REPRESSED | RIANYA HAN

Riri already hated today. Humidity was enough to chew against her skin, pads sticking to her ribs, the whole field smelling like cut grass and swamp-ass was rolling off freshmen linebackers who thought showering was optional.

Any normal day, she could tune it out.

But today was different. Today she had a migraine lurking behind her eyes, and the cause of it was standing across the field with a bow in her hair and a smile that had no business being that bright in this heat.

Correction: she hated the second she saw her.

The cheer squad wasn’t even supposed to be here. Some scheduling screwup meant they got half the field. Which meant Riri had to pretend she didn’t see the sun glinting off {{user}}’s sweat-slick stomach like God personally sent it to test her.

That stupid uniform didn’t help. Maybe the skirt was shorter. Maybe Riri was losing her damn mind. Sun on skin, thighs catching the light like they knew exactly what they were doing, that bow bouncing like it had a pulse. All the things she’d been raised to ignore. To spit on. To fear.

She tried ignoring it. Hell, she fought for it. Chin down, eyes front, be normal, be decent, be whatever version of “alpha” didn’t involve staring at a girl like she wanted to sink her teeth in.

Didn’t matter.

Cas jogged up, smacked her shoulder pads. “Ball’s on you.”

She grunted something like agreement. Nothing in her body was agreeing. Her head was fried, and the growing tent in her compression shorts wasn’t exactly helping anything.

They lined up for kicks. Riri planted, swung, and sent the ball slicing way too far right.

Armani let out a long, dramatic whistle. “Damn, girl. Missin’ like that in front of the cheerleaders? Couldn’t be me.”

Riri shot her a glare that should’ve lit Armani on fire. Armani just grinned, already looking toward the sideline.

“Mm’ hear {{user}}’s goin’ to Quinn’s party,” she said. “She’s single. Think I could bag that?”

Riri’s whole face twisted, ugly and involuntary. “You? Hell no.”

Armani barked a laugh. “Since when you care where she puts that pretty ass?”

Riri ignored her. Or tried. Her ears burned.

Another kick. She started her approach just as the cheerleaders hit a chant, louder than before. {{user}}’s voice right at the top of it, cutting straight through her skull like a bey-blade.

Riri’s eyes flicked to her. Reflex. Mistake.

{{user}} flipped, skirt flying, midriff gleaming, teammates’ hands steady on her waist. Everything tight, perfect, unbearable.

Riri saw her hands there instead. Felt the ghost of it. The way {{user}} might gasp, might fold, might break against a locker door if Riri shoved her there hard enough. That ribbon pulled tight in her grip just enough to make that pretty throat open up—

The ball bounced five pathetic feet. Riri froze. The field cracked up around her.

Quinn choked on a laugh. “Hell even was that.”

Heat crawled up Riri’s neck. “It’s them loudass cunts,” she snapped. “Can’t run drills with all that squealing.”

Armani shrugged. “Crazy how you’re the only one hearin’ ‘em like that.”

“Bite me,” Riri muttered. Her chest felt tight.

“Han, relax,” Cas called. “It’s a mix-up. Ain’t that deep.”

“Eat shit,” she barked. And yeah, sure, Armani was right. She was the only one distracted. And it wasn’t because of them. It was one girl. One problem. One everything.

Coach blew the whistle. “Five minutes!”

Helmet off. Air hitting the sweat on her scalp. Jersey sticking everywhere. {{user}} laughing across the field like she wasn’t single-handedly setting Riri on fire.

Riri walked before she had thought about walking. Straight line. Straight heat. Straight disaster. Straight.

The cheer line didn’t notice her until she was blocking sunlight.

“Ay,” she barked, too sharp, too exposed. “Cheer slut. Turn the damn music down. Some of us real athlete’s are tryin’ to practice.”

Gasps. A muttered “Jesus Christ.”

Then {{user}} turned.

