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bunni-v1 · 3 days ago

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How to Make a Memorable Birthday

🍓Dog, this is later than I wanted, but I was actually slaving over this thing for days. Like, I'm a disaster over this piece, it's actually killing me. I have no idea if it even ended up GOOD, I just wanted to write something vaguely marathon sex-ish for his birthday. Please, god, don't be mean to me I will cry.

TW: NSFW (duh); Marathon sex; Rough(ish) sex; Mention of dumbification; titty sucking (amen); Caleb is refered to as puppy and doglike once or twice (not verbally); grammar and spelling errors probably; weak attempts at summarizing parts of his card

Info: Caleb x Reader; Card Based (No Return Night); Smut with the sprinkling of plot

Word Count: 5.8k

It was difficult to make a unique birthday experience for someone like Caleb. You’d known him for so long that you’d already tried most things out by the time he turned twenty. On top of that, he had so many friends who adored him that most of your efforts felt like they’d get lost in the sea of good wishes. Not to mention the fact that he always insisted that he loved everything you’d gotten him, so you never knew if he actually liked it or if he was just being his usual dismissive self.

Today, this birthday, felt different. It was just the two of you all day, no one else to bother you. You’d done everything in your power to make him feel as special as he makes you feel; The restaurant, the movie, the gifts were all chosen carefully to prove that you could make today perfect. More for yourself than him, but he always said what made you happy made him happy, so you could dismiss your selfishness for now.

Truthfully, everything was perfect. Nothing went wrong; he loved everything and told you so. So, why did you feel so unfulfilled? You’d done everything to make it special, and it was special… yet… it didn’t feel that way. Anyone could’ve done those things for him, and sure you did, but that wasn’t the point. How could you give him something memorable, something he wants more than anything in the world? Something only you could offer him.

Something glints in your peripheral vision, the purplish tin of candy catching your eye. Sour and sweet candies you’d picked up on a whim earlier, craving something sweet to suck on while you were alone tonight. You pick it up, observing the tin curiously, flipping it this way and that in your hands. It was the same color as Caleb’s eyes, and it made you realize how much you missed him. You had just seen him; he was literally down the hall, but you missed him.

Clutching the candies to your chest, you sigh and give in to your wants for once. You’d just go downstairs for a little bit, just to see if he was down there, and if he wasn’t, you’d come back up and get ready for bed. Ingenious.

You tiptoe down the stairs, wanting to keep quiet for some reason. You’re grateful for the decision, because you get to stop at the bottom of the stairs and see quite the sight. Caleb is, unsurprisingly, still sitting on the couch. Sprawled comfortably, fingers tapping rhythmically on the throw pillow next to him, like he’s been waiting for you to see him. He’s almost contemplative, holding the necklace you’d given him up, stroking the metal with a kind of affection you don’t think you’ll ever understand. It makes butterfly wings flutter in your stomach, leaving you breathless as you admire him.

He doesn’t say anything to you, he doesn’t even look your way, but you know he’s aware of you. He’s always aware of you. It’s his secret sixth sense, one you were equal parts grateful and resentful of. Glancing down at the candies, you mentally scold yourself for how silly you were acting. Coming down here without reason was enough to make you feel dumb, but his knowing was a whole other reason to feel ridiculous. Backing out now wasn’t an option, but maybe you could get away with a little white lie. You walk up to him quietly, the quiet sound of your feet padding across the hardwood floor loud in the silent air.

He looks up to you when you’re at his side, smirking like he was in on a secret you weren’t aware of, “Is this the post-credits scene?”

You tap your fingers against the tin, reminding yourself to stay stronger than your racing heart, “...I just remembered I haven’t given you your gift yet.”

“Right,” He leans forward, looking at you expectantly, “Well, I’m here.”

Another wave of nervousness floods through your gut. What exactly were you thinking again? What did you want, coming down and hoping he was here? You knew the answer, of course, but it didn’t relieve you. You felt like a horny teenager again, and you wanted to get out before he put two and two together. After your moment of hesitancy, you push the tin of candies into his waiting hands.

You don’t miss the way he looks at you, eyebrows raised as if asking, ‘Are you serious?’ It does not make you feel any better about your intentions, and it certainly doesn’t make you feel like you got away with your little plan.

“Well,” you turn on your heels quickly when he takes it from you, eager to avoid the potential awkwardness that was about to suffocate you, “now that you have your present, I should head to bed.”

You get two steps in before he grabs your wrist, stopping you in your tracks without having to tug. He gives you a moment, a chance to pull away. You don’t. Then he tugs you into his lap, and time blurs together. The next few moments are hazy, drowned out by the pounding of your heart in your ears.

He whispers words with cryptic meanings that somehow make perfect sense to you. You feed him sour candy, and feel electricity run through your nerves when his tongue brushes your fingertips. You touch his lips, feeling how chapped they were, but loving the texture regardless, because it was his lips you were touching. And he kisses you.

