thank you.’”
His eyes fluttered shut at the touch, like the simple act unraveled something tight in his chest. He leaned into your palm, faint stubble barely grazing your fingertips as his breath steadied against your skin. When he opened his eyes again, there was a quiet earnestness in them that made your stomach flip. “You make me sound so…saint-like.”
You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head. “Trust me, that’s the last word I’d use for your dumbass.”
—
As the night went on, you and Riki found yourself on your bed.
Nothing intense, nothing extreme. It was a twin XL, what could you really do? But despite that, you two both found some old movie that you’d seen a million times to watch on your projector.
The movie washed your walls in soft flickers of light, the dialogue barely audible under the quiet hum of the projector. Riki stretched out beside you, one arm folded behind his head, the other lazily draped near your side like he was claiming space without meaning to. The bed was laughably small for two people, every shift making the springs creak, but neither of you complained.
At some point, you realized you weren’t even paying attention to the movie. Your cheek was pressed against his shoulder, his shirt soft under your skin, and his steady heartbeat beneath it was far more distracting than whatever was happening on screen.
“Hey,” Riki murmured after a while, his voice low, like even the characters on the screen didn’t need to hear. “Next time…you’re coming to my place. No offense to the twin XL, but it’s not exactly built for two.”
You snorted, scooting closer as you wrapped your arm around his waist and leg over his hips. Riki stiffened for half a second at the sudden weight of you practically curling into him, then melted into it, his arm sliding instinctively around your shoulders. A grin tugged at his lips as he tilted his head down to look at you. “Oh, so you like being close, huh? You could’ve just said that instead of pretending the bed was the problem.”
You rolled your eyes, fighting the smile tugging at your own mouth. “Please. I’m just making the best out of limited square footage.”
“Mhm,” he hummed, pulling you tighter against his side, his fingers idly tracing circles into your upper arm. His free hand ran up and down your bare thigh—the warmth in his hand nothing compared to what was in the room.
The slow drag of his palm along your thigh sent a ripple of heat through you, his touch unhurried but deliberate, like he knew exactly what he was doing. The movie faded further into background noise, some distant murmur you couldn’t even pretend to follow.
“You’re real quiet all of a sudden,” Riki teased, his breath brushing the top of your head. “What happened to all that smart talk about square footage?”
You tilted your chin up, lips twitching into a smirk despite the way your pulse betrayed you. “Maybe I’m conserving energy.”
“Oh?” His thumb pressed lightly into your skin before trailing higher, testing the waters. His eyes flicked down to yours, the grin on his face softening just enough to make your chest tighten. “Energy for what, baby?”
The space between you felt paper-thin, your leg hooked over his hip pulling him closer with every breath. His shirt smelled faintly of laundry detergent and something undeniably him—the citrus smell you always caught a whiff of, and suddenly the twin XL didn’t feel too small at all—it felt like it was forcing you into a choice.
His question lingered in the air, heavier than the blankets draped over you both. Your heart thudded against your ribs as if it were trying to answer for you. You tilted your face up toward him, close enough now that the glow of the projector painted his features in soft light—sharp jaw, lashes low but trained on you, lips just parted like he was waiting.
For a beat, neither of you moved. The hum of the movie filled the silence, but you barely registered it. Then, like gravity had made the choice for you, you leaned in.
Riki met you halfway.
The kiss was unhurried at first, his lips brushing yours in the lightest graze, as though he was testing to see if you’d pull away. But you didn’t—you pressed back, your hand sliding up to curl into his shirt near his chest. That was all the confirmation he needed. His grip at your thigh tightened, pulling you closer, angling you so there was no space left between you.
The kiss deepened almost naturally, like you’d both been holding your breath for weeks and finally let go. His hand slid higher on your thigh, steady but not rushed, while your fingers tugged lightly at the collar of his shirt, urging him closer. The twin bed creaked beneath the shifting weight, the closeness of it all making your pulse race.
Riki angled his head, mouth moving against yours with a hunger that surprised even him—like he’d been trying to starve this part of himself and finally gave in. Your hand brushed along his jaw, thumb grazing the faint stubble there, and he made a sound low in his throat that only pulled you deeper into him. He leaned up, turning to hover over you halfway, springs of the bed whining at the action.
But then—just as the air between you turned sharp with heat—he stilled. His lips slowed, then parted from yours, lingering close enough that you could still feel his breath ghost across your mouth. His hand fell from your thigh to rest limply against the sheets, no longer holding you.
“Riki?” you whispered, confusion threading your tone.
He didn’t look away, though something flickered in his eyes—something heavy, almost mournful. He managed a small smile, the kind that didn’t reach as far as it should. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice rough around the edges. “Got a little carried away.”
You searched his face, wanting to ask more, but the way his thumb brushed over your arm—gentle, reassuring—kept you quiet. He wasn’t shutting you out, not really, but whatever sat on his chest wasn’t something he was ready to spill. “Did something happ—”
Instead, he shook his head and pressed the lightest kiss to your temple, grounding, soft. “No, no, no, baby.” he said softly as the two of you were nearly nose-to-nose. “Nothing happened…” He smiled softly as he brushed a curl from your cheek, lightly letting his thumb brush on your lower lip. “Just…didn’t wanna ruin the moment, that’s all.”
Your lips parted, ready to argue, to tell him he could never ruin a moment like this—but the way he looked at you stopped the words in your throat. There was a tenderness there, threaded with something heavier, something you didn’t dare press on in case it shattered the fragile quiet between you.
So instead, you nodded faintly, your forehead brushing his as your breath mingled in the inch of space left between you. “You can…” you whispered, though your chest ached with the weight of everything unspoken.
Riki’s hand left your lip to cup your cheek, his thumb smoothing over your skin like he was memorizing the shape of you. His smile lingered—gentle, almost apologetic—but his eyes softened in a way that made you feel like he saw you, really saw you, beneath all the noise.
He shifted, pressing another kiss to your hairline this time, lingering just long enough that you felt the sincerity tucked into it. “You want me to?”
It seemed like every inch of you was melting into this old, creaky bed. That your literal bodily matter could act as a substitute for WD-40 if you both stayed like this. You’ve experienced intimate moments. Moments that made everything blur into background noise. And right now you heard nothing. Absolutely nothing despite the flickering projector and the soundtrack to the ending of 10 Things I Hate About You playing lightly. Yet all you heard was the pick up of your heart rate in your ears. And maybe your own breath. Despite that, you nodded without another word.
Riki leaned in slowly, kissing your cheek. Letting his pillowy lips get a different taste of you as his hand toys with your small hoop earring on your opposite ear. His touch was maddeningly careful, like he was savoring every second before it slipped away. His lips brushed along your jawline, feather-light, leaving a trail of warmth that had your breath hitching in your throat.
You tilted your head instinctively, giving him more space, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself. Each kiss was deliberate, patient—not hungry like before, but reverent, like he was mapping you in a language only he knew.
He lifts his head to look you in the eye. “Um…I was planning something for this but—” He let out a shaky laugh, his thumb brushing your cheek like he needed the grounding. “I feel like it’s something that I don’t want to hold out on anymore.” He cleared his throat, his eyes darting from yours to the pillow, then back again like the words were fighting him on the way out. “I was gonna do this all different—make it special, not, y’know, while we’re half-squished on a squeaky bed watching a rom-com—but…”
His hand dropped from your earring to rest gently against your chest, right over your racing heartbeat. “But I can’t sit here and pretend I don’t already know what I want.” He paused, breath unsteady. “I want you. As my girlfriend.”
The room went impossibly still, the hum of the projector fading behind the weight of his words. His voice cracked a little on the last word, like even saying it out loud cost him something. His thumb slowed against your collarbone, tracing nothing in particular, a small, restless circle. He was still looking at you—not cocky, not teasing—just wide-eyed, waiting. The guy who could command a whole court with one look suddenly couldn’t seem to breathe until you spoke.
“I’m not talking to anyone else,” he added softly, like a confession he’d been holding onto. “Haven’t been. Haven’t even wanted to. I just…don’t wanna assume anything about you. I don’t wanna ruin what we already have.”
The way he said it was so un-Riki—tentative, careful—that it almost broke your heart. You could feel his pulse under your palm where you still held his hoodie, just as erratic as yours.
You didn’t even realize you were smiling until you were; the kind of smile that cracked you open from the inside out. “Riki…” you murmured, sliding your hand up to the back of his neck, pulling him just a little closer. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”
His brows pinched, nervous. “In a good way or…?”
“In a way where the answer’s already yes,” you said, your forehead brushing his. “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend.”
The tension bled out of him in an instant, his breath catching on a laugh that sounded like relief. He pressed his forehead fully to yours, eyes closing, and let out a long, shaky exhale before kissing you—slow this time, smiling against your mouth.
—
Four months later
—
Life has been very weird for you. Not weird, weird. Just different. Good different.
Your skin is clear, grades stellar, Yasmin, Bella, and Riki were in one piece and the weather has been decent.
Dating Riki hadn’t turned your life upside down the way you thought it might. It wasn’t all fireworks and Instagram-worthy grand gestures. Instead, it was quieter things—the way he reminded you to eat between classes, the way his hoodie always “accidentally” ended up in your laundry pile, the way his laugh sounded different when it was just for you.
And somewhere between late-night study sessions and those walks across an ice-slick campus, you realized: this wasn’t weird at all. This was the new normal. And, surprisingly? You liked it.
A relationship with Riki was nothing like you thought it’d be. In some way he was right, you didn’t really know him.
“Public, but private” wasn’t really the right phrase anymore. Riki made sure people knew—he held your hand in the quad, kissed you goodbye outside lecture halls, and didn’t even flinch when Yasmin pulled out her phone to record the two of you bickering like an old married couple. Everyone knew you were his, and he was yours.
But still, the most meaningful parts weren’t the ones out loud. Sure, he’d tug you into his lap at parties without caring who saw, but it was the softer moments—the way he’d tie your scarf tighter against the cold, or slide his coffee across the table without asking because he knew you needed it—that stuck with you most.
Dating Riki wasn’t about hiding or flaunting. It was about existing together, naturally, in public and in private, like there’d never been a time you weren’t in each other’s lives.
Obviously, your bond with him was different than that of yours with Yasmin and Bella’s. Of course because you weren’t romantic with the girls but the friendship aspect wasn’t the same.
Yasmin and Bella were akin to sisters. Their love and friendship was unconditional, unwavering and greatly enough—you met them at freshman orientation and had been inseparable ever since.
The funny little traditions you had. Getting breakfast together every day, even if it was just coffee and a bagel wolfed down before an eight AM class. Your group FaceTimes that always started as study sessions but somehow devolved into debating which professor was most likely to secretly live in the library. Movie nights in Yasmin’s dorm where Bella inevitably fell asleep twenty minutes in, curled up like it was her own personal bed.
With Yasmin and Bella, it was easy, almost familial—like home in human form. With Riki, it was…different. Not better, not worse. Just its own kind of important. He didn’t fit into the category of “friend” or “family.” He was the exception. The outlier that made sense.
Riki was an exception. And you noticed that in almost every avenue he occupied that he was an exception. In anything he put effort toward, he had this sort of competitive spirit that he wanted to be a person that was remembered. Not in a loud, look-at-me way, but in the way he showed up, consistently, like he was determined to leave a mark. On the court, in class, even in the way he memorized the little things about you—your coffee order, your weird habit of doodling stars in the margins of your notes, the fact that you hated the word “moist” enough to dramatically gag every time someone said it.
Being with him didn’t feel like you were keeping up with a storm or chasing after someone out of reach. It felt like he wanted you right there, beside him.
Your mom called it the honeymoon phase and that very well may be true. But like everything with Riki, you tried to live in the moment. Which is bizarre seeing as you overthink everything else.
Lately, the girls have been getting used to seeing him around a lot more. While Riki never wanted to overtake your life nor take time away from your friends, he at times found himself getting cool with them as well.
The girls and you stood at the waffle station like usual. Bella, as always, was overseeing the operation. Yasmin was yapping about something related to the bad Wattpad movie she watched last night.
“Dude,” you smiled. “What are you waffling about?” You nudge her with your elbow, snickering as you cover your mouth.
Yasmin froze, looking at you blankly. “You did not—”
“—yes, she did,” Bella cut in, shaking her head with mock disappointment. “Every morning, a new low.”
“Hey! Don’t hate me ‘cause I’m beautiful.” You snorted as you reached around her to grab the mini cups for the syrup. The pounds of syrup that Yasmin liked drenching her waffles in.
The brunette laughed, “we love you because you’re beautiful. But that shit just wasn’t funny.”
You sigh and wrap your arm around the girl, to which she instinctively rests her head on your shoulder, wrapping her arm around your waist. “You guys are fun-suckers.”
Bella snorted, already halfway through pouring batter into the waffle iron. “Please. We’re the only reason you’re tolerable before ten AM.”
You gasped dramatically, clutching your chest. “You wound me.”
“Good,” she said dryly, snapping the iron shut like she was sealing a deal. “Maybe it’ll stop the puns.”
Yasmin cackled at that, pulling back from your shoulder just enough to look you in the eye. “Nah, she thrives off this. You’d have to physically mute her.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Bella muttered, reaching for her coffee.
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. The three of you moved like clockwork—Bella in charge of batter, you in charge of toppings, Yasmin handling the syrup like it was an Olympic sport. The waffle station wasn’t glamorous, but it was your spot. The one ritual you kept no matter how busy the semester got.
That’s when you felt a familiar hand snake around your waist from behind. Riki leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. “Did I miss roll call, or are you guys planning breakfast without me again?”
Bella groaned without even looking up. “Speak of the devil.”
Riki gently turned you around to face him, taking the toppings from your grip as he leans in. “Hi baby,” placing his lips on yours gently as he moved a hand to rest on your jaw. His thumb grazing your cheek as you reciprocate. “Mm! I missed that.”
You felt your cheeks warm instantly, caught off guard by how easily he could do that—just walk into your morning routine and make everything tilt a little. You tasted the faint sweetness of syrup on his lips, the smell of his cologne cutting through the waffle-station chaos.
“Riki,” you murmured against his mouth, a laugh caught in your throat. “You’re gonna make Yasmin drop the syrup.”
“I already did,” Yasmin deadpanned, though when you turned your head she was smirking. “Don’t mind me. Continue your public display of affection.”
Bella groaned dramatically, flipping a waffle with more force than necessary. “Please, at least let me finish cooking before you two start fucking next to the chocolate chips.”
Riki chuckled against your cheek, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “They’re jealous,” he whispered, his thumb still brushing your jaw. “Let them be jealous.”
You swatted at his chest lightly, though your grin betrayed you. “Please,”
And finally, the four of you sat at your usual corner table—Riki having tagged along like it was the most natural thing in the world. The dining hall buzzed with the Monday morning chaos of clinking trays and half-awake chatter, but somehow, your table felt like its own little bubble.
Riki slid into the booth beside you, his knee brushing yours under the table, and immediately stole one of your strawberries without shame. You were used to it. Him stealing your food; like a tax, if you will.
“So what are y’all doing with your weekends?” You hum as you watch Riki cut your half of the waffle into pieces.
He perked up mid-cut, glancing at you with that spark in his eyes that always came out when basketball got brought up. “Ooh, we’re having an away game on Thursday,” he said, the words already carrying a hint of excitement. “It’s at Syracuse, so we’ll be gone for like…two nights, maybe three depending on how long Coach decides to torture us.”
Yasmin and Bella roll their eyes simultaneously. “Dude, ‘Cuse is the worst.” Bella sighed as she slumped back into her chair.
“You’re just a big ball of positivity this morning.” Riki hums as he feeds you a piece of waffle. Hovering his hand below it to catch any syrup that might’ve dripped onto his hand.
You accept the food and nod, speaking through your chewing as you cover your mouth with your hand. “Yeah, what’s up with you? You’ve been acting like a buttmunch all morning.”
Bella groaned, stabbing at her strawberries like they’d personally wronged her. “I’m sorry guys, I just really don’t wanna go to that fucking game.”
Riki wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to his side as he leaned back into the cushiony seat. “‘Cuse is not that bad. They play dirty but that’s nothing we can’t get around.”
“Dirty?” You looked at him in confusion.
“Yeah,” Yasmin nodded as she sipped her apple juice. “Last season, they fouled one of the guys—Nicholas—so hard. He went for a layup and they shoved him. Fractured his wrist. It was crazy, I felt so bad.”
Your brows lifted, “no way. Did the ref even call it?”
“They did,” Riki sighed. “But at that point, what can you do? You suspend a player, he’s on the bench for the rest of the season—fine. But one of our players is benched indefinitely, has to go to PT for his wrist, he may not play the same, whatever—it was just so much worse for Nico.” He rolled his eyes as he recounted the events of the past. Stirring anger in his stomach as he remembers watching that happen.
Bella shook her head. “Yeah, it was bad. It wasn’t like a life-altering injury or anything but it was so shitty on Syracuse’s part.”
“Well…what are you guys gonna do?” You sigh as you rested your hand on Riki’s muscly thigh and leaned your head on his shoulder.
Yasmin chimed in, “not much. There’s nothing we can do. I mean, their cheer team isn’t really a problem. They’re always super nice. It’s just the fuckass team that gives these guys issues.” She nods to Riki.
“So when do you guys leave?”
“Tomorrow morning,” Bella brought a raspberry to her mouth to chew, looking down at the threading of her skirt—her chewing halts suddenly. “Wait…”
Yasmin smiles brightly, “don’t. Because if we’re thinking the same thing then I’m for it.”
“Oh, we are thinking the same thing,” Bella said, setting her fork down with a little clink. “Babes, you should so come with us!”
You nearly choked on your drink. “Wait, what?” you coughed, slapping the table with your free hand. “You’re inviting me to Syracuse?”
Bella leaned forward, eyes sparkling with that dangerous “I have a terrible idea” kind of excitement. “Think about it. Road trip! We have to cheer anyway, eat gas station snacks, complain about hotel beds—”
“—get screamed at by Syracuse fans and possibly catch another stray basketball to the face,” You interrupted, waving her fork. “Yeah, super fun.”
Riki smacked his teeth. “Don’t even joke about shit like that.”
Bella laughed, flicking a crumb at him. “Relax, Captain Protective. She’s not gonna get decked by a ball again.”
“I’m not opposed to her coming.” Riki clarified, “obviously. But we all get to ride on the team bus, why would you waste your own gas?”
Yasmin grinned, already scheming. “Because we’re not on the team, genius. We’re with cheer, which means we have to take the spirit bus.”
Riki’s expression twisted. “The spirit bus? The one that smells like glitter and spray tan?”
You furrowed your brows as you leaned away from him, letting his arm fall back on the seat. “How do you know what the spirit bus smells like?” You ask him with suspicion—even mildly irritated.
Riki froze, eyes flicking toward you like a kid caught stealing snacks before dinner. “Huh?” he stalled, fork halfway to his mouth. “I mean…I’ve heard things.”
Bella immediately perked up, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “Heard things, huh? Or experienced things?”
Riki set his fork down, leaning forward defensively. “Okay, first of all, I was on there one time. One time. Coach made me grab the banner they left behind after homecoming, and it was like stepping into Candyland.”
You raised an unimpressed brow. “Mhm. So what you’re telling me is that you voluntarily stepped foot on the cheer bus, alone, to grab a banner.”
He pointed at you, shaking his head. “Don’t do that tone thing. It wasn’t like that.”
You squinted at him, “I’m not doing anything.”
“Ooh…” Yasmin murmured to Bella. “Boyfriend in trouble…” She sang as she shimmied her shoulders.
Riki smiled nervously, eyes darting between you and your two grinning friends. “No, no—don’t let her fool you. She’s trying to make this sound like some scandalous cheer bus rendezvous when I was literally in there for thirty seconds.”
Bella gasped dramatically. “Thirty seconds? That’s all it takes.” Yasmin nearly spit out her juice laughing. You pressed your lips together, trying to look serious but failing miserably as Riki’s ears started turning red. “Wow. I thought you’d last longer than that.”
Riki raised his brows in surprise. “Don’t get cute, baby.” He smiles as he feeds you a grape.
Yasmin and Bella gagged dramatically at the sight but decided to move on. The blonde grinned, leaning across the table. “Admit it, you were curious. You wanted to see how the other half lives.”
“The other half smells like hair spray and glitter glue!” Riki protested, groaning as you finally let out a giggle. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
You rested your chin on your palm, smirking up at him. “Maybe. It’s cute when you get defensive.”
“You,” He smiled as he pointed at you. “Are evil.”
You gasped in mock offense. “Evil? I prefer ‘charming,’ thank you very much.”
Riki leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms but fighting a smile. “Yes, mama—you are very charming but I’d rather you say like messing with me.”
You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Maybe. But you make it so easy.”
Bella snorted. “Yeah, she’s got you wrapped around her finger, dude. It’s kind of embarrassing.”
Riki threw her a flat look. “You’re just mad ‘cause your waffles are hard as frisbees.”
“They were abstract,” Bella countered, stabbing one with her fork. “Fuck you, they’re still edible.”
Yasmin laughed so hard she nearly choked on her juice. “Yeah, okay, Picasso.”
You watched the three of them bicker, warmth flooding your chest. Riki didn’t just fit in with your friends anymore—he belonged there, like he’d always been part of the picture. The ease of it all made your heart do that stupid little flip it did whenever you realized how much you liked this boy.
—
Later that day
—
After some relenting, you decided to come with the girls to the game. It didn’t take much convincing.
But even then, something felt amiss.
Ironically, the day that Riki accidentally knocked you in the face with that ball—it unlocked some type of sixth sense. One where you could just feel, when your left cheek throbbed—that something was about to go left.
Yasmin and Bella were making their way off the court and into the arena hallway. Practice was over and they were headed to the locker room to freshen up. As usual, Yasmin was buzzing, Bella was limping. How she hasn’t just quit the team yet, none of you know.
As the girls guzzled water, they heard commotion coming from the men’s locker room. The sound was the usual post-practice banter. Laughter, some music echoing off the tile.
And for some reason, this was the one time the girls decided to be nosy. The guys were pumped after their own practice—adrenaline and testosterone running rapidly through the air. Towels were slung low on hips, sneakers squeaking against the wet tile, music blaring from someone’s speaker. The room smelled like victory and cheap body spray.
“Yo, Riki, be honest,” one of them called out through the steam, “you and that girl—what’s the deal?”
Riki, mid-laugh, froze with a water bottle halfway to his mouth. “What girl?” he asked, but the grin tugging at his lips already betrayed him.
“Oh, don’t play dumb,” another chimed in. “The one that’s always waiting after practice. The one with the big eyes. Cute face?”
The guys erupted into hollers and mock ‘oohs.’ Riki shook his head, trying—and failing—to bite back a smile.
Outside the door, Yasmin and Bella’s jaws practically hit the floor.
Yasmin whispered, “Oh, we are so not supposed to be hearing this,” but she leaned in closer anyway.
Bella, deadpan, muttered, “You mean you’re not supposed to. I’m locked in.”
You’d just arrived at the end of the hall when you saw them crouched near the door like undercover agents.
“...What are you guys doing?” you whispered.
Both girls whipped around, wide-eyed, trying and failing to look innocent. Yasmin gestured frantically. “Shh! He’s talking about you!”
And just like that, your stomach dropped—and your left cheek started to throb again. You dropped your backpack to the floor as you crouched next to the girls. Stabling yourself against Yasmin as you held her shoulders.
Maki leaned against the opposite lockers, facing Riki with a smirk. “So you get any action yet?”
Riki scoffed, rolling his eyes as he turned to his locker—grabbing a clean towel to wipe his bare chest. “Is pussy all you guys think about?”
Some of the guys laughed, Maki included. “Well yeah, sometimes. Especially if I’ve got a girl and she hasn’t put out in the few months we’ve been together.” He whistles, antagonizing the point guard. “I hoped you’d score more than that.”
Yasmin’s eyes widened so hard you thought they might fall out of her head. Bella smacked her arm, whisper-yelling, “Oh my god, he did not just say that—”
You didn’t even breathe. Every muscle in your body went rigid, eyes fixed on the thin crack of light between the door and the frame.
Inside, Riki let out a dry laugh, low and humorless. “You don’t know what I do, dumbass. Who do you think I am?”
If there was one thing that you knew about men, it was that it only took but so much to make them crack. They were easy. Toy with them, keep them on their toes. And you prided yourself on knowing Riki.
His quirks like touching a doorframe before walking through. Scratching his jaw when he was irritated.
But you certainly knew his type: you. Because he told you. He made sure you knew through his words but action as well. He likes someone that he can upkeep a rapport with. A fun personality and a sharp mouth to match his. Someone who could keep up with him in a room full of noise, toss a jab back when he threw one first. You’d always joked that you were built to spar with him, not swoon over him.
It amazed you, really. Because narrowing down the versions of Riki you saw, you knew that there was one side that you’d experienced up until this point wouldn’t make an appearance. The nasty, egotistical one.
Your cheek throbbed again.
“I think you’re better than this.” Maki laughed. “You’re whipped.” Snorting as he grabbed his towel to swipe Riki with it as the rest of the team followed. Spanking him with their towels as all of them shared laughs—Riki included.
“Hey! Hey hey hey!” He straightened up as he shrunk into himself before. Laughing as he nudged the guys off. “I’m not whipped! Okay? You really think the Riki Nishimura, basketball extraordinaire is whipped?” He says dramatically, as if he’s some king giving a royal decree.
“Oh fuck…” Yasmin mumbled to herself in panic, hand feeling for yours as she gripped it tightly.
But Riki kept going. “All these girls are the same, Maki.” He smiled—slickly, as he got closer to the shorter lowerclassmen. “Just another hole to fill and if you think I can’t get any then you’re as dumb as you look.” Riki’s eyes scanned the younger as he poked his forehead. “Let Big Bro show you something.”
You froze. Your stomach dropped into your shoes, and your left cheek throbbed—not just from the memory of the ball, but from the words echoing across the locker room.
Yasmin’s grip on your hand tightened like she was trying to anchor both of you to reality. “Nope. Nope. Nope,” she whispered, her eyes wide.
Bella’s jaw had practically hit the floor, a mix of disbelief and shock frozen on her face. “What the fuck?”
You didn’t even let yourself finish the thought. Riki’s swaggering smirk, the way he leaned over the younger guy, his words sliding out like they were rehearsed, hit you harder than any basketball ever could. This wasn’t the playful, teasing Riki you knew. This was calculated, confident, and…something darker. Something that felt like a stranger pretending to be the man you loved.
“Show me what? How to not get play?” Maki shook his head with a laugh. “You’re not that guy, trust me.”
“I’ll just keep doing what I’ve been doing.” Riki shrugged, “fucking around and winning.”
Your stomach twisted. That laugh—the arrogance—it didn’t belong to the Riki you knew, the one who kissed and touched you like the prize you were, who stole your kiwi, who teased you just enough to make you laugh. This version was a performance. And part of you hated that you even recognized it, that it was still so convincingly him.
Yasmin leaned closer, whispering in your ear, “We should go…now.” Her hand squeezed yours like she was trying to pull both of you back to safety.
You hesitated, eyes glued to Riki. He was laughing now, tossing the younger guy a smirk like it was all a game. The energy was intoxicating, magnetic, but it made your chest feel tight. You wanted to call him out, to make him stop—but at the same time, you were frozen, caught somewhere between anger, disbelief, and the part of you that still loved him fiercely.
Yasmin’s voice broke through again, urgently. “Seriously, we’re leaving before this gets worse.” But how could it?
You let her tug you gently, glancing back at Riki one last time. His grin was still there, but now it was softer, more familiar. And somehow, that made your chest ache even more, caught between relief and frustration.
—
The three ended up in Bella’s dorm, which was the closest to the arena. You knew you couldn’t make it all the way to your dorm without breaking down.
Once the door clicked shut behind you, the chaos of the arena felt miles away. The muffled sounds of the men’s locker room were replaced by the faint hum of the radiator and the soft creak of the dorm floorboards. Yasmin dropped onto Bella’s bed with a dramatic groan, clutching her water bottle like it was a life preserver.
You sank onto the edge, hands pressed to your face as you tried to steady your breathing. The image of Riki—the conceited, dark version of him—kept flashing in your mind. It wasn’t that you doubted him. You knew him. You thought you did. But that side, that…performative dominance? It was a reminder that there were layers of him you hadn’t touched, weren’t sure you ever would. And then the floodgates came down.
Grabbing one of her pillows, you buried your face as sobs racked through your chest. Yasmin and Bella froze for a moment, exchanging a glance that said without words: do we intervene, or give her a second?
Yasmin was the first to react, gently kneeling beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Hey…hey, it’s okay,” she murmured, her voice soft but firm. “Breathe. Just breathe.”
You couldn’t stop the shaking, couldn’t stop the tears that spilled into the pillow. “I…he’s…he’s not just…he’s…” Your words stumbled and fractured, barely audible. The part of you that tried to rationalize, to ground yourself in months of trust and tenderness with Riki, felt useless against the image of the stranger-like version of him.
Bella joined in, kneeling on the other side and grabbing your hands gently. “I got you,” she said simply. “We’ve got you. Nothing he did—or who he was being in there—changes the fact that we’re gonna be here for you every step of the way.”
Your body trembled against them, the sobs coming in uneven waves. Yasmin rested her chin on your shoulder, humming softly like she had when you were a kid after a nightmare. Bella squeezed your hands, her eyes warm but steady. Together, they anchored you, a living reminder that the world wasn’t just Riki and his shadows.
After what felt like an eternity, the sobs slowed. Your chest heaved as you tried to suck in air, finally lifting your face from the pillow to see their concerned, gentle expressions. “I…thank you,” you whispered, your voice raw. “I just…I knew it, bro.” You punched your palm in frustration. “My parents fucking told me.” Your voice wavered as warm tears ran down your face. “I should’ve listened to my fucking gut!”
Yasmin’s arms tightened around you, her voice steady despite the worry in her eyes. “Hey, hey…shh. No blaming yourself. None of this is on you.” She rubbed small circles into your shoulder, comforting you like she always did.
Bella nodded firmly, her grip on your hands unyielding. “Exactly. You’re not responsible for him being…whatever that was. You’ve been trusting, you’ve been patient—that’s all you could do. And yeah, maybe your gut had warnings, but you didn’t listen—so what? You’re a human being.”
You pressed your face back into the pillow, muffling a sob, but the two of them stayed right there, unwavering. The warmth from Yasmin on one side, Bella on the other, felt like the only solid ground in a storm that had your world tilting.
“Hey.” Bella continues firmly, bringing your face up to look at her. Her blue eyes locking with your own eyes. “Fuck that guy. If he wants to speak about you in such a disgusting, deplorable way to stroke his own ego—by all means. But that doesn’t make or break you. It only says something—everything—about him.”
You blinked through the tears, letting her words sink in, heavy and grounding all at once. The anger bubbling in your chest mingled with the ache, a strange but familiar cocktail. “Yeah…yeah, you’re right,” you murmured, your voice cracking slightly. “It’s not me. It’s…him.”
Yasmin squeezed your shoulder, her grip firm, unyielding. “Exactly. And we’re not letting that bullshit stick to you. He can act like a fool all he wants—doesn’t change who you are, or what you deserve.”
Bella gave a small, almost fierce smile, brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek. “You are not defined by what some guy tries to pull, okay? Not Riki, not Maki, not anyone. You’re solid. You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re a fucking—you’re absolutely stunning. A smoke show. And—fuck it—you’re ours. And we don’t let anyone talk down to our girl.”
You let out a shaky laugh, more release than humor, leaning into their warmth. “I—I just…God, I hate that it stings.”
“And it will,” Yasmin said softly, but firmly. “For a second, for a day, maybe even a week. But that’s fine. You feel it, then we leave it there. You don’t have to deal with it alone. Not now, not ever.”
The room fell quiet for a moment, save for your uneven breaths and the soft hum of the radiator. And in that silence, you realized something—this wasn’t just comfort. This was armor. Solid, unbreakable, built of friendship and love that no locker room bravado could ever touch. And instead of making you feel some sense of support, love, security—it sent the wrath of the devil through you.
The signs were there from the beginning, the chasing, the bombarding his way into your life. The hesitance during the first kiss. The trying so hard to make you like him then laying it on thick—it was all right in front of you.
You let him encroach on your girl time—the fact that you even let him get close to the two most important people in your life felt like betrayal in itself. Like you handed him the keys to your sanctuary and he just stomped through it.
Blows to your pride were something you didn’t take lightly and this was something you couldn’t just swallow.
What about your feelings? What about the other, maybe, dozens of girls he’d used like a tissue and tossed to the bin?! You were sick and tired of seeing so many girls and women—people—fall victim to assholes like Riki Nishimura.
Just another hole? Fine. You need retribution. And you need it now.
Heat turned to ice in your veins and something in you snapped neat and clean—not a sob this time, not a plea. A cold, focused fury rose up, quiet and terrible. You didn’t want a meltdown anymore.
“I’m going to ruin his life.” You mumbled to yourself as your jaw clicked. “I’m going to make him wish he never met me.”
Yasmin and Bella froze, giving each other looks. Before Yasmin spoke up, “hey…” She cleared her throat. “Let’s ease up, okay? You’re upset and—”
You sit up straight, getting up from the bed as you angrily paced back and forth. “No. I’m fucking livid. I mean who does this dickhead think he is?! Me?! Nothing but a fucking hole to fuck when he’s the one that damn near—no—begged me to even talk to him?”
As the two girls looked at you, both of their expressions differed. Yasmin, like always, led with her heart. Her gentle features framed by her curtain bangs, she was always the one to consider someone before anything. The friend that would give her last meal if it meant you ate. The person that would sit on the phone with you for hours just to hear you vent if it meant that it’d help you.
Bella led with her brain. Her wavy hair was out of her face, wearing her emotions for you to see plainly. She had such a knack for getting the both of you out of sticky, overthink-y situations. She’d tell you when you were being ridiculous but would dive in the deep end with you if you so chose. And yet, they looked at you just as one would expect.
Yasmin was on the verge of tears herself, her eyes brimming as her lips pouted. Seeing you this unhinged was so beyond her and she shook her head, looking down at her own hands.
Bella was locked, though. Her sharp features rested calmly though her jaw was set. Which made sense. Someone does something outrageous, she’s upset. That makes sense.
“Okay,” she said finally, her voice steady in that way that made you want to either hug her or throw something. “Then what’s the plan, genius? You gonna torch his car? Leak something? Because as much as I’d love to see that boy panic for once in his life, I think you want something smarter than that.”
Her calmness only made your pulse pound harder. You wanted movement. Consequence. You wanted Riki’s name to taste like ash in every mouth that said it. But even as the fury roared, Bella’s words dug in—she wasn’t dismissing you. She was challenging you to make it count.
Yasmin stood, wiping under her eyes and grabbing your arm gently. “You’re hurt, dude. Like, badly. And that’s okay. But if you do something you can’t take back, you’ll regret it—and he’ll still win. You’re better than this. Don’t stoop to his level.”
“Or what, Yas? Just let him give me his ass to kiss?” You shrugged, laughing humorlessly. “I—”
“Dude, just break up with him! Call it quits. But you don’t have to try to ruin his entire—”
“Look,” Bella stood up as she chimed in. “In some way, Yas is right. While I’d love to see his life ruined—stooping lower doesn’t exactly do you any favors. Because then what? Guys get off easy, you know that. You’d just be the bitter, scorned lover and would have an entire fan base and university hate you. Is it worth that?” She said carefully.
You stared at her like she’d just said something in another language. “So I’m supposed to just…what? Move on? Pretend he didn’t just violate like that?”
Bella exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose. “No. I’m saying—you play it smart. He wants you to be emotional. He wants drama because it makes him look composed. Don’t give him that. If you’re gonna do some shit then just know that I don’t condone it. But…” She pursed her lips as she cleared her throat. “I’m down. What are we doing?”
Yasmin looks at Bella like she has three heads. “Are we being serious right now?” Then looking back at you. “Hello? Am I speaking a language you don’t understand? Just dump the guy, it’s not worth it—I’m telling you!” She held your arms as she looked at you—pleading. “You may be hot now but I’m telling you —mark my words—you will regret it.”
“Then let me,” you shrug, “look, I’m not gonna kill him or anything.”
Yasmin blinked, her nostrils flaring as she loosened her grip on your arms. Leaning back as she let out a breath. “…Fine. But I still vote you dump him and skip the theatrics. I do not want to be in a courtroom later.”
“Oh stop it, Yasmin.” Bella smacked her teeth as she waved her off. “She’s just going to fuck with him a little probably.”
“Exactly,” you nod. “I have ideas…but I’m not gonna break up with him.” You smiled deviously, “I’m just going to throw him off his game.”
—
“Are you sure you don’t wanna come, mama?” Riki frowned as he stood by his apartment door.
The Syracuse game was tomorrow and the basketball and cheer teams were leaving in t-minus one hour. Since both your friends and Riki invited you to come along, you figured you’d stay behind. For obvious reasons.
“I’m sure, baby.” You sighed as you leaned against the door. “I have a presentation for my Ethics class that I’ve hardly started. I gotta lock in.”
The tall man nudged his suitcase away, “are you sure? You’re more than welcome to come.” He steps forward, grabbing your hands as he kisses them. Making his way up your wrists and it took everything in you not to vomit in your mouth. “You know I play better with you there.”