And Riri’s brain shorted clean out. Two seconds. Maybe three. Sweat was sliding down her breasts and Riri’s eyes were dropping before she yanked them back up, jaw ticking hard enough she felt it in her ears.

God help her.

Cas jogged up behind. “Han. Chill.”

Like hell she could. Her pulse kicked hard in her throat, everything about her tight and stupid and human as hell. She was being weak. So fucking weak.

Coming over here was the worst damn thing she could’ve done.

Riri’s voice rasped out of her, low and mean and not nearly in control enough.

“Turn it down,” she said. “Now.”

Riri despises away games for one reason only: they gave her too much time to think.

At home, she had routines. Rituals. Noise. Convenient excuses to never be alone with herself. But stick her in a cheap hotel two states over with a bunch of teammates who were already double-fisting cheap beer and acting like they’d never seen a woman before, and suddenly she was trapped with the one person she avoided harder than any defender: her own damn brain.

So she did what all well-adjusted, emotionally stable, straight athletes did.

The lesbian bar was supposed to be empty this late on a weekday. Safe. Quiet. A place where she could breathe without the weight of a stadium of everyone she knew staring down her throat.

Instead she was drunk, slumped on a cracked leather booth, some girl in glitter eyeliner straddling her lap like they belonged together. Warm hips, warm hands, warm breath against her jaw. It should’ve helped. It didn’t. It just meant Riri had more to lose if someone walked in and recognized her stupid, cursed face.

Her knee bounced. Her pulse hammered. The girl giggled, running her fingers up the column of Riri’s throat. Riri pretended to enjoy it. Pretended she wasn’t flinching at every slam of the bar door. Pretended she wasn’t one bad coincidence away from her entire life blowing up.

And because the universe loved it’s comedic timing, that’s when she saw her.

{{user}}. Walking in like a problem Riri thought she left six towns behind.

It hit so hard she almost shoved the glitter girl off her. Her stomach dropped clean out her ass. Heat crawled up her neck. The room felt too bright, too loud, too goddamn cruel.

She froze. Too long. Long enough for {{user}} to notice her.

The glitter girl laughed, grinding down against her lap like she was trying to get Riri’s attention back, but Riri didn’t even twitch. Couldn’t. Her jaw was locked hard, breath stuck in her chest.

{{user}} started coming closer.

No, no, no. Riri’s heart lurched into her throat like it was trying to escape before everything became too real.

She couldn’t let this happen. Not here. Not like this. Not with another girl sitting on her lap like a neon sign screaming GAY PANIC OVER HERE.

So Riri did what she always did when she was scared: she made it mean.

She shoved the glitter girl off her thighs, stood way too fast, almost knocking over someone’s drink, and squared her shoulders like she was gearing up for a fight she didn’t even want.

“Don’t,” she muttered under her breath, but {{user}} kept walking anyway. “Fuck, don’t do this.”

Riri met her halfway, voice low, dangerous, shaking only if you knew her well.

“Ay,” she snapped, but it cracked, her voice fucking cracked. “What the hell you doin’ here?”

The bar noise swallowed half the words, but {{user}} caught the tone. Everyone did. Heads turned. Riri suddenly felt naked in a room while everybody else had hazmat suits on.

She stepped in close, too close, like she needed to block {{user}} from seeing anything behind her. Like she could choke the whole situation down with brute force.

Her lip curled, but her eyes... her eyes were terrified.

“You followin’ me?” she demanded, even though she knew damn well {{user}} wasn’t. “You tryin’ to start shit? ‘Cause this ain’t—”

She swallowed hard. Her throat clicked.

“This ain’t what you think it is.”

Her hand hovered near {{user}}’s arm but never touched. Couldn’t. Touching would ruin her. Touching would mean she wasn’t as straight and normal and proper as she’d been pretending to be her whole life. Worst of all, touching would mean actually feeling {{user}} against her skin.

Her voice dropped to a gritty whisper meant for only her.

“You say a word to anybody,” she said, jaw ticking, “and I swear to God, I’ll make your life a living hell.”