Hesitant at first, unsure of whether it was right to do so. It’s a bit silly, you think, to worry about that when he knew what you wanted from the start, but that was what you loved about him. Slowly, you give in to him, sliding your hand up to his hair to press him closer. He pauses, like he’s surprised by the approval, then dives back in for a deeper kiss.

You hear him swallow the candy, and you have half a mind to be jealous of the stupid thing. Especially when he separates, looking up at you with big puppy dog eyes that make you want to kiss him more stupid. You let him speak, though, drawing his thumb over your lip and following it with his eyes. Nothing he says makes any sense, and yet you understand every word like second nature.

It makes you smile, hearing him be so open and vulnerable with you. He’s still unsure, despite his confessions. Despite you sitting on top of him, despite you making out with him so passionately. He’s still worried he’s not the Caleb you want; you can see it in his eyes. You want to prove to him that he is.

One shove has him lying against the couch cushions, eyes wide in surprise as his back hits them with a thud, “Wherever you are, what I wanted was always for you…”

You cup his face, leaning down to capture him in another slow and sweet kiss, proof, “to be drawn to me… with the weakest gravitational pull.”

He laughs, like it’s ridiculous, and you know what it means. It was silly how the two of you managed to dance around your feelings for so long when they were so intense. You don’t know how he managed to do it his whole life, your feelings were rather new, and they were consuming you from the inside out. His control was something to be envied.

“Gravity can’t be blamed for two people in love,” he murmurs, low and deep and full of that affection you could never comprehend.

You didn’t need to comprehend, though, not with him. He would simply show you other ways to share in the affection, and eventually it would come to you without thinking. So, you kiss him again, giving him the go-ahead first. He doesn’t hesitate this time, swallowing you up in another deep kiss, pressing you closer like he’s trying to merge your bodies.

You fall to the floor at some point, too lost in the moment to pause and care about the hardwood beneath you. Caleb softens the fall for you anyway, so there’s no reason to focus on anything but the way his lips dance against yours. You’re panting when he pulls away, watching the way he can’t stop staring at your lips. Your hand is held to his heart, and you can feel the way it pounds against his ribcage, just like yours.

His lips quirk, “...See? This is how you draw me in every time without fail.”

You let your eyes flutter closed when he kisses you again, breathing him in like air. The candy lingered on his tongue, sending a jolt of sour that made your head feel unbelievably fuzzy. He kissed like he needed you to live, like he would die if he stopped. You wonder where he got these skills from, before the thought is lost to the feeling of something hard poking into your thigh.

You tighten your fingers interlaced with his, squeezing just a little, just enough to notice. He squeezes back, reassuring and gentle. It’s enough assurance that you purposefully brush your leg against his hard-on, rewarded with a delicious hiss from him. When you do it again, his free hand stops you, grabbing and pulling it up and away with ease.

“Be nice,” he whispers against your lips.

You giggle, “Why should I be?”

He pulls away, playful admonishment shimmering in his eyes, “It’s my birthday.”

“Only for another few minutes,” you retort.

He hums, leaning down to kiss along your jaw, “I’ll be sure to remember that on your birthday then.”

His lips trace down your jaw, stopping where it connects to your neck. You think he’s going to pull away, but then he licks the spot like testing the waters, and then he’s sucking it. It’s a bit harsh, stinging as his teeth graze the skin over, but pleasant. You should’ve figured he’d want to leave a few marks, but it comes as a pleasant surprise nonetheless. When he’s satisfied with that one, he moves down and repeats the process a few more times.

The new blooming marks sting satisfyingly, illuminated by the warm glow of the lights around the two of you. He admires them with a smirk, proud of his handiwork. It makes your face heat up; being desired so openly by him is new. You want to rub your thighs together, but he’s holding on to the one so tight you can’t. It only twitches uselessly in his hand, which has him squeezing back, worsening the heat pooling in your stomach.

It’s a good feeling, you think, but not one you’re ready to face. Not by yourself. Luckily, Caleb wouldn’t let you do that. He leans down, nudging your nose gently, focusing you back on him. He’s looking at you like you’re the whole world, and you feel the same way looking back. How hopeless could the two of you get?

“You doin’ okay?” He laughs out, stroking his thumb along the hem of your skirt.

You nod, “I want this… you.”

“Me too,” he sighs out, heavy like a confession of his crimes that he’d been keeping for too long, “I want to take care of you.”

You don’t respond, instead pulling him back into a heated kiss. His tongue finds its way inside your mouth in an instant, and the desire from earlier is back like a fiery flame. It burns both of you from the inside out, only satiated by the way your tongues dance together. Easing with each inch of skin that presses against one another.

