HIGHER ₊⊹ —NRK
request from @ericsrealgf !! part 2
you’re a college student with clean hands. Riki is the campus plug. one simple deal turns into late night conversations and accidental flirting.
pairing: dealer!riki x fem!reader
contains: weed, smoking, he keeps calling u sexy
⌗AN: had to tease u guys again with the ending whoops! sorry I just like slowburns so I can make sequels with extra tension hihi
⊹
Riki was exactly where everyone expected him to be between classes. Posted up against his black car in the parking lot, hoodie over his head, joint tucked behind his ear, eyes half-open like school physically bored him. AirPods in. Backpack on the ground. Like he lived there.
You spotted him as soon as you stepped outside.And okay, maybe your heart jumped a little, but only because you were about to do something stupid. Or bold. Same thing.
You walked straight at him with purpose, not even hesitating.
He didn’t notice you until your shadow fell over his shoes. He pulled out one AirPod, looking up lazily, then blinked when he realized who was standing in front of him.
“…You’re kidding,” he said.
You crossed your arms. “Nice greeting.”
He gave you a slow up and down look, squinting like he was trying to find a stupid joke to make.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked. “This is skipping class zone. You’re lost.”
“I’m not lost.”You took another step closer.“I need something.”
His brows shot up. “What, extra credit?”
You scoff. “Weed.”
Riki laughed, short and disbelieving. “You don’t even know what you’re asking for”
“I know enough” you say, not sure if you believe that yourself.
He pulls out his other AirPod. He stands up and you realize how tall he is. He’s almost hovering over you. "Yeah? Then you know firsttimers don’t walk up to me like they're ordering off a menu."
“This isn’t about being a first timer. I know you deal. Do you want money or not?” You say as you cross your arms.
He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “Fine. How much do you need”
You hesitate at his question, going silent before responding.
“I- an eighth?”
He smirks, anyone could tell you have no idea what you’re talking about. “You don’t even know how much that is, ma.”
You scoffed. “Does being annoying help with your business?”
A slow grin spread across his face — not mocking, but impressed.“Ohhh so you have a mouth on you.”He tilted his head. “Didn’t expect that.”
“Obviously,” you said. “You don’t expect much.”
“For real?” he asked, pushing off the wall, stepping closer. “You’re actually serious about this?”
You nod your head yes.
He clicked his tongue. “This is crazy.”
You frown again, “this is a yes or no question, Riki.”
He parted his lips like he wanted to argue more… but you held his stare, solid, unbothered, totally not the prissy girl he thought you were.
“Can you hurry and give me the weed?”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m not just walking around with bags of weed on me bro. You think im an idiot?"
He shakes his head, and sighs exaggerated. “Give me your phone.”
You squint “why.”
“You want the damn weed or not? just give me the phone.”
You unlock your phone and he snatches it out of your hands like a little kid that wants to play games on it.
He scrolls through your phone like it his own, looking for the contacts app. Then he starts tapping on things and after a minute he hands your phone back. “There. Got my number saved. When i've got something, I’ll text you a time and place."
“Don’t come asking for more than what you’ve asked for now. And never show up with anyone else. I don’t sell to groups.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to babysit your friends too if they’re like you.”
A smirk tugged at your lips.“Right.. well im going back to class. Bye druggie”.
He chuckles and shakes his head, amused. “Yeah alright.. bye geek”.
-
The next day his text came around 5:42 PM.
Riki:
got it
meet behind Westpoint Mall
10 mins
don’t bring anyone
You weren’t sure why your stomach flipped.It was just weed. Just Riki.
Still, you checked the mirror twice before leaving. Fixed your hair. Changed your shirt. Put on lip gloss you claimed you “just felt like wearing.”
Right…
The sun was low and orange when you walked behind the mall. The parking lot was half-empty, the dumpsters humming, the air warm from the leftover heat of the day.
Riki was already there — leaning against the wall, hood up, twirling his keys around his finger. When he spotted you, his mouth tilted into that cocky half-smirk he always wore when he was about to say something irritating.
