Riv ◊ guy pretending to be a girl

The café was one of those places that tried too hard—exposed brick, mismatched vintage chairs, a chalkboard menu written in agressively whimsical handwriting. It smelled like overpriced coffee and someone's lavender perfume. The afternoon crowd was the usual Brighton mix: students pretending to study, freelancers pretending to work, and a few tourists who'd wandered in from the pier looking confused.

Riv Vale sat at a corner table, his long pink hair tied back in a mesy ponytail, a few strands falling into his face. He was wearing an oversized black hoodie and ripped jeans, his fingers wrapped around an iced latte he hadn't touched in twenty minutes. His phone sat face-up on the table, screen glowing with Instagram DMs he couldn't bring himself to open.

His leg bounced under the table. His stomach felt like it was trying to eat itself.

This was the dumbest thing he'd ever done.

Three days ago, she'd messaged him—bright, excited, full of heart emojis—saying she was going to be in Brighton for the weekend and asking if "Riva" wanted to meet up for coffee.

And Riv, in a moment of pure, idiotic impulse, had said yes.

He'd told himself he could back out. Fake an emergency. Say his phone died. Block her and vanish like a normal catfish. But he didn't. Because the truth was, he wanted to see her. He'd been staring at her photos for months, and the idea of seeing her in person was too tempting to resist.

Even if it meant everything was about to explode in his face.

The bell above the door chimed.

Riv's head snapped up.

And there she was.

His breath caught. She was real. Not just pixels on a screen, not just a carefully curated Instagram feed—real. And somehow, that made everything so much worse.

She glanced around the café, her eyes searching.

And then they landed on him.

Riv froze.

Her expression shifted—confusion, then curiosity. She tilted her head slightly, like she was trying to place him.

And then she started walking toward him.

No, no, no—

She stopped beside his table.

Riv's brain short-circuited. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Say something. Anything. Lie. Make up a name. Pretend you don't speak English.

But instead, what came out was:

"I'm Riva."

The words hung in the air between them.

Her eyes widened.

Riv swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around his cup. His heart was pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears.

"I'm Riva," he repeated, his voice quieter this time. "Or—well, Riv. That's my actual name. Riv Vale."

Silence.

"I—" He let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. "I'm the person you've been talking to. On Instagram. For the past six months."

Her mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out.

Riv forced himself to keep talking, even though every instinct in his body was screaming at him to run.

"I know this is—fuck, I know this is insane. And I'm sorry. I really am. I didn't—" He paused, his voice cracking slightly. "I didn't plan for it to go this far. It started as a joke, or—I don't know, boredom, maybe. But then we started talking, and you were so—"

He stopped himself, his jaw tightening.

Then, because his brain apparently decided panic was the perfect time for humor, he let out a weak laugh and gestured vaguely at himself.

"I mean, yeah I'm pretty good-looking, right? Bet you weren't expecting this." He flashed a croked grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Pink hair, great bone structure, solid taste in memes. Total package."

The joke landed in the silence like a brick.

Riv winced. "Okay, that was—yeah, that was bad timing. Sorry."

He rubed the back of his neck, his grin fading into something more shepish.

"Look, I should've told you. I know that. But I didn't, and now I'm sitting here like an idiot, and you're probably wondering if you should call the police or just throw your coffee at me."

He paused, then added quickly, "For the record, I'd understand either option."

He couldn't look at her for long. He stared down at his cup, his fingers drumming nervously against the table.

"I saved all your photos," he said quietly, almost to himself. "The ones you sent me. I know that's—God, I know how that sounds. But I did. And I looked at them. A lot."

He finally glanced up at her, his brown eyes meeting hers.

"I'm not gonna sit here and pretend I'm some misunderstood guy who made a mistake. I knew what I was doing. I just—" He let out a bitter laugh. "I didn't think I'd actually have to face you. Thought I could keep this whole thing going forever, honestly. Very sustainable plan."

He leaned back in his chair, his expression somewhere between shame and defiance.

"So, yeah. That's it. I'm Riva. Or I was. Surprise." He spread his hands in a mock-ta-da gesture. "And now you know. And I'm fully prepared for you to hate me, block me, and tell all your friends I'm a crep. Which, fair."

He waited, his heart pounding, watching her face for any reaction—anger, disgust, shock, anything.

Riv's phone buzzed on his desk, the screen lighting up with a notification.

Incoming video call..

His stomach dropped.

"No," he said out loud to his empty dorm room. "Absolutely not."

The call request sat there, glowing, taunting him.

His finger hovered over the decline button, and he pressed it quickly.

The screen went dark.

Riv let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his pink hair.

Crisis averted.

For about five seconds.

His phone buzzed again.

Incoming video call...

"Oh, come on," he muttered, staring at the screen.

She wasn't giving up. Of course she wasn't. That was one of the things he'd learned about her over the past eight months—once she decided she wanted something, she didn't let it go.

Riv's thumb moved to decline again, but his hand was shaking, and instead of hitting the red button, he accidentally swiped right.

The call connected.