Without thinking, you hook your leg over his hip, pulling it flush with yours. His hard-on presses against your inner thigh, making you want to press yourself into it further. You do just that when he groans, smiling when he jolts a little in surprise. It’s cute how this super soldier of a man seems to be so weak to you, but then his inhuman ability to adapt kicks in, and he’s the one pressing against you.

He moves just enough that he’s pressing himself to your core, earning more than a few gasps of satisfaction. Tongue tangle as he rolls his hips into you at an even pace, fingers still gripping yours like a vice, a reminder that he is still your Caleb, despite the changes you were going through together. Your free hand slides down his front, finding his belt and fumbling around to loosen it. When you can’t, he slides his across your thigh and atop yours to help, the joint effort easing it out of the buckle and free enough that you can get to the button and zipper with no problem.

You both laugh a little when he pulls away to help you free himself from his boxers, then you abruptly stop when you see the size of him. Blinking back and forth between his face and his dick a few times in disbelief. He follows your gaze, growing smug with each flick of your eyes. Sure, he probably wasn’t the biggest guy out there, but he was big. Big enough that you’d never be able to take anything less afterwards – not that you’d planned to.

“Impressed?” He asks, low and teasing, reminding you that it was still Caleb you were gawking at.

His ego was big enough as it is, so you frowned at him, “No.”

“No?” He laughs, leaning back over you, “Have you seen someone bigger? If so, you should give me his name, we can have a little comparison.”

“No,” you laugh, shoving at his chest playfully as he presses little vengeful kisses across your cheeks, “You are such an idiot, you know that.”

He hums, “You love it.”

You have a retort ready, happy to throw more words back and forth, but they die on your tongue in a jumble heap as his hand inches beneath your skirt. Lashes fluttering nervously when they skim the lacy edge of your panties, ones you’d picked specifically to match the outfit. To surprise him with. You didn’t think he’d get to see them tonight, yet here you were.

They dip slightly below the pantyline, and his lips graze your ear, gentle and reverent in the way they kiss you, “You can say no anytime, okay?”

He waits patiently for you to nod, then he slides his fingers in fully. He takes a second to feel around, getting an idea of your anatomy before he dips into the wetness pooling in your underwear. He slides it up to your lips, spreading them just enough that he can fiddle around and look for your clit. It isn’t perfect, it’s sloppy in its execution, but it’s all you want from him. When he finds your little bud and rolls it properly, you whine, closing your eyes tightly to zero in on the feeling.

You don’t hear him sigh in relief when you do that, too busy trying to move your hips into his rhythm. They dip down lower, following the hem of your pussy to your opening. Carefully, he prods one finger at your entrance, unsure but willing as he slides it inside. It’s much bigger than your own, rough and calloused as it slides into your gummy walls. He wiggles it experimentally, getting you gasping. He curls it next, and you moan, encouraging him to keep it up.

He finds a nice rhythm, slow curls, and then a few faster pumps. It’s embarrassing how sensitive you are, whimpering and whining like you were in heat. He likes it, though, from the way his member twitches against you at each little sound. Another finger is added, then another, stretching you out pleasantly and slowly. Preparing you for the main event that neither of you could wait for.

You don’t finish on his fingers; he lets you adjust to the size and the movement, then he pulls out all the way. If you were gonna cum, you were cumming with him, no questions asked. You watch him in a dreamlike state as he bunches your skirt up at your waist, methodically tucking your panties to the side. You want him inside you so badly, you don’t even think about protection until he’s pulling a condom from his pocket and ripping it open with his teeth. You’re not sure if it’s weird to find the way he slides it over himself hot, but the heated stare he gives you doesn’t let you linger on it too long.

He rubs some of your slick along his shaft, positioning himself at your entrance as he leans over you again. The hand still holding yours flexes, tightening its grip slightly as if to ask for permission. You follow its movements, repeating the squeeze, and nodding for safe measure. He shudders out a relieved sigh, pressing his forehead to yours, screwing his eyes shut as he makes the first push into your plush walls.

Both of your jaws drop open, Caleb letting out an audible shudder as he sinks in further. He fit you deliciously, like a missing piece of a puzzle. The stretch was there, but it was anything but unpleasant. Each inch was another reason why you loved him, tightening your hold on his hand like a tether to the world. His head had fallen from yours, busying his mouth with going over those lovebites again as a distraction from your tight heat.

He had to pause when he was fully inside, gasping for air like you your stealing it from his lungs yourself. You raked your free hand through his hair, trying to ease his endless trembling. His hands are flexing endlessly as he tries his best not to cum on the spot. You wouldn’t think him such a weak man, but maybe it was only because it was you he was inside. It was probably a dream come true, just like it was for you, so you can’t hold it against him.

When he comes back up from your shoulder, his face is five times redder, and his hair is stuck to his forehead. He’s never looked hotter.