“Sorry, but I really can’t. If I miss this deadline, I could fail. It’s a major assignment.” You shrug a shoulder. “You know how it is…”
Riki nods, “I do, mama, you know I do.” He pouts as he lets go of your arm and pulls you into a hug. “Well…” He exhales dramatically. “I’ll miss you. And I left you the key and my card on the counter. The place is yours.” He leaned down to peck your lips to which you reciprocated. Kissing Riki at this juncture contested your morals. Half of you felt bitter, the other sweet. That the recollection of his words then and now threw you for a loop. You battled with hating him with your brain but loving him with your body.
You cupped his face as you tilted your head into the kiss. Lips gliding across his as smacking reverberated throughout the quiet pad. He hummed into the exchange as his hands rested on your ribcage, just below your breasts. Sliding down to your waist but you pulled back before he got any ideas.
“I’ll call you. I wanna hear all about your night, okay?” Riki kissed your knuckles again like he was sealing a promise and then he was gone—suitcase rolling, keys jangling, the door shutting with that small finality that suddenly made the apartment feel way too big. You stood there an extra beat, breathing out the sight of him walking away down the hall, feeling that weird cocktail of relief and venom fizz in your gut.
You locked the door and immediately got to work. You started with something simple.
Going to the fridge, you shuffled through the fridge for his protein shakes and green juices. And without a second thought did you gather them all along the counter.
You lined every bottle up like little soldiers about to meet their maker. Vanilla whey, chocolate whey, matcha greens, the ominous “superfuel” one that smelled like spinach and dirt. Every one of them—fuel for his precious pregame routine, the routine he swore by. The same routine he’d bragged about perfecting since middle school.
You grabbed the first bottle.
Twist, breaking the seal with a crack. Pour. Down the sink it went, a depressing brown waterfall glug-glug-glugging into the drain.
It felt like sex.
You didn’t stop there. One by one, you emptied every single drink. Protein? Gone. Greens? Gone. That weird probiotic mango kefir he always insisted “was life-changing?” Down the pipes like it was nothing.
By bottle five, you were humming. By bottle nine, you were laughing. By bottle thirteen, you were leaning your weight on the counter like, wow, I’m actually unwell. But oh, it felt good.
When you were done, the counter looked like a crime scene. Caps everywhere. Empty bottles lined up like trophies. The sink foam-green from the mixture of whatever the hell he’d been consuming. You rinsed the sink out of the mess, gathered the bottles in a garbage bag to take out—not leaving a trace.
You wiped your hands on a dish towel, chest rising and falling as the first hit of petty victory lit your veins.
Step one complete. Sabotage the routine.
Step two?
You opened the pantry. Protein powder. Pre-workout. Hydration packs. Then, you took the pre-workout and loosened the lid by half a turn. Just loose enough that, when he inevitably grabbed it in a rush, the powder would pop out in a satisfying puff—onto him, the counter, the floor.
Your phone buzzed.
angel: what’s the status, brittany snow?
You: all the bodily fluids GONEEE
pretty princess: girl PLEASE what does that even mean
You: his nasty ass shakes
pretty princess: EEEYUCK ???
angel: LMFAOOO
You smiled, pocketing your phone.
You walked into his bedroom next—the sanctum. Neat, annoyingly neat. Bed made. Shoes lined up. Posters straight. Laundry basket empty.
Perfect. You didn’t have to destroy anything. You just…shifted.
Nothing too far—just enough out of place that he’d be tearing the room apart in thirty minutes. His practice hoodie? You folded it and tucked it under the bed. His favorite beanie? Behind the headboard.
Small inconveniences. It’s all super silly, but throwing someone out of their rigid routine meant a lot more than one thought.
Then you opened his nightstand drawer and saw it.
The Polaroid of you he kept. The one from your second date. Crooked, sun-washed, you laughing with your face turned away from the camera. You simply flipped it faced down.
That was enough. He’d open the drawer and know something had shifted.
And then, for the finishing touch, you slid a sticky note onto his mirror. hi baby, did some cleaning up <3
You stepped back to survey the apartment—quiet, calm, meticulously disturbed.
A masterpiece of emotional warfare.
You dusted off your hands and whispered to yourself, almost sweetly:
Your cheek didn’t throb this time. It pulsed.
You weren’t done.
Not even close.
— Two days later
1 Missed Call from Riki
riki: baby
what happened to all my shakes and juices…?
you: can’t call, in class rn
what do you mean?
riki: sorry mama
but i got back to the crib and i saw that all of my juices were gone
did you clean?
you: yeah
i left a note, sorry idk why i didn’t just text you that i cleaned up lmao ??
You stared at the blinking cursor, tongue poking into your cheek as you imagined him standing in front of his open fridge, hands on his hips like somebody’s stressed single mother. Perfect.
riki: ok but like
all of my juices?
every single one?
you: …why does that matter?
Three dots. Then none. Then the message bubble disappeared like he was pacing around his kitchen trying to form a coherent thought with no electrolytes in his bloodstream.
riki: i’m not mad, baby
just confused
they were FULL bottles
did you throw them away??
You leaned back against the couch, laughing as you snuggled into your duvet.
you: yeah, they were old.
dates looked weird.
didn’t wanna risk expired protein diarrhea in my lover <3
Another long pause.
riki: babe those were bought THREE DAYS AGO like
t h r e e d a y s a g o
??
you: oh.
baby i’m so sorry.
There was something deeply satisfying about imagining him standing there, fridge light illuminating the disbelief on his face, probably blinking like he’d been smacked with a baguette.
riki: ok…it’s fine…it’s fine
i’ll just get more in the morning before shootaround
it’s cool
Liar. You could smell the stress through the phone.
you: you good?
you seem stressed
riki: no i’m good
i gotta go to team meetings rn
but can i call u later?
want ur voice before i sleep, or maybe u could sleepover
You stared at the message. You could almost feel the shift—like he was trying to recalibrate, shake off the unease creeping under his skin.
you: we’ll see. depends on my workload.
Saying that but you know damn well you’re going to sleepover.
riki: …ok
i love you
You typed. Erased. Typed again.
you: love you too
You locked your phone, letting it drop onto your thigh as the familiar pulse flickered through your left cheek. That tiny, electric reminder of what started all this.
—
Later that day
—
“Goodnight, mama.”
“Night, baby.” You smiled as you leaned over, pressing a kiss to Riki’s lips as he sighed into it. He ran his hand down your back as he broke the kiss to press a smooch to your cheek. “I love you forever.” He mumbled against your cheek. “You love me?”
You rolled your eyes, chest burning with anguish and resentment. But you had to keep the ruse. “Mhm,” turning your face to peck his jaw as you found he looked at you. Resting his hand on your cheek as his chocolatey eyes melted at the sight of you under the warm light.
And somehow, seeing him—seeing him look at you in this way almost entrapped you again. Made you remember who he was to you. The pop-ups with dinner, the random dates, the proud affection he gave you.
But it was just that. Because what happened? What did you do? Where did you go wrong? And how was he just able to turn it on and off that way? You saw the glint in his eyes, the way he slightly towered over his junior in the locker room as he degraded you for tens of other people to hear. As humiliating as it is, he knew you’d have to be around those same people. Greeting them, sitting courtside and cheering them on. It was almost sociopathic.
“Good. Because I love you even more.” He leaned in to peck your lips repeatedly. “Push me off or I won’t leave these lips alone.” He purred, bringing his hand to your jaw.
You smiled, returning them before you pulled back and he let you. “Go to sleep, casanova.” Riki grinned—soft, lazy, stupidly in love—like the world outside that bedroom didn’t exist. Like he hadn’t gutted you less than a week ago without even knowing he held the knife. He lay back, tugging you down with him until your foreheads brushed and his thumb stroked your cheek with that reverent tenderness reserved for saints and girlfriends. Not holes.
“Mm…I’ll sleep if you kiss me one more time,” he murmured, eyes half-lidded, voice dipped in honey. “C’mon, mama…just one.”
He was so close you could feel every breath, warm and even, laced with trust so blind it felt like a dare. You huffed a soft laugh, leaning in, letting your lips graze his—barely there, feather-light. Just enough to sell it. Just enough to keep him wrapped in the version of you he thought he owned. His lids fluttered shut like it was instinct, like your touch was the last thing he needed to sleep.
He whispered it again, softer this time. “Love you. Forever.”
The words slid under your skin like ice.
You cupped his cheek, thumb brushing the edge of his mouth as he nuzzled into your palm like a spoiled cat. You gave him your warmest smile—sweet, sleepy, harmless. “Goodnight, baby.”
He sank into the pillow with a little satisfied exhale, reaching blindly for your hand like he couldn’t fall asleep without it. His fingers threaded through yours, grip loose and trusting. Within a minute, his breathing evened out, lashes still against his cheekbones, lips parted just a little.
Peaceful. Completely unaware.
You watched him for a long moment—watched the soft rise and fall of his chest, the slow flutter of his fingers as they loosened around yours, the way his features looked almost boyish in dream-light. The version of him he let you have. The one no one else got.
The one he weaponized behind your back.
Your smile faded the second his breathing confirmed he was fully under.
You slipped your hand from his, slow and soundless. Sat up. Watched him one last time—because you needed to—then stood.
His phone glowed faintly on the nightstand, screen half-lit from a notification.
You snuck over, bare feet silent on the floor. Up close he looked smaller, somehow—all that swagger folded into the slow rise and fall of sleep. Your hand hovered for a second, then moved without drama: you pulled the cable from the phone. The charger came free with a soft click that sounded way louder in the hush than it should have. The phone screen blinked, then dimmed to black as charging stopped.
Then you quietly placed the phone on the floor between the bedside table and bed. So you could suggest that maybe just maybe, it fell while he was asleep.
There was no time for you to feel bad. No space for you to have any regard for him and his feelings.
You slipped back into your side of the bed, lifting the comforter just enough to slide under without shifting the mattress. Riki didn’t even twitch—just mumbled something incoherent and rolled slightly toward your now-empty hand, searching for it in his sleep. The kind of soft instinct that once melted you.
Now it just hardened your resolve. You settled onto your pillow, facing him. His lashes brushed his cheeks, his dark hair fell messily over his forehead, and the corners of his mouth were relaxed—none of that locker-room arrogance, none of that cruel swagger. Just a boy sleeping.
Your cheek pulsed again. You breathed out slowly, quietly. No hesitation. No guilt. If anything, a sharp, wicked satisfaction bloomed low in your chest. He’d wake up groggy, confused, panicked from oversleeping, trip over his own excuses. Miss warmups. Piss off his coach. Maybe his whole rhythm would be off for the rest of the day. And it wouldn’t be traced back to you. Cute.
You turned your head on the pillow, watching the faint glow of the digital clock on the wall.
11:23 PM.
Plenty of time before he needed to wake up.
Plenty of time for his phone—now unplugged and hidden—to drain just enough.
You shifted slightly, the bedsprings creaking faintly. Riki moved too, instinctively throwing an arm over your waist, pulling you back into him with sleepy strength. His breath warmed the back of your neck.
If someone walked in, they’d think this was love.
But you stared straight ahead, eyes open, awake and focused, your mind already sketching the next domino to tip.
—
The morning was a quiet, serene one. The sun’s grace poured through the windowpane as it painted the bedding in gold, catching on the dust motes swirling lazily in the air. The apartment was warm, still, the way it only ever was when fall-winter sunlight decided to be nice for once.
Riki shifted behind you with a soft groan, his arm tightening for a second before he blinked himself awake. You didn’t move—just breathed evenly, eyes half-closed like you’d been asleep, not wide awake planning the trajectory of his downfall. “Mmm…what time is it…?” he mumbled, voice low and raspy with sleep. One of those sounds that used to make your stomach turn to lava.
Now it curled your lip.
He reached over your waist, patting blindly along the nightstand until his hand hit nothing but wood. He frowned, still groggy, lifting his head to look. “Huh?”
Your lashes fluttered open just enough to watch him through the tiniest sliver.
He pushed himself up onto an elbow, hair sticking in every direction. “Where’s my phone…?”
You stretched slowly, selling the morning softness. “I don’t know,” you yawned, rubbing your eyes. “You tossed and turned like crazy.” He blinked, confused. “Did I?” He leaned over the edge of the bed, eyes widening slightly when he spotted the phone wedged between the table and frame—exactly where you left it.
“Oh. Damn.” He grabbed it, pressing the side button.
Nothing.
He held it down longer.
Still nothing.
“What the—” his brows furrowed. “Baby, it’s dead? It was charging.”
You sat up, pulling the blanket around your shoulders like you were just as confused as him. “Did the cable come out? You know that outlet is loose.”
Riki shoved the cord into the phone again and flipped it over—and the second he saw the blank battery symbol flash and disappear, panic lit his whole face. “Oh shit—what time is it?!” He scrambled, grabbing the digital clock on the nightstand like it held the secrets of the universe.
07:42 AM.
Workouts were at six.
Scrimmage started at seven-thirty.
His entire body went rigid. “Baby, baby—fuck, I’m late—Coach is gonna fuck me up—”
You let your expression twist into perfectly curated worry. “Oh my god, Riki—go! Hurry, go!”
He shot out of bed, nearly tripping as he yanked on sweatpants with one leg still tangled. His heartbeat practically pulsed through the apartment as he raced around, grabbing his duffel, portable charger, shoving random shirts inside, searching frantically for his warmup jacket. Scrambling through his closet, throwing shirts and pants off the rack and onto the floor. “What the fuck?! Where’s my fucking sweater?”
“What sweater, baby?” You yawned as you stood up, your socks hitting the carpeted floor.
“My purple Decelis fleece? The one—nevermind I don’t have time.” He turned back around to grab a random, black pullover. You padded into the kitchen with the blanket still around your shoulders, half-yawning, half-smirking into the fabric where he couldn’t see. Behind you, you heard the frantic gargling, toothbrush clattering into the sink, the thud of cabinet doors closing too hard.
You opened the fridge, all innocent-like, and pulled out the protein pancake mix he loved—the one he always made on game days for “optimal energy.” You set it on the counter on purpose, knowing damn well he wouldn’t have the time to use it, but the sight alone would salt the wound.
“Baby—!” Riki called through toothpaste foam, stumbling out of the bathroom, hair a wild disaster. “Have you seen my arm sleeve? The black one with the—fuck—never mind—”
He barreled past you, nearly knocking into the counter as he tore through the drawers. You stepped aside, clutching your blanket tighter, doing a very convincing impression of a sleepy, supportive girlfriend instead of the overseer of operations. The puppet master. “You want me to make you a quick smoothie?” you asked sweetly, batting your lashes like breakfast was even possible.
He huffed, chest heaving. “No—I—shit—I don’t have time.” He dropped to his knees to search under the couch. “Coach is gonna kill me. He’s literally gonna kill me.”
You peeked over the edge of the counter. “Did you check the rack by the door?”
“For what?!” His voice cracked in panic as he scrambled back to his feet.
“Your arm sleeve.”
Riki sprinted to the entryway—and there it was. Right next to his shoes. Propped neatly. Like a little gift.
“Oh my god,” he gasped, shoving it into his duffel. “I love you—I literally love you—” You smiled softly, touching your chest like his words warmed you instead of making your stomach curdle. “I know, baby. Don’t forget your protein powder.” You hugged the blanket closer to you.
He groaned, “you’re right.” He brushed past you and to the cabinet. Opening it quickly and reaching for the tub by the lid. And before he could make another step, it was like it started snowing.
With a clatter and thud, the tub hit the counter before its contents spilled all over the floor.
A cloud of chalky white billowed up like a blizzard in a snow globe someone had just punted across the room. Protein powder went everywhere—on the counter, the floor, his socks, your socks, the air itself. It was a crime scene. A lactose-based natural disaster. A winter wonderland from hell.
Riki froze mid-motion, one hand still gripping the lid, the other suspended like he wasn’t sure whether to catch the explosion or just accept defeat. His pupils blew wide with pure, uncut panic.
“…No.” He whispered it like a prayer, a curse, and an obituary all at once. “No, no, no—bro, what the fuck—”
You gasped, covering your mouth with both hands. “Oh my god!” Your hands smothered your laugh, your chest caving in nearly gave you away.
“I don’t—shit—fuck—WHY IS IT SO FULL?!” He coughed violently as the powder puffed straight into his face, coating his lashes and settling in his hair like freshly fallen frost.
You rushed forward, blanket trailing behind you like a cape of sympathy. “Oh—don’t breathe, don’t breathe—okay, wait, no—do breathe—you need oxygen—”
He spun in a frantic circle, slipping slightly on the powder-covered tile. “Coach is gonna kill me and I look like I just got baptized in whey protein! I can’t—baby, I can’t—”
“Riki,” you said softly, reaching out to brush some of the powder from his cheek. “It’s okay. Just…wipe it off. You still have time.”
“No I fucking don’t.” He grabbed the edge of the sink and leaned over it like he was about to weep. “I’m already late. I was meant to be there—” he squinted at the blinking oven clock through his snowstorm bangs, “—FIFTEEN minutes ago!”
“Don’t yell at me!” You brushed your socks off. “It’s not like I made you late for practice for the first time in—”
“Never! I’ve never been late.”
He wiped his face aggressively with a dish towel, leaving streaks that made him look like he’d been lightly dusted by a pastry chef. Powder still clung to his hoodie, his sleeves, the entire front of his body like static made of sadness.
He gave one last distressed look around the kitchen, defeated. “I—fuck—okay—no shake today—I don’t need it—I’ll eat a banana or some shit—oh my god—”
You did your best wide-eyed, supportive girlfriend impression. “You’re gonna be okay. Just go! Talking to me about it does nothing.”
Riki nodded once—shaky, determined, a man on the brink—then darted back toward the door, leaving a trail of protein footprints behind him. Before he left, he popped back in, pressed a powder-scented kiss to your forehead, and whispered:
“Love you—lock up when you leave—text you later—please pray for me. Leave the mess, I’ll clean when I get back.”
And then he was gone again, bolting down the hallway like a man fleeing a crime scene.
When the door shut, the powder finally settled.
And so did your laughter.
Pulling out your phone, you figured a group FaceTime was underway.
You wiped a tear from the corner of your eye—not from sadness, but from laughing so hard your ribs hurt. The kitchen looked like the inside of a snow globe that had been shaken by a toddler with vengeance issues. And the image of Riki sprinting out the door, looking like the Ghost of Christmas Past, would feed you for weeks.
Still snickering, you reached for your phone, thumbing open FaceTime and tapping on the group chat with Yasmin and Bella: The Holy Trinity™.
It rang twice.
And then both girls appeared on your screen in chaotic split view—Yasmin in her bonnet, mascara smudged under her eyes like she’d just woken up or cried or both, and Bella with her hair clipped back, already slurping iced coffee like it was noon instead of seven-something in the morning. “Oh my gosh,” Bella groaned, squinting at your background. “Why does it look like you’re filming from inside a cocaine factory?”
“Bro,” Yasmin choked, leaning closer to the camera. “Is that snow? Did it snow in his kitchen? Why is there…why is there powder on your tits—”
You burst into another fit of laughter, nearly dropping the phone. “Guys—guys, wait—he dropped the tub of protein that I placed.”
Bella’s jaw dropped. “No. No, don’t lie to me. Tell me he looked stupid.”
“So fucking stupid,” you said proudly. “He looked like Frosty the Snowman on creatine.” You chuckled, flipping the camera to reveal the catastrophe.
Bella screamed. Not yelled—not gasped—she let out the kind of shriek that could summon emergency services. Yasmin laughed so loud that the microphone didn’t even pick up the sound. They couldn’t see you laughing though the camera shook as you tried to get ahold of yourself. “Oh shit…this is way more fun than I thought.”
You wiped a tear from your eye as you flipped the camera back to yourself. “Guys…he said ‘please pray for me’ before running out the door. Like he was going to war. Like he was going to send me letters from the trenches or something.”
“Ooh, what else is there?”
—
As a result of the last two weeks of torment you put Riki through, you’ve been nothing but happy to see him slowly become a fragmented, mildly skittish and paranoid shell of himself.
And you didn’t even have to do anything to him. A lot of these things were self-inflicted. Whenever you approached him on campus, he would jump before you could make him aware that it was you.
When he showered, he somehow found that his shampoo was always nearly empty. Hardly enough to even lather up. And when he did have to replace it (now almost weekly), he always felt like there was a Nair-y stench to it.
The protein powder remained in the cracks of the kitchen’s wooden floor. He felt that his hair was thinning even though it clearly wasn’t. Riki also discovered that he had a fish allergy—courtesy of the fried cod you made him. The reaction was very mild, just an antihistamine and it knocked him right out. You didn’t know he had this allergy.
You’re not that crazy.
Unfortunately, the only thing that the universe—with the interference of you—couldn’t seem to shake was that fucking basketball shit.
No matter how many times you tried to curb his alarms (he set multiple and bought an alarm clock), hide stuff (he packs his bag the night before now), and secretly pray for his downfall—it just never happened. Riki’s stats still stayed the exact same. Averaging thirty points per game, seven rebounds, eight assists. He hardly called you after practice with weight on his voice.
And that was the only thing that Riki did his best to protect. Basketball was his sanctuary and as vain as it sounded: he considered himself to be a seasoned vet already. If he learned anything from playing—enduring—this sport for his whole life it was two things: don’t be a selfish player—not just in game, but in life. And leave any and all personal shit off the court.
And that if he held both of these things close to his heart and led with love, then he was going to be alright.
But he was a human being. Most importantly, he was a man. An egomaniacal, self centered man. And just like any other human being, he made mistakes and with those two values he held tightly to his chest—if he slipped then he’d feel it.
So everyday, for the last two weeks—he reflected. What exactly did he do to be so out of whack recently? He wasn’t selfish. He loves you, honors you, does everything that a boyfriend should right?
Yeah, Coach yelled at him the day he was late. But he ultimately suffered no consequences as that was his first offense. But still, despite that—he ran three laps around the arena to be fair to his teammates.
You and him haven’t argued yet. In the four months that you had been together, everything went swimmingly. Nothing that you’ve done has sincerely pissed him off. The closest thing might’ve been the day with his juices being gone. But it was an honest mistake.
But besides that, everything that he felt for you from the start remained—if anything, it only intensified. There wasn’t a moment where he didn’t want to be in your skin. To hold you and tell you how breathtaking you were. How every conversation with you felt like talking to a friend. Like he’s known you his whole life.
So what did he do? What did he do to be having such a tough time? What was he getting karma for?
—
You sat in your dorm, munching on a salad as you were working on an assignment that was ten days past due. But truthfully, it was already beyond late—you didn’t care about making it up anymore.
Your main concern was your next point of action: kill Riki Nishimura. Not like actually kill him or anything.
This was going to be your magnum opus: killing him socially. Bella and Yasmin didn’t think you could do it. More like they didn’t want you to. But you had it all mapped out. And your beloved boyfriend had no clue. Not one. He made it easy with how weird he was being. The best revenge comes from doing hardly nothing at all. Watching him feel like a stranger in his own skin brought you enough joy to last you three lifetimes.
But you were greedy.
—
The arena’s noise was thick. You could feel it in your ribs—the music from the above speakers, the chatter, the sharp whistle of sneakers on the waxed court. You sat front row, dead center. The perfect sightline. The perfect stage.
Your fingers shook—not from nerves, but from the kind of adrenaline that comes before impact. You had the note written out. Printed. Folded once. Sitting like a loaded weapon in your lap. You could feel the weight of it pressing through your jeans.
Bella had clocked it the second she saw you. Yasmin’s eyes darted to the paper, then to your face, then back again. They didn’t even need to say it out loud; the girl telepathy was loud enough to deafen. The blonde’s attention remained on you but she placed her hand on Yasmin’s arm. “What the fuck is she doing?”
“I don’t know!” The olive skinned girl shrugged as her doe eyes widened in fright. “She didn’t say anything about doing something public.”
Bella shook her head. “Oh fuck no, she’s lost her goddamn mind.” She stood, waving her arms to catch your attention. “Don’t,” she hissed, barely moving her lips.
But you were already standing.
The announcer’s voice bled into the air, “—and now, your starting five!”
You didn’t hear the cheers. Didn’t see the team running out. You only saw him. Riki, jogging onto the court, smiling easily, looking like he hadn’t spent the last two weeks unraveling.
He waved to the crowd, scanning briefly—just long enough for your eyes to catch. He froze. Blinked. His smile faltered for a second. Then returned, practiced and bright.
You unfolded the paper.
“Don’t you dare,” Yasmin whispered, gripping your arm so tightly her nails pressed crescents into your skin.
You shook her off. “He deserves this.”
Bella stood too, half-blocking you from view. “No, he doesn’t. Not like this. This is too fucking far!”
But you didn’t even hear her. The mic was right there—abandoned on the sideline after the anthem. You could take three steps and it’d be in your hand. You could read the note, the one that started with ‘Three weeks ago, starting point guard, Riki Nishimura, had degraded me—’ It’d be over for him. You’d make sure of it.
And that’s when Yasmin, bless her, full-body tackled your arm and snatched the paper clean out of your hand. “You’re done,” she hissed, shaking her head. “This isn’t justice, this is suicide.”
“What—” you started, but then Bella’s voice cut through, low and warning. “He’s looking.”
And he was.
Riki had stopped dribbling during warmups, staring right at the three of you. His brows pulled together, confusion, worry. Then he started jogging toward you, calling your name.
The crowd noise dimmed into static in your ears.
He reached the sideline, cluelessly. “What’s going on?” Tilting his head as he raised his taped hand to brush your coils off your shoulder to toy with the ‘R’ pendant on the necklace he gave you. A habit, something he did as a means of soothing both you and him. “Everything okay?”
Yasmin shook her head slightly. “This has gone entirely too far, dude.” She sniffled, dabbing her fallen tears in an effort to not ruin her makeup.
“You gotta tell him.” Bella said firmly.
Riki looked around, scanning the arena for any cameras that were on him. “What? Tell me what?” He squinted, genuinely baffled—like he was trying to fit the scene into a scoreboard in his head.
You stayed silent, your eyes fiery and skin crawling at the feeling of his touch now. Your eyes fell right to the microphone where you could do your final bidding. Eyes watering and heart heavy, you crumpled the paper in your fist as you avoided Riki’s gaze.
Bella exhaled, all impatience and exactness. “Can we do this somewhere where there aren’t cameras?” Her eyes fell on the guy before you three.
Riki’s expression hardened a little, glancing at the gigantic clock at the top of the stands. Twenty minutes til tip-off. Without another word, he nodded to the tunnel which led to the locker room. The only private area where he knew no one would be passing through. “Quickly.” He said lowly as he rubbed his forehead with a sigh. “Please.”
You stayed planted where you were, your eyes glaring a hole into his. As if lasers would beam through if you tried hard enough. Yasmin grabbed you by the bicep, “come on.” She said shakily, which in any other case would’ve weighed you down with her.
The tunnel smelled like old sweat and floor cleaner—half of the arena’s life lived in a stale chemical cloud. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, turning everyone’s skin a little too pale. The noise from the court faded to a distant roar; here it was only your voices and the scrape of sneakers against concrete. Then squeaking as you entered the empty locker room. Riki kept his jacket half off, breath shallow, eyes darting between the three of you like he was trying to memorize which way the exits led. “Talk to me.”
You stayed silent, folding your arms to your chest as if it could keep your guts from spilling out. “Hello? Did you hear him? He’s speaking to you—” Bella tapped your shoulder.
Riki interjected sharply, brows furrowed in annoyance. “Don’t fucking speak to her like that—”
“No! This shit has gone way off the rails and now she’s acting like a fucking baby. Speak up, I’m not coddling you anymore!” The girl insisted. “Because if you don’t, I will.”
“Shut the fuck up, Bella.” You snapped, “don’t try to sit here and ‘tough love’ me now when you know you’re the one that held my hand through this in the first place.” Turning to her as you jabbed her shoulder with your finger.
Bella scoffed, “But I never told you to go this far! You—”
“Why the fuck are we talking in code?! I have shit to do and y’all here playing!” Riki clapped his hands in urgency.
Yasmin blurted it out. “We heard you talking about her.” She huffed nervously.
Riki’s eyes flit to the side in confusion. “So? I talk about her and to her every single day.”
“No.” You finally interjected, turning your attention to him as you were able to take your anger out. “When you stood in here and said to Maki that I was ‘just another hole to fill’ and how not whipped you are?” You squinted your eyes as your posture straightened. “That all girls are the same and how much play you’re gonna get—” You smiled bitterly at the memory as you spoke with your hands. “And how you’re just gonna keep ‘fucking around and winning? Huh?” You nodded. “Remember that, baby?”
Riki froze. Like someone had just yanked the oxygen straight out of his lungs.
For a second, the world went completely soundless—even the hum of the fluorescent lights seemed to cut out. His jaw twitched once, twice, before he let out a shaky exhale and blinked at you, eyes wide, almost boyish in disbelief.
“Wait—” he said hoarsely, “you heard that?”
You laughed, sharp and humorless. “Oh, don’t tell me you didn’t mean it. That it was just locker room talk, right?”
He ran a hand over his face, backing up until he hit the edge of a locker with a dull thud. His expression twisted — confusion, panic, then shame flickering like a glitch he couldn’t smooth out. “No, that’s not—fuck, that’s not what I meant. It was a—Maki was—”
“Maki was what, Riki?” Bella snapped. “A part of your stand-up routine? Or your echo chamber?”
“Bella, stop,” he hissed, voice cracking under strain. He turned back to you, hands slightly raised like he was pleading his case to a judge who’d already heard the verdict. “It wasn’t about you like that. It was—God, it was a joke. I was trying to sound cool, and—”
Your eyes narrowed. “Cool?” The word landed like poison.
“You think degrading me makes you cool?”
Riki’s lips parted, but no sound came out. He was crumbling in real time—his composure, that stupid practiced charm, the performative calm he always wore when things got ugly. He looked twenty different kinds of small now.
“Say it again,” you whispered, stepping closer, voice shaking not from weakness but from the sheer weight of it all. “Say it to my face this time. Say I’m just another hole to fill.”
Riki’s throat bobbed. “Don’t—”
“Say it!”
“I didn’t mean it!” he exploded, voice ricocheting off the walls. The sound of it startled even him. “I swear to God, I didn’t—” He stopped himself, chest heaving, eyes flicking to Bella, then Yasmin, before finally settling on you again. His voice dropped. “You think I’d ever mean that? About you?”
You blinked, your vision blurring with the beginnings of tears you didn’t want to shed—not here, not in front of him. “I don’t give a fuck what you meant. You deserved everything I fucking did to you and more of it!”
“What…?” His voice cracked. “Wh–what did you do?”
Yasmin spoke up. “Can I interject…?” She stepped forward from the corner to stand beside Bella, who was letting her ponytail down as she felt her head starting to throb. “Riki…we decided to—”
“No.” You kindly shut Yasmin down. “I—neither of them had any involvement in anything—decided to pay you back. I poured out your juices. Loosened your protein tub. Unplugged your phone—everything weird that’s been happening to you for the last two weeks was me fucking with you.”
Riki blinked once. Then again. Like maybe if he gave his brain enough time to reboot, it’d spit out a version of this scene that made sense.
“You—” he breathed out, the word shaky and small. “You what?” He stared at you—searching, scanning, trying to find some hint that you were joking. But your face didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even twitch.
“Everything weird that’s been—” he stopped, eyes darting back and forth as the puzzle pieces rearranged in his head. “My shampoo, the alarms, the fucking—my protein—” His voice rose an octave, breaking off in disbelief. “The fish?!”
You blinked. “Okay, that one wasn’t on purpose. And I didn’t do anything to your shampoo.”
He laughed. But it wasn’t funny. It was breathless and sharp—half a gasp, half hysteria. “Oh my God,” he said, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my fucking God.”
Bella winced. Yasmin quietly muttered something under her breath that sounded like a prayer.
Riki dropped his hand and looked back at you, eyes glossy—not with tears, but something worse. Something that looked like betrayal and heartbreak all twisted together. “You made me think I was losing my mind,” he said quietly. “For weeks.”
You crossed your arms, defensive now. “You made me feel worthless.”
“So you poisoned me?”
You opened your mouth, but the words didn’t come.
“You unplugged my phone, you messed with my stuff, you—” he gestured wildly, like he couldn’t even pick which violation to name first. “You messed with my head, and for what? To even the score?”
“Don’t you dare make me the bad guy here,” you snapped, voice cracking on the edge of your fury. “You’re the one who said that shit about me.”
“And I said I didn’t mean it!” he fired back, stepping closer. The sound of his voice filled the entire locker room—loud, raw, desperate. “You think I’m proud of that? You think I sleep easy knowing that came out of my mouth? I’ve been trying to figure out what I did to deserve all this—turns out, you were just—” He cut himself off, choking back whatever word was about to fall next.
“Just what?” you bit.
He stared at you. His throat bobbed. “Cruel.”
The word sliced clean through the air.
You flinched, but didn’t back down. “You talk about me like I’m replaceable and you think I’m cruel?”
“You tried to ruin me!”
“Oh, please,” you wave off. “You’d still be fine. You always land on your feet.”
Riki shook his head, eyes glazed. His eyes caught the folded loose leaf in your hand, gesturing to it. “What is that?”
Without a second guess, you shoved it into his chest. Not even causing him to stumble but he snatched it. Opening it and doing his best to make it out beneath the crinkles.
And right then, was the angriest you’ve seen him up until this moment. The desperate, flabbergasted Riki that was before found new ground to stand on. His nostrils flared as he licked his bottom lip; fingers curling around the paper. “You were going to read this in front of people?”
You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to—your silence was already too loud.
Riki’s laugh was low and humorless. “You were going to humiliate me.” He said it like he was testing the words out loud, like saying them would somehow make them less insane. “In front of my team? My coach? The entire nation, are you fucking crazy?”
“I was going to tell the truth,” you shot back, eyes glinting. “That’s all it was. The truth.”
“The truth?” He took a step closer, paper trembling in his fist. “No, no—you wanted revenge. You wanted blood, not closure.”
You rolled your eyes, though your pulse was slamming in your throat. “Don’t get poetic now, Riki. You said what you said.”
“And I told you I didn’t mean it! How many times do I have to—” He held up the note like evidence in court. “This—this is you trying to destroy me because you’re hurt. You were really going to try to ruin my life’s work and career over this when you could’ve just fucking talked to me?! Or even dumped me?”
“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you called me just another hole to fill.”
He went still. The sound of sneakers squeaking from the court outside was a faint, haunting rhythm beneath the tension between you.
Riki lowered his head, voice dropping to something barely human. “You really hate me that much, huh?”
“I don’t hate you,” you said coldly. “I just wanted you to feel small for once.”
He let out a breathless, bitter laugh. “Congratulations. You did it.” He held up the crumpled paper like it was a white flag—like you’d already won the war you started. “You’ve made me feel smaller than I ever have in my entire life.”
You swallowed, your anger flickering like a dying candle. “Good.”
Riki stared at you for a long, long moment—jaw tight, eyes glassy, chest rising with restrained fury and heartbreak. Then, quietly, he tore the note in half. Once, twice, until the pieces fluttered from his hands like ash. “Hope it was worth it,” he muttered, voice shaking. And when he walked past you toward the locker room exit, he didn’t look back.
The girls followed in his direction with shaking of their heads. But were interrupted by your voice. “Where are you guys going?”
They stopped, turning around. Yasmin’s eyes sparkled from the overhead lighting as tears misted her eyes. “We also have shit to do.”
You threw your hands up, “oh so now I’m the bad guy?” You laughed humorlessly, “you guys—”
“We didn’t tell you to do anything!” Bella waved her finger. “Yas was against this from the beginning. I said I was just gonna support you. We support each other! Right, wrong, or indifferent. But I didn’t think you would lose yourself like this?” She gestured to your frame. “I mean who even are you anymore?”
“I’m me. I’m still me, guys—” You stepped forward with your voice shaking. Smile vanished as you swallowed what seemed to be a knot of nervousness. “C’mon…don’t turn your backs on me too…”
Yasmin sniffled, “if we did then we wouldn’t have saved you just now. This isn’t my best friend,” Yasmin whispered, shaking her head. Her voice cracked mid-sentence, soft but sharp enough to land. “My best friend doesn’t do shit like this.”
You froze. “Yas—”
“No,” she said, stepping back a little. Rubbing her temples as frustrated tears streaking down her cheeks. “You’re not even listening to yourself anymore.”
Bella exhaled, crossing her arms. “You became the thing you swore you hated. You’re standing here, trying to justify ruining someone’s life just because he bruised your ego. That’s not love. That’s obsession.”
Your throat closed up. “You think I wanted to turn into this?”
Bella didn’t answer right away—she just blinked at you, disappointed. “No. I think you got hurt and didn’t know where to put it. But you don’t get to burn down someone else’s peace to feel better about your pain.”
The silence that followed was unbearable. Only the muffled sound of the crowd bleeding in from the court—cheers, drums, whistles—made the moment real again.
Yasmin took a shaky breath, voice quiet. “You can still fix this. Maybe not with him, but with yourself.”
You stared at them, every word hitting like shrapnel, and for the first time since the whole spiral began—you didn’t have anything to say. The weight of what you’d done, what almost happened, started to settle in your stomach like lead.
