❝You have this annoying tendency of not knowing when to give up.❞
❝I know what I want, and I want you Y/n. I won't stop still you fall for me. ❞
▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄
Where the infamously charming womanizer-Oliver Aiku-is determined to win over a st...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝟭 ✥━━━━━━━✥
✧꒷꒷ ꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ✧꒷꒦꒷
The dull roar of the crowd outside the stadium echoed through the locker room walls, the pre-game energy electric. Oliver Aiku leaned back on the bench, lacing his boots with the practiced ease of someone who had been in the game for years. He was the picture of cool confidence—a man who knew his value both on and off the field. With his signature smirk in place, he grabbed his phone for one last check before heading out.
A text from you popped up:
Y/N💚
Good luck out there, hotshot. Try not to break any ankles. Unless they deserve it.
A laugh rumbled out of him. You always knew how to keep him on his toes—just like you did when the two of you first met.
✫彡✧༻⚘༺✧ミ✫
~𝙁𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚~
The bar was alive with chatter and music, but Oliver Aiku's focus was on the sharp sting blooming across his cheek. He had just been slapped—twice—in rapid succession, and for once in his life, he didn't have a clever retort.
He glanced at the two women walking away in synchronized fury, then turned back to the counter where a woman in an apron was doubled over in laughter.
"Help—that was priceless!" she wheezed, barely able to catch her breath. "What were you thinking, dude?! Pfttt ha ha ha!"
Oliver raised a brow, rubbing his cheek and letting out a dramatic sigh. "I was thinking, maybe, they were open-minded. Guess I misjudged."
Her laughter grew, and she had to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. "Yeah, big-time. You looked so confident too! Man, that was gold. I'm fucking dead!"
Despite his bruised ego, Oliver couldn't help but crack a grin. Her laugh wasn't mean—there was something contagious about it. He leaned on the bar, his signature charm switching back on like a well-oiled machine.
"And here I was thinking you'd be on my side." he teased.
She cocked her head, smirking. "If you're looking for sympathy, you're in the wrong place. I don't coddle idiots."
Oliver chuckled, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "Tough crowd. What's your name, tough girl?"
"Y/N," she said, picking up an empty glass. She began wiping it clean, not sparing him another glance.
"Y/N, huh? I'm Oliver." He extended his hand, only for her to ignore it completely.
"Yeah, I know. Big soccer star, 'man of the ladies.' I see the tabloids sometimes," she said, tone dripping with sarcasm.