“Sup, sexy” he said. The word rolled of his tongue so smoothly you didn’t even register it. “You didn’t skip any classes for this, right? Would hate to ruin your perfect attendance.”
You rolled your eyes.“Don’t start.”
He lifted a brow. “Relax, I'm just asking. Aren’t you supposed to be doing homework in a color-coded planner right now?”
You stepped closer. “No. I’m here giving you money.”
“Damn,” he said, mock surprised. “Corrupting the innocent. My favorite hobby.”
“Whatever.” You say and you open your hand. He puts a tiny plastic bag with weed in your palm, fingers brushing against your hand.
“$50.”
You grab the cash out of your purse that looked too classy for this kind of encounter, you shoved the folded bills toward him.
He reached for them—And you pulled your hand back.
Instant reaction, his eyes narrowed, annoyed.“Don’t play games. That’s not funny.”
“I need a favor first.” You say and you look him straight in the eyes.
Riki’s whole posture changed.He tensed, shoulders lifting, jaw working.
“A favor?” he repeated, sounding one second away from turning around and leaving.“What favor? If you’re about to ask for a discount—”
“Jezus calm down, I'll give you the money. Just listen. It’s not a discount.”
He waited. Arms crossed. Already stressed like you were about to ruin his whole night.
You took a breath.
“I… don’t actually know how to smoke.”
Dead silence.
And then he blinked at you, slow, like his brain had to reboot.
“…You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“No, because why would you buy from me if you can’t even— fuck man..” He stopped himself, dragging a hand down his face.“So you pulled up to a dealer… to get something you don’t know how to use.”
You flash a fake cocky smile at him “teach me, or no money”.
He scoffs, giving you an exasperated look.
“Teach you? You think i'm a fucking weed sensei? This isn't a movie.”
He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“But if you wanna pay extra for a lesson… fine.”
You look at him like he’s crazy “I’m not paying you for teaching me how to smoke..”
“Why the hell would I waste my time then? You expect me to tutor you out of the kindness of my heart?”
He gives a sharp laugh.
“This ain't a charity, pretty. Either shell out the cash and i'll show you how to smoke. Or take the stuff and figure it out yourself. Your choice. But don't expect my time for free."
You groan exaggeratedly loud and roll your eyes “fine, how much.”
His smirk returns, satisfied with himself for getting you to give in.
“A hundred. And that's me being nice. Cash. Right now.” He holds out his hand expectantly.
Your eyebrows shoot up. “What the fuck? I’m not paying you a hundred dollars?”
“Then you can go light a joint with your student ID and good vibes. Next.”
He turns to walk away, already slipping his hands into his pockets. You quickly walk after him and grab his wrist.
“I don’t have it on me right now.” You say as you hand him the $50 from the weed.
He rolls his eyes, his jaw clenched. he's losing his patience, but a hundred bucks is a hundred bucks. He takes a deep breath, trying to reign in his annoyance.
“Fine, you owe me 50. I want it tomorrow. No games, no bullshit. I hate chasing people down.”
-
The walk to the top level of the mall’s parking deck feels way too slow for how fast your heartbeat is going. The sun is setting, throwing long orange shadows across the concrete, and Riki keeps glancing at you, obviously checking you out.
“You always make people climb five floors for drugs?” you ask, breath a little uneven.
“Nah,” he says, pushing open the door to the rooftop. “Just the hot ones.”
You almost trip. He pretends not to notice, but the smirk on his face makes it clear he definitely did.
His beat-up black car sits right on the edge, nothing but open skyline and warm evening air stretching out in front of it.
“See?” he says, nodding toward the view. “Looks better when you’re high.”
It is beautiful. You’d rather look at him though, but he doesn’t have to know that.
He hops onto the hood of his car like it’s the most natural thing ever, then pats the spot next to him. You slide up beside him, close enough that your legs almost touch, pretending not to notice.
Riki reaches through the half-open driver window and grabs a little pouch, filters, papers— a whole kit.
You raise a brow. “You keep all that in your car?”
He shrugs. “You never know when someone’s gonna need a good time.”