Bella grabbed Yasmin’s hand. “We’re going to go. You should go get some rest.” You watched them walk away through the tunnel lights, the sound of the game roaring back to life behind them. You stood there, still holding the blanket of your own rage and regret—realizing it was never warmth at all. And the walk back to your dorm was a cold one.
—
For three days, you disappeared. The campus kept spinning without you—the chatter of students, the clatter of cafeteria trays, the hum of a world that refused to pause—but your room stayed still. Curtains drawn, phone facedown, mind circling the same moment over and over until it felt like static. The guilt wasn’t sharp anymore; it was heavy, dragging. Every notification with his name felt like another bruise you didn’t remember getting.
Bella and Yasmin tried to reach you—knocks at the door, texts, calls—but nothing stuck. Riki was radio silent; as expected. On the fourth day, you sat up and climbed off your creaky twin XL.
You walked up to your desk and removed the pillowcase covering it and for the first time in days, you were able to stomach looking at yourself. Your reflection in the dark monitor felt like a stranger. Eyes swollen, lips cracked from lack of hydration, skin dry and textured. And immediately you put your head down. Holding your stomach as you wept into yourself. It came out of you like a flood you’d been holding back too long—all the anger, the shame, the grief. You tried to breathe, but it only made the sobs louder.
You pressed a hand to your mouth as if you could stuff it all back down, but it was useless. You cried until your ribs hurt, until your knees gave out and you sank onto the floor, arms wrapped around yourself like you were the only thing keeping from coming undone completely. “Oh God—” You held your chest as you heaved. “What have I done?”
—
By the fifth day, the silence became unbearable. You couldn’t stand the sound of your own thoughts anymore—the echoes of Riki’s voice, the look on Bella’s face, the way Yasmin’s eyes had glistened before she walked away. So for the first time in almost a week, you took positive first steps.
You showered, scrubbing yourself to the point where you swore your skin was about to peel off. Brush your teeth, following your meticulous oral care routine. And you put on lotion, perfume, did your hair and finally…you felt you were halfway worth looking at again.
—
The campus air touched differently after a self-imposed exile—too bright, too loud, like the world had the audacity to move on. You found Bella and Yasmin outside on the quad, sprawled on the grass with open laptops and snacks, their laughter cutting short the second they saw you.
“Hey,” you said softly, voice half-stuck in your throat.
Bella shut her laptop, sitting up. Yasmin didn’t say anything yet—just watched you with that mix of worry and quiet anger that made you feel twelve years old again.
“I know,” you started, rubbing the back of your neck. “I was a dick. To both of you. And you didn’t deserve that.” You looked between them, heart pounding. “You were just trying to look out for me, and I…I took it way too far. I wanted to hurt him so bad that I forgot who I was. And who you guys were to me. I’m sorry. But I just wanted to say thank you for gathering me before I inevitably got worse.”
Neither spoke for a beat. Then Bella sighed, resting her chin on her knee. “Yeah, you were a dick,” she said flatly, but there was the ghost of a smile there.
Yasmin exhaled, eyes softening. “We were worried sick. You don’t just vanish like that, dude. We thought you—” she cut herself off, shaking her head. “Like at least an ‘I’m okay’ text would’ve been enough. Just…” She sighed, “don’t do that again.”
You nodded quickly, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “I won’t. I swear.”
Bella patted the spot beside her. “Good. Then sit your dramatic ass down and eat something. We made sandwiches.”
Tears finally came down as you smiled. Sitting down between them as you hugged them to you. Both their heads on your shoulders as they squeezed you. “Are you guys still mad at me?”
“Oh definitely,” Yasmin smiled as she nuzzled your shoulder. “You have some serious making up to do.” Huffing as she leaned up and let go.
You looked down at the blanket and your crossed legs, “Can I start by saying you were right and that you owe me an ‘I told you so?’” To which that elicited laughs from both girls on either side of you.
“Forgiven!” Yasmin giggled as she clapped her hands excitedly. Like she wasn’t twenty but a little kid. And as you sat between them, the tension eased, the world didn’t feel quite as tilted anymore.
—
You were mid-laugh when it happened—Bella had just said something snarky about the “post-breakdown glow” you apparently had going on. And for a moment, things felt easy again. Like it always had with these two. The three of you were walking up the stone path toward the dining hall, the smell of pizza and fryer oil already drifting through the air, when a familiar voice froze you in your tracks.
“Hey!” He was coming down the opposite side of the path, still in his team jacket, backpack slung over his shoulders, hair a little messy like he’d just showered. His teammates had already gone ahead, but he stopped the moment he saw you.
Bella glanced between you two and sighed under her breath. “Well, this is awkward.”
“Yep,” Yasmin muttered. “Definitely our cue.”
They shared a look before Bella patted your arm. “We’ll, uh…grab our table. Take your time.”
And just like that, they slipped inside the dining hall, leaving you and Riki alone under the faint hum of campus noise.
For a second, neither of you spoke. You just stared at him, at how tired he looked—eyes a little red, hands balled up as he adjusted his sleeves.
“You look alive,” he said finally, a small half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Barely,” you replied, managing a smirk. “You?”
He shrugged. “Playing like I’m mad at the whole planet, but we’re winning, so…guess that counts for something.”
You nodded slowly, eyes dropping to the ground. “Riki, I—”
He shook his head before you could continue. “Don’t. It’s done.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I’m not mad anymore. I mean, I was. But now…I get it.”
You searched his face for bitterness and found none—just exhaustion, and something softer hiding under it. “It’s not an excuse.” Shaking your head, you pulled your hoodie sleeves over your hands as you balled your fists. “You hurt me and instead of being a good, mature girlfriend…I went to the extreme. I’m so sorry, Riki.”
“I deserved it, mama.” He stepped closer, whispering as he reached his hands up to frame your face—not touch it. “What I said was inexcusable. Absolutely repulsive and inappropriate and no one should speak about a person—especially their girlfriend—like that. I’m sorry too.”
“I guess neither of us are perfect.” You sighed, as you gently brought his hands back down. The radiating warmth leaving your cheeks and replacing it with the evening chill.
His mouth curved, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, I think we both kinda nuked the moral high ground.”
A weak laugh slipped out of you. “That’s one way to put it.”
For a moment, it was quiet—just the wind cutting through the trees and the sound of students laughing somewhere across the quad. You stared at the space between your sneakers, the weight of everything that happened hanging between you.
“I don’t hate you, you know,” you said softly. “Even after all that.”
He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Good. ‘Cause I couldn’t even if I tried.”
That made you look up. His gaze was steady, not pleading, just…honest. The kind of look that made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t want to name yet.
“Did you mean any of it? Like when you said you loved me?” His eyes searched yours, “I’m sorry, it’s just been driving me crazy and I need to know.” The look in his eyes was layered in desperation and heartbreak. Only half of what you encountered in the locker room that day. “Please. For my own sanity—”
“I did.” You sniffled, dabbing your eyes with your sleeve to prevent tears from coming out. “It…”
Riki pulled you to a small bench, tucked away from possible prying eyes as this was becoming an intimate moment. The first one in what seemed like forever. He wiped the bench with his hands, getting any debris—branches, dirt, cigarette ashes—off and away.
“It was that I loved you so much that I did what I did.” You sat down as he did beside you. “When I heard you saying those things about me, it…it just—a switch just flipped in my brain. Like…everything that I thought about you beforehand was just confirmed. That my parents were right…”
Riki’s eyes widened a bit, his heart dropping to the pit of his stomach as he gulped. “You—your parents?”
You nodded, “they always said not to date athletes. That they’d either cheat, lie, or dog you. Maybe all three.” Fiddling with your manicured nails, clicking them slightly. “In a way, me getting revenge just felt like I was doing every single person that was wronged by every athlete, right. But I got greedy. Selfish. And really, I could’ve just spoken to you about it.”
Riki leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the ground like it might offer him a manual on how to handle this conversation. “I wish you did,” he said quietly. “I would’ve told you the truth. That I was talking out of my ass, trying to look tough in front of the guys because I was scared of how much I actually loved you. I mean I’ve never felt like this before, y’know?”
You let out a small, humorless laugh. “That’s not an excuse.”
“I know,” he said, glancing at you. “But it’s the truth. I said those things because I thought if I made it sound like I didn’t care, then they’d just get off my dick about it. In actuality, I was never thinking about sex with you.”
You shot him a look.
He smiled, “okay, I was.” Laughing as you did, but he leaned up. “But it wasn’t at the front of my mind. I didn’t lead every interaction with you with the expectation that you’d let me have any.”
The words hung between you like fog, dense and heavy. You looked up at him then, and the sharpness you’d carried for weeks softened. He looked older somehow. Not in a bad way—just like he’d been through something real. “But even with the four months that we were together, I didn’t even want to bring it up because I didn’t want to scare you.”
“The idea of sex with you didn’t scare me, Riki. But the fact that when I thought I could trust you to keep certain things of our relationship private, you fell through. And disrespected me at that.” You went on. “Because how did Maki even know that we hadn’t done anything? Were these things regular conversations and I just happened to catch one?”
Riki’s jaw tightened, his knee bouncing slightly. “No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “It wasn’t like that. I swear, I didn’t go around talking about our business. Maki was being an asshole that day, asking questions, making jokes and assumptions, and I—” He paused, running a hand over his face like he could erase what came next. “I took the bait. I wanted to sound cool. Like I wasn’t some lovesick loser.”
You stared at him, the memory of that locker room replaying in your mind like a cruel film reel. “So you threw me under the bus to impress him?”
His eyes flicked up to meet yours, guilt written across every line of his face. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “And the second it left my mouth, I wanted to take it back. It was just talk. It was just…I don’t know.”
You looked away, lips pressing together. The bench between you suddenly felt like a chasm. “I really thought you were different, Riki,” you said softly. “You made me believe it.”
He winced like the words cut him. “I am different. Or at least I was trying to be. I just—” He exhaled, frustrated with himself. “I didn’t think about how much weight my words had. I didn’t think about how much they’d hurt you if you heard them. I was trying to protect my ego instead of the one person I actually gave a shit about.”
The silence after that was long and brittle. You could hear students laughing in the distance, the scrape of skateboard wheels against pavement. Ordinary sounds in a world that felt anything but ordinary right now. And it only left one question: “So what now?”
Riki shook his head firmly, turning to you. “Look I love you. Still—”
You sighed, closing your eyes in distress but he insisted. “No, no, no. Just listen to me.” He hesitantly reached for your hands. “I know we both have work to do. But I don’t want anybody else. And I mean that. You’re everything to me and even after the bullshit and what you were going to do…I still look at you the same.”
You stared at him, the ache in your chest twisting into something you couldn’t name. “You shouldn’t,” you said softly. “You should look at me differently.”
He shook his head, lips pressed into a thin line. “I can’t. I’ve tried.”
You wanted to laugh, or scream, or both. Instead, you just looked down at your intertwined hands—his fingers trembling slightly against yours. “Please don’t romanticize it, Riki. That was the ugliest I’ve seen myself in…ever. And I don’t know if I wanna be with someone that brings that out of me.”
“But I do,” he smiled softly. “I want to be with someone that drives me crazy. That makes me feel every possible human emotion and that person was you.” He brought your hands to his lips to kiss them, like he always used to. “This is going to be what you want at the end of the day. But I won’t stop fighting for you. When I said I loved you forever, I meant it. As a friend, a lover. Anything. I just wanna be in your life.”
For a split second, you could almost feel your heart stop. The rawest you’d ever seen Riki was in this moment—before you—as he practically begged to be in your world. A person who’s so used to the inverse. And he didn’t stop.
“Since the day I saw you, I’ve not been able to get you off my mind. And I don’t wanna forget that feeling. Call me obsessed, desperate. But even then, I don’t care,” he finished, voice breaking slightly. “Because I’d rather be desperate for you than indifferent to anyone else.”
You swallowed hard, blinking fast. His eyes were glassy now, full of something that looked too much like the boy you fell for—reckless, sincere, and way too intense for his own good. “Riki…”
“I know,” he said, shaking his head quickly, cutting you off before you could form the words. “You don’t have to say it. I just needed you to know. Even if you never look at me the same again, even if you find someone who actually deserves you—I needed to say it out loud once.”
You felt the world slow down around you, the hum of the dining hall muffling into static. His confession sat between you, too heavy to move around and too fragile to touch. “I think…I think it’s best that we be friends. For now…” He nodded immediately, “anything you want—wait, you said for now?” He tried to hide the way his lips curved, but failed.
You rolled your eyes, exhaling a shaky laugh. “Don’t push it.” And then, almost without thinking, you scooted forward. He met you halfway, arms slipping around your waist like muscle memory. You pressed your face into his shoulder, breathing him in—the faint trace of detergent, cologne, and something you couldn’t name but still remembered.
It wasn’t a reconciliation. It wasn’t a promise. It was just…quiet understanding. He melted into your arms, remembering the warmth he once felt there as it hadn’t ever gone away. Rubbing your back as the both of you fell into the comfort of each other again. “I won’t…I promise.” He said softly as he sniffled.
You felt his breath hitch against your neck, the sound muffled but raw. His arms tightened just a little, like he was afraid that if he let go too soon, the moment would vanish. You rubbed slow circles into his back, grounding him, grounding yourself.
“I know,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes red but steady. “I just don’t ever want you to think I didn’t care,” he said quietly. “Not for a single second.”
You smiled faintly, brushing your thumb over the corner of his hand where it still held onto you. “I never did,” you admitted. “But time will tell.”
For a moment, neither of you moved—just stayed there, breathing the same air, hearts syncing in that familiar rhythm you both tried so hard to forget. And when you finally stepped apart, it wasn’t out of anger or regret. It was because you both knew what this was.
Something that wasn’t over. Just paused.
— epilogue!
The semester was coming to an end and things were looking up! Spring was underway, you traded in your hoodies for tube tops and life wasn’t as hard as it was a month ago. Bella and Yasmin are the same: reliable, solid, harassing—typical. As for Riki…
You and him had stayed true to the “friends for now” thing…with a few cracks around the edges. You were doing pretty well with the whole “platonic equilibrium” mindset. Riki, though…was doing his best, which—coming from him—meant trying really hard not to accidentally flirt every five minutes.
There was always a soft awkwardness in the air whenever he was near, a kind of gentle hesitation that felt new. Like he was relearning how to exist around you without crossing lines he used to dive over headfirst.
Whenever you ran into him around campus, he’d light up—just a little, almost like he wished he didn’t. He’d start to reach for your hand out of habit, stopping mid-motion with a small, embarrassed laugh. Sometimes he’d call you “baby” without thinking, freeze like he’d just triggered a bomb, and mumble a panicked “sorry.” It was…cute. Annoyingly cute.
But here’s the thing—he didn’t push. Not once. He didn’t corner you, didn’t force conversations, didn’t try to speedrun your healing. He gave you space without disappearing, presence without pressure. It was the most mature thing you’d ever seen him do, and honestly? Kinda hotter than when he was your actual boyfriend.
Slowly, the tension stopped feeling sharp and started feeling warm. The kind you notice on slow walks across campus or when you catch him staring from across a study lounge. The kind that makes your stomach dip but not in a painful way anymore.
He was still your Riki—loud, unserious, overwhelmingly athletic, always carrying a million and one snacks in his bag. But this version of him was steadier. Softer. Careful with you in ways he never had to think about before.
Spring was blooming, and so were you. And somewhere in the mess of new beginnings, slow healing, and accidental almost-romantic moments…you could feel it.
You and Riki weren’t done. Not even close.
riki: hey girlieee
you: hi riki lmao
riki: rq, what are ur thoughts on selena gomez?
you: random?? LMAOO ???
but 10/10 no notes. she’s mother.
omg i love her blushes too
riki: she sells makeup??
you: yeah…everyone knows that
riki: literally why would i know that
but thanks, noted.
you: why tho? what happened?
riki: <3
you: …?
that’s not an answer…?
riki: <33
you: ok
Riki left you on read after that last “ok,” which was suspicious behavior for him. Usually he double-texted entirely too often. But whatever—maybe he was in the gym…benching a car or some shit.
Two weeks rolled by in this weird limbo where he acted normal but also not normal. A week ago he’d shown up outside your lecture hall just to hand you a juice box because, quote, “You always look dehydrated after class.” Three days ago, he’d pretended to trip just so you’d laugh. Yesterday he’d sat next to you in the library, headphones in, sharing a pack of gummies and tapping your knee every time he thought of something funny.
And you didn’t miss the shift in him—this boy was planning something. You could practically hear the cartoon gears grinding in that brain of his.
Then Friday came. A warm, breezy, stupidly pretty spring evening. You were chilling in your dorm, headphones in one ear as you reviewed for your microeconomics final. And that’s when you heard it.
“It’s been said and done…Every beautiful thought’s been already sung…”
And comedically, your head popped up. Brows furrowed as you turned your head to get a grip on the muffled, crackled noise coming from the outside. But you just figured it was the student union having one of their last hurrah’s before the year was finished and y’all were right back in three months.
“And I guess right now, here’s another one…So your melody will play on and on…With the rest of them…”
Your phone buzzed.
pretty princess: girl look tf out ur window rn.
You blinked at the notification, confusion already tugging at your face. Yasmin never texted like that unless something was either (A) horrifying or (B) gobsmacking. There was never an in-between with her. You shoved your chair back, nearly tripping over your backpack as you crossed the room. You pulled the blinds open—
And your stomach dropped to your ass.
Because there he was.
Riki. On the quad. Holding an actual boombox over his head like he was auditioning for an eighties rom-com.
The thing was massive, probably older than both of you, and blasting Selena Gomez’s “Love You Like a Love Song” at a volume that was definitely violating at least six campus rules. Students were recording him but he didn’t care. He spotted you instantly.
That stupid, boyish, heart-squeezing grin lit up his whole face the second your eyes met. He lifted the boombox even higher—like his arms weren’t already shaking—and he yelled up at your window: “HI!”
Just “hi.”
You slapped a hand over your mouth, partially to smother your gasp and partially to keep from laughing out loud like someone who lost any and all gumption. Heat crawled up your neck. “No he didn’t,” you whispered.
Oh, but he did. And he wasn’t stopping.
People started chanting his name—half because they loved drama and half because the acoustics were terrible and the song was starting to echo off the buildings like some kind of chaotic love anthem.
You opened the window. “RIKI!”
He perked up like a golden retriever hearing treats shake. “YEAH?”
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”
“I’M—” He paused, laughing. “I’M TRYING TO BE ROMANTIC BUT THIS THING IS REALLY HEAVY! AND LOUD!”
You nearly melted on the spot. Your brain was soup. Your heart? Gone.
He lowered the boombox slightly—possibly because his arms were probably about to give out—and yelled, “COME DOWN! PLEASE! I DON’T WANNA DROP THIS AND DIE. THAT WOULD BE EMBARRASSING.” He wasn’t struggling, his arms weren’t trembling. He wasn’t out of breath.
You squinted down at him, realization hitting you like a brick made of pure annoyance and affection. “Riki…are you faking struggling right now?”
He flashed you a guilty little half-smile, shrugging with one shoulder while still holding the boombox like it weighed absolutely nothing. “Uh…maybe. For dramatic effect. Gotta sell the moment, y’know?”
You groaned into your hands. “Oh my god.”
He adjusted his grip again—effortless, casual, absolutely not dying as previously advertised—and yelled, “C’MON! DON’T MAKE ME LOOK STUPID IN FRONT OF LIKE—” he glanced around, “—WAY TOO MANY PEOPLE!”
You rolled your eyes so hard you saw last semester. But you threw on your hoodie, shoved your feet into whatever shoes were closest, and bolted for the stairs.
By the time you reached the quad, people were still filming, still chanting his name, still acting like they were witnessing a Hallmark movie. Riki stood there proudly, boombox now resting against his shoulder as the chorus blasted:
“I-I-I love you like a love song, baby…”
He grinned the second he saw you and the crowd dissipated as they saw him put the boombox down to the grass and lower the music. “Hi…”
“Hi?” You laughed as you reached him. “What in the world is this?” You gestured to the boombox now at your feet.
“A…boombox—”
“I know what a boombox is, Riki!” You hold your hands up. “I mean…why?” You said softly.
He sighed. “Okay, look. I know you’ve said sorry before. And I did too. But I was saying it like…someone who wanted to fix a scratch, not someone that had the capability of ruining an entire relationship with words.” He frowned slightly as he reached out for your hands. Inhaling before he mustered up the courage to grasp them. “You don’t make it easy for me. You don’t worship me. You don’t pretend I’m a big deal. You roll your eyes and tell me when I’m being a dick—and that’s the first time in a long time I’ve actually had to listen.” He went on.
“When we stopped talking, I still couldn’t stop thinking about you. When you liked me for half a second, I didn’t know what to do with it. When you loved me…I felt like I was caught with my pants down.” The breeze blew at his dark locks, brushing his silky hair just right as the perfectly timed sunset kissed his tan skin.
“You said once that you don’t understand why people lose their minds over athletes. I get it now. I’m the guy who people cheer for and I still don’t get it either. But when you look at me, it’s not because I made a basket—it’s because you actually see me. And I don’t want to lose that. And…” He huffed, eyes brimming with tears. “I’ve gone these last few months with an attempt to change everything about myself. But the one thing that I couldn’t seem to shake is that I really am selfish. Only when it comes to you.” He shakes his head as his lips quivered. “I love you, I kiss the ground you walk on and I can’t shake that. I just wanna be around you. All the time and it eats at me every waking moment that I fucked this up. That the idea of you being with someone else makes me irrationally angry. Seeing another guy even look your way makes me—and I’m so sorry. It’s so unfair.”
You felt something in your chest pull tight—like every word he spoke tugged a different thread you’d been trying so hard to knot back together. “Riki…” you whispered, but he wasn’t done. He stepped closer, eyes shining in that way that always made you feel like you were standing on the edge of something huge.
“I know it’s not healthy. I know I shouldn’t think like that,” he said, voice cracking as he blinked fast. “But I can’t help it. I’ve tried to get over you. I’ve tried to be chill, to be normal, to be the guy who just ‘moves on.’ I can’t. I can’t pretend I don’t still look for you every time I walk across campus or step into the dining hall or hear your stupid laugh echo in my apartment when I look back at old videos of us.”
You let out a quiet breath—a little shaky, a little overwhelmed.
“And I know it sucks,” he added, softer now. “I know it’s messy. I know it’s not fair to you. But I’m standing here, blasting Selena Gomez like a psychopath, because I needed you to know that I love you in a way that makes me spend two hundred dollars on boomboxes. Getting scammed for old CDs online to look for them to put in the boombox.” He smiled, laughing softly. “And spending almost four hundred dollars on makeup because I couldn’t figure out which one you liked so I bought them all!” He bent down to open his backpack to pull out a black and white striped Sephora bag to hand it to you.
Filled to the brim, all thirteen blushes. Simply because you mentioned liking it once.
You stared at the bag. Then at him. Then back at the bag—because there was no way. No way.
“Riki…” Your voice cracked.
He held both hands up like he was surrendering to the police. “I know. I know. It’s crazy. Please—”
You almost laughed. Almost. Riki rolled his eyes but stayed locked on you—smiling regretfully. “I’m not saying any of this to make you feel guilty. I’m saying it because I’m tired of pretending I don’t care when I care so much it makes me do…this.” He gestured around helplessly, as if the chaos wasn’t literally his own fault. “I’m a mess.”
You swallowed. Hard. “Why now?”
“Because,” he said, stepping closer to the dorm entrance, “I realized something that night in the locker room.”
Your breath hitched.
“That I would rather embarrass myself in front of everyone. Teammates, coaches, sports analysts, scouts—than let you think you weren’t worth fighting for. And you can nuke my protein and rig my alarms—”
You cut him off with a kiss. For half a second, he froze—eyes wide, breath caught somewhere between oh my god and ‘no way no way no way.’
Then he melted. Like actually melted. His shoulders dropped, his hands hovered in the air like he was terrified to touch you, and then very, very gently, they settled on your waist as you dropped the bag. Letting it thud into the grass.
He kissed you back like he’d been holding his breath for months and finally got oxygen. Pulling you into him as he gently cradled your head, tilting his own to deepen the kiss. You felt his breath hitch against your mouth, the kind that said finally with every exhale. His fingers threaded into your hair like he’d been memorizing the motion in his head for weeks, rehearsing it in private like some lovesick maniac.
He kissed you again—slower this time, deeper, like he wanted to make sure you understood exactly how long he’d been waiting for this. His thumb swept the hinge of your jaw, gentle, reverent, like he was scared you’d disappear if he touched too roughly.
You pulled back just an inch, just enough to breathe, and he chased you a little—just a tiny lean forward, like he hadn’t meant to lose contact.
His forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing too hard for a kiss that lasted maybe ten seconds.
“Holy shit,” he whispered. He cupped your cheek, brushing your skin with the back of his fingers like he couldn’t believe you were real. “I’m so in love with you,” he said—quiet, shaky, honest in a way that punched you right in the throat.
Your heart stuttered. “I love you too, Riki.” Leaning in to hug him tightly, wrapping your arms around his neck.
“Oh…” He exhaled in relief as he picked you up and spun you around. “I missed you, baby. Oh I missed my baby so much!”
Your laugh broke against his shoulder, breathless and warm, and he clutched you like he was afraid gravity might snatch you away again. His hands slid under your thighs automatically, lifting you like you weighed nothing, and he buried his face into the crook of your neck with this completely unhinged, lovesick groan. “I missed you so much,” he repeated, voice muffled against your skin. “You have no idea—oh my god. I’m actually gonna pass out. I’m dizzy. Is this normal? Am I dying?”
You snorted. “Put me down, idiot.”
“No,” he said immediately, hugging you even tighter, rocking you side to side like a toddler with their favorite plush. “Absolutely not. You said you love me. That means you’re legally my emotional support human now.”
“Riki…”
“Shh,” he whispered dramatically, pressing an overly loud kiss to your cheek. “Let me have this.” Riki didn’t care. Zero shame. Negative shame even. He finally set you down but kept your waist locked in his hands like he didn’t trust reality to keep you there. He leaned back to look at you properly—eyes bright, hair messy from the wind, chest rising like he’d sprinted here from three counties over. “You love me,” he whispered again, like he was tasting the words, like they were cotton candy on his tongue. “Say it one more time.”
You raised a brow. “Riki—”
“Please,” he said, already smiling like he knew he was ridiculous and didn’t care. “Just one more. I need to hear it clearly, I’ve been hearing nothing but this fucked up speaker for the last hour.”
Your cheeks warmed as you whispered, “I love you, Riki.”
He shut his eyes like the words physically hit him. Head back, hand over his heart, dramatic and sincere at the same time. “Oh yeah,” he breathed. “That’s it. I feel like I just did ten lines. I’m never messing this up again.” Then, with a soft grin creeping up his face, he added: “Now c’mon, baby. Let’s go turn off my damn boombox before I get fined again.”
You bent down to grab your Sephora bag and his backpack. Him with the boombox as he went two tracks over to put on ‘Who Says.’ You both laughed as you sang, “I wouldn’t wanna be anybody else!”
He twirled you with his hand as you both walked into the direction of his apartment. “You know my favorite Selena song is ‘Naturally.’ For future reference.”
Riki laughed as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, bringing you close to him. “I’ll add that to the wedding playlist.”
pairing: college basketball star! nishimura riki x reader
wc. 39.4k words YIKESSS longest fic i’ve written
cw. mutual pining, enemies to lovers to exes to lovers, rom-com-drama, a very charming riki, revenge plot (psychological sabotage, gaslighting, verbal degradation, mild obsession, public humiliation attempt, confrontations, manipulation of personal belongings, emotional manipulation), crying, accidental injury (basketball hit to face), sexual innuendo/locker-room misogyny, intense argument, swearing, another attempt of humor, banter, yearning ofc bc is it me if i didn't have the male lead down catastrophically?, morally grey characters and complex relationships, food and eating mention, college au (obvi)
synopsis: you never cared for athletes. but campus golden boy—riki nishimura—made ignoring him impossible. what begins as petty annoyance spirals into banter, tension, and a chemistry you can't help but acknowledge. until one overheard comment turns everything sour, sending you down a path of revenge, sabotage, and a clusterfuck of feelings you can't outrun anymore. and somewhere between revenge and regret, you and riki have to figure out whether you’re destined to destroy each other…or fall in love instead.
author's note: hi everyone!! literally everytime i'm about to post a fic i get extremely nervous bc i never know how it's going to be received. but please, have a little lenience. as some of you may know, i underwent an insane writer's block and do have frequent depressive episodes. this is me slowly but surely trying to get myself back together and trying new things. this is relatively rougher than my others and i'm not so confident in it but i love you guys regardless and how you've been supporting me. i will always say i am forever indebted and blessed to have such nice people on my blog!! so here's riki nishimura must die.
lightly based on but heavily inspired by: john tucker must die (2006)
disclaimer: i do not condone half of the shit happening in this fic. as you know, i always promote positive and safe relationship dynamics in my work but again, trying something new. reader's discretion is advised.
You didn’t understand sports.
For the life of you, you couldn’t wrap your brain around the hype that went into it. The screaming, the ragebaiting, the rioting, the gambling. None of it made sense to you. You’ve seen the animals it turns people into and it makes you not even want anything to do with that type of crowd. Though, you do respect athletes. The time, hard work, and discipline it takes to be that good at something is so profound and honestly, you can’t help but applaud. However, there was someone—rather, something—that respected athletes more than you. That was Decelis University. Your school, your university as a matter of fact.
Nationally ranked, Division I, Decelis University ran alongside heavy hitters in the college sports scene alongside schools such as UConn, Purdue, St. John’s, Florida, Duke, the like. Decelis didn’t just respect athletes, they built shrines for them. Kissed the ground they walked on and worshipped them like some sorts of heavenly figures. Nothing was bigger than sports. Not finals week, not homecoming, not even free weekly food trucks on the quad. Game nights shut the whole campus down—professors excused absences, the bookstore stocked special merch, and students camped outside the arena like it was Coachella. And at the center of it all was Mr. Riki Nishimura.
Six-foot nothing-but-trouble, starting point guard, baby-faced assassin with a highlight reel that ESPN couldn’t stop drooling over. The kind of guy who could miss class for two weeks straight and still have professors grinning at him when he finally walked in. Though his frame didn’t scream trouble, his game said otherwise. His playing style was all crossovers and footwork, the kind that had commentators whispering words like Kyrie Irving and generational talent. He didn’t just play basketball. He performed it.
If Riki were a heavenly figure, he’d be Christ.
To you, he was just a regular human being. Why exalt someone that did nothing to benefit you personally? Did he cure world hunger? Leak the cure for cancer—because you could promise one exists. Build homes for displaced families? Relieve students of crippling debt? Anything? The answer is no. So why? Why? Why do athletes make more than doctors? Teachers? Why do people that save the world and make positive contributions to society not get even a sixteenth of the recognition of those that run up and down a court or field for a living? That, you couldn’t find the answer to.
But besides that, Riki was everywhere. It was freaky, seeing his face plastered in various campaigns beside other college athletes. You couldn’t even walk into the dining hall without Riki’s face smirking at you from a Gatorade cutout. He was on billboards, a few campus shuttles, hell—probably someone’s phone wallpaper. You could almost see his New Balance campaign now, how many times you came across it. And the stupid slogan, hearing him say: “Nishimura. New Game. New Balance.”
Okay, while the line was kind of clean—it was just him that pissed you off.
And it was insane because you never even met this guy to judge him. While you were in proximity to him, your best friends being cheerleaders and sharing the terrifyingly large court with them—you really had nothing bad to say about his character. For all you knew, Riki could be an amazing guy with an even more amazing personality. But you never knew him, never spoke to him, never even locked eyes with this guy if it weren’t via an obnoxious billboard. You’d never seen this man play. Every time you stumbled on a highlight, you swiped away. He didn’t do shit to you, you simply hated the hype around athletes. Around sports in general.
Even in basketball, it was all so negative. All the commentators and fans did was discuss the past. ‘Jordan this. LeBron that.’ And if not that, they’d find some way to bash a player they claim to love. If you love this player so much, why say they’re washed up? At least you could respect football fans—they were delusional behind their teams.
Still, you didn’t hate Riki. Didn’t even dislike him.
Not until today.
—
Like most days, you sat in the Decelis Arena. Right on one of the bleachers in the student section. Your best friends, Yasmin and Bella, were cheerleaders and shared the arena with the basketball team most weekdays. So you hung out there, got some work done as you watched your girls from their side of the floor. The coach never said anything, it was an open practice as far as you were concerned. Plus you never gave them any issues. Never distracted, just stayed quiet and typed on your laptop—it was great. You got to be around your girls and be productive. The only downside was looking to the left and seeing the men’s basketball team.
But it wasn’t so bad to hear them get degraded while they were conditioning and running drills. The sound carried in the arena—sneakers squeaking, basketballs smacking the hardwood, coaches barking like drill sergeants. On the other end, your girls were bright and polished, high ponytails bouncing in perfect sync.
You sat tucked on the bleachers, typing away, invisible. As their practice came to an end, the men kept going. But Yasmin and Bella walked up to you and you felt them before you heard them. Thus, you closed your laptop as you peered up at them with a bright smile.
“You guys look dazzling as ever,” you teased, though Yasmin’s mascara was halfway down her cheek and Bella looked one toe cramp away from retirement. They stopped in front of you, grinning but panting in exhaustion as they simultaneously wiped sweat off their foreheads. “Dude,” Bella huffed as she plopped next to you. “I can’t do—” Yasmin pointed at her fiercely. “I don’t wanna hear that shit, Bells. I told you. ‘Can’t’ isn’t—” “In our vocabulary,” you and Bella chorused, laughing at the girl’s optimism.
Yasmin Alamilla was one of the kindest, most supportive women you’ve had the pleasure of meeting. Always cheery (no pun intended), wise, and to be honest, at times her optimism when you were feeling low was almost annoying. Because how can one person just be so happy all of the time? But you loved her from the moment you met her and wouldn’t trade her for the world.
Bella Powell was the opposite. Sharp-tongued, dramatic, and stubborn in a way that could make you want to strangle her one second and hug her the next. She complained more than anyone you knew, but she was also the first to show up at your door with fries and milkshakes when you weren’t feeling it. Loyal to the bone—even if she’d never admit it out loud.
“Yeah, yeah whatever,” Yasmin rolled her eyes with a smile. “You’ll be thanking me later.” She leaned her head back as she sipped from her purple water bottle. Bella groaned as she helped you pack your stuff, holding your backpack open as she looked at the girl still standing. “I will thank you, just right now my body’s not thanking me.”
“Did you stretch beforehand?” you asked. The answer was no. But before she could admit it, a freshly pumped basketball came beaming across the court. It wasn’t a throw; it was a bullet. A missile. Before anyone could yell “Heads!” or even “Duck!” it was already too late. The ball cracked against the side of your face, cheek first, the sting blooming hot and instant. The sound was sickening, a hollow thwack that echoed louder in your head than in the gym.
Your vision tilted for a split second, your cheekbone pulsing like it might’ve cracked under the pressure. The ball ricocheted to the floor, rolling harmlessly now, but your cheek burned like fire. Yasmin’s gasp came first, Bella’s curse second. Your pencil pouch slipped from your hands, pens scattering. The feeling was akin to when you’re taking something out of the toaster oven and you accidentally touch the hot rack—only this time the burn wasn’t a split second. It felt everlasting.
As shock rang through the arena, you could hear a pin drop. And that wasn’t even the most embarrassing part—it was the collective “Ooh…” from the people around you. “Yo—” a voice cut through the chaos, low and sharp. Sneakers squeaked across the court as Riki jogged over, sweat still glistening down his temple. He scooped the ball up in one fluid motion, spinning it on his finger before tucking it under his arm like he hadn’t just nearly concussed you.
“You good?” His eyes flicked to your face—quick, but not quick enough to hide the way he lingered on your cheek. “I’m fine,” you lied through gritted teeth, pressing your palm against the sting. “Doesn’t look fine.” He crouched slightly to your level, smirk tugging at his lips even though his brows pinched with something closer to guilt. “Bet you’ll have the Wilson logo on your face for the next hour.” Bella shot him a glare. “Not funny, Riki.”
Riki turned his head to Bella, amused, then looked back at you—smirk faltering as his gaze locked on you again. “Seriously, though. You want ice?” Maybe you were just reading into things. And as someone who tended to take up the observer role, you truly felt in your heart of hearts that this guy was the asshole you thought he was. To make a joke out of your pain—and no one’s saying he had to call the national guard—but to spin the ball like he was putting on a show? Rage bloomed hot in your stomach.
“I’ll get my own,” you muttered. Riki’s smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth, that same infuriating confidence he always carried. “Next time,” he said, tossing the ball up and catching it effortlessly, “don’t sit so close.” And just like that, he pivoted, jogging back to drills, sneakers squeaking against the hardwood, leaving you to gather your pens and seething pride. You pressed your palm harder against your cheek, the sting sharp, and glared after him. Unbelievable.
The girls bent down to pick up your scattered pens and highlighters. Bella scoffed, “He’s such a dick sometimes. I’m so sorry, babes.” Yasmin frowned, brows creasing in worry. “That ball hit you something serious.” She handed you your fully stocked pouch. Tears brimmed your eyes. “I’m solid, this shit just hurts—Ow.” You hissed, leaning forward. “Here. Take this.” Yasmin rushed to grab Bella’s frozen water bottle and gently rubbed your back.