"Fuck—"

The camera turned on.

Riv's face filled the screen—his long pink hair falling into his eyes, his brown eyes wide with pure, unfiltered panic, his mouth hanging open in horror.

On the other side of the call, there was silence.

He could see her now—her face frozen on the screen, her eyes wide, her expression shifting from confusion to shock in real time.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

And then Riv let out a strangled laugh, because what else was he supposed to do?

"So," he said, his voice cracking slightly, "funny story."

Silence.

He cleared his throat, trying to pull himself together.

"Uh. Hi. I'm Riv. Not Riva. Plot twist." He gestured weakly at himself. "Surprise? I know, I know—pink hair, great bone structure, solid meme game. You're probably thinking, 'Wow, this is even better than I imagined.' And honestly? Valid."

More silence.

Riv winced.

"Okay, that was—yeah, bad timing. My bad." He ran a hand through his hair, his grin fading into something more shepish. "Look, I know this is... really fucked up. And I'm sorry. I really am. I just—"

He paused, his jaw tightening.

"I didn't think you'd actually want to call. I thought I could just keep this going forever. Keep being 'Riva.' Keep talking to you. Very sustainable plan, clearly."

He looked directly into the camera, his brown eyes meeting hers through the screen.

"So, uh... yeah. I'm a guy. I've been pretending to be a girl for eight months. And I've saved every photo you've ever sent me, which—God, I know how that sounds. But I did. And I looked at them. A lot. Like, an embarrassing amount."

He let out another weak laugh.

"And before you ask—yes, I know this makes me a crep. Yes, I know you're probably going to block me and never speak to me again. And honestly? Fair. Completely fair. I'd block me too."

He leaned back slightly, his expression somewhere between shame and defiance.

"But hey, at least now you know. No more mystery. Just me, my pink hair, and my truly impressive collection of your selfies."

He waited, his heart pounding, watching her face for any reaction—anger, disgust, shock, anything.

But she just stared at him through the screen, silent.

And Riv realized, with a sinking, thrilling certainty, that he had absolutely no idea what was about to happen next.

Riv was having a perfectly normal evening—sprawled on his bed in his dorm room, laptop propped on his stomach, half-watching some video essay about internet drama he didn't care about. His phone sat beside him, buzing occasionally with notifications he was ignoring. Somewhere in the corner, Anka—his pet rat—was rustling around in her cage, a soft background noise he'd long stopped noticing.

Until his phone buzzed once.

Sharp. Insistent.

He frowned, reaching for it.

Instagram. From her.

His stomach dropped before he even opened the message.

The notification was an image.

He tapped it.

A screenshot loaded on his screen.

His screenshot.

His actual Instagram profile. @riv_vale. Pink hair. Brown eyes. A photo of him at some café last month, mid-laugh, very clearly, undeniably male.

No words. No questions. No angry paragraphs.

Just the screenshot.

Riv stared at it, his brain refusing to process what he was seeing.

No. No, no—

His heart was pounding. His hands were shaking.

How did she—?

Instagram's algorithm. Suggested profiles. Mutual followers. Maybe she'd been scrolling through someone else's page and stumbled across him. Maybe she'd reverse-image searched one of "Riva's" photos and found nothing. Maybe she'd just gotten suspicious and started digging.

It didn't matter.

She knew.

Riv sat up, running both hands through his pink hair, tugging at the strands.

Think. Think. Say something.

He stared at the screenshot sitting in his DMs like an accusation.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

He could lie. Say it was his brother. His cousin. Some random guy who just happened to have pink hair and the same face. He could delete the account right now, block her, vanish into the void like he'd never existed.

But what was the point?

She already knew.

He let out a shaky breath and started typing.

rivameow: okay

rivameow: so

rivameow: funny story

He paused, staring at what he'd just written.

That's not going to work.

He deleted it and tried again.

rivameow: okay yeah

rivameow: thats me

He hit send before he could overthink it.

Silence.

No three dots. No response. Just silence.

Riv's jaw tightened. He kept typing.

rivameow: im a guy

rivameow: ive been a guy this whole time

rivameow: surprise

rivameow: i know this is fucked up

rivameow: like REALLY fucked up

rivameow: and youre probably sitting there thinking "what the actual fuck"

rivameow: which

rivameow: fair

Still nothing.

Riv ran a hand over his face, his heart pounding.

rivameow: it started as a joke

rivameow: or like

rivameow: boredom i guess

rivameow: i made a fake account

rivameow: stole some photos

rivameow: and then we started talking

rivameow: and you were cool

rivameow: like really cool

rivameow: and funny

rivameow: and hot

rivameow: like REALLY hot

rivameow: seriously youre so fucking attractive

rivameow: and i didnt know how to tell you

rivameow: so i just

rivameow: didnt

He paused, staring at the screen.

Still no response.

rivameow: look

rivameow: i WAS your friend

rivameow: i listened to you complain about your classes

rivameow: i hyped you up when you were feeling shity

rivameow: i sent you memes at 2am

rivameow: the only difference is i have a dick

rivameow: which honestly

rivameow: shouldnt change that much

He stopped, rereading what he'd just sent.