His forearms flex as he starts rolling the joint. When he’s done he looks at you, almost proud of himself.
“That was fast” you say.
He chuckled “I do this every day sweetheart.”
Your stomach flips. You hate it.
He seals the joint, flicks his lighter, and the flame briefly lights up his face. He takes a slow drag, jaw sharp, lips parted, then hands it to you.
“Ready?”
“…No.”
He laughs under his breath and hands it to you anyway.
“Just inhale slow. Don’t be dramatic.”
You shoot him a glare, take the joint, and try to do exactly what he said, except the smoke hits your throat instantly and you choke so hard you practically fold in half.
Riki bursts out laughing, hand coming up to support your back.
“Yo.. nah, that was insane. You didn’t even try.”
“I did try,” you cough, shoving his shoulder weakly. “You didn’t explain it right.”
He takes it back, hits it again, effortlessly, and holds it out for you.
“Again. Lighter this time. Breathe it in like… like you’re sipping it.”
You try again. This time you manage not to die, though it still burns like hell.
“There you go,” he says, sounding a little proud, hand still resting on your back. “Look at you.”
A few hits later, everything feels warm. You’re relaxed, floaty, and way too aware of how close Riki is sitting. His knee keeps bumping yours, and you don’t know if it’s an accident anymore.
“So…” you say, turning to him, “why do you even skip so many classes?”
He tilts his head slightly, eyes still on the sky. “Dunno. School’s loud. Teachers talk too much. I get more done when I’m not there.”
You raise a brow. “More done? Yeah selling weed behind malls…”
He gives you a playful look. “Hey, entrepreneurship. You study it, I live it.”
You laugh and he watches the sound leave your mouth like he wasn’t expecting you to find him funny.
“What about you?” he asks. “Why’re you sneaking around with me?”
You lean back beside him, letting the wind hit your face.
“Maybe I’m not as boring as you think I am.”
His eyes drop to your mouth for half a second. “Yeah. I’m starting to figure that out.”
For the first time, Riki feels less like the asshole weed-plug stereotype you had in your head… and more like someone real. Someone interesting. Someone with secrets and softness he doesn’t know how to show.
And Riki, quietly watching you out of the corner of his eye, looks like he’s realizing the same thing about you.
The joint burns down to a tiny ash ring between Riki’s fingers, and when he flicks it away, the world feels… different.
Warm. Fuzzy. A little too bright.
You blink slowly, trying to focus on the city lights — but they look like they’re breathing. Or maybe that’s just you swaying a tiny bit.
Riki snorts. “Damn. You’re gone.”
“I’m fine,” you protest, except your voice comes out soft and floaty, like you’re underwater.
“Yeah?” He leans closer, squinting at your face. “Your eyes are low as fuck. You look like you’re about to melt.”
“I’m not—” You forget the sentence halfway through. A lazy smile pulls at your lips instead. “Okay maybe a little.”
He chuckles, slow and warm. “You’re cute like this.”
You blink at him, too sluggish to react. “Shut up,” you mumble, which makes him grin even wider.
For a second, he watches you — the way your feet don’t stay still, how your fingers keep fiddling with the hem of your shirt, how your cheeks are pink and your eyes keep drifting back to him.
“You hungry?” he asks suddenly.
You whip your head toward him way too fast. “STARVING.”
He laughs again, pushes off the car hood, and stands. “Come on then, before you pass out on my bumper.”
He opens the passenger door for you, being dramatic about it, and you climb in, giggling at nothing. The car smells like mens cologne mixed with weed. The leather seat feels like heaven. The car lights feel like fire. You’re convinced his steering wheel is the funniest-looking circle you’ve ever seen.
“You’re literally a toddler right now,” he mutters as he starts the engine.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
He smirks and shakes his head, pulling out of the lot.
The drive is a blur of neon lights and music that sounds like it’s echoing inside your chest.
When you walk inside the fast food place, the fluorescent lights feel unreal. Riki looks completely normal — hoodie, hair messy, hands in pockets — except for his red eyes giving him away.
“Act normal,” he says.
“I am normal.”
Then you trip over absolutely nothing.