Yasmin gave you a soft, sympathetic look. “You really should’ve sat farther back. That kid’s got rockets for hands.”
You groaned, wincing as the sting radiated through your jaw. “Yeah, thanks for the tip,” you muttered under your breath, still glaring toward the court. Sure enough, Riki was back at it, running drills, tossing the ball between his teammates with that infuriating ease, smirking every time someone fumbled a pass.
“Ugh,” Bella muttered, nudging you. “You hate him already, don’t you?”
You didn’t answer immediately, your fingers tightening around the strap of your backpack. Hate was a strong word. But there was no denying the wrath that had just been lit inside you. Something about the way he’d spun that ball, flashed that smirk, and then walked away like none of it mattered…it was aggravating.
But you stood, your hand still glued to your cheek as you grabbed your bag. “I don’t hate. I detest. I resent. And I hold grudges because I’m childish.” You grit out, luckily the bottle gave you some relief.
And as the two of you walked out of the arena, you moved the bottle from your face for the first time, the air hitting the stinging sensation and making you wince. “Does one side of my face look fatter than the other?” You stopped midway on the sidelines to give them space to inspect you.
Bella squinted dramatically, tilting your chin this way and that like she was about to submit you to America’s Next Top Model. “Hmm. Honestly? You look like you just lost a round to Mike Tyson.”
“Bella!” Yasmin swatted her arm, glaring before softening as she leaned in. “It’s not that bad. A little rough, but the swelling isn’t obvious yet. Ice will help.”
“Yet?” you groaned, pressing the bottle back to your cheek like it was a lifeline. “Oh, fantastic. So tomorrow I’m gonna look like Quasimodo.”
Bella snorted, looping her arm through yours as you all started walking again. “A little bit, but at least you can brag that the Riki Nishimura was in your face and ice was involved.”
“Shut the hell up,” you laughed.
Yasmin shook her head, trying not to smile. “You’re impossible, Bella.”
“Impossible but not wrong,” Bella sing-songed, squeezing your arm. “Half the girls on campus would kill to have him that close, even if it meant getting smacked with a ball.”
Yasmin smiled, “yeah but those aren’t the balls they wanna be smacked with.”
You pointed to her with a dry look. “That’s disgusting.”
—
Next week
—
You returned to their practice despite debating even coming back to this place ever again. But this time you took the Head Huncho’s advice and did in fact sit a little higher up on the bleachers. The girls were getting changed and in the meantime, you got set up on the bleachers. Typical stuff. Laptop, cola, and your person—you.
The arena was relatively silent as it was just you and the sound of you unzipping and settling into the spot you were gonna be occupying for the next hour or so. So you got to typing, chipping away at the Philosophy essay you had due in a week.
You heard footsteps coming your way and just assumed it was Yasmin—no one seemed to be as light on their feet as her.
“Forgot your water again?” you called without looking up, fingers still flying across your keyboard.
Except…no answer. Just the scrape of sneakers against the bleachers and a low chuckle that definitely didn’t belong to Yasmin.
Your head snapped up, and there he was—Riki Nishimura himself—standing two steps below you, spinning a basketball against his palm like he was born with it.
“Bold of you,” he said, smirk firmly in place, “to sit in the line of fire again. Thought you learned your lesson last week.”
You narrowed your eyes, instinctively bringing a hand to your cheek even though the swelling was long gone. You opened your mouth to respond but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Your jaw clicked as you turned back to your computer.
He didn’t stop though, he just got closer. “How’s your face? I got you good didn’t I?”
“Fine,” you said robotically.
“Really?” He tilted his head, not seeming convinced.
“Really.”
“Hm…” He nodded, the same smirk planted on his face. “Did you sleep on your right side for a few days?” He tested, letting his words hang with a teasing undertone.
You sucked in a breath, fingers hovering uselessly over the keyboard as you turned to glare at him. “Do you go around asking random girls about their sleeping positions, or am I just lucky?”
Riki’s grin widened, infuriatingly boyish. “You’re funny.” He let out a small laugh, taping his fingers mindlessly—like this was second nature. Because it was.
“You really are as insufferable as they say.”
“And you,” he said, pointing the ball at you like a teacher with a chalk stick, “sit through two hours of sweaty practices when you probably don’t even like basketball. Which, respectfully, makes you insufferable.”
Your face was plagued with repulsion. “I’m here because my friends are cheerleaders. I’m here for them. There’s people whose world doesn’t revolve around you, you know?” You scoff. “Fuck off, seriously.” Going back to your laptop, you angrily type. Your keyboard one more click away from not having a letter F.
“Yes…Bella and Yasmin.” He hums as he points at you with a knowing look. “I like them. Both very beautiful girls.”
You ignored him because he hadn’t said anything untrue. But in any case, he needed to tread lightly when mentioning your friends.
“They are,” you said flatly, eyes glued to your screen.
Riki tilted his head, smirk tugging wider as if he’d caught a flicker of irritation in your tone. “Relax. I wasn’t hitting on them.” He spun the ball in his hands, the squeak of rubber filling the silence before he added, “Not my type.”
You arched a brow, finally glancing at him. “Oh, so you have a type?”
His grin was infuriating. “Don’t we all?”
“Careful,” you sing song. “New Balance wouldn’t want to know you’re out here objectifying women instead of selling sneakers.”
He huffed out a laugh, “cute, cute. You’re very cute.” Riki bounced the ball between his legs haphazardly, lifting a leg cavalierly as he looked at you. “You know, I really like girls like you. Girls that don’t like me. Turns me on.”
“Oh my gosh, I never told you. But I write my name with yours in my notebook every single night before I go to sleep. I’m in love with you.” You deadpanned, saying this with no inflection whatsoever.
For a second he actually froze, like you’d handed him an unexpected plot twist. Then the grin came back—slow, smug, all teeth. He bounced the ball twice before holding it steady in his hands. “Is that right? Interesting bedtime ritual.”
You felt your stomach do a stupid little flip and immediately hated it.
“You know what?” he continued, like he was considering the absolute worst and most entertaining idea. “I like a challenge.”
You raised a brow. “Do you now?”
“I do.” He tapped the ball once, twice. “Let’s see how long it takes me to make you say that without the sarcasm.”
“I’d sooner die.”
“That’s the only thing that keeps me going.” He moves back. “Keep that pretty face safe for me.” He waves, batting his eyes as he jogs to the other side of the court. Dribbling the ball and swiftly passing it to one of his teammates, laughing with them as they overhear his teasing.
And still, that seething rage in your stomach hasn’t left in over a week.
It still persists. Even more so now.
—
Later that day
—
It was a nice, peachy evening. Clouds akin to cotton candy and the sun a cute lollipop in the sky. Bella and Yasmin were headed back to their dorms to get ready for bed. If they valued anything it was their beauty sleep. Which…real.
You, however, couldn’t enjoy your night. No. Not even in the slightest. In just twenty short minutes, you had a class. Never did you think you’d be one of the people taking an evening class, but your registration slot was less than favorable.
But some good music and walking off your heavy dinner was enough to keep your mood up. You zipped your hoodie up tighter as the evening breeze picked up, tugging at stray strands of hair that had escaped your ponytail. The sidewalks were practically empty, the campus bathed in that soft, peach-and-lollipop light that made everything look harmless. But you weren’t harmless. Not tonight. Not when every memory of Riki Nishimura—grinning, teasing, infuriating—was still pressed into your brain like a damn watermark.
You hated that he was everywhere. Again, in the dining hall right on the fountains—his jersey number—three—next to a Gatorade logo. Now, as you’re walking—a shuttle passes.
He was unavoidable, his every being plagued your existence and before it was used to just be a ‘whatever, this is just annoying’ kind of way. But because he seemed to know you now, and target you in some way—it escalated from annoyance to near disdain.
But of course, it seemed like you couldn’t think about him without it costing you.
He smoothly stepped right in front of you—a smile as bright as the sun—cutting you off in your path. “Hey girl,” It honestly seemed like he came from nowhere and you stopped short, bumping right into his chest.
He smelled like fresh laundry and faint cologne, the kind that lingered just enough. Worse, his chest was warm, solid—completely unfair. Head to toe in the signature New Balance sweats—grey—with the popular 530s to match. Very typical of him.
You looked up at him, and this was the first time you’d seen him really up close. Upright that is. He wasn’t as small as the camera, or as huge as the cutout—or even his ego—made him seem. Granted, he was tall. Standing a solid six foot one. Beside his teammates, he was shorter. Which made sense, you didn’t need to be extremely tall to be a point guard—you knew that much.
He carried the duality of a superstar and a regular guy all at once. Nothing about him was special yet, every last thing about him is. But you didn’t dare fix your lips to say anything remotely positive about him.
You pursed your lips and sighed in defeat, not even having the energy for this at the moment—you quietly brushed past him without another word. But you didn’t make it very far, he was much faster than you ever were.
“Ooh, not so fast, mama.” He quickly stepped in front of you, holding his hands up in defense as you bumped into him again.
So in response, you stepped to the left.
He also stepped to the left.
You stepped to the right.
He also stepped to your right.
You tapped your foot in frustration, nostrils flaring as you glared at him. Eyes narrowing when you saw the feign of ennui on his face. “I’m very good at this game…” He frowned, sighing as he waited for you to break.
You lifted your non-dominant hand and checked your watch. You had less than fifteen minutes to get to your class and you didn’t have time to waste. With a groan, you looked back at him. “What the fuck do you want?”
The smile he greeted you with reappeared as he clasped his hands together. “Okay so…I wanted to apologize.”
“Apology accepted,” you nodded curtly as you brushed past him once more. He still reminded you that he wasn’t letting you go just yet. You sped walked in the direction of your class and he followed closely beside—his long legs eating up the space between you without another breath.
“Wait, I’m not done.” He matched your pace as he looked down at you. “Just let me get my shit off then I’ll leave you alone forever.”
“Why do I feel like I’m not the only girl that’s heard that before?” You peered up at him with a sarcastic smile.
Riki nodded slowly, accepting the jab. “Okay. Well, I just wanted to say I was sorry for being so rude to you. I should’ve been more careful—while my pass wasn’t terrible, my teammate didn’t catch it and it just happened to hit you—”
“Why’re you blaming others in the midst of your own apology?” You scoffed as you turned a corner to go to the lecture hall.
Before he could open his mouth, someone from afar shouted his name out. “Hey Riki!”
You instinctively turned your head the opposite direction. Not because you thought people would give a fuck—they most likely wouldn’t. It just seemed to be reflexive—you didn’t have much of an explanation for it. Almost like the one-off, fictitious bubble you thought you had with him burst and you couldn’t look at anything but the bushes to bring you back to reality.
Two people pulled up beside you two in a golf cart. Riki’s mood perked up as he greeted them. “Oh, hi guys,”
“Where you headed?”
Riki turned his head to you. “Where you going?” He said lowly, obviously taking your shyness into account.
Your eyes flit to the side then back to his gaze. “South Hall.”
He turned to the pair—two girls—with a bright smile on his face. “South Hall.”
The girls leaned over the steering wheel, beaming. “Hop in! We’ll give you a ride.”
Before you could wave them off, Riki’s hand landed lightly at the small of your back, steering you forward. “Perfect. We’re headed that way.”
Your head snapped up at him. We?
The girls brightened instantly, scooting their bags to make space on the back seat. “Yeah, climb in! Saves you the walk.”
You opened your mouth to protest—no way were you getting chauffeured across campus like his plus-one—but Riki was already sliding into the cart with that casual ease, patting the seat beside him like this was your cue.
“I’m fine walking—” you started.
The girl driving, her nametag reading Sydney—waved you off. “Girl, please. It’s nothing, we’re headed that way anyway.”
“Yeah, they’re already headed that way.” Riki smirked as he watched you step onto the cart. His hands up subconsciously to be ready to catch you if you slipped.
You settled into the tan leather seats. “Thank you, girls, I appreciate it.” You nodded with a small smile on your lips, clutching your bag tighter than necessary. Sydney grinned back at you in the rearview mirror, while her friend—Maya, judging by the lanyard swinging around her neck—twisted halfway in her seat to wave you off.
“Of course! We know how far South Hall is. Nobody should have to trek that after dinner.” The cart kicks as you pull off, breezing past the landscape and contemporary architecture. Paid for courtesy of the money that the athletics teams brought in from various donors and student dollars.
“Especially not after getting smacked in the face with a ball,” Riki added, leaning back like he owned the whole cart.
You shot him a look so sharp it could’ve cut glass. “You love bringing that up, don’t you?”
“History’s important,” he replied smoothly. “If I don’t remind you, who will?”
Maya giggled like he’d just delivered the funniest punchline of the century. You swore half the school was under his spell.
“Honestly, Riki’s right,” Maya said. “That pass was crazy. You didn’t even cry though. Respect.”
You pressed your lips together, fighting the urge to explain yourself. Because the truth was, you had flinched—you just did it internally where no one could see. But now, thanks to Riki, your little moment of public humiliation had become folklore. “You saw it?”
Maya nodded, “yeah, I’m the basketball coach’s assistant. Well I didn’t see it but I, for sure, heard it.”
“The smack heard around the world—” Riki laughed, curling into himself as you slapped his rock-solid arm. “Shut up,” you hissed, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.
Maya reassured you, “it’s okay. It’s contained. Only a few people saw it.” She shrugged, “the amount of times the guys on the team themselves have been hit is like…”
“Incalculable.” Sydney chimed in as she made a left turn, breezing past other walking students. You frowned at the sight, you wish you could fit them all in the vehicle.
“Totally,” Riki added. “You remember that game against Boston when Jay—”
“I’ve never seen any of the games.” You interjected, narrowly inspecting your nails—but as soon as you said that the cart almost jerked to a full stop.
Sydney’s head whipped around, eyes wide. “You what?”
Maya gasped, clutching her chest like you’d just told them you hated puppies. “You’ve never—ever?”
The cart slowed as a group of students crossed, giving Riki the perfect stage to swivel toward you, brows lifted in mock offense. “Hold on.” His voice was calm, but his expression was all wounded pride. “You’ve been sitting in my arena, my practices, for how long—and you’ve never watched a single game?”
You blinked at him. “I’m there for the cheer practices. Riki—I’ve never even seen you do more than dribble the ball.”
“How is that possible?” He furrowed his brows.
You frowned in thought. “I just never paid any mind to your side of the floor. I just…look where the girls are or my laptop. Mostly my laptop.”
They finally pulled up to the lecture hall. Both you and Riki slid out—thanking Sydney and Maya as you did. “Good luck, girlie.” Sydney gave one last smile before speeding off ahead. It went by a lot faster than you thought.
By this point, the two of you stood on the sidewalk right in front of South Hall. Taking in the silence for the moment as you both looked at the horizon. The sun melted behind the glass neuroscience building. Causing the both of you to turn your gaze to each other as the light reflected into your eyes. The moment Riki did, he grinned. “Okay. You can stop acting cool, no one’s around.” He whispered. “I know you’ve seen me play—one of my games at least.”
You slowly shook your head. “I swear I haven’t.”
He conceded, “Fine. Well…as I was saying before we were interrupted. I’m sorry for hitting you with the ball last week. It was an accident, and I also apologize for being a bit of a dick to you.”
You squinted up at him, arms crossed. “A bit of a dick?”
Riki laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “A little bit…” He pinched his fingers together. You gave him a look as you waited for him to take it back. Letting his words simmer. “Not even just the tip?”
You sighed, running your hands over your face. “Boy, if you don’t get the fuck out of my face—”
“I’m sorry, okay, okay!” He laughs as he waves his hands in front of your face. “I was joking…”
“Mmm…” you tilted your head at him, your heart beating a bit faster than it was before this conversation began.
He pursed his lips as he smiled down at you. A glint in his eyes that you don’t recognize. “I have an idea.”
“What?”
“As a token of my apology, I want to invite you to my next game.”
You stared at him like he’d just suggested a blood pact. “Absolutely not.”
“C’mon.” His grin widened, like he’d been expecting that answer. “Front row, VIP. I’ll even have your name on the pass list. You don’t even have to cheer for me.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Fine, then come and boo. Loud. Make a sign if you want—‘Down with Nishimura’ or something.” He mimed holding up a poster, his expression all faux-serious. “I’ll wave at you from the free throw line.”
You snorted despite yourself, quickly covering it with a cough. “Why would I waste my Friday night watching sweaty dudes run back and forth?”
“Because sweaty dudes running back and forth is basically my art form,” he shot back smoothly. Then he tilted his head, eyes narrowing just a little. “Besides…you owe me.”
Your brows furrowed. “For what?”
“For traumatizing me,” he said without hesitation. “Do you know how much it hurts when someone tells you they’ve never seen your masterpiece?”
“That’s something called ego.”
He leaned in, close enough that his voice dropped into something teasingly low. “Same difference.”
For a beat, you just stared at him, pulse tripping traitorously. “Dream on, Riki.” You turned, reaching for the heavy doors of South Hall, but his voice caught you right before you slipped inside.
“One game,” he called out, tone softer now. “Just one. If you hate it, I’ll never bother you again.”
You froze, hand on the handle. He had to know you weren’t the type to fold under pressure—so why did his voice sound less like a challenge and more like a genuine ask?
Slowly, you glanced back. He was standing there with his hands shoved into his sweats, rocking back on his heels, watching you with a grin that wasn’t entirely smug.
You squinted. “You expect me to believe that? You’ll leave me alone?”
He pressed a hand over his heart, feigning sincerity. “Scout’s honor.”
“You’ve never been a scout in your life.”
“Exactly, so I’ve got nothing to lose,” he said easily. “C’mon. You sit in the bleachers twice a week anyway. This time, you get a show.”
You opened your mouth to shoot him down again—but the words got stuck. Maybe it was the sunset painting him in gold, maybe it was the echo of his laugh still buzzing in your chest, maybe it was the faint thrill of saying yes when every fiber of you wanted to say no.
You saw why people liked him. When he wasn’t being a pompous, meat for brains, insipid asshole—Riki could be described in a very simple word: charismatic. Everything that he is, does, seems to rub people the right way. But the fact that it took over a week to get a full apology from him always rang in the back of your mind.
“C’mon mama, wherever you need to be, you only have five minutes.” He sang, as he glanced at his blue Superman watch.
You didn’t want to be bought by him, this was just some sick foreplay, if any. He said it himself, he likes people—girls—like you. The ones that despise him and aren’t so easily won. He probably thinks you two are flirting—he has been. You haven’t—not intentionally that is.
The last week has shown you the type of person he is. He’s rude, careless, inconsiderate and for sure undeserving of your time. “Quick question.”
He looked up at you, lifting his brow. “Talk to me.”
“Those girls that drove us, Sydney and…Maya. How do you know Sydney?” You pulled the sleeves of your zip-up over your wrist.
Riki cocked his head to the side, “she’s Maya’s girlfriend. Why?”
Okay so, that didn’t exactly satisfy the answer you wanted.
But this is the problem, you wanted so badly to catch him in something. To see if someone was going to pop out of the bushes and tell you that you’ve been Punk’d. That you were a fool for even thinking that one of the most prolific basketball stars this university’s ever seen wanted your time and attention. But he seemed to. Or maybe it was his guilt. You couldn’t tell.
And that was what was eating you alive. That you couldn’t tell. But curiosity was a bitch and maybe Friday night could’ve been for you.
As you looked at him again, he was already looking at you. “So?” He smiled gently, hopeful glints in his eyes.
You sighed, “how do I buy the ticket?” You throw up your hands in defeat as you look to the side and up at the nearly set sun.
“Yes!” He cheered, pumping a fist in the air like he’d just hit a buzzer beater. Opening his arms wide, “can I give you a hug?”
You narrowed your eyes at him, arms crossing tighter. “Absolutely not.”
“C’mon, mama, I earned it,” he pleaded, arms still spread like he was about to embrace the whole campus. “You just admitted you’re coming to see me.”
“I admitted nothing,” you corrected, stepping around him toward the South Hall doors. “All I said was I need a ticket.”
“That’s the same thing.” He jogged to keep up with you, a grin plastered across his face. “In fact, it’s even better—you asked me for one. That’s like—” He paused, holding his hands out like he was framing a painting. “—a confession of interest.”
You stopped, deadpan. “I’m not interested,”
“And yet, hater,” he said, tapping his temple as if he’d solved world hunger, “I’ll see you Friday.”
Before you could come up with a scathing comeback, the bell tower chimed the hour. You groaned, clutching your bag. “I’m late. Thanks for that.”
“Thank me later,” he called as you hurried inside. And when you risked one last glance over your shoulder, he was still standing on the steps—hands in his pockets, that infuriating grin aimed right at you like he’d already won.
And maybe, just maybe, a tiny part of you worried he had.
—
“Wait what?! Riki invited you to his game?!”
“Say that any louder would you?” You threw your hands up in irritation as Yasmin’s eyes bulged out of her skull at the news.
Bella covered her mouth, stifling a laugh as she flipped the waffle maker open. “Wait—hold on, hold on.” She pointed the spatula at you like it was a gavel. “You, you, the number-one Riki Nishimura hater on campus, got personally invited by the man himself, and you said yes?”
You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “I didn’t say yes, I just…didn’t say no.”
“That’s a yes,” Yasmin gasped, and she quietly clapped her hands. “Oh my gosh, you’re going to a game! Our little cynic is finally embracing school spirit!”
The dining hall was typically bustling around this time. Early in the morning, people want to load up on breakfast and catch up with friends before the inundating life of college consumes them. You, Yasmin, and Bella met up at nine AM for breakfast every single morning, no exceptions. Ten on weekends.
“Fuck the school, fuck the spirit.” You groaned. “I’m going because he wouldn’t shut up about it. It’s a one-time thing. A pity acceptance.”
Bella raised a brow. “A pity acceptance is still an acceptance, babe.”
The waffle maker dinged. She lifted the lid and slid a perfect golden square onto her plate, smirking as she doused it in syrup. “Honestly? I’m proud. You’re about to see the campus cult leader in his natural habitat.” She immediately doubled back to put more mix in the press. You and Yasmin always split a waffle.
The beautiful, olive skinned girl squealed again. Grabbing your hands and interlocking them. “This is huge! You’re gonna love it—the lights, the crowd, the energy—”
“The egos,” you cut in, tugging your hands back.
“The athleticism,” Yasmin countered, unfazed. “And hey, if you don’t like the game, at least the cheer squad will look amazing. I’ll even throw in a wink just for you.”
You wrapped an arm around both girls’ shoulders, to which they rested their heads on yours. “At least I’m guaranteed some type of joy. Seeing my hot friends in their cute cheer outfits.”
Bella laughed, rubbing your tummy as she lifted herself up to check your waffle. “I’ll even give you a lap dance if you ask nicely.”
“Bella!” Yasmin swatted her with the back of her hand, laughing so hard her mascara almost smudged.
“What?” Bella grinned, cutting your shared waffle with surgical precision.
You snorted into your mango juice. “If Riki’s game is even half as entertaining as this breakfast, maybe I’ll survive.”
“Oh, you’ll more than survive,” Yasmin said confidently. “You’re gonna be converted.”
“Is this guy really that good?” You grabbed two plates for the two and slid them to Bella.
The two girls nodded in unison. “Putting all dickhead-ism aside, babes. He’s extremely good.” Bella said as she put the halves on both plates.
Yasmin nodded, as you both walked back to your table. “Yeah, it’s freaky. I don’t know, but you’ll see Friday.” She shrugged as you sat at your table.
Bella pointed her fork at you. “You’re gonna hate how much you agree with her.”
Before you could fire back, a shadow fell across the table.
“Agree with who?”
You nearly choked on your strawberry. Yasmin yelped so loud half the dining hall turned. And Bella? She smacked her fork down like she was about to get very violent.
Standing there, plate balanced casually in one hand, was Riki Nishimura himself. Grinning like the devil.
“Don’t do that!” Yasmin scolded, clutching her chest.
“Do what?” he asked innocently, setting his plate down at the table behind yours. He placed his hand on the back of your chair—something weirdly intimate. You couldn’t assess the feeling. But you felt his body heat radiate off of him.
Bella and Yasmin knew Riki in passing. The basketball team and their cheerleaders—the team that the girls were a part of—were familiar with one another. From the university standpoint, the cheerleaders would hype up the crowd, boost morale, the works. On the other end, a lot of them would date other athletes. Which sounds cliche in hindsight.
Riki ‘dated’ many cheerleaders in his day, mostly during high school. Now, he’s calmed down—only having screwed around with three of them in his years at Decelis. Three in two years isn’t that terrible.
But that was the thing with Riki, he screwed. That’s all he could do. Wanted to do, really. He knew the power he held here and what man wouldn’t enjoy the flock of women that threw themselves at his feet? Especially when his status was what it was.
Riki would make it clear that he didn’t want anything more with them. Abundantly clear that it was just sex, nothing more or less. But of course, there would be a few that would try to change him. Claim him, go around saying things about him that weren’t true to scare other girls out of dating him. Once he started getting attention, sponsorships, ESPN coverage, he couldn’t risk his image being tainted at the hands of a one night stand. From his perspective, he’d rather get in trouble for things he did on his own than something someone else said. Especially if it weren’t true.
Besides that, the girls and him essentially ran in the same circles. Plus, Yasmin and one of the other basketball guys had a one-off fling. Brief, fruitless, literally lasted three weeks. Bella was pretty and Riki was sort of eyeing her for a minute, but that crush died. Nothing that Bella did, he just saw you.
“Nothing. Do nothing, Riki.” You looked up at him with a sarcastic smile. “What do you want?”
“Oh, I love the welcome wagon.” He nodded curtly as he lightly, very playfully punched your arm. “Just wanted to remind you that Friday shall not be forgotten.”
Yasmin smiles, “it’s not! We were just talking about yo—” Bella immediately kicked her leg, roughly—nearly leaving a bruise. Yasmin’s yelp turned into a strained laugh, way too high-pitched. “—yo, yogurt. We were just talking about yogurt.”
The blonde nodded affirmatively, slowly but going with what the girl writhing in pain said. “Uh-huh. Strawberry yogurt. Very…important conversation.”
Riki squinted, biting into his toast with suspicious slowness. “Yogurt. Right.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “You guys know you’re terrible liars, right?”
Bella shoved a piece of waffle into her mouth to avoid answering. Yasmin’s eyes darted everywhere but him. And you? You just stared back at him, unimpressed.
“Relax,” Riki grinned, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “If I wanted to eavesdrop, I’d sit at this table, not behind you. Though—” His knuckles rapped against the back of your chair again, teasing. “This seat has its perks.”
Bella groaned into her plate. Yasmin kicked her under the table this time.
You rolled your eyes. “Don’t you have a young woman’s life to ruin?”
He quirked his brows, stealing a slice of kiwi from your plate. “Who, like yours?”
Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
Riki just chewed the kiwi like he hadn’t just thrown a grenade on the table. “I’m saying—” he gestured vaguely with his fork, “—you’re acting like I’ve got a whole victim list when clearly…” His eyes slid to you, gleaming. “…you’re volunteering.”
Bella choked on her waffle. Yasmin slapped her back, sputtering. “Who do you think you are?”
“What? I’m clarifying,” he said innocently, though the corner of his mouth was doing that thing—the smug almost-smile that made your blood heat. Then, without another word, he grabs a chair and his plate from the table he had the food on. Getting comfy as he set himself up. “I’m so sorry I just love girl chat.” He squealed as he scooted inward and entirely too close to you.
Bella’s head snapped up. “Did…did you just squeal?”
“I did.” Riki leaned his elbow on the table, grinning like a cheshire cat. “I’m very in touch with my feminine side.”
Yasmin looks at you with a disappointed sigh, “I see what you were talking about.”
Your fork froze mid-air. “Wow. Betrayal this early in the morning?”
Yasmin just shrugged helplessly, sipping her coffee. “I’m sorry,”
Riki gasped, clutching his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. “You’ve been slandering me before I even sat down?”
Bella stabbed her waffle with unnecessary force. “We didn’t need to. You do it all yourself.”
He turned to you then, eyes glinting, completely ignoring the other two. “So that’s the verdict? I walk in here, innocent, just trying to enjoy my kiwi—”
“You mean my kiwi?” You gesture to your nearly cleared off plate of fruit.
“It’s not like you were eating the shit.” He reached in, going for the last few slices. But before he could, you turned the bowl—bringing it out of his reach. Riki froze mid-reach, his hand hovering in the air.
Without any effort, he reached down to the leg of your chair—pulling you closer into his side with the strength of a singular arm. Your heart skipped, and you yanked back slightly, more surprised than scared. “Hey! What—”
Riki didn’t budge, just leaned forward to grab the bowl. “What?” His eyes flicked to the bowl of fruit, then back to you, unrepentant as he tested you. Dared you to speak again in a teasing way.
Bella and Yasmin froze mid-bite, their expressions somewhere between horror and fascination. Yasmin whispered, “Uh…maybe…maybe intervene?”
Bella just buried her face in her hands. “Nope. Not my problem.”
—
Friday came faster than you thought it ever could. Which is strange because any other week goes by excruciatingly slow for you. Greatly enough, you didn’t figure out why. Maybe it was the thought of seeing Riki on the court, all energy and mild aggression personified, or maybe it was the memory of him cornering you over a damn kiwi bowl. Either way, you found yourself walking across campus, purse slung over one shoulder, feeling a mix of dread and curiosity that you didn’t entirely understand.
The arena loomed ahead, banners flapping in the evening breeze as crowds of people made their way inside. Your chest tightened, not from the usual anxiety of social situations, but from the knowing—knowing that he was here, somewhere in the midst of all that chaos, grinning like he owned the place.
After the interactions you had with him, you wondered if Riki ever got nervous before games. If he did some bizarre ritual or had a good luck charm like a pair of socks he wears every game that he hasn’t washed since he was ten.
Your lace-trimmed long sleeve was very cute and delicate, definitely not the “athlete-supportive” outfit anyone would expect at a basketball game—but somehow, it felt like armor. You tugged at the hem nervously, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach.
Inside, the arena buzzed with energy: the squeak of sneakers on the polished court, the rhythmic stomps and chants of the crowd, the banners waving overhead. Somewhere in the middle of it all, you knew Riki would appear larger than life, and honestly…the thought made your palms sweat.
He didn’t lie, there was a seat reserved right in the front row with your name on it.
You blinked at the small placard. Your name. Front row.
A mix of irritation and curiosity bubbled up. Who even does that? And yet…part of you couldn’t deny the thrill. Sliding into the seat, you felt the floor vibrate as the players warmed up, sneakers squeaking and balls thumping as the team warmed up.
Then you saw him moving across the court, every motion effortless, commanding, magnetic. Even from a distance, you could feel the energy radiating off him, drawing your gaze like gravity. He caught your eye for a brief second, slyly winking at you as he chewed on a mouthguard.
His attire was great. Yes, he wore the school colors—purple and white—on his uniform. A large number three at the center of both sides of his jersey. But on his right arm, he had a white arm sleeve. White finger tape decorating his fingers as on the opposite leg—his left—he had a leg sleeve. You’ve seen basketball players wear stuff like this, it seemed to be the style.
Your eyes scanned the middle of the court and you spotted Bella and Yasmin—dolled up and looking as gorgeous as ever as they sat on the sidelines. You beamed and immediately took out your phone to snap a photo of them. Oh-so-inconspicuously sending that photo in the group chat. An ‘I’m watching your every step’ message. Nothing too weird, you know.
The laugh in your throat bubbled as you broke out into a smile, and for a moment, the noise of the crowd faded into the background. Bella’s perfectly lined eyeliner, Yasmin’s gleaming hair, the way they leaned into each other as they whispered—you could practically hear the unspoken jokes.
Until it was time for tip-off.
—
The buzzer sounded, a sharp crack that made your chest skip a beat, and the ball soared into the air.
Riki lunged with impossible timing, leaping higher than anyone else, his arm sleeve flexing with the motion. The crowd erupted as he slammed the ball down with a satisfying thunk, immediately taking control of the game.
From your front-row seat, every movement was mesmerizing: the pivot of his legs, the effortless bounce of the ball, the way his jersey clung just right when he twisted mid-air. And, of course, the occasional glance your way—a subtle lift of the brow, a tilt of the head—just enough to remind you he knew you were watching.
Riki crouched low near half-court, dribbling the ball between his legs with that smooth, controlled rhythm that made it look effortless. His eyes flicked up, scanning the defense like a chess player anticipating every move. He didn’t rush—never all-out too early. Every feint, every subtle shift of his weight was calculated, teasing the defenders, building tension, like he was saving the real fireworks for the perfect moment.
A defender lunged, trying to predict his next move, but Riki only stayed focused, spinning the ball through a precise between-the-legs crossover. He leaned forward, eyes locked on the basket, energy coiled and measured, every step deliberate.
And then—explosion. He exploded past the defender, weaving through the chaos with that signature agility, rising for a perfect, graceful layup that made the crowd roar. Even in motion, his gaze flicked toward you, subtle and teasing, like he was daring you to blink.
—
He always took smart shots.
Surprisingly enough, Riki was far from a ball hog. He moved like a conductor through the chaos of the game, every dribble, pivot, and pass precise. He orchestrated plays, drawing defenders toward him and then slipping a perfect pass to a teammate cutting to the hoop—playing the point guard role perfectly. Every shot he took was calculated; every assist and pass, effortless. You watched, captivated, as he built the momentum of the game with a controlled fire that was both intimidating and magnetic.
Halfway through the second quarter, he caught the ball just inside the three-point line, eyes scanning, defenders breathing down his neck. He dribbled, a subtle hesitation, then spun between his legs, pivoting with that signature agility. A defender tried to stop him, but his shoulder grazed Riki just enough to make him stumble—foul called immediately.
He didn’t miss a beat. Rising for the layup, he absorbed the contact and still managed to sink it cleanly. The whistle blew—and one.
As he landed, he slapped his chest with that confident, masculine gesture, exhaling sharply, eyes glinting. The crowd clapped, teammates high-fiving him.Every move seemed designed to entertain as much as to dominate. He drew cheers from the crowd, coordinated plays with teammates, and every so often, that teasing glance toward you reminded you: this was also a show for you.
—
On defense, Riki was a pest. Annoying. The kind of player who never gave you room to breathe. He crouched low, arms wide, reading the offense like he had the playbook in his head before it even unfolded. Every time his opponent tried to drive, he cut them off with quick, sharp footwork, shadowing every step.
And when he went for a steal? Ruthless. One second the ball was in his opponent’s hands, the next Riki had stripped it clean, darting down the court. He didn’t just defend—he got under skin. By the third quarter, you could see the frustration written across the faces of the guys stuck dealing with him.
He thrived on it too. That sly grin crept back whenever a frustrated guard shoved into him a little too hard, trying to break free. He’d just shrug it off, tap his leg sleeve like try again, and lock back in.
Even from the front row, you could tell—he wasn’t just good. He was exhausting to play against.
—
There were a few times he should’ve got called for a technical foul but wasn’t. A few of the other guys on the team trash-talked. But Riki’s mouth was the worst. You could tell, just like the rest of them, that they got extremely competitive in the heat of the moment. Which was understandable, but you wondered. There have been many times you’ve seen women’s games and the refs have so much to say to them when they get snippy. But the guys are essentially having a dick swinging contest right before the entire country to see.
He’d get in the defenders’ faces, bump their shoulders. Take out his mouthguard specifically just to shit talk right in their faces. Whispering foul words to intimidate the player that you couldn’t make out.
The guilty part of you was sort of turned on by it, seeing Riki this way. This was the most masculine you saw him. Not the smug tease hovering over your shoulder in the dining hall. Not the boy grinning as he chased you up to class. Here, on the court, chest heaving, jaw tight, trash talk spilling easy—this was Riki in his rawest form. And you hated how much your stomach knotted watching it.
—
By the last thirty seconds, the gym was shaking. 126–126. Decelis ball. Everyone in the stands already knew where it was going—Riki. He dribbled up, face locked in that sharp, predator focus you’d never seen off the court. Two defenders closed in, practically climbing his back. The crowd roared, waiting for him to take the shot. Of course he would. He always did.
He didn’t.
At the last second, Riki snapped his wrist and swung the ball out to a teammate wide in the corner. Perfect pass. The kid launched it. Swish. Decelis up three.
The arena exploded, bodies leaping, the bench clearing to scream. Riki didn’t even crack a smile—just hit his chest once, hard, and pointed at his teammate like that’s you.
The other team scrambled for a last shot, missed, and the buzzer went off in a storm of whistles and screams. Decelis: 129. Them: 126.
Your ears rang as everyone flooded the court. Players crashing into each other, coaches losing their minds, fans pressed against the rails. And in the middle of it all was Riki, tall and shining and untouchable, sweat dripping down his jaw.
While you covered your ears, trying to ensure you didn’t lose your hearing at the tail-end of this event—you got it now. More than anything did you understand why these things weren’t just games. They were spectacles.
If people were like this for regular in-season games, imagine what the playoffs and (hopefully) championship games would be like. But besides that, you realized what made your pulse race wasn’t just the scoreboard or the roaring crowd—it was him.
Riki, standing there like the center of gravity, chest rising and falling, teammates mobbing him in a blur of jerseys. He hadn’t even taken the final shot, but everyone knew he’d been the engine. The conductor. The spark.