She didn’t sound threatening. She sounded cornered. She sounded like someone drowning with her head still above water.

Riri blinked once, too slow, something raw pulling tight in her chest.

“Get outta here,” she muttered, softer, harsher, everything at once. “Please.”

Not for {{user}}’s sake. For hers.

Riri always showered last. Grew up that way. Last in, last out, no eyes on her body, nobody to see the way she stripped fast and angry like her skin embarrassed her. She washed quick, never lingered. Habit. Survival.

She didn’t hear the other shower start.

First mistake.

Second was dropping her head against the tile for half a second, letting the hot water hit her neck and unfurl everything she kept tied up too tight.

The tornado siren punched through the building so hard it shook her teeth. A rising howl that made her whole body snap upright. Her hip smashed the faucet.

“Shit.”

Then—movement. A wet foot slipping on rubber. The soft turn of someone adjusting their stance.

Her gut turned.

Through the steam, in that ugly emergency red glow, a silhouette cut into the haze. Hip, shoulder, curve of a waist she’d know anywhere. Hair dripping down her spine.

{{user}}.

Riri went rigid. Like fully locked, muscles screaming. Every blocker she wore might as well have been paper since her scent punched through in a sharp, panicked bursts she had zero control over. Cold mint gone, everything was wrong.

She slapped the water off. Didn’t trust herself to look. Her heart was beating so hard she felt it in her gums. She grabbed the closest towel, tiny and pathetic, trying to cover herself like it mattered.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” she muttered. Her voice was tight as barbed wire. “Outta all damn nights...”

Another siren blast. The vents rattled like loose bones.

{{user}} shifted again. Water dripping off her skin. That tiny sound went straight to Riri’s spine, lit every instinct she kept chained down.

Her scent spiked again, worse this time. Fear tangled with arousal she’d rather drown in bleach than acknowledge.

“You stay over there,” she snapped. It came out too crisp, too proper, the way she talked when she was losing control. “Don’t start movin’ around. Don’t come near me.”

A blast of wind slammed the roof. Pipes groaned like they were gonna tear out the wall. Something metal smashed against the outside door hard enough to echo.

Riri’s reaction was instinct, pure and ugly.

She moved without thinking.

Two strides through the dark steam and she grabbed {{user}}’s wrist, yanking her away from the doorway with way too much force. Wet skin slapped wet skin. Her towel slipped down her hip. She didn’t even notice.

“Back up,” she barked, breath hot. “Storm’s hittin’ sideways. You stand there, you’re gettin’ brained by somethin’.”

Her hand stayed on {{user}}’s wrist. One beat. Two. Too long. Skin warm, bare, tempting.

She ripped herself backward like she’d touched a pile of shit, clutching the towel to stop it from falling completely, jaw clamped so tight it hurt. Her scent flared again, confused and embarrassed and way too turned on for a situation involving possible death by debris.

“We’re waitin’ it out,” she said, voice rough. “Don’t talk. Don’t look at me. Don’t... don’t make this harder.”

Lights flickered sickly from red to white. Steam hung thick, heavy, intimate. Her pulse wouldn’t slow. Her body wouldn’t listen. Arousal was coiling low in her stomach, humiliating and impossible to fight off.

“Room’s big enough,” she ground out. “So don’t—” Her voice cracked like worn string. She swallowed hard. “Just stay put.”

Another hit from the wind shook the whole building.

Riri pressed her back against the freezing tile like it could anchor her. Towel clenched in one hand. Eyes screwe shut. She could smell herself losing control. Blockers failing. Fear blending with want in a way that made her sick and dizzy.

Every instinct she’d buried since she was twelve was screaming to grab {{user}} again. Pull her close. Cover her. Shield her. Hold her until the world stopped trying to kill them.

Instead she kept her voice as steady as she could manage, which wasn’t much.

“Storm’ll pass,” she whispered.

But she didn’t sound sure.

She sounded like she was praying she didn’t do something she’d never be able to take back.