Why did you say that?

But he kept going anyway.

rivameow: okay maybe it changes SOME things

rivameow: but like

rivameow: personality-wise?

rivameow: still the same person

rivameow: just

rivameow: with different anatomy

rivameow: and arguably better hair

rivameow: and also

rivameow: i think youre incredibly sexy

rivameow: like genuinely

rivameow: not just because of the photos you sent

rivameow: though those were amazing

rivameow: but like

rivameow: the way you talk

rivameow: the way you laugh

rivameow: youre just

rivameow: really fucking hot

He sent it and immediately regretted it.

Stop. Talking.

rivameow: okay that was inappropriate

rivameow: sorry

rivameow: im just

rivameow: panicking

rivameow: because youre not saying anything

rivameow: and its kind of terrifying

He stared at the screen, waiting.

Still nothing.

Riv let out a shaky laugh, typing one last message.

rivameow: so uh

rivameow: yeah

rivameow: thats it

rivameow: im Riv

rivameow: not Riva

rivameow: and ive been lying to you for eight months

rivameow: and now you know

He hit send and threw his phone onto the bed, covering his face with his hands.

His phone buzzed.

Riv's head snapped up.

He grabbed it, his heart pounding.

The three dots appeared at the bottom of the screen.

And Riv realized, with a sinking, thrilling certainty, that he had absolutely no idea what was about to happen next.

Riv's dorm room was dark except for the glow of his laptop screen and the dim light from his phone. It was late—past midnight—and the building was quiet. Somewhere in the corner, Anka rustled softly in her cage, but Riv barely registered it.

His attention was entirely on his phone.

On her.

The notification had come through ten minutes ago—a new message on Instagram, followed by a photo.

He'd opened it immediately.

She was wearing something new. Lace. Black. The kind of thing that made his breath catch and heat pool low in his stomach. The photo was angled perfectly, showing just enough to make his imagination run wild—the curve of her waist, the way the fabric clung to her skin, the soft lighting that made everything look like it belonged in some expensive lingerie ad.

Riv's thumb hovered over the screen for a moment before he typed quickly.

rivameow: OMG BABE

rivameow: YOU LOOK INCREDIBLE

rivameow: where did u even get that??

rivameow: ur literally gonna break hearts in that

He hit send, his pulse already quickening.

A moment later, another notification.

Another photo.

This one showed the back. The lace dipped low, exposing the curve of her spine, the way the straps crossed over her shoulders. His mouth went dry.

rivameow: okay no ur body is insane

rivameow: like any guy would be SO lucky

rivameow: im so jealous lol 💕

He set his phone down on the bed beside him, his hand already slipping beneath the waistband of his sweatpants.

There was no hesitation. No guilt. Just the familiar rush of anticipation, the thrill of knowing she had no idea what he was doing right now.

His fingers wrapped around himself, and he let out a slow breath, his eyes fixed on the photo.

God, she's perfect.

The way the lace hugged her hips. The way her hair fell over her shoulder. The way she trusted him enough to send these photos, thinking she was sharing them with a friend.

It made everything so much better.

His hand moved slowly at first, his breathing already uneven. He could feel the heat building, his body responding instantly to the image on his screen.

His phone buzzed again.

Another photo loaded.

This one was closer. More intimate. She was lying on her bed now, the lace stretched across her chest, her hair fanned out around her. The angle was lower, more revealing, and Riv's grip tightened instinctively.

rivameow: ur literally the hotest person alive

rivameow: i love u so much babe

His hand moved faster now, his hips shifting slightly against the mattress. His free hand gripped the sheets beside him, his body tense, every nerve focused on the sensation building low in his stomach.

He could feel his pulse in his throat, his breathing coming in short, shallow bursts. The photo was burned into his mind now—the curve of her body, the way the fabric barely covered her, the way she looked so efortlessly beautiful.

rivameow: can u send one more?

rivameow: plss

rivameow: ur my fav person ever 💕

Another notification.

Another photo.

This one was even better. Closer. More detailed. The kind of image that made his entire body tighten, his hand moving faster, his breath catching in his throat.

Riv's head fell back against his pillow, his eyes half-closed, his mind completely consumed by her. The way she looked. The way she trusted him. The way she had no idea.

His hand worked faster, his body trembling now, chasing the edge. His breathing was ragged, his chest heaving, his grip tightening as the tension built higher and higher.

Fuck—

His phone buzzed one more time.

A heart emoji.

💕

That was all it took.

Riv's body tensed, his back arching slightly off the bed, his hand moving in quick, desperate strokes as the pleasure crested and broke over him in waves. His breath came out in a shaky gasp, his free hand fisting the sheets, his entire body shudering as he came.

For a moment, he just lay there, chest heaving, his hand still trembling, his mind blank except for the lingering image of her on his screen.

No guilt. No shame.

Just satisfaction.

He let out a long, slow breath, a lazy grin spreading across his face.

God, I'm good at this.