He accepted the praise, but he immediately found the kid that he passed to—hitting his chest as he nodded. Smiling through his mouth guard as they both had some weird, guy conversation.
Some celebratory music was playing from the arena speakers, as the fans cheered and stomped, the sound rattling through your bones. Players kept shoving Riki, grabbing his shoulders, hollering in his face like he’d just saved the world. He took it all with that cool, unbothered grin, dapping them up one by one.
But then, as the noise stretched on, he peeled away. Sweat dripping down his temple, jersey clinging, he jogged over to the scorer’s table. You frowned, watching as he grabbed the ball from the official’s hands, spinning it once in his palm like it belonged to him.
And then—of course—his gaze cut straight to you.
Your stomach twisted as he looked at you, expectantly—waiting for your approval. Waiting for your okay. For you to tell him how great he already knew he was. But he wanted to hear it—see it—from you.
Without a word, you nodded slowly—tipping your bag of sour gummies at him as you leaned back into your seat.
His grin widened around his mouth guard, sharp and almost childlike as he turned back to his teammates—doing cheesy celebratory dances as the arena cleared out.
You shook your head, laughing softly as you cleaned up your area. Grabbing the wrappers and water bottles you went through—you hated leaving messes for people to pick up when you were fully capable of doing it yourself.
As you walked to the trashcan that was about ten feet away, the girls wrapped their arms around you from either side. Bella’s perfume hit you first, sugary and strong, while Yasmin’s lip gloss smudged your cheek as she leaned in.
“Front row, huh?” Yasmin sing-songed, her grin wicked.
Bella gave you a look that said girl, explain, even as she pretended to focus on the giant foam finger she was waving.
“In my defense, I didn’t think I’d be put there.” You put your hands up, stepping back.
The blonde smiled, poking your arm. “Okay, WAG—”
“No!” You laughed, swatting her hand away. “Not WAG! I’m not—I didn’t—”
Yasmin’s grin widened, clearly loving your flustered flailing. “Relax, relax. We’re just saying, you know…front row. Big stage. Him.”
Bella snorted, waving the foam finger like a banner of proof. “Yeah, yeah, admit it—you enjoyed it.”
You rolled your eyes, tugging your bag higher on your shoulder. “I did. The game was good.” Nodding in thought, “y’all were right.”
Yasmin smiled, “see?! It’s so cute like, we all come together just to sit down and be in community and cheer and it just—”
“Okay Miss Frizzle,” Bella placed her hand onto the girl’s shoulder as you all shared a laugh. Bella tugged you guys close, hugging you both tightly. “Okay, so are we ever gonna have the conversation where we cover the fact that Riki totally wants you?”
You froze mid-step, the weight of Bella’s words hitting like a surprise full-court press.
Yasmin snorted behind her hand, eyes sparkling. “Ooh, she’s gonna deny it. Watch.”
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, trying for casual, but your voice betrayed you anyway.
Bella rolled her eyes, smirking. “Uh-huh. Totally casual. Front row, him looking like a Greek statue on the court, and he somehow looked in your general direction for most of the game? Totally casual. So friendly.”
You nodded, brushing your curls behind your ear. “Mhm, you said it, not me.”
They both give you a look. Sharing one with each other as they both moved you out of the way as there were flocks of people still trying to make their ways out of the arena in one piece. But you somehow forgot about their existence, this has been happening a lot to you the last few hours. And most of your life.
This sort of dissociation—only minding the people close to you. The ones you thought were special. Like today, you’d be in a sea of people and if you knew three—you kept them close to your chest. There’s been so many times where people would run into you, or come up to you and greet you and you’d not know who they were until they reminded you that you had your eleven-thirty history class with them and they sat right behind you.
This is why Riki crashing into your life these last two weeks has been so surreal for you. And maybe, just maybe, this might be the reason for your subconscious rejection of him. You never actually hated him, you understood that. You simply didn’t like that you and the entire university were being forced to like him simply because he was good at a sport.
By this point, the arena was empty sans for you three and some custodians that swept up the floor with pristine efficiency. Proving they’ve done this a thousand times over.
Yasmin opened her mouth to respond, yet she was interrupted by one of the girls calling from one of the double doors. “Bella! Yasmin! C’mon, Coach is making us take photos and we can’t go without you guys.”
The brunette nodded, “we’re coming!” She called out as she turned to look at you. “Be right back.” She whispered, hugging you tightly—kissing your cheek as she scampered off to the door.
Bella smiled as she watched Yasmin make a quick break for the doors. Turning back to you, she nodded to the door. “Wanna come?”
You shrugged a shoulder. “Sure I—” From the corner of your eye, you see a tall figure jogging toward you. The sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished floor pulled your attention, and before you could even finish your sentence, there he was. The man of the hour.
Still in his jersey, dried sweat sticking to his skin, his hair damp at the edges. He had ditched his mouthguard somewhere between celebrating and now, flashing that unbothered grin that made your pulse do a somersault. The ball was tucked under one arm like an extension of himself, and his pace—quick, determined—made it obvious: he wasn’t jogging toward anyone. He was jogging toward you.
Bella’s brows shot up, her lips curving into a slow, dangerous smile as she stepped aside like she knew she was witnessing a movie scene unfold. “Ohhh, this should be good,” she murmured, already backing toward the doors to “give you space” but absolutely intending to eavesdrop from ten feet away. She debated, but ultimately decided to go find the team before she had to run ten laps before next practice. “I’ll catch you later, love you.” She whispered, rubbing your shoulder before she scurried off.
Your feet stayed planted, though your mind screamed at you to do literally anything else. Riki slowed to a stop in front of you, chest rising and falling, eyes locked onto yours like Bella, the arena, the custodians didn’t exist. “Hi.”
Just that—soft, breathless, like he’d been holding it in all night and finally let it spill. He shifted the ball under his arm, free hand tugging at the hem of his jersey like it could keep him grounded. His eyes, though, weren’t grounded at all—they were skating across your face, memorizing, cataloguing, daring you to look away.
“Congrats,” you managed, your voice a little too high, a little too airy, like you hadn’t been practicing something cooler in your head since halftime. “Star of the game, huh?”
His grin returned, a little crooked now, more boy than legend. “Nah. Don’t start with all that.” He leaned in a fraction, enough for you to catch the lingering salt of sweat, the heat radiating off him. “Besides…wasn’t really playing for the crowd tonight.”
You raised your brows in slight shock, your heart skipping a little at the flirtation. “Are you flirting with me, sir?” Stifling a laugh as you cock your head.
Riki laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he nodded. “Yeah. I am.”
Your stomach dipped like the floor had given out under you, though your face did its best to play it cool. Folding your arms, pretending his answer didn’t just rearrange your insides, you said, “Thank…you?”
Riki’s laugh came again, low and disbelieving, like you’d just crossed him up on his own court. “Thank you?” He echoed, shaking his head as he adjusted his grip on the ball. “That’s your response?”
You shrugged, trying to look unfazed even as your pulse thudded in your throat. “Well, what do you want me to say?”
That crooked grin tugged at his lips again, boyish and sharp all at once. He angled his chin at you, eyes flicking over your face like he was searching for the crack in your act. “I was hoping for something more like…‘finally.’”
That single word hung between you, heavier than the arena’s fading buzz. Your arms loosened, the folded front slipping without your permission. “Finally?” you repeated, soft, like you weren’t sure if you wanted to challenge him or dare him to keep going.
“Yeah,” Riki said, voice quieter now, less bravado and more truth. “Been waiting for a shot. Figured tonight I’d stop warming the bench.” He let the ball go, letting it bounce. He tapped it gently, letting it come back to his hand. He extended it to you with one arm. “For you, beautiful.”
You blinked at the ball, then at him, like he’d just offered you his jersey, his sneakers, and possibly his firstborn all at once. “For me?”
Riki’s smirk tilted into something softer, more earnest. “Yeah. MVP keeps the ball. Tonight…” he shrugged, eyes never leaving yours, “that’s you.”
Without anything else coming to mind, you just take the ball hesitantly. Like it would explode if you were to handle it wrong. “Oh my gosh, Riki…” you smile brightly. “Thank you.”
He laughs softly, “you said that already, mama. You don’t have to thank me.” He waved off as he sighed shakily. “Look…I know…we got off to a rocky start—”
“Rocky?” You echoed, one brow arching as you hugged the ball tighter against your chest.
“Hostile’s the better word.”
You nodded curtly, “for sure.”
Riki chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck like he was taking the hit on purpose. “Yeah, I deserved that.”
You tilted your head, lips twitching. “Glad we agree.”
His grin softened into something a little less cocky, a little more boyish. “But…if hostile was the start, I’m hoping this—” he nodded toward the ball in your arms, “—can be, you know, the reset.”
“So you wanna be friends?” You bounced the ball, dribbling it as you stared down at it. Ensuring it didn’t go anywhere—zero hand-eye coordination on your end.
Riki’s smile brightened as he watched you. “Friends is a good start, that’s not all I want though.” His eyes darted between you and the ball that you seem to have so much trouble dribbling but he just let you go.
Your dribble went sideways, the ball nearly escaping before you caught it with both hands, clutching it like a life preserver. “Not all you want?” you repeated, squinting at him. “You don’t even know if I can make a free throw.”
Riki snorted, entertained at seeing you try this with zero grace. “But I do know you can’t dribble. I’m sorry but you are absolutely terrible.”
“Hey! It’s not even my job to be good at this shit. Sorry I’m not like what’s-his-name.” You switch hands and dribble the ball at an irregular rhythm.
“What is his name, sweetheart?” Riki pursed his lips as he watched you with his hands clasped behind his back.
You snapped your fingers as if it were able to trigger a thought. “Um…Allen Iverson! Yes! Allen Iverson.”
Riki blinked, then burst out laughing, so loud one of the custodians looked over in confusion. “Allen Iverson?!” He bent forward, hands on his knees, grinning at you like you’d just told the funniest joke of the year. “Oh my God—nah, don’t do AI like that. He’s turning in his grave right now—”
“He’s not even dead!” you cut in, indignant, clutching the ball tighter.
Riki straightened, smirk pulling at his lips as he pointed at you. “Exactly. And you still killed him with that comparison.”
You gasped dramatically, eyes wide. “Wow. You’re mean.”
“Nah,” he shook his head, stepping closer again, grin softer now. “Just honest. And besides…” his gaze lingered on you, enough to make your heartbeat stumble, “…you’re way cuter than Iverson anyway.”
You got back to dribbling. “I don’t know…” you sang. “I used to have a crush on him when I was young.” You were focused, tongue sticking out in concentration as you played with the ball.
He blurted out. “Okay, I’m sorry, I can’t take this anymore.” He scratched his forehead. “You gotta keep your eyes up, mama.” Scrunching his nose a bit as he put his hand on his hip.
“No, Riki, I’m gonna lose it if I do!”
“Well I’m already losing it.” He laughs at your stubbornness. “You looking down isn’t helping you. If this were a game, I’d steal the ball from you.”
Your eyes stayed down, at this point, you were just pulling his leg.
He swiftly stole the ball from you. “Hey,” he said firmly, grabbing your chin gently and forcing you to look at him. He bounced the ball at a quick rhythm, “look at me.” Dribbling the ball between his legs as he leans down to your height.
Your breath caught, heat rushing to your cheeks at how close he suddenly was—his palm warm and steady on your chin, his eyes locked onto yours like he dared you to blink.
The ball thudded against the hardwood in a perfect rhythm, the sound echoing in the empty arena. His smirk deepened, lips curling as if he’d just proven his point without saying another word. “See? Easy. You keep your eyes on me, and the ball takes care of itself.”
You scoffed, though it came out softer than intended, your voice a little shaky. “That’s…literally not how physics works.”
“Sure it is,” he countered smoothly, still dribbling with one hand, chin tilted with that effortless confidence. “Ball control is focus. And right now, your focus…” he tapped your chin lightly before pulling his hand back, “…is exactly where I want it.” He stops dribbling and presses the ball into your chest.
“You’re such a showoff.” You crossed your arms over the ball, trying to reclaim some authority, though your heart betrayed you with a rapid thump.
Riki tilted his head, grin sharpening just enough to be mischievous. “And you’re—
“Yo Riki!”
The both of you turn to see someone from behind you. Turns out it was three people, only one of them shouting out from across the floor. His teammates most likely. “You coming?!”
Confusion coated your features. That and annoyance was on Riki’s as well until realization found him. “Wh—oh shit!” He quickly turned to you with a small smile. “The team’s having an afterparty at one of the frats, wanna come?”
Your eyes widened, “a frat party?”
“Well, yes and no. One of the guys on the team, Maki—we have the same name, funnily enough. Whatever that’s not the point—the point is, he’s a part of Phi Gamma Theta. The party’s at his frat house and it’s his turn to buy the beer.” He nods with a shimmy of his shoulders.
You turn to his teammates that are eyeing you both expectantly, mainly him. At this moment, you really didn’t want to go. Like at all. And you were most certainly going to deny him! But you were so surprised that he was so quick to let you into his world in this way—so quickly. While you liked that he wanted you in the spaces that he occupied, you were weary of both him and the company he kept. You simply didn’t know him that well.
While it didn’t hurt to make new friends and take on new social scenes, you seriously debated how to spend your Friday night. Bella and Yasmin were going to their dorms right after this they said. They’d been putting in serious work this week and were taking every last day of their weekends to do nothing. You were just going to study for your Latin quiz on Monday—which you hardly did because you were too worried about the Philosophy paper due this afternoon. So either way, you lost. “Uh…I think I’m gonna stay in tonight. Latin quiz on Monday and I’ve hardly studied.”
Riki nodded, “for sure, that’s fine.” He waves off, looking to his teammates and holding up his index finger. Indicating that he wanted a second. They went back to where they came, most likely the locker room. “Text me when you get to your dorm?”
You quirked a brow, that confusion making another appearance. “I don’t have your number, Riki.”
He tilts his head, “you for sure do.” His eyes fell to the basketball in your hands then your eyes again.
Your gaze followed where his once was, shifting the ball around in your hands until you come across a slip of paper taped securely to it. Reading: To my MVP. Then the digits followed. Laughing, your heart rate spiking more than you’d like it to. “You’re such a cornball.”
“And I got your number from Yasmin already so…don’t even think about flaking on me.” He wagged a finger in your face. “I’m a little crazy too, I hope you know.” He teased.
“Too? As in, you think I’m crazy?” You narrow your eyes as you fold your hands over the ball. He smiled as he reminisced, “well, when one takes a fresh basketball to the face and doesn’t cry, I’d like to think there’s a little something in your wheelhouse.”
You stared at him blankly. “Goodnight, Riki.” Then lightly tossed the ball, watching it bounce right off his forehead before he could react. And funnily enough, it fell right back in your hands. “Huh, I guess ball control really does work.”
Riki laughed, rubbing the spot as he stepped closer. “See? Never lied to you.” His hand hovered briefly at the back of your head before he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Thanks for coming. I mean it. Text me when you get in, okay? Actually—” his grin flickered back as he shook his head, “don’t even bother. I’ll text you in thirty minutes.”
And this might’ve been the very moment that he got you.
Him getting closer to you as he showed this affection felt like it was in slow motion. Did it last twenty seconds or twenty minutes, you couldn’t tell. As the faint scent of his sweat overtook your senses, you found yourself breathing him in. Taking in every ounce of the time you had with him in this arena.
Despite the salty liquid, he smelled of something clean. Like linen, or some sort of fruit—citrus. More so an orange. His body was cooler now, but the heat from his body trying to cool itself down and instead it felt like the heat was all on you now.
You did this a lot. Taking him in. Soaking up every second despite his presence not wanting to admit how much you enjoyed it. That awareness lingered in your chest, heavy and sweet, like honey that refused to dissolve. You hugged the ball against your stomach, pretending it was the only anchor keeping you steady. Because if you didn’t, you might’ve reached out—might’ve let your fingers graze his jaw, might’ve leaned in just a little too much.
He didn’t make it easier, either. Still so close, still looking at you like you were something more than just a distraction. His grin is softer now, less cocky. Like he was letting you see the part of him he didn’t hand out to just anyone.
—
The second you get to your dorm you don’t even text him. You immediately sit at your desk, prop your phone up and move all your books to the side. You felt like you just did ninety lines of cocaine, every bone in your body jittering, every nerve spiked.
To be fully transparent, you hadn’t felt like this since Christmas when you were ten and your parents got you the entire Dork Diaries series after hearing you ask for it since December the year before. Fuck all the Bratz dolls, the Barbies, the dollhouses. Those be damned. Nothing mattered more to you than finally reading the book where Nikki actually didn’t say her comebacks in her head and when Mackenzie wasn’t finally the victim anymore. However, you didn’t get that far in the series anyway.
There had to be a day that you found your Brandon Roberts, and it might’ve not been today. But until then, you had to document every moment to your best friends.
As you rang them on the group video call, they both popped in. Yasmin was perched at her desk with a face mask and a fluffy headband like she was running a skincare commercial. Bella was sprawled across her bed, the camera only showing her nose up like she couldn’t be bothered with life.
“Why you calling us like the world’s ending?” Bella groaned, her voice muffled by her pillow.
“Because it is,” you shot back immediately, tucking your legs under your desk chair. “Guys—I think Riki kissed me.”
So, both of them were gagged—full stop.
Your screen sparks to life. Yasmin’s in a fluffy headband, cheeks already flushed. Bella’s camera is a nose-up drama shot and both of them look like they’ve seen a ghost and a dream at the same time.
“No way! Wait—what—dude! I thought you didn’t like him like that!” Bella beamed as she smiled into the camera. Holding her heart to keep it from bursting and oozing into the phone. You tilted your head, “I’m easy, I fear…” you bit your finger as you all giggled at your tone. Burying your face into the desk, you screamed into the hardwood. Yasmin asked. “Wait so…what do you mean ‘you think?’ I’m pretty sure you’d know if someone kissed you, girl.” She leaned back in the chair, smiling still as she smushed slime. Letting the glue mold in her hands as she popped some of the air bubbles.
You grabbed a stress ball from your drawer. “Long story short—”
“Hold up—sorry to interrupt but after I left how long did y’all talk for? Y’all stayed on the floor?” Bella nodded, trying to scope out the scene.
You nodded, “yeah, and we stayed for like…twenty minutes after?”
Yasmin squealed, holding her cheeks. “Ugh, I’m so happy for you! What did y’all talk about?”
Shrugging, you shook your head in thought. “We just…talked. It wasn’t anything heavy. But he did say he wanted to be more than friends; and me coming to the game was a way for him to hopefully bridge the gap between us.” A smile spreads onto your face slowly. “It was nice…”
“So how did a kiss happen?” Bella hummed, fully sat for this debrief.
You clear your throat dramatically, adjusting yourself in your seat. “So basically, he gave me the game ball—” Both girls jumped up like you announced you just won the lottery. “Rejoice! Thank goodness, my girl is finally gonna get some dick!” Bella cried out to the popcorn ceiling, raising her hands in jubilation.
“But he taped his number to it—and Yas! You gave him my number?!”
Yasmin ducked lower in her chair, a guilty smile creeping across her face while her slime made a wet squelch. “...maybe. Don’t act like you’re mad, you’re literally glowing right now.”
You tossed the stress ball at the wall, rolling your eyes so hard they might’ve gotten stuck. “That’s beside the point!”
Bella was already wheezing, halfway off her bed. “No, no, no, wait. He taped his number to the game ball? Like…actually taped it? That’s the most middle school-romance-movie shit I’ve ever heard. I live.”
“And it said ‘To my MVP,’” you admitted begrudgingly, dragging your hands down your face like confessing to a crime.
Both of them lost it again. Yasmin fell sideways in her chair, face mask peeling at the edges, while Bella screamed into her pillow like you’d told her BTS showed up at your dorm.
“Oh my god,” Yasmin gasped between giggles. “He’s corny. He’s so corny. But in the best way. Like…cereal box prize corny. The kind you keep forever.”
Bella sat up, eyes wild. “Nah, that’s husband behavior. Do you hear me? Husband.”
And despite yourself, you smiled so wide your cheeks hurt. “Then when we both parted—he and the team were going to a party at the Phi Gamma Theta house. He invited me but I didn’t wanna go—anyway—as we were leaving, he kissed my forehead—AH!” You screamed into the desk again. Not even caring if you got a noise complaint. You cleared your throat as you got back up. “Sorry.” They shook their heads, waving you off without a care.
“Anyway, he kissed my forehead, thanked me for coming, and said to text him when I got here—I haven’t yet.” You grabbed another toy, your slinky, and played with that. “And that if I didn’t he’d call me in thirty.”
Yasmin nodded, “so why didn’t you text him yet?”
Bella chimed in, “so she can see if he’s the type of guy to do what he says he’s gonna do, Yas.” She nodded with a smirk, tapping her temple in thought.
“Well, he should be calling any—”
Your phone buzzed as it rang from an unknown number—most likely Riki’s seeing as you hadn’t saved it yet. “Oh my gosh, fine shit is calling! What do I do?! Wait! He’s video calling me too!”
“Answer it, fuckface!” Bella laughed.
You yelped, fumbling for the green button as your hands shook. “I—I don’t know if I can!”
“Girl, are you serious?!” Yasmin screeched, squeezing her slime like it owed her money. “Just answer! He’s literally waiting to see your face!”
Bella was practically vibrating off her bed, one hand covering her mouth while the other waved frantically at the screen. “Do it! Pretend you’re calm, but like—you know just play it cool.”
“Okay, okay!” You took a breath and quickly clicked the green button.
Then before you knew it, there stood Riki. Hair slightly damp from the shower and outside air drying, fresh faced, and a black tee that you could only see the neckline of. The streetlight and LEDs that the frat had up illuminated his face so warmly. It was so bizarre, from the neck downward, Riki was beyond what you could imagine an athlete’s physique being like. Lean, agile, cut, not even an ounce of fat on him—but even then, you realize that he was still so handsome anyway.
He smiled when he saw you. “Hope you didn’t forget about me.”
You waved, “no, I could never.” Opening your arms as you spread the slinky and let it fall back into your hands.
“How was the debrief?” He brushed his hair back, flashing his watch, laughing softly as he saw your shocked face. “What? I have sisters, ma. I know what you girls do.”
You sputter like a bad engine, “uh…I—it was fine?”
Riki chuckled, that low, easy laugh that made your chest feel way too tight. “That’s code for none of my damn business, I assume?”
“You’d assume correctly.” You nodded slowly as you gathered your books. Flipping to the right pages. “How’s the party, brochacho?” Saying absentmindedly as you grab your tablet to notetake.
He laughed softly at the name as he wandered about the lawn. “It’s alright, not really feeling it tonight. Just wanted to make sure you were in one piece. That you didn’t walk into any balls on the way there.”
You rolled your eyes, “yeah I have some balls you can walk into.”
“Shut up,” he smiled as he sipped from his red cup.
Talking to him was calming, like talking to a friend you’ve known for years. Smooth, simple, easy. The nerves came and went with him. They never stuck.
“You been drinking?” You copied your important notes down from the textbook. Trying to pay attention to the material but your mind was obviously elsewhere.
He shrugged, “some beer. Took like a pull of some weed but…” He trailed off with a little sigh, lips puckered in that half-pout that made him look younger than he was. The camera dipped slightly as he adjusted the phone, showing the glow of the house behind him, people laughing, voices spilling into the night. Sitting on the sidewalk, and on their phones as they nursed drinks. “Not really my scene right now.”
Your pen stalled over your tablet, notes forgotten. “Wow, the big campus star skipping out on free booze and bad music? What’s the world come to?”
“You must not know me,” he snorted, laughing at the irony. “I’m always a buzzkill at these shits. I feel like they only invite me just in case.”
Humming, you stood up and gathered your stuff for your shower. Not to take one now, but to prepare your clothes for when you did. “In case of?”
“Just for safety. I sort of…act as a buffer. If we’re caught drinking on campus, it’s a problem, blah blah. Coach is notified but we’re not gonna get real disciplinary action.” He shrugged a shoulder.
You nodded slowly, “oh to be a man.” Out of view, you bent down to your drawers to pull out your pajamas and fresh underwear.
“No, even the women’s teams do this. Any smart coach wouldn’t let it get to the Dean. We’d get punished internally for shit like that. Run laps, suicides, sacrificing a Saturday to wash his car, I don’t know. Looks bad on him if he benches starters.”
You laughed as you folded your pajamas. “Nah that would piss me off. Making you do suicides for one beer? I’d kill myself, actually.”
Riki shrugged, amused. “You’d be surprised. Guys hate it more than anything. Pride chips away at the sight of a whistle.” He nudged the camera so you could see a pair of teammates arguing over pizza in the background. “Anyway, I should probably go make sure no one’s starting a riot.”
You tucked a loose curl behind your ear and grinned. “Go be the responsible one, then. I’ll be the one who aces Latin because I studied all night—” you said as you sat back down, deadpan, and he snorted.
“Mm. Sure you did,” he teased. “The dining halls are closed by now. If you get hungry just tell me. I’ll send you whatever you want, okay?”
Your pen hovered over your tablet, heart hitching. He said it so simply, like it wasn’t a whole production, like sending food across campus at midnight was just so normal. “Aww, Riki. You taking care of me with that NIL money?”
“Hell yeah,” he said, furrowing his brows. “I worked hard for that shit.” Laughing as he sipped from his cup. “It’s hard out here.”
You laughed, shaking your head as you scribbled half a Latin conjugation that didn’t even make sense. “Oh my God. Not you acting like a single mom trying to stretch the paycheck.”
“Don’t play with me, I am the single mom of this team.” He turned the camera toward the chaos of his teammates wrestling over the last pizza box. “Look at my damn kids. Do you see what I deal with?”
“Serving Reba McEntire realness.”
Riki rubbed his eyes, deadpanning. “Go study, sweetheart.”
“You should wear a red wi—”
“How about that Latin test!” He smiled happily—albeit mocking to shift topics.
Your laughter rang through the call, and for a second he just looked at you, the corner of his mouth tugging up like he couldn’t help it.
“Alright, go ace your Latin,” Riki said, softer now.
“You go wrangle your kids,” you shot back, smiling.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Night, Riki.”
The screen went dark, leaving you with the echo of his voice and a grin you couldn’t quite wipe off.
—
Two weeks later
—
They say the first high is the best. That once you get it, you spend the rest of your days trying to chase the one you got at the start.
You didn’t get high—at least not like that anyway.
In your situation, riding the high of Riki Nishimura’s attention felt like its own kind of intoxication. Every ping of your phone, every dumb meme he sent between classes, every “good morning” text when he was already at practice—it was steady, constant, addictive. And instead of chasing it, you were starting to wonder if he was raising the bar higher every time.
And in retrospect, Bella was right. Why did it seem like once that buzzer hit, a switch flipped in your mind and you were just indoctrinated like the rest of the Decelis student body? Like he knew exactly what he needed to do to get you.
You couldn’t put your finger on it but you didn’t want to overthink anything. So many things that you couldn’t comprehend put you here in this very situation and you didn’t want to ruin it by reading too deeply into it.
Needless to say, Riki has seamlessly made his way into your routine. You didn’t think he’d find a place within the days that are overtaken by your needs and wants, your best friends, and classes. But if he did anything, it was make your life easier.
Riki never asked you to ditch your friends to be with him. He understood that he only had you for lunch and dinner as you had breakfast with Bella and Yasmin everyday.
He messaged you to check up in between classes, already having memorized your schedule. Ensuring that you had snacks so you didn’t lose stamina between lectures—he had successfully put you on to these protein bars, amazing. And they didn’t taste like chalk.
Riki even went as far as to start waiting outside your lecture halls—never in a way that felt suffocating, just casual. Leaning against the wall with his hood up, earbuds in, scrolling on his phone until you stepped out. Like he wasn’t the six-foot star guard of Decelis basketball but just some guy, killing time until you showed up.
Sometimes he walked you to the dining hall, sometimes to the library, he always just carried your bag like it was second nature. It wasn’t grand gestures—no flowers, no flashy displays—it was little things. He made space for you without demanding it, and you couldn’t lie, it was disarming.
The girls noticed, of course. Yasmin raised a brow every time your phone lit up with his name. Bella, never subtle, outright called him your “NBA boyfriend” and asked if she should start practicing her court-side wave. But kept reminding you that Riki was boyfriend stuff without the actual title.
And maybe you should’ve protested harder, maybe you should’ve insisted it wasn’t that serious. But deep down, some part of you was starting to like the way it sounded.
That conversation had rang in the back of your mind for the rest of the day. And you just kept hearing Yasmin’s “...boyfriend behavior without the title” line, over and over and over again.
Because was it really true? Were you in a situationship? Really, it’d only been two weeks, is that an appropriate time to get to know someone to further ask them on a date?
In essence, the things that Riki did for you to show he cared, were indeed boyfriend things. Sending you food when you didn’t want to leave your dorm or the spots around campus were closed. Making sure you ate and drank enough water. Never demanded your time even though his life especially, always demanded a lot from him—he ensured that there was some time out of his day for you.
You knew he liked you and he let you know he did. But did he like you enough to take you seriously? Were you just something to do? Something to take his mind off the budding fame and popularity? Funnily enough, before you came to Decelis, one week before your first year, your parents had told you in harmony: don’t date athletes.
Maybe your rejection of Riki at the beginning was just a subconscious effort to suppress your attraction to him from the very start. So that must be why it was so easy to come to terms with liking him.
Because you always did.
The girls had left your dorm room to go on about their evenings. You just chilled on your beanbag and looked pretty as you watched one of your favorite gamers fail at Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader?
Besides the Riki stuff, you were at peace. Homework done for the rest of the week, you just showered, hair done, nails done. Two of your classes were cancelled tomorrow. Tomorrow was Friday. Life was great!
Just as you were about to reach for your box of graham crackers, your phone buzzed. Lighting up and alerting you that it was indeed eight PM and someone texted you.
brochacho: hi pretty, you at your dorm?
you: good evening, and yes i am.
brachacho: good. i’m downstairs. come get me!
Your hand froze mid‑reach for the graham crackers, eyes darting from the notification to the door like he might magically materialize through it.
Downstairs? Now?
You quickly typed back, thumbs flying:
you: what do you mean you’re downstairs???
The three dots appeared almost instantly.
brochacho: literally downstairs. in the lobby. come get me.
Your pulse jumped. This wasn’t a text saying “hope you’re good” or “goodnight.” This was him—physically here—while you sat in pajama shorts with a crumb in your hand and a streamer yelling about measurements on your laptop.
You scrambled up from the beanbag, nearly tripping over your blanket as you tried to get your bearings. Should you change? Brush your hair? Put on perfume? He hadn’t said why he was there. He hadn’t even asked if you were free.
Another buzz.
brochacho: don’t stress. i’m not kidnapping you. just wanted to see you before bed.
You swallowed, staring at the text like it might tell you what to do next. All you knew was your heart was hammering, and Riki Nishimura was in your lobby.
you: ok, give me a sec.
And without a second thought, you tidied your space. He’d never been here before, he only ever walked you to the building itself. You didn’t like surprise visits but shit, why not?
After folding your blankets and placing them on your bed, then spritzing some vanilla room spray, you held your racing heart. Taking deep breaths as you slipped on your baby pink crocs, grabbed your ID card, and deadbolted your door.
You stepped into the hallway, the carpet soft under your feet, and exhaled slowly. The fluorescent lights above hummed faintly, casting long shadows along the walls. You could hear faint laughter echoing from down the hall; the muffled bass of music drifting up from somewhere in the building. Your heart was still hammering like a drumline, and every step toward the staircase made it beat faster.
Sliding your ID into your pocket, you gripped the railing as you descended the narrow steps two at a time. Normally, you’d take it slow, careful not to rush, but tonight, nerves and excitement propelled you forward. You peeked through the stairwell window down into the lobby, spotting him almost immediately. Riki was leaning casually against the front desk, arms crossed as he scrolled on his phone, hood down and hair a little tousled from the walk. The soft light from the lobby ceiling brushed over his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the way his eyes seemed to catch the gleam from the floor’s polished tiles.
He glanced up, and that small, knowing smile spread across his lips, the one that made your stomach twist and flip like it was auditioning for gymnastics. His eyes scanned the stairwell, catching yours as soon as you emerged, and a tiny spark of mischief danced in them.
You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing pulse, adjusting the hem of your shirt like it would somehow make you appear composed instead of the jittery mess you felt like inside. The lobby seemed impossibly large all of a sudden, the echoes of your footsteps loud and exaggerated as you approached him. “What do you want?” You smiled as you reached in for a hug, how you always greeted each other.
He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, resting his cheek on the top of your head. “There’s that welcome wagon.” The vibrato of his voice rang through the lobby as it was muffled by your curls that always smelled like strawberries. “I come bearing gifts.”
You hummed, pulling back but letting your hands linger on his thin waist that you were beyond envious of. “Isn’t that considered love-bombing at this stage?”
He snorted, “yes, but it’s not really a gift.” He reached behind him for a blue crocheted bag and held it up with a bright smile. “I brought dinner. I made some and didn’t wanna eat alone.”
“Nice,” you laughed softly. “But where’d you get the bag from? One of your other twenty girlfriends?”
He rolled his eyes, “my baby sister likes to crochet and I stole it. Don’t tell her I said that.” He smirked, tucking the strap over his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world to stroll into your dorm with a handmade bag of food.
You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head. “You made dinner? What, like, instant noodles level or are we talking chef Riki over here?”
He laughed, a low, warm sound that made your chest tighten. “I make a mean pasta salad.”
You nod to the staircase door. “Good enough,” the door clicked as you swiped your ID card over the receiver. Riki followed behind you, reaching above your head to open the door for you as he closed it behind him. “You made that in your dorm kitchens?”
He shook his head but it wasn’t like you could see him. “Nah, I don’t live on campus. I thought you knew.”
You paused mid-step, turning on the landing to look at him. “Wait, what? You don’t live here?”
Riki tilted his head, a little amused at your wide-eyed reaction. “Nope. I’ve got an apartment off-campus. Closer to the gym, less noise. Plus, dorm showers? Couldn’t do it anymore.” He made a face like the very idea offended him.
Your brows lifted as you kept climbing, crocs scraping against the concrete steps. “Hold on. You’ve been walking me back here all this time and then…what? Walking another fifteen minutes to your place?”
“Ten if I’m moving fast,” he corrected with a shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s not that deep.”
Finally you both made it to your dorm—a place he hasn’t seen. Only little parts via video call. You hesitated at your door. The reality of it hit you—Riki Nishimura was about to see your room. Not the polished corners you’d shown him over FaceTime, not the carefully angled shots that hid the mess, but the whole thing. Every detail.
Pushing the door open, you stepped aside to let him in first. He slipped past you without hesitation, and immediately the air felt heavier—his presence filling the small dorm like it was too much space for one person and not nearly enough for him.
His gaze roamed quickly but thoroughly. The string lights draped above your bed. The pile of books stacked on your desk. The blanket you’d folded too hastily, still a little crooked at the edges.
He didn’t say anything at first, just kicked his shoes off by the door where he saw you had two other pairs lined up.
Riki had some manners.
“Finally, I get to see the whole thing.” He looked at you then back to the space, looking at the wall covered with photos by your bed. These he also hadn’t seen.
Some of these were photos of you and your family. Seemingly at your high school graduation. You had changed a lot since then, just by the looks of it. Your eyes were a little duller, but you looked happy to be out of there. “Who’s that?” He pointed to the tall boy that stood next to you in the photo. Darker skin, hair pulled back into cornrows as he was dressed in very casual wear. Shorts and t-shirt for the hot weather you graduated in.
You approached, leaning forward so you could see what he was referencing. “Oh!” You snorted, “that’s my little Bother.”
“Your who?” Riki smiled as he turned to you.
“Bother,” you repeated with a grin, shaking your head. “That’s Elijah, my little brother. So—brother, bother…it stuck when we were kids.” You nodded. “And he actually grew into it because he became the biggest pain in my ass.”
Riki laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he glanced back at the photo. “He doesn’t look little at all. Dude’s towering over you.”
“Tell me about it,” you groaned, folding your arms. “He hit his growth spurt at, like, thirteen and never stopped.”
“How tall is he now?”
You tilted your head in thought. “Huh…I couldn’t even tell you how old he is.” You shrugged, bursting out into laughter as you grabbed the crocheted bag and sat on the floor. “But he’s around your height? Maybe a little shorter.”
He followed you down to the rug, sitting parallel to you and crossing his legs into butterfly position.
Riki leaned back on his palms, studying you with that amused little glint in his eyes. “So what you’re telling me is there’s another version of me out there, just younger and genetically programmed to annoy you?”
“Basically,” you said through a laugh, tugging the drawstrings of the bag open. “Except Elijah’s way louder, thinks he’s funnier than he is, and eats like he’s never seen food before.” You pulled out two plastic containers, setting them between you.
Riki snorted. “Sounds familiar. Pretty sure that’s just me with different branding.”
You shot him a look, biting back a grin. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself. He’s worse. But I think you two would get along, though.”
“You think so?” he chuckled, reaching forward to help you peel off the lid of one container. A soft aroma of herbs and parmesan filled the air.
Laughing, you grabbed the two plastic forks he put in the bag. Someone came very prepared. “I know so, actually…” Pause. “Nevermind.”
“No, no, tell me.” He said softly, unzipping his hoodie and placing it next to him. “I’d love to hear about your family.”
