nrlimagines

[nrlimagines]

Playing For Keeps - Jordan Riki

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Summary: One cruel comment, one protective boyfriend, and a reminder that the Broncos boys don’t play when it comes to family.

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The first half had been a blur of tackles, line breaks, and the deafening roar of the crowd. As the halftime siren echoed, Jordan Riki jogged towards the tunnel, sweat glistening on his brow, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. The Broncos were holding their own, and Jordan's performance had been solid, showcasing the aggression and athleticism that had become his trademark over his five seasons with the team .

As he approached the tunnel entrance, the usual chorus of cheers and jeers from the crowd intensified. But one voice cut through the noise with a venom that made Jordan's blood run cold.

"Oi, Riki! How's it feel knowing your missus is just hopping from one Bronco to another? First Carrigan, now you? She's making her way through the team!"

Jordan's steps faltered. The words hit him like a high tackle, unexpected and jarring. He turned sharply, eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on a man with a smug grin, clearly pleased with himself.

"Say that again!" Jordan shouted, his voice a mix of anger and disbelief.

The man laughed, repeating his taunt louder, drawing the attention of nearby spectators and players.

Before anyone could react, Jordan lunged towards the barrier separating the players from the crowd. His teammates, still making their way off the field, froze in shock.

"Jordan, no!" Pat Carrigan shouted, sprinting forward.

Reece Walsh, ever the quick one, reached Jordan first, grabbing his arm. "Mate, it's not worth it!"

Pat joined them, placing a firm hand on Jordan's shoulder. "He's just trying to get a rise out of you. Let it go."

Jordan's chest heaved, his fists clenched, but he allowed his teammates to guide him down the tunnel, the jeers fading behind them.

The game had ended in a hard-fought victory for the Broncos. The team was elated, but Jordan's earlier confrontation lingered in his mind.

As he exited the locker room, freshly showered and dressed, he spotted Y/N waiting nearby. Her eyes met his, concern evident in her gaze.

"Hey," she said softly.

"Hey," he replied, pulling her into a tight embrace.

They stood in silence for a moment, the noise of the stadium fading into the background.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Jordan began. "That guy... what he said..."

Y/N pulled back slightly to look into his eyes. "You don't have to apologise. People will talk, make assumptions. But we know the truth."

He nodded, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I just hate that they dragged you into it."

She smiled gently. "It comes with the territory. Dating an NRL player isn't exactly low-profile."

Jordan chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders. "Still, I want to protect you from all that."

"And you do," she assured him. "Every day."

They stood together, the night air cool around them, finding solace in each other's presence amidst the chaos of the world they navigated together.

————————-

The apartment was quiet, the city noise muted behind double-glazed windows. The post-game high had given way to a different kind of energy—slower, softer. Familiar.

Y/N padded barefoot across the living room, wearing one of Jordan’s oversized training shirts that hung mid-thigh. Her makeup was long gone, and her hair was piled in a messy bun, but he looked at her like she’d walked off a runway.

He was curled on the lounge, damp curls still wild from the shower, legs stretched out, TV remote in one hand. When she sat beside him, he automatically opened his arms, and she melted into his side like she was made to fit there.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, pressing a kiss into her temple.

“You okay?” she asked, voice gentle. She didn’t need to clarify. They both knew what she meant.

Jordan sighed, his fingers tracing slow circles into her thigh. “Yeah. Now I am.”

There was something unshakably grounding about home. About her. About the way her cheek pressed against his chest like she could hear every beat of his heart and know exactly what it meant.

“I hated seeing you like that,” she admitted after a pause. “So angry. So... not you.”

He nodded. “I was just so mad. Not about what he said about me—I’ve heard worse. But dragging you into it? Making you seem like—like you’re some groupie or a pass-around?” He scoffed. “You’re my everything.”

She looked up at him, eyes glassy but steady. “I know. And I know it’s just noise. But thank you. For caring so much.”

Jordan leaned down, pressing a slow, tender kiss to her lips. “I’d fight the whole stadium if I had to.”

“That’s not exactly reassuring,” she teased, smiling into his mouth.

He grinned, pulling her fully into his lap. “Okay, not the whole stadium. Maybe just that one muppet in the third row.”

They both laughed, and the tension of the night cracked and softened like sugar in hot tea.

“I don’t want to share you with the media or the rumours,” he admitted quietly. “But I’d rather go through all of that if it means I get to have nights like this. Us. Here.”