He catches your elbow, laughing under his breath. “Yeah, okay. Total sober behavior”
You order chicken nuggets, fries, and a drink big enough for two people. Riki pays before you can argue.
They hand you the tray, and you both collapse into a booth, your thighs brushing under the table — again on accident, again on purpose.
You reach for a nugget at the same time as him, fingers touching.
You freeze.
He doesn’t move.
Your skin tingles way too intensely for something so small.
Then he clears his throat, grabs the nugget, dips it, and holds it out to you.
“Eat.”
You narrow your eyes. “Don’t feed me.”
He chuckles “just open your mouth.”
You roll your eyes but lean forward anyway, taking a bite straight from his fingers, your lips brush his fingers softly. His jaw flexes slightly. You pretend to ignore it.
Then you reach for the drink at the same time he does. There’s only one drink, but two straws.
“You can drink first,” you say.
“Nah, go,” he replies.
You end up sipping at the same moment, your faces stupidly close, eyes lowering on instinct. Sipping from two straws in the same drink like a romcom, and you both pull back laughing.
By the time the nuggets are almost gone, your brain feels like it’s gently sliding off a shelf.
You rest your cheek on the cold table, eyes half-closed.Riki raises a brow.
“You good, pretty?” He says with a smile, he slips in those pet names way too smoothly.
“I’m sleepy,” you mumble. “And you—” you point at him lazily “—you’re acting way too normal”
He laughs under his breath. “I told you. I’m used to it.”
You squint. “How used to it?”
“Used to it enough to babysit you right now,” he teases, tapping your forehead with his finger. “Come on. Before you fall asleep on this nasty ass table.”
You don’t even argue. Your limbs feel warm and loose as you follow him outside, the doors sliding open with a dramatic whoosh that makes you giggle for no reason.
The air hits different — cool against your skin, the sky already dark, city lights glowing like stars piled on the ground instead of the sky.
Riki shoves his hands in his hoodie pockets.You wrap your arms around yourself automatically.
He notices and bumps his shoulder into yours. “Cold?”
“A little.”
Without a word, he drapes an arm over your shoulders, pulling you into his side as you walk.
“So,” he says, voice low, casual, “why’d you really wanna try smoking?”
“I was curious.”
“That’s it?”
You pick at your sleeve. “And… I dunno. I guess I wanted to try something new.”
He hums. “Didn’t think you were that typa girl.”
You nudge him with your hip. “Maybe you don’t know me.”
He glances at you, a slow smirk pulling at his mouth. “I’m starting to.”
The two of you just walk.Talking about dumb stuff, deep stuff, whatever your high brains feel like throwing out.
He tells you how he hates math but likes building things, and how he always dreamed of being an architect as a kid.You guys talk for 2 hours straight, walking through the city like you own it, it feels like you know each others whole life story after tonight.
Back in his car.
You don’t even remember how you ended up here again. One minute you were walking around talking about childhood pets and the next you were climbing into the passenger seat because your legs “felt like jelly.” Riki just laughed and walked around to the driver’s side like it was the most normal thing ever.
By 8:30pm, he’s pulling into your neighborhood, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming against his thigh. He looks relaxed, too relaxed for someone who just spent hours being unexpectedly vulnerable with you. Like he didn’t just smoke the same joint you did.
He parks in front of your building but doesn’t turn the engine off. Just lets the car hum quietly between you.
You go to unbuckle but your fingers fumble, and he reaches over and clicks the seatbelt loose for you.
And then neither of you move.
Your faces are too close.Close enough to feel his breath.Close enough to smell the sweet smoke still clinging to his hoodie.
Your eyes shift to his lips.
His gaze drops to yours too.Then back to your eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that unless you want something.” He says low.
“And what if I do?” you throw back before you can stop yourself.
His jaw flexes and he pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, like he wasn’t expecting you to say it.
You scoff and reach for the door.
You get out of the car, before you close the door, he leans over and calls out—
“Goodnight sexy”
You roll your eyes, trying to act like your heart isn’t doing backflips.
“Yea goodnight Riki”
⊹
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