His tone made your stomach twist a little, but not enough for you to make him aware of the effect it had on you. “Elijah…” you snorted. “Actually wants to come to Decelis. You know…after he graduates high school?”
He nodded slowly, “okay? And that’s embarrassing?”
“Oh my gosh, no. No. Nothing about my brother is embarrassing, it’s just that…” You scrunched your nose as you twist your fork. “He’s a…big fan of yours.”
Riki blinked at you, mid-bite, his fork paused halfway to his mouth. “...A fan of mine?” His tone landed somewhere between amused and genuinely startled, his brows lifting as though he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or press you for details.
You dragged your fork through the pasta salad, trying to play it off, but the heat was already creeping up your neck. “Yeah, like…he likes college basketball a lot already but he thinks that me attending school with and being in the same year as one of the top prospects is cool.”
He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Man, your brother’s got way too much faith in me. But…that means a lot. More than I’d probably admit to his face.” He takes a bite of the pasta.
“Woah…” you furrow your brows. “Since when do you doubt your skills? He’s not saying anything different than anyone else does.”
He chewed slowly, his gaze dropping to the plate as though your words weighed heavier than he expected. When he finally swallowed, his voice was softer, almost thoughtful. “It’s not that I don’t believe in what I can do,” he said, rolling his fork between his fingers. “I just…know how fast it can all go away. One bad game, one injury, and suddenly all that hype doesn’t mean anything.”
He lifted his eyes back to you, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a small smile that didn’t quite hide the seriousness in his tone. “So yeah, I guess I don’t let myself buy into it too much. Easier to laugh it off than start thinking I’m invincible, you know?”
As grateful as you were that Riki was sharing a very vulnerable part of him for the very first time, you couldn’t help but think of yourself—as self absorbed as that is. You were beyond normal. Yes, you had your hobbies, friends, interests. But you never even realized the amount of pressure that Riki underwent each and every day.
His every move was watched by strangers. There wasn’t a moment that you walked beside him on campus and someone wasn’t greeting him or trying to get his attention. Some people even started doing the same for you seeing as you were now semi-associated with him. That alone bugged you.
You let your fork rest against the edge of the container, your appetite forgotten for the moment. The realization pressed into you heavier than the warmth of the room—Riki didn’t just carry his own dreams; he carried the expectations of everyone watching him. And there were a lot of eyes.
It explained the careful way he handled himself, how even his jokes carried a twinge of deflection, how he managed to be approachable without ever letting people in too far. You’d brushed it off as confidence before, but now you saw the cracks. The weight of being Riki Nishimura wasn’t something you could ever fully understand, but sitting across from him, you suddenly wished you could take even a sliver of it off his shoulders.
You shifted slightly closer, nudging the pasta container between you. “You know…” you started carefully, trying not to make your words sound like pity, “I may not be able to relate to that but I want you to know as…someone who genuinely cares about you…” You huffed, looking up as you picked your words carefully. “That you are so beyond talented. Like have you seen you play?” You laughed, reaching out to hold his free hand. “The Kyrie comparisons are not far-fetched.”
For a moment, he just stared at your hand resting over his, fork frozen in mid-air again like he’d forgotten how to move. Then, slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased. His thumb brushed against your knuckles once, deliberate but subtle, almost as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to.
“I mean it. You’re absolutely undeniable and while I can only imagine how much pressure is on you, I never want you to forget to live in the moment. Nor forget who you are in the process.”
For a beat, his gaze stayed locked on yours, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. The fork slipped quietly from his fingers, forgotten against the edge of the container. His hand stayed under yours though, warm and steady, like he was afraid to let go.
You gave his hand another squeeze, leaning in just a little closer. “Riki, you’re not just some highlight reel or a name on a scouting report. You’re…you. The guy who makes sure I eat, who shows up at my dorm with pasta salad in a crocheted bag, who can make me laugh even when I’m trying not to.” You smiled softly, your eyes searching his. “You’re already enough—more than enough—even without all the basketball.”
His jaw tightened, like he was fighting something inside himself, but his eyes softened. That little spark of mischief you were used to seeing in him wasn’t there this time—just something vulnerable, raw. And a tinge of something you could only identify as guilt. But you didn’t see how that could apply to this situation. You didn’t pry further.
Riki nodded, then smiled. It didn’t quite reach his eyes but he turned his hand beneath yours to grip it and brought it to his lips to press a kiss to your knuckles. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
Assuming this topic was just extremely touchy for him, you turned your hand to hold his cheek, lightly scratching his jaw. “No need for a ‘thank you.’”
His eyes fluttered shut at the touch, like the simple act unraveled something tight in his chest. He leaned into your palm, faint stubble barely grazing your fingertips as his breath steadied against your skin. When he opened his eyes again, there was a quiet earnestness in them that made your stomach flip. “You make me sound so…saint-like.”
You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head. “Trust me, that’s the last word I’d use for your dumbass.”
—
As the night went on, you and Riki found yourself on your bed.
Nothing intense, nothing extreme. It was a twin XL, what could you really do? But despite that, you two both found some old movie that you’d seen a million times to watch on your projector.
The movie washed your walls in soft flickers of light, the dialogue barely audible under the quiet hum of the projector. Riki stretched out beside you, one arm folded behind his head, the other lazily draped near your side like he was claiming space without meaning to. The bed was laughably small for two people, every shift making the springs creak, but neither of you complained.
At some point, you realized you weren’t even paying attention to the movie. Your cheek was pressed against his shoulder, his shirt soft under your skin, and his steady heartbeat beneath it was far more distracting than whatever was happening on screen.
“Hey,” Riki murmured after a while, his voice low, like even the characters on the screen didn’t need to hear. “Next time…you’re coming to my place. No offense to the twin XL, but it’s not exactly built for two.”
You snorted, scooting closer as you wrapped your arm around his waist and leg over his hips. Riki stiffened for half a second at the sudden weight of you practically curling into him, then melted into it, his arm sliding instinctively around your shoulders. A grin tugged at his lips as he tilted his head down to look at you. “Oh, so you like being close, huh? You could’ve just said that instead of pretending the bed was the problem.”
You rolled your eyes, fighting the smile tugging at your own mouth. “Please. I’m just making the best out of limited square footage.”
“Mhm,” he hummed, pulling you tighter against his side, his fingers idly tracing circles into your upper arm. His free hand ran up and down your bare thigh—the warmth in his hand nothing compared to what was in the room.
The slow drag of his palm along your thigh sent a ripple of heat through you, his touch unhurried but deliberate, like he knew exactly what he was doing. The movie faded further into background noise, some distant murmur you couldn’t even pretend to follow.
“You’re real quiet all of a sudden,” Riki teased, his breath brushing the top of your head. “What happened to all that smart talk about square footage?”
You tilted your chin up, lips twitching into a smirk despite the way your pulse betrayed you. “Maybe I’m conserving energy.”
“Oh?” His thumb pressed lightly into your skin before trailing higher, testing the waters. His eyes flicked down to yours, the grin on his face softening just enough to make your chest tighten. “Energy for what, baby?”
The space between you felt paper-thin, your leg hooked over his hip pulling him closer with every breath. His shirt smelled faintly of laundry detergent and something undeniably him—the citrus smell you always caught a whiff of, and suddenly the twin XL didn’t feel too small at all—it felt like it was forcing you into a choice.
His question lingered in the air, heavier than the blankets draped over you both. Your heart thudded against your ribs as if it were trying to answer for you. You tilted your face up toward him, close enough now that the glow of the projector painted his features in soft light—sharp jaw, lashes low but trained on you, lips just parted like he was waiting.
For a beat, neither of you moved. The hum of the movie filled the silence, but you barely registered it. Then, like gravity had made the choice for you, you leaned in.
Riki met you halfway.
The kiss was unhurried at first, his lips brushing yours in the lightest graze, as though he was testing to see if you’d pull away. But you didn’t—you pressed back, your hand sliding up to curl into his shirt near his chest. That was all the confirmation he needed. His grip at your thigh tightened, pulling you closer, angling you so there was no space left between you.
The kiss deepened almost naturally, like you’d both been holding your breath for weeks and finally let go. His hand slid higher on your thigh, steady but not rushed, while your fingers tugged lightly at the collar of his shirt, urging him closer. The twin bed creaked beneath the shifting weight, the closeness of it all making your pulse race.
Riki angled his head, mouth moving against yours with a hunger that surprised even him—like he’d been trying to starve this part of himself and finally gave in. Your hand brushed along his jaw, thumb grazing the faint stubble there, and he made a sound low in his throat that only pulled you deeper into him. He leaned up, turning to hover over you halfway, springs of the bed whining at the action.
But then—just as the air between you turned sharp with heat—he stilled. His lips slowed, then parted from yours, lingering close enough that you could still feel his breath ghost across your mouth. His hand fell from your thigh to rest limply against the sheets, no longer holding you.
“Riki?” you whispered, confusion threading your tone.
He didn’t look away, though something flickered in his eyes—something heavy, almost mournful. He managed a small smile, the kind that didn’t reach as far as it should. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice rough around the edges. “Got a little carried away.”
You searched his face, wanting to ask more, but the way his thumb brushed over your arm—gentle, reassuring—kept you quiet. He wasn’t shutting you out, not really, but whatever sat on his chest wasn’t something he was ready to spill. “Did something happ—”
Instead, he shook his head and pressed the lightest kiss to your temple, grounding, soft. “No, no, no, baby.” he said softly as the two of you were nearly nose-to-nose. “Nothing happened…” He smiled softly as he brushed a curl from your cheek, lightly letting his thumb brush on your lower lip. “Just…didn’t wanna ruin the moment, that’s all.”
Your lips parted, ready to argue, to tell him he could never ruin a moment like this—but the way he looked at you stopped the words in your throat. There was a tenderness there, threaded with something heavier, something you didn’t dare press on in case it shattered the fragile quiet between you.
So instead, you nodded faintly, your forehead brushing his as your breath mingled in the inch of space left between you. “You can…” you whispered, though your chest ached with the weight of everything unspoken.
Riki’s hand left your lip to cup your cheek, his thumb smoothing over your skin like he was memorizing the shape of you. His smile lingered—gentle, almost apologetic—but his eyes softened in a way that made you feel like he saw you, really saw you, beneath all the noise.
He shifted, pressing another kiss to your hairline this time, lingering just long enough that you felt the sincerity tucked into it. “You want me to?”
It seemed like every inch of you was melting into this old, creaky bed. That your literal bodily matter could act as a substitute for WD-40 if you both stayed like this. You’ve experienced intimate moments. Moments that made everything blur into background noise. And right now you heard nothing. Absolutely nothing despite the flickering projector and the soundtrack to the ending of 10 Things I Hate About You playing lightly. Yet all you heard was the pick up of your heart rate in your ears. And maybe your own breath. Despite that, you nodded without another word.
Riki leaned in slowly, kissing your cheek. Letting his pillowy lips get a different taste of you as his hand toys with your small hoop earring on your opposite ear. His touch was maddeningly careful, like he was savoring every second before it slipped away. His lips brushed along your jawline, feather-light, leaving a trail of warmth that had your breath hitching in your throat.
You tilted your head instinctively, giving him more space, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself. Each kiss was deliberate, patient—not hungry like before, but reverent, like he was mapping you in a language only he knew.
He lifts his head to look you in the eye. “Um…I was planning something for this but—” He let out a shaky laugh, his thumb brushing your cheek like he needed the grounding. “I feel like it’s something that I don’t want to hold out on anymore.” He cleared his throat, his eyes darting from yours to the pillow, then back again like the words were fighting him on the way out. “I was gonna do this all different—make it special, not, y’know, while we’re half-squished on a squeaky bed watching a rom-com—but…”
His hand dropped from your earring to rest gently against your chest, right over your racing heartbeat. “But I can’t sit here and pretend I don’t already know what I want.” He paused, breath unsteady. “I want you. As my girlfriend.”
The room went impossibly still, the hum of the projector fading behind the weight of his words. His voice cracked a little on the last word, like even saying it out loud cost him something. His thumb slowed against your collarbone, tracing nothing in particular, a small, restless circle. He was still looking at you—not cocky, not teasing—just wide-eyed, waiting. The guy who could command a whole court with one look suddenly couldn’t seem to breathe until you spoke.
“I’m not talking to anyone else,” he added softly, like a confession he’d been holding onto. “Haven’t been. Haven’t even wanted to. I just…don’t wanna assume anything about you. I don’t wanna ruin what we already have.”
The way he said it was so un-Riki—tentative, careful—that it almost broke your heart. You could feel his pulse under your palm where you still held his hoodie, just as erratic as yours.
You didn’t even realize you were smiling until you were; the kind of smile that cracked you open from the inside out. “Riki…” you murmured, sliding your hand up to the back of his neck, pulling him just a little closer. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”
His brows pinched, nervous. “In a good way or…?”
“In a way where the answer’s already yes,” you said, your forehead brushing his. “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend.”
The tension bled out of him in an instant, his breath catching on a laugh that sounded like relief. He pressed his forehead fully to yours, eyes closing, and let out a long, shaky exhale before kissing you—slow this time, smiling against your mouth.
—
Four months later
—
Life has been very weird for you. Not weird, weird. Just different. Good different.
Your skin is clear, grades stellar, Yasmin, Bella, and Riki were in one piece and the weather has been decent.
Dating Riki hadn’t turned your life upside down the way you thought it might. It wasn’t all fireworks and Instagram-worthy grand gestures. Instead, it was quieter things—the way he reminded you to eat between classes, the way his hoodie always “accidentally” ended up in your laundry pile, the way his laugh sounded different when it was just for you.
And somewhere between late-night study sessions and those walks across an ice-slick campus, you realized: this wasn’t weird at all. This was the new normal. And, surprisingly? You liked it.
A relationship with Riki was nothing like you thought it’d be. In some way he was right, you didn’t really know him.
“Public, but private” wasn’t really the right phrase anymore. Riki made sure people knew—he held your hand in the quad, kissed you goodbye outside lecture halls, and didn’t even flinch when Yasmin pulled out her phone to record the two of you bickering like an old married couple. Everyone knew you were his, and he was yours.
But still, the most meaningful parts weren’t the ones out loud. Sure, he’d tug you into his lap at parties without caring who saw, but it was the softer moments—the way he’d tie your scarf tighter against the cold, or slide his coffee across the table without asking because he knew you needed it—that stuck with you most.
Dating Riki wasn’t about hiding or flaunting. It was about existing together, naturally, in public and in private, like there’d never been a time you weren’t in each other’s lives.
Obviously, your bond with him was different than that of yours with Yasmin and Bella’s. Of course because you weren’t romantic with the girls but the friendship aspect wasn’t the same.
Yasmin and Bella were akin to sisters. Their love and friendship was unconditional, unwavering and greatly enough—you met them at freshman orientation and had been inseparable ever since.
The funny little traditions you had. Getting breakfast together every day, even if it was just coffee and a bagel wolfed down before an eight AM class. Your group FaceTimes that always started as study sessions but somehow devolved into debating which professor was most likely to secretly live in the library. Movie nights in Yasmin’s dorm where Bella inevitably fell asleep twenty minutes in, curled up like it was her own personal bed.
With Yasmin and Bella, it was easy, almost familial—like home in human form. With Riki, it was…different. Not better, not worse. Just its own kind of important. He didn’t fit into the category of “friend” or “family.” He was the exception. The outlier that made sense.
Riki was an exception. And you noticed that in almost every avenue he occupied that he was an exception. In anything he put effort toward, he had this sort of competitive spirit that he wanted to be a person that was remembered. Not in a loud, look-at-me way, but in the way he showed up, consistently, like he was determined to leave a mark. On the court, in class, even in the way he memorized the little things about you—your coffee order, your weird habit of doodling stars in the margins of your notes, the fact that you hated the word “moist” enough to dramatically gag every time someone said it.
Being with him didn’t feel like you were keeping up with a storm or chasing after someone out of reach. It felt like he wanted you right there, beside him.
Your mom called it the honeymoon phase and that very well may be true. But like everything with Riki, you tried to live in the moment. Which is bizarre seeing as you overthink everything else.
Lately, the girls have been getting used to seeing him around a lot more. While Riki never wanted to overtake your life nor take time away from your friends, he at times found himself getting cool with them as well.
The girls and you stood at the waffle station like usual. Bella, as always, was overseeing the operation. Yasmin was yapping about something related to the bad Wattpad movie she watched last night.
“Dude,” you smiled. “What are you waffling about?” You nudge her with your elbow, snickering as you cover your mouth.
Yasmin froze, looking at you blankly. “You did not—”
“—yes, she did,” Bella cut in, shaking her head with mock disappointment. “Every morning, a new low.”
“Hey! Don’t hate me ‘cause I’m beautiful.” You snorted as you reached around her to grab the mini cups for the syrup. The pounds of syrup that Yasmin liked drenching her waffles in.
The brunette laughed, “we love you because you’re beautiful. But that shit just wasn’t funny.”
You sigh and wrap your arm around the girl, to which she instinctively rests her head on your shoulder, wrapping her arm around your waist. “You guys are fun-suckers.”
Bella snorted, already halfway through pouring batter into the waffle iron. “Please. We’re the only reason you’re tolerable before ten AM.”
You gasped dramatically, clutching your chest. “You wound me.”
“Good,” she said dryly, snapping the iron shut like she was sealing a deal. “Maybe it’ll stop the puns.”
Yasmin cackled at that, pulling back from your shoulder just enough to look you in the eye. “Nah, she thrives off this. You’d have to physically mute her.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Bella muttered, reaching for her coffee.
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. The three of you moved like clockwork—Bella in charge of batter, you in charge of toppings, Yasmin handling the syrup like it was an Olympic sport. The waffle station wasn’t glamorous, but it was your spot. The one ritual you kept no matter how busy the semester got.
That’s when you felt a familiar hand snake around your waist from behind. Riki leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. “Did I miss roll call, or are you guys planning breakfast without me again?”
Bella groaned without even looking up. “Speak of the devil.”
Riki gently turned you around to face him, taking the toppings from your grip as he leans in. “Hi baby,” placing his lips on yours gently as he moved a hand to rest on your jaw. His thumb grazing your cheek as you reciprocate. “Mm! I missed that.”
You felt your cheeks warm instantly, caught off guard by how easily he could do that—just walk into your morning routine and make everything tilt a little. You tasted the faint sweetness of syrup on his lips, the smell of his cologne cutting through the waffle-station chaos.
“Riki,” you murmured against his mouth, a laugh caught in your throat. “You’re gonna make Yasmin drop the syrup.”
“I already did,” Yasmin deadpanned, though when you turned your head she was smirking. “Don’t mind me. Continue your public display of affection.”
Bella groaned dramatically, flipping a waffle with more force than necessary. “Please, at least let me finish cooking before you two start fucking next to the chocolate chips.”
Riki chuckled against your cheek, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “They’re jealous,” he whispered, his thumb still brushing your jaw. “Let them be jealous.”
You swatted at his chest lightly, though your grin betrayed you. “Please,”
And finally, the four of you sat at your usual corner table—Riki having tagged along like it was the most natural thing in the world. The dining hall buzzed with the Monday morning chaos of clinking trays and half-awake chatter, but somehow, your table felt like its own little bubble.
Riki slid into the booth beside you, his knee brushing yours under the table, and immediately stole one of your strawberries without shame. You were used to it. Him stealing your food; like a tax, if you will.
“So what are y’all doing with your weekends?” You hum as you watch Riki cut your half of the waffle into pieces.
He perked up mid-cut, glancing at you with that spark in his eyes that always came out when basketball got brought up. “Ooh, we’re having an away game on Thursday,” he said, the words already carrying a hint of excitement. “It’s at Syracuse, so we’ll be gone for like…two nights, maybe three depending on how long Coach decides to torture us.”
Yasmin and Bella roll their eyes simultaneously. “Dude, ‘Cuse is the worst.” Bella sighed as she slumped back into her chair.
“You’re just a big ball of positivity this morning.” Riki hums as he feeds you a piece of waffle. Hovering his hand below it to catch any syrup that might’ve dripped onto his hand.
You accept the food and nod, speaking through your chewing as you cover your mouth with your hand. “Yeah, what’s up with you? You’ve been acting like a buttmunch all morning.”
Bella groaned, stabbing at her strawberries like they’d personally wronged her. “I’m sorry guys, I just really don’t wanna go to that fucking game.”
Riki wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to his side as he leaned back into the cushiony seat. “‘Cuse is not that bad. They play dirty but that’s nothing we can’t get around.”
“Dirty?” You looked at him in confusion.
“Yeah,” Yasmin nodded as she sipped her apple juice. “Last season, they fouled one of the guys—Nicholas—so hard. He went for a layup and they shoved him. Fractured his wrist. It was crazy, I felt so bad.”
Your brows lifted, “no way. Did the ref even call it?”
“They did,” Riki sighed. “But at that point, what can you do? You suspend a player, he’s on the bench for the rest of the season—fine. But one of our players is benched indefinitely, has to go to PT for his wrist, he may not play the same, whatever—it was just so much worse for Nico.” He rolled his eyes as he recounted the events of the past. Stirring anger in his stomach as he remembers watching that happen.
Bella shook her head. “Yeah, it was bad. It wasn’t like a life-altering injury or anything but it was so shitty on Syracuse’s part.”
“Well…what are you guys gonna do?” You sigh as you rested your hand on Riki’s muscly thigh and leaned your head on his shoulder.
Yasmin chimed in, “not much. There’s nothing we can do. I mean, their cheer team isn’t really a problem. They’re always super nice. It’s just the fuckass team that gives these guys issues.” She nods to Riki.
“So when do you guys leave?”
“Tomorrow morning,” Bella brought a raspberry to her mouth to chew, looking down at the threading of her skirt—her chewing halts suddenly. “Wait…”
Yasmin smiles brightly, “don’t. Because if we’re thinking the same thing then I’m for it.”
“Oh, we are thinking the same thing,” Bella said, setting her fork down with a little clink. “Babes, you should so come with us!”
You nearly choked on your drink. “Wait, what?” you coughed, slapping the table with your free hand. “You’re inviting me to Syracuse?”
Bella leaned forward, eyes sparkling with that dangerous “I have a terrible idea” kind of excitement. “Think about it. Road trip! We have to cheer anyway, eat gas station snacks, complain about hotel beds—”
“—get screamed at by Syracuse fans and possibly catch another stray basketball to the face,” You interrupted, waving her fork. “Yeah, super fun.”
Riki smacked his teeth. “Don’t even joke about shit like that.”
Bella laughed, flicking a crumb at him. “Relax, Captain Protective. She’s not gonna get decked by a ball again.”
“I’m not opposed to her coming.” Riki clarified, “obviously. But we all get to ride on the team bus, why would you waste your own gas?”
Yasmin grinned, already scheming. “Because we’re not on the team, genius. We’re with cheer, which means we have to take the spirit bus.”
Riki’s expression twisted. “The spirit bus? The one that smells like glitter and spray tan?”
You furrowed your brows as you leaned away from him, letting his arm fall back on the seat. “How do you know what the spirit bus smells like?” You ask him with suspicion—even mildly irritated.
Riki froze, eyes flicking toward you like a kid caught stealing snacks before dinner. “Huh?” he stalled, fork halfway to his mouth. “I mean…I’ve heard things.”
Bella immediately perked up, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “Heard things, huh? Or experienced things?”
Riki set his fork down, leaning forward defensively. “Okay, first of all, I was on there one time. One time. Coach made me grab the banner they left behind after homecoming, and it was like stepping into Candyland.”
You raised an unimpressed brow. “Mhm. So what you’re telling me is that you voluntarily stepped foot on the cheer bus, alone, to grab a banner.”
He pointed at you, shaking his head. “Don’t do that tone thing. It wasn’t like that.”
You squinted at him, “I’m not doing anything.”
“Ooh…” Yasmin murmured to Bella. “Boyfriend in trouble…” She sang as she shimmied her shoulders.
Riki smiled nervously, eyes darting between you and your two grinning friends. “No, no—don’t let her fool you. She’s trying to make this sound like some scandalous cheer bus rendezvous when I was literally in there for thirty seconds.”
Bella gasped dramatically. “Thirty seconds? That’s all it takes.” Yasmin nearly spit out her juice laughing. You pressed your lips together, trying to look serious but failing miserably as Riki’s ears started turning red. “Wow. I thought you’d last longer than that.”
Riki raised his brows in surprise. “Don’t get cute, baby.” He smiles as he feeds you a grape.
Yasmin and Bella gagged dramatically at the sight but decided to move on. The blonde grinned, leaning across the table. “Admit it, you were curious. You wanted to see how the other half lives.”
“The other half smells like hair spray and glitter glue!” Riki protested, groaning as you finally let out a giggle. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
You rested your chin on your palm, smirking up at him. “Maybe. It’s cute when you get defensive.”
“You,” He smiled as he pointed at you. “Are evil.”
You gasped in mock offense. “Evil? I prefer ‘charming,’ thank you very much.”
Riki leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms but fighting a smile. “Yes, mama—you are very charming but I’d rather you say like messing with me.”
You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Maybe. But you make it so easy.”
Bella snorted. “Yeah, she’s got you wrapped around her finger, dude. It’s kind of embarrassing.”
Riki threw her a flat look. “You’re just mad ‘cause your waffles are hard as frisbees.”
“They were abstract,” Bella countered, stabbing one with her fork. “Fuck you, they’re still edible.”
Yasmin laughed so hard she nearly choked on her juice. “Yeah, okay, Picasso.”
You watched the three of them bicker, warmth flooding your chest. Riki didn’t just fit in with your friends anymore—he belonged there, like he’d always been part of the picture. The ease of it all made your heart do that stupid little flip it did whenever you realized how much you liked this boy.
—
Later that day
—
After some relenting, you decided to come with the girls to the game. It didn’t take much convincing.
But even then, something felt amiss.
Ironically, the day that Riki accidentally knocked you in the face with that ball—it unlocked some type of sixth sense. One where you could just feel, when your left cheek throbbed—that something was about to go left.
Yasmin and Bella were making their way off the court and into the arena hallway. Practice was over and they were headed to the locker room to freshen up. As usual, Yasmin was buzzing, Bella was limping. How she hasn’t just quit the team yet, none of you know.
As the girls guzzled water, they heard commotion coming from the men’s locker room. The sound was the usual post-practice banter. Laughter, some music echoing off the tile.
And for some reason, this was the one time the girls decided to be nosy. The guys were pumped after their own practice—adrenaline and testosterone running rapidly through the air. Towels were slung low on hips, sneakers squeaking against the wet tile, music blaring from someone’s speaker. The room smelled like victory and cheap body spray.
“Yo, Riki, be honest,” one of them called out through the steam, “you and that girl—what’s the deal?”
Riki, mid-laugh, froze with a water bottle halfway to his mouth. “What girl?” he asked, but the grin tugging at his lips already betrayed him.
“Oh, don’t play dumb,” another chimed in. “The one that’s always waiting after practice. The one with the big eyes. Cute face?”
The guys erupted into hollers and mock ‘oohs.’ Riki shook his head, trying—and failing—to bite back a smile.
Outside the door, Yasmin and Bella’s jaws practically hit the floor.
Yasmin whispered, “Oh, we are so not supposed to be hearing this,” but she leaned in closer anyway.
Bella, deadpan, muttered, “You mean you’re not supposed to. I’m locked in.”
You’d just arrived at the end of the hall when you saw them crouched near the door like undercover agents.
“...What are you guys doing?” you whispered.
Both girls whipped around, wide-eyed, trying and failing to look innocent. Yasmin gestured frantically. “Shh! He’s talking about you!”
And just like that, your stomach dropped—and your left cheek started to throb again. You dropped your backpack to the floor as you crouched next to the girls. Stabling yourself against Yasmin as you held her shoulders.
Maki leaned against the opposite lockers, facing Riki with a smirk. “So you get any action yet?”
Riki scoffed, rolling his eyes as he turned to his locker—grabbing a clean towel to wipe his bare chest. “Is pussy all you guys think about?”
Some of the guys laughed, Maki included. “Well yeah, sometimes. Especially if I’ve got a girl and she hasn’t put out in the few months we’ve been together.” He whistles, antagonizing the point guard. “I hoped you’d score more than that.”
Yasmin’s eyes widened so hard you thought they might fall out of her head. Bella smacked her arm, whisper-yelling, “Oh my god, he did not just say that—”
You didn’t even breathe. Every muscle in your body went rigid, eyes fixed on the thin crack of light between the door and the frame.
Inside, Riki let out a dry laugh, low and humorless. “You don’t know what I do, dumbass. Who do you think I am?”
If there was one thing that you knew about men, it was that it only took but so much to make them crack. They were easy. Toy with them, keep them on their toes. And you prided yourself on knowing Riki.
His quirks like touching a doorframe before walking through. Scratching his jaw when he was irritated.
But you certainly knew his type: you. Because he told you. He made sure you knew through his words but action as well. He likes someone that he can upkeep a rapport with. A fun personality and a sharp mouth to match his. Someone who could keep up with him in a room full of noise, toss a jab back when he threw one first. You’d always joked that you were built to spar with him, not swoon over him.
It amazed you, really. Because narrowing down the versions of Riki you saw, you knew that there was one side that you’d experienced up until this point wouldn’t make an appearance. The nasty, egotistical one.
Your cheek throbbed again.
“I think you’re better than this.” Maki laughed. “You’re whipped.” Snorting as he grabbed his towel to swipe Riki with it as the rest of the team followed. Spanking him with their towels as all of them shared laughs—Riki included.
“Hey! Hey hey hey!” He straightened up as he shrunk into himself before. Laughing as he nudged the guys off. “I’m not whipped! Okay? You really think the Riki Nishimura, basketball extraordinaire is whipped?” He says dramatically, as if he’s some king giving a royal decree.
“Oh fuck…” Yasmin mumbled to herself in panic, hand feeling for yours as she gripped it tightly.
But Riki kept going. “All these girls are the same, Maki.” He smiled—slickly, as he got closer to the shorter lowerclassmen. “Just another hole to fill and if you think I can’t get any then you’re as dumb as you look.” Riki’s eyes scanned the younger as he poked his forehead. “Let Big Bro show you something.”
You froze. Your stomach dropped into your shoes, and your left cheek throbbed—not just from the memory of the ball, but from the words echoing across the locker room.
Yasmin’s grip on your hand tightened like she was trying to anchor both of you to reality. “Nope. Nope. Nope,” she whispered, her eyes wide.
Bella’s jaw had practically hit the floor, a mix of disbelief and shock frozen on her face. “What the fuck?”
You didn’t even let yourself finish the thought. Riki’s swaggering smirk, the way he leaned over the younger guy, his words sliding out like they were rehearsed, hit you harder than any basketball ever could. This wasn’t the playful, teasing Riki you knew. This was calculated, confident, and…something darker. Something that felt like a stranger pretending to be the man you loved.
“Show me what? How to not get play?” Maki shook his head with a laugh. “You’re not that guy, trust me.”
“I’ll just keep doing what I’ve been doing.” Riki shrugged, “fucking around and winning.”
Your stomach twisted. That laugh—the arrogance—it didn’t belong to the Riki you knew, the one who kissed and touched you like the prize you were, who stole your kiwi, who teased you just enough to make you laugh. This version was a performance. And part of you hated that you even recognized it, that it was still so convincingly him.
Yasmin leaned closer, whispering in your ear, “We should go…now.” Her hand squeezed yours like she was trying to pull both of you back to safety.
You hesitated, eyes glued to Riki. He was laughing now, tossing the younger guy a smirk like it was all a game. The energy was intoxicating, magnetic, but it made your chest feel tight. You wanted to call him out, to make him stop—but at the same time, you were frozen, caught somewhere between anger, disbelief, and the part of you that still loved him fiercely.
Yasmin’s voice broke through again, urgently. “Seriously, we’re leaving before this gets worse.” But how could it?
You let her tug you gently, glancing back at Riki one last time. His grin was still there, but now it was softer, more familiar. And somehow, that made your chest ache even more, caught between relief and frustration.
—
The three ended up in Bella’s dorm, which was the closest to the arena. You knew you couldn’t make it all the way to your dorm without breaking down.
Once the door clicked shut behind you, the chaos of the arena felt miles away. The muffled sounds of the men’s locker room were replaced by the faint hum of the radiator and the soft creak of the dorm floorboards. Yasmin dropped onto Bella’s bed with a dramatic groan, clutching her water bottle like it was a life preserver.
You sank onto the edge, hands pressed to your face as you tried to steady your breathing. The image of Riki—the conceited, dark version of him—kept flashing in your mind. It wasn’t that you doubted him. You knew him. You thought you did. But that side, that…performative dominance? It was a reminder that there were layers of him you hadn’t touched, weren’t sure you ever would. And then the floodgates came down.
Grabbing one of her pillows, you buried your face as sobs racked through your chest. Yasmin and Bella froze for a moment, exchanging a glance that said without words: do we intervene, or give her a second?
Yasmin was the first to react, gently kneeling beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Hey…hey, it’s okay,” she murmured, her voice soft but firm. “Breathe. Just breathe.”
You couldn’t stop the shaking, couldn’t stop the tears that spilled into the pillow. “I…he’s…he’s not just…he’s…” Your words stumbled and fractured, barely audible. The part of you that tried to rationalize, to ground yourself in months of trust and tenderness with Riki, felt useless against the image of the stranger-like version of him.
Bella joined in, kneeling on the other side and grabbing your hands gently. “I got you,” she said simply. “We’ve got you. Nothing he did—or who he was being in there—changes the fact that we’re gonna be here for you every step of the way.”
Your body trembled against them, the sobs coming in uneven waves. Yasmin rested her chin on your shoulder, humming softly like she had when you were a kid after a nightmare. Bella squeezed your hands, her eyes warm but steady. Together, they anchored you, a living reminder that the world wasn’t just Riki and his shadows.
After what felt like an eternity, the sobs slowed. Your chest heaved as you tried to suck in air, finally lifting your face from the pillow to see their concerned, gentle expressions. “I…thank you,” you whispered, your voice raw. “I just…I knew it, bro.” You punched your palm in frustration. “My parents fucking told me.” Your voice wavered as warm tears ran down your face. “I should’ve listened to my fucking gut!”
Yasmin’s arms tightened around you, her voice steady despite the worry in her eyes. “Hey, hey…shh. No blaming yourself. None of this is on you.” She rubbed small circles into your shoulder, comforting you like she always did.
Bella nodded firmly, her grip on your hands unyielding. “Exactly. You’re not responsible for him being…whatever that was. You’ve been trusting, you’ve been patient—that’s all you could do. And yeah, maybe your gut had warnings, but you didn’t listen—so what? You’re a human being.”
You pressed your face back into the pillow, muffling a sob, but the two of them stayed right there, unwavering. The warmth from Yasmin on one side, Bella on the other, felt like the only solid ground in a storm that had your world tilting.
“Hey.” Bella continues firmly, bringing your face up to look at her. Her blue eyes locking with your own eyes. “Fuck that guy. If he wants to speak about you in such a disgusting, deplorable way to stroke his own ego—by all means. But that doesn’t make or break you. It only says something—everything—about him.”
You blinked through the tears, letting her words sink in, heavy and grounding all at once. The anger bubbling in your chest mingled with the ache, a strange but familiar cocktail. “Yeah…yeah, you’re right,” you murmured, your voice cracking slightly. “It’s not me. It’s…him.”
Yasmin squeezed your shoulder, her grip firm, unyielding. “Exactly. And we’re not letting that bullshit stick to you. He can act like a fool all he wants—doesn’t change who you are, or what you deserve.”
Bella gave a small, almost fierce smile, brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek. “You are not defined by what some guy tries to pull, okay? Not Riki, not Maki, not anyone. You’re solid. You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re a fucking—you’re absolutely stunning. A smoke show. And—fuck it—you’re ours. And we don’t let anyone talk down to our girl.”
You let out a shaky laugh, more release than humor, leaning into their warmth. “I—I just…God, I hate that it stings.”
“And it will,” Yasmin said softly, but firmly. “For a second, for a day, maybe even a week. But that’s fine. You feel it, then we leave it there. You don’t have to deal with it alone. Not now, not ever.”
The room fell quiet for a moment, save for your uneven breaths and the soft hum of the radiator. And in that silence, you realized something—this wasn’t just comfort. This was armor. Solid, unbreakable, built of friendship and love that no locker room bravado could ever touch. And instead of making you feel some sense of support, love, security—it sent the wrath of the devil through you.
The signs were there from the beginning, the chasing, the bombarding his way into your life. The hesitance during the first kiss. The trying so hard to make you like him then laying it on thick—it was all right in front of you.
You let him encroach on your girl time—the fact that you even let him get close to the two most important people in your life felt like betrayal in itself. Like you handed him the keys to your sanctuary and he just stomped through it.
Blows to your pride were something you didn’t take lightly and this was something you couldn’t just swallow.
What about your feelings? What about the other, maybe, dozens of girls he’d used like a tissue and tossed to the bin?! You were sick and tired of seeing so many girls and women—people—fall victim to assholes like Riki Nishimura.
Just another hole? Fine. You need retribution. And you need it now.
Heat turned to ice in your veins and something in you snapped neat and clean—not a sob this time, not a plea. A cold, focused fury rose up, quiet and terrible. You didn’t want a meltdown anymore.