Her fingers found the chain around his neck—simple, silver, always tucked under his jersey. She tugged it gently, just enough to make him meet her eyes.

“Then let’s just stay right here a bit longer,” she whispered.

Jordan wrapped his arms tighter around her, one hand cradling the back of her head as he kissed her again—longer this time, slower. Everything he couldn’t say with words lived in that kiss. His gratitude. His love. His vow.

The TV hummed in the background, but neither of them paid it any mind. Wrapped in each other, tangled in warmth and quiet promises, it felt like the world had finally stilled.

And for once, being Jordan Riki didn’t mean being the forward with a highlight reel or a headline.

It just meant being hers.

—————

The sun cast a golden hue over the backyard, where the aroma of sizzling sausages mingled with the laughter of close friends. Reece Walsh stood at the grill, tongs in hand, flipping steaks with practiced ease. His three-year-old daughter, Leila, darted around the yard in a mini Broncos jersey, her giggles echoing as she chased bubbles blown by Y/N.

Jordan Riki lounged on a deck chair, a content smile on his face as he watched Y/N and Leila play. Pat Carrigan sat nearby, sipping a cold drink, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

"Auntie Y/N! Look at this!" Leila exclaimed, holding up a dandelion she had found.

Y/N knelt down, examining the flower with exaggerated interest. "Wow, that's beautiful, Leila! You're quite the explorer."

Leila beamed, then turned to Jordan. "Uncle Jordy, can you help me make a flower crown for Auntie Y/N?"

Jordan chuckled, rising from his seat. "Of course, princess. Let's find some more flowers."

As Jordan and Leila scoured the yard for blossoms, Reece glanced over his shoulder, a grin on his face. "She's got you wrapped around her little finger, mate."

Jordan shrugged, smiling. "Can't say no to that face."

Pat leaned back, watching the scene unfold. "It's like our own little family here."

Reece nodded, his expression softening. "Yeah, it is. Leila adores you all. She talks about Auntie Y/N and Uncle Jordy all the time."

Y/N joined them, brushing grass from her knees. "She's a sweetheart. It's easy to love her."

Leila returned, a makeshift crown of daisies and dandelions in her hands. "Auntie Y/N, for you!"

Y/N took the crown, placing it on her head with a laugh. "Thank you, darling. I feel like a queen."

Jordan scooped Leila up, spinning her around as she squealed with delight. "You're the best, Leila."

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the yard, the group settled around the outdoor table, sharing food, stories, and laughter. In that moment, amidst the clinking of glasses and the soft hum of conversation, they found comfort in their chosen family, bound not by blood, but by love and shared experiences.

———-

Jordan Riki (@jordanriki_)

Blood doesn’t make a family. Loyalty does.
Don’t play with ours 🤝🖤
#NoOneTouchesHer #BBQAtWalshys

📍Brisbane
🧡 liked by @reecewalsh, @patcarrigan_ and 68,203 others

Reece Walsh (@reecewalsh)

Family first. Always.
Say what you want. But if you’re loud enough to say it near our people, just know—we hear it.
#AuntieY/N #LeilaApproved #Don’tMessWithOurCircle

📍Backyard therapy
💛 liked by @jordanriki_, @y.n.username and 82,771 others

Pat Carrigan (@patcarrigan_)

Day ones only. Keep the noise out.
BBQ, beers, and real ones.
#ProtectOurOwn #SheWasThereBeforeThe Hype

📍Home
🔥 liked by @reecewalsh, @nrlonnine and 75,114 others

Comments:

@brisbroncosfan: “The subtle shade is not so subtle 😂💅 Protect Y/N at all costs!!”

@nrlteaqueen: “We all know what this is about 👀 and they’re 1000% right for it.”

@lilwalshyfan: “Leila calling her Auntie Y/N 😭 the cutest. I love this friend group sm.”

@nrlgossipcentral: “So... Pat wasn’t her boyfriend?? 👀”

[nrlimagines]

Under the Lights - Reece Walsh

Summary: Reece Walsh's girlfriend, in the crowd at Accor Stadium.

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The roar of 80,000 voices was thunderous, but all I could hear was my own heartbeat hammering in my ears.

It was only a few minutes in—barely enough time for my nerves to settle—when I saw it. Reece stepped up into the line, trying to spark something down that left edge, and then—

Whack.

A sickening crunch. Heads clashing. Bodies slamming into turf.

I stood before the crowd around me even reacted.

“Oh my god.”
“Oi, he’s knocked out.”
“Send him, ref!”