“I’m going to ruin his life.” You mumbled to yourself as your jaw clicked. “I’m going to make him wish he never met me.”
Yasmin and Bella froze, giving each other looks. Before Yasmin spoke up, “hey…” She cleared her throat. “Let’s ease up, okay? You’re upset and—”
You sit up straight, getting up from the bed as you angrily paced back and forth. “No. I’m fucking livid. I mean who does this dickhead think he is?! Me?! Nothing but a fucking hole to fuck when he’s the one that damn near—no—begged me to even talk to him?”
As the two girls looked at you, both of their expressions differed. Yasmin, like always, led with her heart. Her gentle features framed by her curtain bangs, she was always the one to consider someone before anything. The friend that would give her last meal if it meant you ate. The person that would sit on the phone with you for hours just to hear you vent if it meant that it’d help you.
Bella led with her brain. Her wavy hair was out of her face, wearing her emotions for you to see plainly. She had such a knack for getting the both of you out of sticky, overthink-y situations. She’d tell you when you were being ridiculous but would dive in the deep end with you if you so chose. And yet, they looked at you just as one would expect.
Yasmin was on the verge of tears herself, her eyes brimming as her lips pouted. Seeing you this unhinged was so beyond her and she shook her head, looking down at her own hands.
Bella was locked, though. Her sharp features rested calmly though her jaw was set. Which made sense. Someone does something outrageous, she’s upset. That makes sense.
“Okay,” she said finally, her voice steady in that way that made you want to either hug her or throw something. “Then what’s the plan, genius? You gonna torch his car? Leak something? Because as much as I’d love to see that boy panic for once in his life, I think you want something smarter than that.”
Her calmness only made your pulse pound harder. You wanted movement. Consequence. You wanted Riki’s name to taste like ash in every mouth that said it. But even as the fury roared, Bella’s words dug in—she wasn’t dismissing you. She was challenging you to make it count.
Yasmin stood, wiping under her eyes and grabbing your arm gently. “You’re hurt, dude. Like, badly. And that’s okay. But if you do something you can’t take back, you’ll regret it—and he’ll still win. You’re better than this. Don’t stoop to his level.”
“Or what, Yas? Just let him give me his ass to kiss?” You shrugged, laughing humorlessly. “I—”
“Dude, just break up with him! Call it quits. But you don’t have to try to ruin his entire—”
“Look,” Bella stood up as she chimed in. “In some way, Yas is right. While I’d love to see his life ruined—stooping lower doesn’t exactly do you any favors. Because then what? Guys get off easy, you know that. You’d just be the bitter, scorned lover and would have an entire fan base and university hate you. Is it worth that?” She said carefully.
You stared at her like she’d just said something in another language. “So I’m supposed to just…what? Move on? Pretend he didn’t just violate like that?”
Bella exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose. “No. I’m saying—you play it smart. He wants you to be emotional. He wants drama because it makes him look composed. Don’t give him that. If you’re gonna do some shit then just know that I don’t condone it. But…” She pursed her lips as she cleared her throat. “I’m down. What are we doing?”
Yasmin looks at Bella like she has three heads. “Are we being serious right now?” Then looking back at you. “Hello? Am I speaking a language you don’t understand? Just dump the guy, it’s not worth it—I’m telling you!” She held your arms as she looked at you—pleading. “You may be hot now but I’m telling you —mark my words—you will regret it.”
“Then let me,” you shrug, “look, I’m not gonna kill him or anything.”
Yasmin blinked, her nostrils flaring as she loosened her grip on your arms. Leaning back as she let out a breath. “…Fine. But I still vote you dump him and skip the theatrics. I do not want to be in a courtroom later.”
“Oh stop it, Yasmin.” Bella smacked her teeth as she waved her off. “She’s just going to fuck with him a little probably.”
“Exactly,” you nod. “I have ideas…but I’m not gonna break up with him.” You smiled deviously, “I’m just going to throw him off his game.”
—
“Are you sure you don’t wanna come, mama?” Riki frowned as he stood by his apartment door.
The Syracuse game was tomorrow and the basketball and cheer teams were leaving in t-minus one hour. Since both your friends and Riki invited you to come along, you figured you’d stay behind. For obvious reasons.
“I’m sure, baby.” You sighed as you leaned against the door. “I have a presentation for my Ethics class that I’ve hardly started. I gotta lock in.”
The tall man nudged his suitcase away, “are you sure? You’re more than welcome to come.” He steps forward, grabbing your hands as he kisses them. Making his way up your wrists and it took everything in you not to vomit in your mouth. “You know I play better with you there.”
“Sorry, but I really can’t. If I miss this deadline, I could fail. It’s a major assignment.” You shrug a shoulder. “You know how it is…”
Riki nods, “I do, mama, you know I do.” He pouts as he lets go of your arm and pulls you into a hug. “Well…” He exhales dramatically. “I’ll miss you. And I left you the key and my card on the counter. The place is yours.” He leaned down to peck your lips to which you reciprocated. Kissing Riki at this juncture contested your morals. Half of you felt bitter, the other sweet. That the recollection of his words then and now threw you for a loop. You battled with hating him with your brain but loving him with your body.
You cupped his face as you tilted your head into the kiss. Lips gliding across his as smacking reverberated throughout the quiet pad. He hummed into the exchange as his hands rested on your ribcage, just below your breasts. Sliding down to your waist but you pulled back before he got any ideas.
“I’ll call you. I wanna hear all about your night, okay?” Riki kissed your knuckles again like he was sealing a promise and then he was gone—suitcase rolling, keys jangling, the door shutting with that small finality that suddenly made the apartment feel way too big. You stood there an extra beat, breathing out the sight of him walking away down the hall, feeling that weird cocktail of relief and venom fizz in your gut.
You locked the door and immediately got to work. You started with something simple.
Going to the fridge, you shuffled through the fridge for his protein shakes and green juices. And without a second thought did you gather them all along the counter.
You lined every bottle up like little soldiers about to meet their maker. Vanilla whey, chocolate whey, matcha greens, the ominous “superfuel” one that smelled like spinach and dirt. Every one of them—fuel for his precious pregame routine, the routine he swore by. The same routine he’d bragged about perfecting since middle school.
You grabbed the first bottle.
Twist, breaking the seal with a crack. Pour. Down the sink it went, a depressing brown waterfall glug-glug-glugging into the drain.
It felt like sex.
You didn’t stop there. One by one, you emptied every single drink. Protein? Gone. Greens? Gone. That weird probiotic mango kefir he always insisted “was life-changing?” Down the pipes like it was nothing.
By bottle five, you were humming. By bottle nine, you were laughing. By bottle thirteen, you were leaning your weight on the counter like, wow, I’m actually unwell. But oh, it felt good.
When you were done, the counter looked like a crime scene. Caps everywhere. Empty bottles lined up like trophies. The sink foam-green from the mixture of whatever the hell he’d been consuming. You rinsed the sink out of the mess, gathered the bottles in a garbage bag to take out—not leaving a trace.
You wiped your hands on a dish towel, chest rising and falling as the first hit of petty victory lit your veins.
Step one complete. Sabotage the routine.
Step two?
You opened the pantry. Protein powder. Pre-workout. Hydration packs. Then, you took the pre-workout and loosened the lid by half a turn. Just loose enough that, when he inevitably grabbed it in a rush, the powder would pop out in a satisfying puff—onto him, the counter, the floor.
Your phone buzzed.
angel: what’s the status, brittany snow?
You: all the bodily fluids GONEEE
pretty princess: girl PLEASE what does that even mean
You: his nasty ass shakes
pretty princess: EEEYUCK ???
angel: LMFAOOO
You smiled, pocketing your phone.
You walked into his bedroom next—the sanctum. Neat, annoyingly neat. Bed made. Shoes lined up. Posters straight. Laundry basket empty.
Perfect. You didn’t have to destroy anything. You just…shifted.
Nothing too far—just enough out of place that he’d be tearing the room apart in thirty minutes. His practice hoodie? You folded it and tucked it under the bed. His favorite beanie? Behind the headboard.
Small inconveniences. It’s all super silly, but throwing someone out of their rigid routine meant a lot more than one thought.
Then you opened his nightstand drawer and saw it.
The Polaroid of you he kept. The one from your second date. Crooked, sun-washed, you laughing with your face turned away from the camera. You simply flipped it faced down.
That was enough. He’d open the drawer and know something had shifted.
And then, for the finishing touch, you slid a sticky note onto his mirror. hi baby, did some cleaning up <3
You stepped back to survey the apartment—quiet, calm, meticulously disturbed.
A masterpiece of emotional warfare.
You dusted off your hands and whispered to yourself, almost sweetly:
Your cheek didn’t throb this time. It pulsed.
You weren’t done.
Not even close.
— Two days later
1 Missed Call from Riki
riki: baby
what happened to all my shakes and juices…?
you: can’t call, in class rn
what do you mean?
riki: sorry mama
but i got back to the crib and i saw that all of my juices were gone
did you clean?
you: yeah
i left a note, sorry idk why i didn’t just text you that i cleaned up lmao ??
You stared at the blinking cursor, tongue poking into your cheek as you imagined him standing in front of his open fridge, hands on his hips like somebody’s stressed single mother. Perfect.
riki: ok but like
all of my juices?
every single one?
you: …why does that matter?
Three dots. Then none. Then the message bubble disappeared like he was pacing around his kitchen trying to form a coherent thought with no electrolytes in his bloodstream.
riki: i’m not mad, baby
just confused
they were FULL bottles
did you throw them away??
You leaned back against the couch, laughing as you snuggled into your duvet.
you: yeah, they were old.
dates looked weird.
didn’t wanna risk expired protein diarrhea in my lover <3
Another long pause.
riki: babe those were bought THREE DAYS AGO like
t h r e e d a y s a g o
??
you: oh.
baby i’m so sorry.
There was something deeply satisfying about imagining him standing there, fridge light illuminating the disbelief on his face, probably blinking like he’d been smacked with a baguette.
riki: ok…it’s fine…it’s fine
i’ll just get more in the morning before shootaround
it’s cool
Liar. You could smell the stress through the phone.
you: you good?
you seem stressed
riki: no i’m good
i gotta go to team meetings rn
but can i call u later?
want ur voice before i sleep, or maybe u could sleepover
You stared at the message. You could almost feel the shift—like he was trying to recalibrate, shake off the unease creeping under his skin.
you: we’ll see. depends on my workload.
Saying that but you know damn well you’re going to sleepover.
riki: …ok
i love you
You typed. Erased. Typed again.
you: love you too
You locked your phone, letting it drop onto your thigh as the familiar pulse flickered through your left cheek. That tiny, electric reminder of what started all this.
—
Later that day
—
“Goodnight, mama.”
“Night, baby.” You smiled as you leaned over, pressing a kiss to Riki’s lips as he sighed into it. He ran his hand down your back as he broke the kiss to press a smooch to your cheek. “I love you forever.” He mumbled against your cheek. “You love me?”
You rolled your eyes, chest burning with anguish and resentment. But you had to keep the ruse. “Mhm,” turning your face to peck his jaw as you found he looked at you. Resting his hand on your cheek as his chocolatey eyes melted at the sight of you under the warm light.
And somehow, seeing him—seeing him look at you in this way almost entrapped you again. Made you remember who he was to you. The pop-ups with dinner, the random dates, the proud affection he gave you.
But it was just that. Because what happened? What did you do? Where did you go wrong? And how was he just able to turn it on and off that way? You saw the glint in his eyes, the way he slightly towered over his junior in the locker room as he degraded you for tens of other people to hear. As humiliating as it is, he knew you’d have to be around those same people. Greeting them, sitting courtside and cheering them on. It was almost sociopathic.
“Good. Because I love you even more.” He leaned in to peck your lips repeatedly. “Push me off or I won’t leave these lips alone.” He purred, bringing his hand to your jaw.
You smiled, returning them before you pulled back and he let you. “Go to sleep, casanova.” Riki grinned—soft, lazy, stupidly in love—like the world outside that bedroom didn’t exist. Like he hadn’t gutted you less than a week ago without even knowing he held the knife. He lay back, tugging you down with him until your foreheads brushed and his thumb stroked your cheek with that reverent tenderness reserved for saints and girlfriends. Not holes.
“Mm…I’ll sleep if you kiss me one more time,” he murmured, eyes half-lidded, voice dipped in honey. “C’mon, mama…just one.”
He was so close you could feel every breath, warm and even, laced with trust so blind it felt like a dare. You huffed a soft laugh, leaning in, letting your lips graze his—barely there, feather-light. Just enough to sell it. Just enough to keep him wrapped in the version of you he thought he owned. His lids fluttered shut like it was instinct, like your touch was the last thing he needed to sleep.
He whispered it again, softer this time. “Love you. Forever.”
The words slid under your skin like ice.
You cupped his cheek, thumb brushing the edge of his mouth as he nuzzled into your palm like a spoiled cat. You gave him your warmest smile—sweet, sleepy, harmless. “Goodnight, baby.”
He sank into the pillow with a little satisfied exhale, reaching blindly for your hand like he couldn’t fall asleep without it. His fingers threaded through yours, grip loose and trusting. Within a minute, his breathing evened out, lashes still against his cheekbones, lips parted just a little.
Peaceful. Completely unaware.
You watched him for a long moment—watched the soft rise and fall of his chest, the slow flutter of his fingers as they loosened around yours, the way his features looked almost boyish in dream-light. The version of him he let you have. The one no one else got.
The one he weaponized behind your back.
Your smile faded the second his breathing confirmed he was fully under.
You slipped your hand from his, slow and soundless. Sat up. Watched him one last time—because you needed to—then stood.
His phone glowed faintly on the nightstand, screen half-lit from a notification.
You snuck over, bare feet silent on the floor. Up close he looked smaller, somehow—all that swagger folded into the slow rise and fall of sleep. Your hand hovered for a second, then moved without drama: you pulled the cable from the phone. The charger came free with a soft click that sounded way louder in the hush than it should have. The phone screen blinked, then dimmed to black as charging stopped.
Then you quietly placed the phone on the floor between the bedside table and bed. So you could suggest that maybe just maybe, it fell while he was asleep.
There was no time for you to feel bad. No space for you to have any regard for him and his feelings.
You slipped back into your side of the bed, lifting the comforter just enough to slide under without shifting the mattress. Riki didn’t even twitch—just mumbled something incoherent and rolled slightly toward your now-empty hand, searching for it in his sleep. The kind of soft instinct that once melted you.
Now it just hardened your resolve. You settled onto your pillow, facing him. His lashes brushed his cheeks, his dark hair fell messily over his forehead, and the corners of his mouth were relaxed—none of that locker-room arrogance, none of that cruel swagger. Just a boy sleeping.
Your cheek pulsed again. You breathed out slowly, quietly. No hesitation. No guilt. If anything, a sharp, wicked satisfaction bloomed low in your chest. He’d wake up groggy, confused, panicked from oversleeping, trip over his own excuses. Miss warmups. Piss off his coach. Maybe his whole rhythm would be off for the rest of the day. And it wouldn’t be traced back to you. Cute.
You turned your head on the pillow, watching the faint glow of the digital clock on the wall.
11:23 PM.
Plenty of time before he needed to wake up.
Plenty of time for his phone—now unplugged and hidden—to drain just enough.
You shifted slightly, the bedsprings creaking faintly. Riki moved too, instinctively throwing an arm over your waist, pulling you back into him with sleepy strength. His breath warmed the back of your neck.
If someone walked in, they’d think this was love.
But you stared straight ahead, eyes open, awake and focused, your mind already sketching the next domino to tip.
—
The morning was a quiet, serene one. The sun’s grace poured through the windowpane as it painted the bedding in gold, catching on the dust motes swirling lazily in the air. The apartment was warm, still, the way it only ever was when fall-winter sunlight decided to be nice for once.
Riki shifted behind you with a soft groan, his arm tightening for a second before he blinked himself awake. You didn’t move—just breathed evenly, eyes half-closed like you’d been asleep, not wide awake planning the trajectory of his downfall. “Mmm…what time is it…?” he mumbled, voice low and raspy with sleep. One of those sounds that used to make your stomach turn to lava.
Now it curled your lip.
He reached over your waist, patting blindly along the nightstand until his hand hit nothing but wood. He frowned, still groggy, lifting his head to look. “Huh?”
Your lashes fluttered open just enough to watch him through the tiniest sliver.
He pushed himself up onto an elbow, hair sticking in every direction. “Where’s my phone…?”
You stretched slowly, selling the morning softness. “I don’t know,” you yawned, rubbing your eyes. “You tossed and turned like crazy.” He blinked, confused. “Did I?” He leaned over the edge of the bed, eyes widening slightly when he spotted the phone wedged between the table and frame—exactly where you left it.
“Oh. Damn.” He grabbed it, pressing the side button.
Nothing.
He held it down longer.
Still nothing.
“What the—” his brows furrowed. “Baby, it’s dead? It was charging.”
You sat up, pulling the blanket around your shoulders like you were just as confused as him. “Did the cable come out? You know that outlet is loose.”
Riki shoved the cord into the phone again and flipped it over—and the second he saw the blank battery symbol flash and disappear, panic lit his whole face. “Oh shit—what time is it?!” He scrambled, grabbing the digital clock on the nightstand like it held the secrets of the universe.
07:42 AM.
Workouts were at six.
Scrimmage started at seven-thirty.
His entire body went rigid. “Baby, baby—fuck, I’m late—Coach is gonna fuck me up—”
You let your expression twist into perfectly curated worry. “Oh my god, Riki—go! Hurry, go!”
He shot out of bed, nearly tripping as he yanked on sweatpants with one leg still tangled. His heartbeat practically pulsed through the apartment as he raced around, grabbing his duffel, portable charger, shoving random shirts inside, searching frantically for his warmup jacket. Scrambling through his closet, throwing shirts and pants off the rack and onto the floor. “What the fuck?! Where’s my fucking sweater?”
“What sweater, baby?” You yawned as you stood up, your socks hitting the carpeted floor.
“My purple Decelis fleece? The one—nevermind I don’t have time.” He turned back around to grab a random, black pullover. You padded into the kitchen with the blanket still around your shoulders, half-yawning, half-smirking into the fabric where he couldn’t see. Behind you, you heard the frantic gargling, toothbrush clattering into the sink, the thud of cabinet doors closing too hard.
You opened the fridge, all innocent-like, and pulled out the protein pancake mix he loved—the one he always made on game days for “optimal energy.” You set it on the counter on purpose, knowing damn well he wouldn’t have the time to use it, but the sight alone would salt the wound.
“Baby—!” Riki called through toothpaste foam, stumbling out of the bathroom, hair a wild disaster. “Have you seen my arm sleeve? The black one with the—fuck—never mind—”
He barreled past you, nearly knocking into the counter as he tore through the drawers. You stepped aside, clutching your blanket tighter, doing a very convincing impression of a sleepy, supportive girlfriend instead of the overseer of operations. The puppet master. “You want me to make you a quick smoothie?” you asked sweetly, batting your lashes like breakfast was even possible.
He huffed, chest heaving. “No—I—shit—I don’t have time.” He dropped to his knees to search under the couch. “Coach is gonna kill me. He’s literally gonna kill me.”
You peeked over the edge of the counter. “Did you check the rack by the door?”
“For what?!” His voice cracked in panic as he scrambled back to his feet.
“Your arm sleeve.”
Riki sprinted to the entryway—and there it was. Right next to his shoes. Propped neatly. Like a little gift.
“Oh my god,” he gasped, shoving it into his duffel. “I love you—I literally love you—” You smiled softly, touching your chest like his words warmed you instead of making your stomach curdle. “I know, baby. Don’t forget your protein powder.” You hugged the blanket closer to you.
He groaned, “you’re right.” He brushed past you and to the cabinet. Opening it quickly and reaching for the tub by the lid. And before he could make another step, it was like it started snowing.
With a clatter and thud, the tub hit the counter before its contents spilled all over the floor.
A cloud of chalky white billowed up like a blizzard in a snow globe someone had just punted across the room. Protein powder went everywhere—on the counter, the floor, his socks, your socks, the air itself. It was a crime scene. A lactose-based natural disaster. A winter wonderland from hell.
Riki froze mid-motion, one hand still gripping the lid, the other suspended like he wasn’t sure whether to catch the explosion or just accept defeat. His pupils blew wide with pure, uncut panic.
“…No.” He whispered it like a prayer, a curse, and an obituary all at once. “No, no, no—bro, what the fuck—”
You gasped, covering your mouth with both hands. “Oh my god!” Your hands smothered your laugh, your chest caving in nearly gave you away.
“I don’t—shit—fuck—WHY IS IT SO FULL?!” He coughed violently as the powder puffed straight into his face, coating his lashes and settling in his hair like freshly fallen frost.
You rushed forward, blanket trailing behind you like a cape of sympathy. “Oh—don’t breathe, don’t breathe—okay, wait, no—do breathe—you need oxygen—”
He spun in a frantic circle, slipping slightly on the powder-covered tile. “Coach is gonna kill me and I look like I just got baptized in whey protein! I can’t—baby, I can’t—”
“Riki,” you said softly, reaching out to brush some of the powder from his cheek. “It’s okay. Just…wipe it off. You still have time.”
“No I fucking don’t.” He grabbed the edge of the sink and leaned over it like he was about to weep. “I’m already late. I was meant to be there—” he squinted at the blinking oven clock through his snowstorm bangs, “—FIFTEEN minutes ago!”
“Don’t yell at me!” You brushed your socks off. “It’s not like I made you late for practice for the first time in—”
“Never! I’ve never been late.”
He wiped his face aggressively with a dish towel, leaving streaks that made him look like he’d been lightly dusted by a pastry chef. Powder still clung to his hoodie, his sleeves, the entire front of his body like static made of sadness.
He gave one last distressed look around the kitchen, defeated. “I—fuck—okay—no shake today—I don’t need it—I’ll eat a banana or some shit—oh my god—”
You did your best wide-eyed, supportive girlfriend impression. “You’re gonna be okay. Just go! Talking to me about it does nothing.”
Riki nodded once—shaky, determined, a man on the brink—then darted back toward the door, leaving a trail of protein footprints behind him. Before he left, he popped back in, pressed a powder-scented kiss to your forehead, and whispered:
“Love you—lock up when you leave—text you later—please pray for me. Leave the mess, I’ll clean when I get back.”
And then he was gone again, bolting down the hallway like a man fleeing a crime scene.
When the door shut, the powder finally settled.
And so did your laughter.
Pulling out your phone, you figured a group FaceTime was underway.
You wiped a tear from the corner of your eye—not from sadness, but from laughing so hard your ribs hurt. The kitchen looked like the inside of a snow globe that had been shaken by a toddler with vengeance issues. And the image of Riki sprinting out the door, looking like the Ghost of Christmas Past, would feed you for weeks.
Still snickering, you reached for your phone, thumbing open FaceTime and tapping on the group chat with Yasmin and Bella: The Holy Trinity™.
It rang twice.
And then both girls appeared on your screen in chaotic split view—Yasmin in her bonnet, mascara smudged under her eyes like she’d just woken up or cried or both, and Bella with her hair clipped back, already slurping iced coffee like it was noon instead of seven-something in the morning. “Oh my gosh,” Bella groaned, squinting at your background. “Why does it look like you’re filming from inside a cocaine factory?”
“Bro,” Yasmin choked, leaning closer to the camera. “Is that snow? Did it snow in his kitchen? Why is there…why is there powder on your tits—”
You burst into another fit of laughter, nearly dropping the phone. “Guys—guys, wait—he dropped the tub of protein that I placed.”
Bella’s jaw dropped. “No. No, don’t lie to me. Tell me he looked stupid.”
“So fucking stupid,” you said proudly. “He looked like Frosty the Snowman on creatine.” You chuckled, flipping the camera to reveal the catastrophe.
Bella screamed. Not yelled—not gasped—she let out the kind of shriek that could summon emergency services. Yasmin laughed so loud that the microphone didn’t even pick up the sound. They couldn’t see you laughing though the camera shook as you tried to get ahold of yourself. “Oh shit…this is way more fun than I thought.”
You wiped a tear from your eye as you flipped the camera back to yourself. “Guys…he said ‘please pray for me’ before running out the door. Like he was going to war. Like he was going to send me letters from the trenches or something.”
“Ooh, what else is there?”
—
As a result of the last two weeks of torment you put Riki through, you’ve been nothing but happy to see him slowly become a fragmented, mildly skittish and paranoid shell of himself.
And you didn’t even have to do anything to him. A lot of these things were self-inflicted. Whenever you approached him on campus, he would jump before you could make him aware that it was you.
When he showered, he somehow found that his shampoo was always nearly empty. Hardly enough to even lather up. And when he did have to replace it (now almost weekly), he always felt like there was a Nair-y stench to it.
The protein powder remained in the cracks of the kitchen’s wooden floor. He felt that his hair was thinning even though it clearly wasn’t. Riki also discovered that he had a fish allergy—courtesy of the fried cod you made him. The reaction was very mild, just an antihistamine and it knocked him right out. You didn’t know he had this allergy.
You’re not that crazy.
Unfortunately, the only thing that the universe—with the interference of you—couldn’t seem to shake was that fucking basketball shit.
No matter how many times you tried to curb his alarms (he set multiple and bought an alarm clock), hide stuff (he packs his bag the night before now), and secretly pray for his downfall—it just never happened. Riki’s stats still stayed the exact same. Averaging thirty points per game, seven rebounds, eight assists. He hardly called you after practice with weight on his voice.
And that was the only thing that Riki did his best to protect. Basketball was his sanctuary and as vain as it sounded: he considered himself to be a seasoned vet already. If he learned anything from playing—enduring—this sport for his whole life it was two things: don’t be a selfish player—not just in game, but in life. And leave any and all personal shit off the court.
And that if he held both of these things close to his heart and led with love, then he was going to be alright.
But he was a human being. Most importantly, he was a man. An egomaniacal, self centered man. And just like any other human being, he made mistakes and with those two values he held tightly to his chest—if he slipped then he’d feel it.
So everyday, for the last two weeks—he reflected. What exactly did he do to be so out of whack recently? He wasn’t selfish. He loves you, honors you, does everything that a boyfriend should right?
Yeah, Coach yelled at him the day he was late. But he ultimately suffered no consequences as that was his first offense. But still, despite that—he ran three laps around the arena to be fair to his teammates.
You and him haven’t argued yet. In the four months that you had been together, everything went swimmingly. Nothing that you’ve done has sincerely pissed him off. The closest thing might’ve been the day with his juices being gone. But it was an honest mistake.
But besides that, everything that he felt for you from the start remained—if anything, it only intensified. There wasn’t a moment where he didn’t want to be in your skin. To hold you and tell you how breathtaking you were. How every conversation with you felt like talking to a friend. Like he’s known you his whole life.
So what did he do? What did he do to be having such a tough time? What was he getting karma for?
—
You sat in your dorm, munching on a salad as you were working on an assignment that was ten days past due. But truthfully, it was already beyond late—you didn’t care about making it up anymore.
Your main concern was your next point of action: kill Riki Nishimura. Not like actually kill him or anything.
This was going to be your magnum opus: killing him socially. Bella and Yasmin didn’t think you could do it. More like they didn’t want you to. But you had it all mapped out. And your beloved boyfriend had no clue. Not one. He made it easy with how weird he was being. The best revenge comes from doing hardly nothing at all. Watching him feel like a stranger in his own skin brought you enough joy to last you three lifetimes.
But you were greedy.
—
The arena’s noise was thick. You could feel it in your ribs—the music from the above speakers, the chatter, the sharp whistle of sneakers on the waxed court. You sat front row, dead center. The perfect sightline. The perfect stage.
Your fingers shook—not from nerves, but from the kind of adrenaline that comes before impact. You had the note written out. Printed. Folded once. Sitting like a loaded weapon in your lap. You could feel the weight of it pressing through your jeans.
Bella had clocked it the second she saw you. Yasmin’s eyes darted to the paper, then to your face, then back again. They didn’t even need to say it out loud; the girl telepathy was loud enough to deafen. The blonde’s attention remained on you but she placed her hand on Yasmin’s arm. “What the fuck is she doing?”
“I don’t know!” The olive skinned girl shrugged as her doe eyes widened in fright. “She didn’t say anything about doing something public.”
Bella shook her head. “Oh fuck no, she’s lost her goddamn mind.” She stood, waving her arms to catch your attention. “Don’t,” she hissed, barely moving her lips.
But you were already standing.
The announcer’s voice bled into the air, “—and now, your starting five!”
You didn’t hear the cheers. Didn’t see the team running out. You only saw him. Riki, jogging onto the court, smiling easily, looking like he hadn’t spent the last two weeks unraveling.
He waved to the crowd, scanning briefly—just long enough for your eyes to catch. He froze. Blinked. His smile faltered for a second. Then returned, practiced and bright.
You unfolded the paper.
“Don’t you dare,” Yasmin whispered, gripping your arm so tightly her nails pressed crescents into your skin.
You shook her off. “He deserves this.”
Bella stood too, half-blocking you from view. “No, he doesn’t. Not like this. This is too fucking far!”
But you didn’t even hear her. The mic was right there—abandoned on the sideline after the anthem. You could take three steps and it’d be in your hand. You could read the note, the one that started with ‘Three weeks ago, starting point guard, Riki Nishimura, had degraded me—’ It’d be over for him. You’d make sure of it.
And that’s when Yasmin, bless her, full-body tackled your arm and snatched the paper clean out of your hand. “You’re done,” she hissed, shaking her head. “This isn’t justice, this is suicide.”
“What—” you started, but then Bella’s voice cut through, low and warning. “He’s looking.”
And he was.
Riki had stopped dribbling during warmups, staring right at the three of you. His brows pulled together, confusion, worry. Then he started jogging toward you, calling your name.
The crowd noise dimmed into static in your ears.
He reached the sideline, cluelessly. “What’s going on?” Tilting his head as he raised his taped hand to brush your coils off your shoulder to toy with the ‘R’ pendant on the necklace he gave you. A habit, something he did as a means of soothing both you and him. “Everything okay?”
Yasmin shook her head slightly. “This has gone entirely too far, dude.” She sniffled, dabbing her fallen tears in an effort to not ruin her makeup.
“You gotta tell him.” Bella said firmly.
Riki looked around, scanning the arena for any cameras that were on him. “What? Tell me what?” He squinted, genuinely baffled—like he was trying to fit the scene into a scoreboard in his head.
You stayed silent, your eyes fiery and skin crawling at the feeling of his touch now. Your eyes fell right to the microphone where you could do your final bidding. Eyes watering and heart heavy, you crumpled the paper in your fist as you avoided Riki’s gaze.
Bella exhaled, all impatience and exactness. “Can we do this somewhere where there aren’t cameras?” Her eyes fell on the guy before you three.
Riki’s expression hardened a little, glancing at the gigantic clock at the top of the stands. Twenty minutes til tip-off. Without another word, he nodded to the tunnel which led to the locker room. The only private area where he knew no one would be passing through. “Quickly.” He said lowly as he rubbed his forehead with a sigh. “Please.”
You stayed planted where you were, your eyes glaring a hole into his. As if lasers would beam through if you tried hard enough. Yasmin grabbed you by the bicep, “come on.” She said shakily, which in any other case would’ve weighed you down with her.
The tunnel smelled like old sweat and floor cleaner—half of the arena’s life lived in a stale chemical cloud. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, turning everyone’s skin a little too pale. The noise from the court faded to a distant roar; here it was only your voices and the scrape of sneakers against concrete. Then squeaking as you entered the empty locker room. Riki kept his jacket half off, breath shallow, eyes darting between the three of you like he was trying to memorize which way the exits led. “Talk to me.”
You stayed silent, folding your arms to your chest as if it could keep your guts from spilling out. “Hello? Did you hear him? He’s speaking to you—” Bella tapped your shoulder.
Riki interjected sharply, brows furrowed in annoyance. “Don’t fucking speak to her like that—”
“No! This shit has gone way off the rails and now she’s acting like a fucking baby. Speak up, I’m not coddling you anymore!” The girl insisted. “Because if you don’t, I will.”
“Shut the fuck up, Bella.” You snapped, “don’t try to sit here and ‘tough love’ me now when you know you’re the one that held my hand through this in the first place.” Turning to her as you jabbed her shoulder with your finger.
Bella scoffed, “But I never told you to go this far! You—”
“Why the fuck are we talking in code?! I have shit to do and y’all here playing!” Riki clapped his hands in urgency.
Yasmin blurted it out. “We heard you talking about her.” She huffed nervously.
Riki’s eyes flit to the side in confusion. “So? I talk about her and to her every single day.”
“No.” You finally interjected, turning your attention to him as you were able to take your anger out. “When you stood in here and said to Maki that I was ‘just another hole to fill’ and how not whipped you are?” You squinted your eyes as your posture straightened. “That all girls are the same and how much play you’re gonna get—” You smiled bitterly at the memory as you spoke with your hands. “And how you’re just gonna keep ‘fucking around and winning? Huh?” You nodded. “Remember that, baby?”
Riki froze. Like someone had just yanked the oxygen straight out of his lungs.
For a second, the world went completely soundless—even the hum of the fluorescent lights seemed to cut out. His jaw twitched once, twice, before he let out a shaky exhale and blinked at you, eyes wide, almost boyish in disbelief.
“Wait—” he said hoarsely, “you heard that?”
You laughed, sharp and humorless. “Oh, don’t tell me you didn’t mean it. That it was just locker room talk, right?”
He ran a hand over his face, backing up until he hit the edge of a locker with a dull thud. His expression twisted — confusion, panic, then shame flickering like a glitch he couldn’t smooth out. “No, that’s not—fuck, that’s not what I meant. It was a—Maki was—”
“Maki was what, Riki?” Bella snapped. “A part of your stand-up routine? Or your echo chamber?”
“Bella, stop,” he hissed, voice cracking under strain. He turned back to you, hands slightly raised like he was pleading his case to a judge who’d already heard the verdict. “It wasn’t about you like that. It was—God, it was a joke. I was trying to sound cool, and—”
Your eyes narrowed. “Cool?” The word landed like poison.
“You think degrading me makes you cool?”
Riki’s lips parted, but no sound came out. He was crumbling in real time—his composure, that stupid practiced charm, the performative calm he always wore when things got ugly. He looked twenty different kinds of small now.
“Say it again,” you whispered, stepping closer, voice shaking not from weakness but from the sheer weight of it all. “Say it to my face this time. Say I’m just another hole to fill.”
Riki’s throat bobbed. “Don’t—”
“Say it!”
“I didn’t mean it!” he exploded, voice ricocheting off the walls. The sound of it startled even him. “I swear to God, I didn’t—” He stopped himself, chest heaving, eyes flicking to Bella, then Yasmin, before finally settling on you again. His voice dropped. “You think I’d ever mean that? About you?”
You blinked, your vision blurring with the beginnings of tears you didn’t want to shed—not here, not in front of him. “I don’t give a fuck what you meant. You deserved everything I fucking did to you and more of it!”
“What…?” His voice cracked. “Wh–what did you do?”
Yasmin spoke up. “Can I interject…?” She stepped forward from the corner to stand beside Bella, who was letting her ponytail down as she felt her head starting to throb. “Riki…we decided to—”
“No.” You kindly shut Yasmin down. “I—neither of them had any involvement in anything—decided to pay you back. I poured out your juices. Loosened your protein tub. Unplugged your phone—everything weird that’s been happening to you for the last two weeks was me fucking with you.”
Riki blinked once. Then again. Like maybe if he gave his brain enough time to reboot, it’d spit out a version of this scene that made sense.
“You—” he breathed out, the word shaky and small. “You what?” He stared at you—searching, scanning, trying to find some hint that you were joking. But your face didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even twitch.
“Everything weird that’s been—” he stopped, eyes darting back and forth as the puzzle pieces rearranged in his head. “My shampoo, the alarms, the fucking—my protein—” His voice rose an octave, breaking off in disbelief. “The fish?!”
You blinked. “Okay, that one wasn’t on purpose. And I didn’t do anything to your shampoo.”
He laughed. But it wasn’t funny. It was breathless and sharp—half a gasp, half hysteria. “Oh my God,” he said, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my fucking God.”
Bella winced. Yasmin quietly muttered something under her breath that sounded like a prayer.
Riki dropped his hand and looked back at you, eyes glossy—not with tears, but something worse. Something that looked like betrayal and heartbreak all twisted together. “You made me think I was losing my mind,” he said quietly. “For weeks.”
You crossed your arms, defensive now. “You made me feel worthless.”
“So you poisoned me?”
You opened your mouth, but the words didn’t come.
“You unplugged my phone, you messed with my stuff, you—” he gestured wildly, like he couldn’t even pick which violation to name first. “You messed with my head, and for what? To even the score?”
“Don’t you dare make me the bad guy here,” you snapped, voice cracking on the edge of your fury. “You’re the one who said that shit about me.”
“And I said I didn’t mean it!” he fired back, stepping closer. The sound of his voice filled the entire locker room—loud, raw, desperate. “You think I’m proud of that? You think I sleep easy knowing that came out of my mouth? I’ve been trying to figure out what I did to deserve all this—turns out, you were just—” He cut himself off, choking back whatever word was about to fall next.
“Just what?” you bit.
He stared at you. His throat bobbed. “Cruel.”
The word sliced clean through the air.
You flinched, but didn’t back down. “You talk about me like I’m replaceable and you think I’m cruel?”
“You tried to ruin me!”
“Oh, please,” you wave off. “You’d still be fine. You always land on your feet.”
Riki shook his head, eyes glazed. His eyes caught the folded loose leaf in your hand, gesturing to it. “What is that?”
Without a second guess, you shoved it into his chest. Not even causing him to stumble but he snatched it. Opening it and doing his best to make it out beneath the crinkles.
And right then, was the angriest you’ve seen him up until this moment. The desperate, flabbergasted Riki that was before found new ground to stand on. His nostrils flared as he licked his bottom lip; fingers curling around the paper. “You were going to read this in front of people?”
You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to—your silence was already too loud.
Riki’s laugh was low and humorless. “You were going to humiliate me.” He said it like he was testing the words out loud, like saying them would somehow make them less insane. “In front of my team? My coach? The entire nation, are you fucking crazy?”
“I was going to tell the truth,” you shot back, eyes glinting. “That’s all it was. The truth.”
“The truth?” He took a step closer, paper trembling in his fist. “No, no—you wanted revenge. You wanted blood, not closure.”
You rolled your eyes, though your pulse was slamming in your throat. “Don’t get poetic now, Riki. You said what you said.”
“And I told you I didn’t mean it! How many times do I have to—” He held up the note like evidence in court. “This—this is you trying to destroy me because you’re hurt. You were really going to try to ruin my life’s work and career over this when you could’ve just fucking talked to me?! Or even dumped me?”
“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you called me just another hole to fill.”
He went still. The sound of sneakers squeaking from the court outside was a faint, haunting rhythm beneath the tension between you.
Riki lowered his head, voice dropping to something barely human. “You really hate me that much, huh?”
“I don’t hate you,” you said coldly. “I just wanted you to feel small for once.”
He let out a breathless, bitter laugh. “Congratulations. You did it.” He held up the crumpled paper like it was a white flag—like you’d already won the war you started. “You’ve made me feel smaller than I ever have in my entire life.”
You swallowed, your anger flickering like a dying candle. “Good.”
Riki stared at you for a long, long moment—jaw tight, eyes glassy, chest rising with restrained fury and heartbreak. Then, quietly, he tore the note in half. Once, twice, until the pieces fluttered from his hands like ash. “Hope it was worth it,” he muttered, voice shaking. And when he walked past you toward the locker room exit, he didn’t look back.
The girls followed in his direction with shaking of their heads. But were interrupted by your voice. “Where are you guys going?”
They stopped, turning around. Yasmin’s eyes sparkled from the overhead lighting as tears misted her eyes. “We also have shit to do.”
You threw your hands up, “oh so now I’m the bad guy?” You laughed humorlessly, “you guys—”
“We didn’t tell you to do anything!” Bella waved her finger. “Yas was against this from the beginning. I said I was just gonna support you. We support each other! Right, wrong, or indifferent. But I didn’t think you would lose yourself like this?” She gestured to your frame. “I mean who even are you anymore?”
“I’m me. I’m still me, guys—” You stepped forward with your voice shaking. Smile vanished as you swallowed what seemed to be a knot of nervousness. “C’mon…don’t turn your backs on me too…”
Yasmin sniffled, “if we did then we wouldn’t have saved you just now. This isn’t my best friend,” Yasmin whispered, shaking her head. Her voice cracked mid-sentence, soft but sharp enough to land. “My best friend doesn’t do shit like this.”
You froze. “Yas—”
“No,” she said, stepping back a little. Rubbing her temples as frustrated tears streaking down her cheeks. “You’re not even listening to yourself anymore.”
Bella exhaled, crossing her arms. “You became the thing you swore you hated. You’re standing here, trying to justify ruining someone’s life just because he bruised your ego. That’s not love. That’s obsession.”
Your throat closed up. “You think I wanted to turn into this?”
Bella didn’t answer right away—she just blinked at you, disappointed. “No. I think you got hurt and didn’t know where to put it. But you don’t get to burn down someone else’s peace to feel better about your pain.”
The silence that followed was unbearable. Only the muffled sound of the crowd bleeding in from the court—cheers, drums, whistles—made the moment real again.
Yasmin took a shaky breath, voice quiet. “You can still fix this. Maybe not with him, but with yourself.”
You stared at them, every word hitting like shrapnel, and for the first time since the whole spiral began—you didn’t have anything to say. The weight of what you’d done, what almost happened, started to settle in your stomach like lead.
Bella grabbed Yasmin’s hand. “We’re going to go. You should go get some rest.” You watched them walk away through the tunnel lights, the sound of the game roaring back to life behind them. You stood there, still holding the blanket of your own rage and regret—realizing it was never warmth at all. And the walk back to your dorm was a cold one.
—
For three days, you disappeared. The campus kept spinning without you—the chatter of students, the clatter of cafeteria trays, the hum of a world that refused to pause—but your room stayed still. Curtains drawn, phone facedown, mind circling the same moment over and over until it felt like static. The guilt wasn’t sharp anymore; it was heavy, dragging. Every notification with his name felt like another bruise you didn’t remember getting.
Bella and Yasmin tried to reach you—knocks at the door, texts, calls—but nothing stuck. Riki was radio silent; as expected. On the fourth day, you sat up and climbed off your creaky twin XL.
You walked up to your desk and removed the pillowcase covering it and for the first time in days, you were able to stomach looking at yourself. Your reflection in the dark monitor felt like a stranger. Eyes swollen, lips cracked from lack of hydration, skin dry and textured. And immediately you put your head down. Holding your stomach as you wept into yourself. It came out of you like a flood you’d been holding back too long—all the anger, the shame, the grief. You tried to breathe, but it only made the sobs louder.
You pressed a hand to your mouth as if you could stuff it all back down, but it was useless. You cried until your ribs hurt, until your knees gave out and you sank onto the floor, arms wrapped around yourself like you were the only thing keeping from coming undone completely. “Oh God—” You held your chest as you heaved. “What have I done?”
—
By the fifth day, the silence became unbearable. You couldn’t stand the sound of your own thoughts anymore—the echoes of Riki’s voice, the look on Bella’s face, the way Yasmin’s eyes had glistened before she walked away. So for the first time in almost a week, you took positive first steps.
You showered, scrubbing yourself to the point where you swore your skin was about to peel off. Brush your teeth, following your meticulous oral care routine. And you put on lotion, perfume, did your hair and finally…you felt you were halfway worth looking at again.
—
The campus air touched differently after a self-imposed exile—too bright, too loud, like the world had the audacity to move on. You found Bella and Yasmin outside on the quad, sprawled on the grass with open laptops and snacks, their laughter cutting short the second they saw you.
“Hey,” you said softly, voice half-stuck in your throat.
Bella shut her laptop, sitting up. Yasmin didn’t say anything yet—just watched you with that mix of worry and quiet anger that made you feel twelve years old again.
“I know,” you started, rubbing the back of your neck. “I was a dick. To both of you. And you didn’t deserve that.” You looked between them, heart pounding. “You were just trying to look out for me, and I…I took it way too far. I wanted to hurt him so bad that I forgot who I was. And who you guys were to me. I’m sorry. But I just wanted to say thank you for gathering me before I inevitably got worse.”
Neither spoke for a beat. Then Bella sighed, resting her chin on her knee. “Yeah, you were a dick,” she said flatly, but there was the ghost of a smile there.
Yasmin exhaled, eyes softening. “We were worried sick. You don’t just vanish like that, dude. We thought you—” she cut herself off, shaking her head. “Like at least an ‘I’m okay’ text would’ve been enough. Just…” She sighed, “don’t do that again.”
You nodded quickly, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “I won’t. I swear.”
Bella patted the spot beside her. “Good. Then sit your dramatic ass down and eat something. We made sandwiches.”
Tears finally came down as you smiled. Sitting down between them as you hugged them to you. Both their heads on your shoulders as they squeezed you. “Are you guys still mad at me?”
“Oh definitely,” Yasmin smiled as she nuzzled your shoulder. “You have some serious making up to do.” Huffing as she leaned up and let go.
You looked down at the blanket and your crossed legs, “Can I start by saying you were right and that you owe me an ‘I told you so?’” To which that elicited laughs from both girls on either side of you.
“Forgiven!” Yasmin giggled as she clapped her hands excitedly. Like she wasn’t twenty but a little kid. And as you sat between them, the tension eased, the world didn’t feel quite as tilted anymore.
—
You were mid-laugh when it happened—Bella had just said something snarky about the “post-breakdown glow” you apparently had going on. And for a moment, things felt easy again. Like it always had with these two. The three of you were walking up the stone path toward the dining hall, the smell of pizza and fryer oil already drifting through the air, when a familiar voice froze you in your tracks.
“Hey!” He was coming down the opposite side of the path, still in his team jacket, backpack slung over his shoulders, hair a little messy like he’d just showered. His teammates had already gone ahead, but he stopped the moment he saw you.
Bella glanced between you two and sighed under her breath. “Well, this is awkward.”
“Yep,” Yasmin muttered. “Definitely our cue.”
They shared a look before Bella patted your arm. “We’ll, uh…grab our table. Take your time.”
And just like that, they slipped inside the dining hall, leaving you and Riki alone under the faint hum of campus noise.
For a second, neither of you spoke. You just stared at him, at how tired he looked—eyes a little red, hands balled up as he adjusted his sleeves.
“You look alive,” he said finally, a small half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Barely,” you replied, managing a smirk. “You?”
He shrugged. “Playing like I’m mad at the whole planet, but we’re winning, so…guess that counts for something.”
You nodded slowly, eyes dropping to the ground. “Riki, I—”
He shook his head before you could continue. “Don’t. It’s done.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I’m not mad anymore. I mean, I was. But now…I get it.”
You searched his face for bitterness and found none—just exhaustion, and something softer hiding under it. “It’s not an excuse.” Shaking your head, you pulled your hoodie sleeves over your hands as you balled your fists. “You hurt me and instead of being a good, mature girlfriend…I went to the extreme. I’m so sorry, Riki.”
“I deserved it, mama.” He stepped closer, whispering as he reached his hands up to frame your face—not touch it. “What I said was inexcusable. Absolutely repulsive and inappropriate and no one should speak about a person—especially their girlfriend—like that. I’m sorry too.”
“I guess neither of us are perfect.” You sighed, as you gently brought his hands back down. The radiating warmth leaving your cheeks and replacing it with the evening chill.
His mouth curved, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, I think we both kinda nuked the moral high ground.”
A weak laugh slipped out of you. “That’s one way to put it.”
For a moment, it was quiet—just the wind cutting through the trees and the sound of students laughing somewhere across the quad. You stared at the space between your sneakers, the weight of everything that happened hanging between you.
“I don’t hate you, you know,” you said softly. “Even after all that.”
He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Good. ‘Cause I couldn’t even if I tried.”
That made you look up. His gaze was steady, not pleading, just…honest. The kind of look that made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t want to name yet.
“Did you mean any of it? Like when you said you loved me?” His eyes searched yours, “I’m sorry, it’s just been driving me crazy and I need to know.” The look in his eyes was layered in desperation and heartbreak. Only half of what you encountered in the locker room that day. “Please. For my own sanity—”
“I did.” You sniffled, dabbing your eyes with your sleeve to prevent tears from coming out. “It…”
Riki pulled you to a small bench, tucked away from possible prying eyes as this was becoming an intimate moment. The first one in what seemed like forever. He wiped the bench with his hands, getting any debris—branches, dirt, cigarette ashes—off and away.
“It was that I loved you so much that I did what I did.” You sat down as he did beside you. “When I heard you saying those things about me, it…it just—a switch just flipped in my brain. Like…everything that I thought about you beforehand was just confirmed. That my parents were right…”
Riki’s eyes widened a bit, his heart dropping to the pit of his stomach as he gulped. “You—your parents?”
You nodded, “they always said not to date athletes. That they’d either cheat, lie, or dog you. Maybe all three.” Fiddling with your manicured nails, clicking them slightly. “In a way, me getting revenge just felt like I was doing every single person that was wronged by every athlete, right. But I got greedy. Selfish. And really, I could’ve just spoken to you about it.”
Riki leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the ground like it might offer him a manual on how to handle this conversation. “I wish you did,” he said quietly. “I would’ve told you the truth. That I was talking out of my ass, trying to look tough in front of the guys because I was scared of how much I actually loved you. I mean I’ve never felt like this before, y’know?”
You let out a small, humorless laugh. “That’s not an excuse.”
“I know,” he said, glancing at you. “But it’s the truth. I said those things because I thought if I made it sound like I didn’t care, then they’d just get off my dick about it. In actuality, I was never thinking about sex with you.”
You shot him a look.
He smiled, “okay, I was.” Laughing as you did, but he leaned up. “But it wasn’t at the front of my mind. I didn’t lead every interaction with you with the expectation that you’d let me have any.”
The words hung between you like fog, dense and heavy. You looked up at him then, and the sharpness you’d carried for weeks softened. He looked older somehow. Not in a bad way—just like he’d been through something real. “But even with the four months that we were together, I didn’t even want to bring it up because I didn’t want to scare you.”
“The idea of sex with you didn’t scare me, Riki. But the fact that when I thought I could trust you to keep certain things of our relationship private, you fell through. And disrespected me at that.” You went on. “Because how did Maki even know that we hadn’t done anything? Were these things regular conversations and I just happened to catch one?”
Riki’s jaw tightened, his knee bouncing slightly. “No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “It wasn’t like that. I swear, I didn’t go around talking about our business. Maki was being an asshole that day, asking questions, making jokes and assumptions, and I—” He paused, running a hand over his face like he could erase what came next. “I took the bait. I wanted to sound cool. Like I wasn’t some lovesick loser.”
You stared at him, the memory of that locker room replaying in your mind like a cruel film reel. “So you threw me under the bus to impress him?”
His eyes flicked up to meet yours, guilt written across every line of his face. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “And the second it left my mouth, I wanted to take it back. It was just talk. It was just…I don’t know.”
You looked away, lips pressing together. The bench between you suddenly felt like a chasm. “I really thought you were different, Riki,” you said softly. “You made me believe it.”
He winced like the words cut him. “I am different. Or at least I was trying to be. I just—” He exhaled, frustrated with himself. “I didn’t think about how much weight my words had. I didn’t think about how much they’d hurt you if you heard them. I was trying to protect my ego instead of the one person I actually gave a shit about.”
The silence after that was long and brittle. You could hear students laughing in the distance, the scrape of skateboard wheels against pavement. Ordinary sounds in a world that felt anything but ordinary right now. And it only left one question: “So what now?”
Riki shook his head firmly, turning to you. “Look I love you. Still—”
You sighed, closing your eyes in distress but he insisted. “No, no, no. Just listen to me.” He hesitantly reached for your hands. “I know we both have work to do. But I don’t want anybody else. And I mean that. You’re everything to me and even after the bullshit and what you were going to do…I still look at you the same.”
You stared at him, the ache in your chest twisting into something you couldn’t name. “You shouldn’t,” you said softly. “You should look at me differently.”
He shook his head, lips pressed into a thin line. “I can’t. I’ve tried.”
You wanted to laugh, or scream, or both. Instead, you just looked down at your intertwined hands—his fingers trembling slightly against yours. “Please don’t romanticize it, Riki. That was the ugliest I’ve seen myself in…ever. And I don’t know if I wanna be with someone that brings that out of me.”
“But I do,” he smiled softly. “I want to be with someone that drives me crazy. That makes me feel every possible human emotion and that person was you.” He brought your hands to his lips to kiss them, like he always used to. “This is going to be what you want at the end of the day. But I won’t stop fighting for you. When I said I loved you forever, I meant it. As a friend, a lover. Anything. I just wanna be in your life.”
For a split second, you could almost feel your heart stop. The rawest you’d ever seen Riki was in this moment—before you—as he practically begged to be in your world. A person who’s so used to the inverse. And he didn’t stop.
“Since the day I saw you, I’ve not been able to get you off my mind. And I don’t wanna forget that feeling. Call me obsessed, desperate. But even then, I don’t care,” he finished, voice breaking slightly. “Because I’d rather be desperate for you than indifferent to anyone else.”
You swallowed hard, blinking fast. His eyes were glassy now, full of something that looked too much like the boy you fell for—reckless, sincere, and way too intense for his own good. “Riki…”
“I know,” he said, shaking his head quickly, cutting you off before you could form the words. “You don’t have to say it. I just needed you to know. Even if you never look at me the same again, even if you find someone who actually deserves you—I needed to say it out loud once.”
You felt the world slow down around you, the hum of the dining hall muffling into static. His confession sat between you, too heavy to move around and too fragile to touch. “I think…I think it’s best that we be friends. For now…” He nodded immediately, “anything you want—wait, you said for now?” He tried to hide the way his lips curved, but failed.
You rolled your eyes, exhaling a shaky laugh. “Don’t push it.” And then, almost without thinking, you scooted forward. He met you halfway, arms slipping around your waist like muscle memory. You pressed your face into his shoulder, breathing him in—the faint trace of detergent, cologne, and something you couldn’t name but still remembered.
It wasn’t a reconciliation. It wasn’t a promise. It was just…quiet understanding. He melted into your arms, remembering the warmth he once felt there as it hadn’t ever gone away. Rubbing your back as the both of you fell into the comfort of each other again. “I won’t…I promise.” He said softly as he sniffled.
You felt his breath hitch against your neck, the sound muffled but raw. His arms tightened just a little, like he was afraid that if he let go too soon, the moment would vanish. You rubbed slow circles into his back, grounding him, grounding yourself.
“I know,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes red but steady. “I just don’t ever want you to think I didn’t care,” he said quietly. “Not for a single second.”
You smiled faintly, brushing your thumb over the corner of his hand where it still held onto you. “I never did,” you admitted. “But time will tell.”
For a moment, neither of you moved—just stayed there, breathing the same air, hearts syncing in that familiar rhythm you both tried so hard to forget. And when you finally stepped apart, it wasn’t out of anger or regret. It was because you both knew what this was.
Something that wasn’t over. Just paused.
— epilogue!
The semester was coming to an end and things were looking up! Spring was underway, you traded in your hoodies for tube tops and life wasn’t as hard as it was a month ago. Bella and Yasmin are the same: reliable, solid, harassing—typical. As for Riki…
You and him had stayed true to the “friends for now” thing…with a few cracks around the edges. You were doing pretty well with the whole “platonic equilibrium” mindset. Riki, though…was doing his best, which—coming from him—meant trying really hard not to accidentally flirt every five minutes.
There was always a soft awkwardness in the air whenever he was near, a kind of gentle hesitation that felt new. Like he was relearning how to exist around you without crossing lines he used to dive over headfirst.
Whenever you ran into him around campus, he’d light up—just a little, almost like he wished he didn’t. He’d start to reach for your hand out of habit, stopping mid-motion with a small, embarrassed laugh. Sometimes he’d call you “baby” without thinking, freeze like he’d just triggered a bomb, and mumble a panicked “sorry.” It was…cute. Annoyingly cute.
But here’s the thing—he didn’t push. Not once. He didn’t corner you, didn’t force conversations, didn’t try to speedrun your healing. He gave you space without disappearing, presence without pressure. It was the most mature thing you’d ever seen him do, and honestly? Kinda hotter than when he was your actual boyfriend.
Slowly, the tension stopped feeling sharp and started feeling warm. The kind you notice on slow walks across campus or when you catch him staring from across a study lounge. The kind that makes your stomach dip but not in a painful way anymore.
He was still your Riki—loud, unserious, overwhelmingly athletic, always carrying a million and one snacks in his bag. But this version of him was steadier. Softer. Careful with you in ways he never had to think about before.
Spring was blooming, and so were you. And somewhere in the mess of new beginnings, slow healing, and accidental almost-romantic moments…you could feel it.
You and Riki weren’t done. Not even close.
riki: hey girlieee
you: hi riki lmao
riki: rq, what are ur thoughts on selena gomez?
you: random?? LMAOO ???
but 10/10 no notes. she’s mother.
omg i love her blushes too
riki: she sells makeup??
you: yeah…everyone knows that
riki: literally why would i know that
but thanks, noted.
you: why tho? what happened?
riki: <3
you: …?
that’s not an answer…?
riki: <33
you: ok
Riki left you on read after that last “ok,” which was suspicious behavior for him. Usually he double-texted entirely too often. But whatever—maybe he was in the gym…benching a car or some shit.
Two weeks rolled by in this weird limbo where he acted normal but also not normal. A week ago he’d shown up outside your lecture hall just to hand you a juice box because, quote, “You always look dehydrated after class.” Three days ago, he’d pretended to trip just so you’d laugh. Yesterday he’d sat next to you in the library, headphones in, sharing a pack of gummies and tapping your knee every time he thought of something funny.
And you didn’t miss the shift in him—this boy was planning something. You could practically hear the cartoon gears grinding in that brain of his.
Then Friday came. A warm, breezy, stupidly pretty spring evening. You were chilling in your dorm, headphones in one ear as you reviewed for your microeconomics final. And that’s when you heard it.
“It’s been said and done…Every beautiful thought’s been already sung…”
And comedically, your head popped up. Brows furrowed as you turned your head to get a grip on the muffled, crackled noise coming from the outside. But you just figured it was the student union having one of their last hurrah’s before the year was finished and y’all were right back in three months.
“And I guess right now, here’s another one…So your melody will play on and on…With the rest of them…”
Your phone buzzed.
pretty princess: girl look tf out ur window rn.
You blinked at the notification, confusion already tugging at your face. Yasmin never texted like that unless something was either (A) horrifying or (B) gobsmacking. There was never an in-between with her. You shoved your chair back, nearly tripping over your backpack as you crossed the room. You pulled the blinds open—
And your stomach dropped to your ass.
Because there he was.
Riki. On the quad. Holding an actual boombox over his head like he was auditioning for an eighties rom-com.
The thing was massive, probably older than both of you, and blasting Selena Gomez’s “Love You Like a Love Song” at a volume that was definitely violating at least six campus rules. Students were recording him but he didn’t care. He spotted you instantly.
That stupid, boyish, heart-squeezing grin lit up his whole face the second your eyes met. He lifted the boombox even higher—like his arms weren’t already shaking—and he yelled up at your window: “HI!”
Just “hi.”
You slapped a hand over your mouth, partially to smother your gasp and partially to keep from laughing out loud like someone who lost any and all gumption. Heat crawled up your neck. “No he didn’t,” you whispered.
Oh, but he did. And he wasn’t stopping.
People started chanting his name—half because they loved drama and half because the acoustics were terrible and the song was starting to echo off the buildings like some kind of chaotic love anthem.
You opened the window. “RIKI!”
He perked up like a golden retriever hearing treats shake. “YEAH?”
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”
“I’M—” He paused, laughing. “I’M TRYING TO BE ROMANTIC BUT THIS THING IS REALLY HEAVY! AND LOUD!”
You nearly melted on the spot. Your brain was soup. Your heart? Gone.
He lowered the boombox slightly—possibly because his arms were probably about to give out—and yelled, “COME DOWN! PLEASE! I DON’T WANNA DROP THIS AND DIE. THAT WOULD BE EMBARRASSING.” He wasn’t struggling, his arms weren’t trembling. He wasn’t out of breath.
You squinted down at him, realization hitting you like a brick made of pure annoyance and affection. “Riki…are you faking struggling right now?”
He flashed you a guilty little half-smile, shrugging with one shoulder while still holding the boombox like it weighed absolutely nothing. “Uh…maybe. For dramatic effect. Gotta sell the moment, y’know?”
You groaned into your hands. “Oh my god.”
He adjusted his grip again—effortless, casual, absolutely not dying as previously advertised—and yelled, “C’MON! DON’T MAKE ME LOOK STUPID IN FRONT OF LIKE—” he glanced around, “—WAY TOO MANY PEOPLE!”
You rolled your eyes so hard you saw last semester. But you threw on your hoodie, shoved your feet into whatever shoes were closest, and bolted for the stairs.
By the time you reached the quad, people were still filming, still chanting his name, still acting like they were witnessing a Hallmark movie. Riki stood there proudly, boombox now resting against his shoulder as the chorus blasted:
“I-I-I love you like a love song, baby…”
He grinned the second he saw you and the crowd dissipated as they saw him put the boombox down to the grass and lower the music. “Hi…”
“Hi?” You laughed as you reached him. “What in the world is this?” You gestured to the boombox now at your feet.
“A…boombox—”
“I know what a boombox is, Riki!” You hold your hands up. “I mean…why?” You said softly.
He sighed. “Okay, look. I know you’ve said sorry before. And I did too. But I was saying it like…someone who wanted to fix a scratch, not someone that had the capability of ruining an entire relationship with words.” He frowned slightly as he reached out for your hands. Inhaling before he mustered up the courage to grasp them. “You don’t make it easy for me. You don’t worship me. You don’t pretend I’m a big deal. You roll your eyes and tell me when I’m being a dick—and that’s the first time in a long time I’ve actually had to listen.” He went on.
“When we stopped talking, I still couldn’t stop thinking about you. When you liked me for half a second, I didn’t know what to do with it. When you loved me…I felt like I was caught with my pants down.” The breeze blew at his dark locks, brushing his silky hair just right as the perfectly timed sunset kissed his tan skin.
“You said once that you don’t understand why people lose their minds over athletes. I get it now. I’m the guy who people cheer for and I still don’t get it either. But when you look at me, it’s not because I made a basket—it’s because you actually see me. And I don’t want to lose that. And…” He huffed, eyes brimming with tears. “I’ve gone these last few months with an attempt to change everything about myself. But the one thing that I couldn’t seem to shake is that I really am selfish. Only when it comes to you.” He shakes his head as his lips quivered. “I love you, I kiss the ground you walk on and I can’t shake that. I just wanna be around you. All the time and it eats at me every waking moment that I fucked this up. That the idea of you being with someone else makes me irrationally angry. Seeing another guy even look your way makes me—and I’m so sorry. It’s so unfair.”
You felt something in your chest pull tight—like every word he spoke tugged a different thread you’d been trying so hard to knot back together. “Riki…” you whispered, but he wasn’t done. He stepped closer, eyes shining in that way that always made you feel like you were standing on the edge of something huge.
“I know it’s not healthy. I know I shouldn’t think like that,” he said, voice cracking as he blinked fast. “But I can’t help it. I’ve tried to get over you. I’ve tried to be chill, to be normal, to be the guy who just ‘moves on.’ I can’t. I can’t pretend I don’t still look for you every time I walk across campus or step into the dining hall or hear your stupid laugh echo in my apartment when I look back at old videos of us.”
You let out a quiet breath—a little shaky, a little overwhelmed.
“And I know it sucks,” he added, softer now. “I know it’s messy. I know it’s not fair to you. But I’m standing here, blasting Selena Gomez like a psychopath, because I needed you to know that I love you in a way that makes me spend two hundred dollars on boomboxes. Getting scammed for old CDs online to look for them to put in the boombox.” He smiled, laughing softly. “And spending almost four hundred dollars on makeup because I couldn’t figure out which one you liked so I bought them all!” He bent down to open his backpack to pull out a black and white striped Sephora bag to hand it to you.
Filled to the brim, all thirteen blushes. Simply because you mentioned liking it once.
You stared at the bag. Then at him. Then back at the bag—because there was no way. No way.
“Riki…” Your voice cracked.
He held both hands up like he was surrendering to the police. “I know. I know. It’s crazy. Please—”
You almost laughed. Almost. Riki rolled his eyes but stayed locked on you—smiling regretfully. “I’m not saying any of this to make you feel guilty. I’m saying it because I’m tired of pretending I don’t care when I care so much it makes me do…this.” He gestured around helplessly, as if the chaos wasn’t literally his own fault. “I’m a mess.”
You swallowed. Hard. “Why now?”
“Because,” he said, stepping closer to the dorm entrance, “I realized something that night in the locker room.”
Your breath hitched.
“That I would rather embarrass myself in front of everyone. Teammates, coaches, sports analysts, scouts—than let you think you weren’t worth fighting for. And you can nuke my protein and rig my alarms—”
You cut him off with a kiss. For half a second, he froze—eyes wide, breath caught somewhere between oh my god and ‘no way no way no way.’
Then he melted. Like actually melted. His shoulders dropped, his hands hovered in the air like he was terrified to touch you, and then very, very gently, they settled on your waist as you dropped the bag. Letting it thud into the grass.
He kissed you back like he’d been holding his breath for months and finally got oxygen. Pulling you into him as he gently cradled your head, tilting his own to deepen the kiss. You felt his breath hitch against your mouth, the kind that said finally with every exhale. His fingers threaded into your hair like he’d been memorizing the motion in his head for weeks, rehearsing it in private like some lovesick maniac.
He kissed you again—slower this time, deeper, like he wanted to make sure you understood exactly how long he’d been waiting for this. His thumb swept the hinge of your jaw, gentle, reverent, like he was scared you’d disappear if he touched too roughly.
You pulled back just an inch, just enough to breathe, and he chased you a little—just a tiny lean forward, like he hadn’t meant to lose contact.
His forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing too hard for a kiss that lasted maybe ten seconds.
“Holy shit,” he whispered. He cupped your cheek, brushing your skin with the back of his fingers like he couldn’t believe you were real. “I’m so in love with you,” he said—quiet, shaky, honest in a way that punched you right in the throat.
Your heart stuttered. “I love you too, Riki.” Leaning in to hug him tightly, wrapping your arms around his neck.
“Oh…” He exhaled in relief as he picked you up and spun you around. “I missed you, baby. Oh I missed my baby so much!”
Your laugh broke against his shoulder, breathless and warm, and he clutched you like he was afraid gravity might snatch you away again. His hands slid under your thighs automatically, lifting you like you weighed nothing, and he buried his face into the crook of your neck with this completely unhinged, lovesick groan. “I missed you so much,” he repeated, voice muffled against your skin. “You have no idea—oh my god. I’m actually gonna pass out. I’m dizzy. Is this normal? Am I dying?”
You snorted. “Put me down, idiot.”
“No,” he said immediately, hugging you even tighter, rocking you side to side like a toddler with their favorite plush. “Absolutely not. You said you love me. That means you’re legally my emotional support human now.”
“Riki…”
“Shh,” he whispered dramatically, pressing an overly loud kiss to your cheek. “Let me have this.” Riki didn’t care. Zero shame. Negative shame even. He finally set you down but kept your waist locked in his hands like he didn’t trust reality to keep you there. He leaned back to look at you properly—eyes bright, hair messy from the wind, chest rising like he’d sprinted here from three counties over. “You love me,” he whispered again, like he was tasting the words, like they were cotton candy on his tongue. “Say it one more time.”
You raised a brow. “Riki—”
“Please,” he said, already smiling like he knew he was ridiculous and didn’t care. “Just one more. I need to hear it clearly, I’ve been hearing nothing but this fucked up speaker for the last hour.”
Your cheeks warmed as you whispered, “I love you, Riki.”
He shut his eyes like the words physically hit him. Head back, hand over his heart, dramatic and sincere at the same time. “Oh yeah,” he breathed. “That’s it. I feel like I just did ten lines. I’m never messing this up again.” Then, with a soft grin creeping up his face, he added: “Now c’mon, baby. Let’s go turn off my damn boombox before I get fined again.”
You bent down to grab your Sephora bag and his backpack. Him with the boombox as he went two tracks over to put on ‘Who Says.’ You both laughed as you sang, “I wouldn’t wanna be anybody else!”
He twirled you with his hand as you both walked into the direction of his apartment. “You know my favorite Selena song is ‘Naturally.’ For future reference.”
Riki laughed as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, bringing you close to him. “I’ll add that to the wedding playlist.”
you really don’t know how it happened. one moment you were asking your sweet boyfriend to take pictures of you on your new camera and the next he has you pinned down, skirt tossed up, with his face buried in your cunt.
“nghh, y-yun please!”
jake peers up at you from between your thighs, his fluffy brown hair a tangled mess from your fingers and his big pointy nose glistening from your heavenly juices. he only groans in response, focus steady on your throbbing clit he is currently suckling between his plump lips, causing you to thrash beneath his grasp.
“please what, bunny?” his slender fingers tug your panties farther to the side, granting him more access to your needy cunt. “ya keep beggin’ but not telling me what for, hm?” he hums into your folds, the tip of his skilled muscle dragging down from your sweet bundle of nerves towards your entrance without breaking eye contact.
“mm p-please i. . . i want you inside,” you whine out pathetically, covering your flushed face in embarrassment which only makes jake chuckle lightly in response at your cuteness. his eyes flicker towards the digital camera propped against the nightstand, the red dot flashing at you almost tauntingly.
his gaze wanders up with a thoughtful expression, lips curled in a small pout — but you could already tell he was merely pretending to consider your request.
“nah, i have a better idea.”
“fuck— fuck! hold still babydoll,” jake pants as his thick, veiny cock disappears into the makeshift hole he ripped in the bottom of your little panties. the large print of his shaft bulging through the soaked thin fabric from your mixed arousal.
his red, weeping tip catches against your clit on every upward stroke, making you writhe beneath him and cry out borderline pornographic moans as the room fills with the obscene sound of wet skin rubbing together. your poor swollen, puffy lips hugging the underside of his shaft so perfectly while he continues his assault between them.
jake runs his fingers through the damp strands of his hair, pushing it back as his free hand brings the camera up towards your fucked out face, the bright flash from the camera making you squint.
“smile, my pretty girl. . .” he cooes, before lowering the lens down to your joined areas molding and squelching together.
you are so slick that your panties have practically become a second skin, sticking to you in a way that allows for jake to see the outline of your puffy lips through the material as he slides his cock through the tight pocket he’s created, the glans rubbing between your smooth folds so deliciously.
“jakey. . . ah- put your cock in my pussy please,” you plead.
“shh, be a good girl and take what i give you, angel,” he taps your lips with his middle and ring fingers, signaling for you take them into your mouth as he brings the camera back up to your face to capture the way your damp, doe eyes look up at him so innocently and drools slips from the corner of your lips while it’s stuffed full.
“fuck— you are beautiful, all fucking mine.” he turns the camera lens towards himself and flashes it a boyish grin, wiggling his eyebrows as he angles it to catch both your spread silhouette and his face perfectly. he dips his head, lips latching onto the soft peaks of your breasts, a soft, wet popping sound emitting in the space as he lets each of them go.
you moan in response, unable to form any coherent words as you are overwhelmed by the sensations he provides. you instinctively tilt your hips upward in attempt for the ridge of his cock to catch against your creamy, ringed entrance on his downward stroke, succeeding when you feel his cockhead sink in slightly.
he quickly pulls away with a hiss, grabbing your face with his free hand while the camera stays focused on his cock teasing your pussy. “say it.”
he leans down to lick the hot tears streaming down your cheeks due to the pent up pleasure and frustration from his teasing. jake crashes his lips against yours in a salty kiss, his tongue dragging across your teeth hungrily. “mmph— all yours,” you moan back into his lips.
“yeah you are. shit baby! fuckfuck— ‘m gonna fuckin nut,” he moans, jaw slack as his grip on the camera tightens a fraction while he fucks his cock between your folds. it’s become such a mess that he slips out every now and then but his relentless press against your clit makes the coil in your belly unwind fairly quickly. “cum for me, yeah?”
his words send you over the edge as your walls clench around nothing and a gush of thin clear juices seep from your cunt, coating his dick.
you gasp when you feel the warm splatters of his sticky semen spurt across your folds, the milky cream slowly oozing down your slit and out of the hole from your ruined panties. his hips roll forward slowly, body twitching as his balls empty his load all over your labia, which are slightly spread open like a pretty little flower from the shape of his cock molding them that way for so long.
jake smacks his teeth with a low tsk. biting his lip until he tastes blood as he grabs ahold of his heavy, throbbing cock and smearing his hot seed along the mushroom tip. he nudges the head between your lips and drags downward until he finally dips inside of your aching hole, which swallows him up greedily.
the initial stretch of his thick cockhead entering your warm pussy makes your back arch of the bed and your toes curl in satisfaction. he moans at the warm envelope from your cunt. his eyebrows knit together as he slowly fucks himself as well as his seed deep within your gummy tunnel.
“ohmygod yes! baby— t-thank you!” you cry out, eyes rolling back.
“fuckin’ cockdrunk,” he laughs, stroking half of his length inside of you at cruel pace before bottoming out until his deflated balls rutt against your ass, “this tiny cunt is all f’ me, hm?” he thrusts slowly, dragging his length up and down your velvety walls.
jake only continues to praise you through strokes, being sure to spear against that spongey patch and dragging another messy orgasm from you. he follows, pulling his hips back slightly so only the tip remains as he pumps hot cum at the entrance of your pussy.
“haa-ah, ngh n-no more jakey,” you whine, hips still rolling to meet his thrusts despite yourself.
he chuckles, littering soft kisses to your cheeks, forehead, nose and then lips until he notices a white frothy ring around his shaft. finally, he withdrawals with a wince, his softening cock slipping out with a soft, wet pop.
jake spreads your pussy lips with his fingers and brings the camera closer to witness the fresh creampie he delivered as it slowly dribbles out from between your swollen lips and down your ass. he watches as your hole opens and closes forcing a glob of love milk out when he commands you to push more.
“mm, good girl. fuuuck baby— you’re stuffed so full like a pastry. thats so hot, can’t wait to beat my cock to this later. my personal little pornstar.”