The words came from every direction, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Reece. He wasn’t moving. Not properly. The trainers were already running.

My throat went dry.

From our seats, I could just make out his curls sprawled against the grass, the weight of a stadium suddenly pressing down like cement. I didn’t care that I was in a Maroons jersey in the middle of a New South Wales-heavy section. I didn’t care that everyone was yelling about Joseph Sua’ali’i being sent off. I couldn’t look away from Reece.

And then I saw it—his hand twitch.

He was conscious. But dazed. The medic was speaking to him, holding fingers up, checking his pupils. He tried to push himself up, but his legs didn’t quite follow.

“HIA,” someone muttered behind me.
“He’s done.”

I sat back down, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I wanted to be down there, wanted to push through the sideline barrier and get to him, to check he was really okay and not just putting on that brave face he always does.

But all I could do was watch.

Joseph was sent off—first State of Origin send-off in years—but it didn’t matter. The scoreboard didn’t matter. The chants from Blues fans didn’t matter. My boy was off the field, and I didn’t know if he’d be alright.

My phone buzzed.

Chris: “He’s gone for HIA. Looks like they’re ruling him out. I’m gonna try and find out more.”
Me: “Tell him I’m here.”

I swallowed hard and forced myself to sit still.

State of Origin is meant to be brutal. Fierce. Gladiatorial.

But tonight, watching him walk off, eyes glassy and mouth slack, it just felt cruel.

——

The fluorescent lights in the tunnel were harsh, clinical, nothing like the roar and chaos of the stadium just an hour earlier. Now it was quiet—too quiet. Just the shuffling of staff, the occasional burst of laughter from a distant corridor, and the thud of boots hitting locker room tiles.

She didn’t wait for permission. One of the QLD support staff nodded at her and stepped aside, and she was in.

The locker room was a mess—muddy boots, ice packs, strapping tape everywhere. Some of the boys sat slumped on benches, still in jerseys, still sweating. Others were in recovery gear, already halfway through a beer. But all she could see was him.

Reece.

Sitting in the corner, wrapped in a maroon hoodie, hood half-up like it could hide the glassy glaze still in his eyes. There was a bandage above his eyebrow, and an ugly red scrape blooming on his cheekbone. He was still. Too still.

Her breath caught as she walked toward him, arms already shaking.

He looked up and smiled softly. “Hey.”

She dropped to her knees in front of him. “Are you okay?” Her voice cracked mid-sentence. She didn’t mean for it to—had been holding it together all night���but it cracked anyway.

“I’m okay,” he whispered.

But his voice was hoarse, quiet. A little distant. Like his body was here but his mind was still out on the turf, blinking up at the sky, trying to remember where he was.

“You’re not,” she whispered back, fingers brushing gently against his jaw. “You were out cold, Reece. I thought—” Her throat closed again. “I thought you weren’t gonna get up.”

“I’m here,” he murmured, reaching for her hands. His grip was warm, steady. “Look at me. I’m here, alright?”

She nodded, but tears were already spilling down her cheeks, hot and messy. She wiped at them quickly, embarrassed, but he just leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers.

“I’m okay,” he repeated. “Swear on everything. Trainers said I passed the protocols, just got ruled out for precaution. I’ll be sweet.”

She wanted to believe him. Wanted to pretend the hit hadn’t replayed in her mind a hundred times already, that she hadn’t Googled "long-term concussion symptoms" in the bathroom stall at halftime.

“I hated watching that,” she whispered. “I hated not being able to run out there and—god, Reece, I was just stuck in the stands watching you go limp and I couldn’t—”

“I know,” he said gently. “I know, baby.”

His hand came up, brushing the tear track from her cheek with his thumb. He looked tired, but solid. Grounded. Still him.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he added.

“You didn’t scare me,” she lied. Then gave a shaky laugh. “Okay, maybe just a little.”

That earned her a proper smile. Soft and crooked and entirely him.

“I’d take the hit a thousand times if it meant I got to come off the field and have you waiting for me.”

She choked on another tear-laced laugh, burying her face into the crook of his neck as he pulled her in, arms tight around her waist.

“I love you,” she mumbled against his hoodie.

“I love you too,” he said immediately, without a second’s hesitation. “Always.”

Around them, the room buzzed on with post-game noise—boys laughing, staff packing up, ice bags popping open—but in their corner, it was quiet.

Just two people clinging to each other, under the harsh lights, after the longest night.