“God, Pips,” He strains, looking at you like it was all your fault.

All you can focus on is that he just called you pips like he wasn’t inside you, “Do not call me ‘Pips’ while you’re inside me.”

You’d expect him to shoot back with something snarky, but he doesn’t have it in him, “Fuck, baby, can I move?”

The desperation is surprising, sending a shock of something new through your body that you’d have to deal with later. Right now, all you could do was nod, because you weren’t in a much better state. He mumbles out a thank you, moving so he could kiss you again. Sloppier than before, but a welcome change from the haziness the two of you were experiencing.

Slowly, he begins to pull out, not even halfway to start. Shallow thrusts of his hips against yours, easy to keep up with. You feel every inch of him like this, walls clamping down on him like they couldn’t stand to be empty again. You roll your mound against him, sighing happily at the friction. You’d dreamed of how he might feel inside you before, but your mind couldn’t ever imagine how this felt. It was perfectly imperfect the way his hips rutted against yours. Desperate and all the same loving.

He swallowed your moans up with his kisses, muffling his own at the same time. You’d both waited too long for this moment, and it felt like the stars had finally aligned for you. The desperation to make one another come undone was far more than earned at this point. That's why it came as no surprise that your release was coming down upon you quickly. Both of you were far too needy to last long, especially not when it felt like you were made for each other.

He kisses down your neck as you get closer, wanting to hear your sweet sighs of his name. You oblige him, filling up the house with praises of him. You feel like it’s the only thing you remember how to say as your mind grows fuzzier and fuzzier.

“Caleb,” you whimper, tugging on the hair close to his scalp, “‘m close.”

He shudders, “Me too, baby. Let’s cum together, yeah?”

You nod adamantly, wanting nothing more in the world in this moment. Your walls clench down on him, trying their best to make that happen without being told by you. You feel his grip tightening on you, pulling you closer until he physically cannot do so. The heat of your skin aids the sensation growing between the two of you, and before either of you can think, you are tumbling over the edge together.

He calls your name in a broken sound, like he can’t believe that this is real. He is trembling in your grasp, squeezing you so tight you’re afraid you might have a Caleb-shaped bruise across the whole of your body. You’re sure he’d like that, too. He is still trembling when you finally come back down to earth, but it’s not from the aftershocks of his orgasm. No, he’s simply overcome with emotion.

There’s no tears when he looks at you, only a wide-eyed stare like a boy who couldn’t believe his eyes. It makes you want to cry, seeing how much this means to him. How much you mean to him. The perfect birthday present you could’ve gotten him came for free, and you were too busy worrying over silly things like your own insecurities when you should’ve just shown how much you loved him to start.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, soft and insistent, leaving no room for argument.

You smile, pulling him into a soft kiss, “So are you.”

He sits you up, letting go of your hand for the first time that night to hold your hips properly. His thumbs smooth over the fabric of your dress, drawing little comforting circles into the bone there. Lips kissing you slowly and easily, grounding yourselves back in the moment. Without disconnecting from you, he lifts you like you weigh nothing, settling you down onto the table.

Several decorations fell to the floor, some crushed under your weight, none important enough to pull away for. It was like you needed to be connected to him, or else you would fall apart without him holding you together. He haphazardly shoves the cake you’d gotten him to the edge of the table, pushing you to lie down again. You listen, leaning back while the kiss picks up heat again.

You can feel him chubbing up again inside you, member throbbing against your walls as his tongue slides against yours. The passion is back, fire running along your veins with each desperate roll of his tongue. It’s not as sweet as before, but you don’t complain. You don’t think you want it to be sweet; you want his honesty. All of him, not just the soft and vulnerable parts, but the rough and ugly parts too. The ones that wanted to consume you whole, you wanted to love them too.

He pulls away first, chuckling when you try and chase his lips. He’s got you caged between his arms, surrounded by him. He takes a second to admire you, eyes grazing over your body with a sparkle. He’s red in the face still, out of breath and sweaty, and absolutely beautiful. He grazes your cheek with a gentle finger, smiling at the way you blink at the contact.

“Can I be a little rough?” He asks, and it makes you wonder why he would even do so. Of course, he can; you trust him more than anything in the world. Yet, he still thought to ask instead of scaring you. He was going to be the death of you.

You bring a hand up to cup his face, smiling back at him as if it was a silly question, “I trust you, Caleb.”

A relieved sigh tumbles past his lips, as if there were any other answer he could’ve gotten in the first place. It’s almost cute how fragile he was capable of being for you, his efforts to be open not lost on you. Then, he’s readjusting himself, pulling out with a hiss from both parties. One hand taps his shoulders, signaling you to place your legs over them. You do so without argument, entranced by the way he takes control of the situation so well.

He fishes around in his pocket for another condom, repeating his earlier motions with ease, and again, you think you find it too hot to be normal. You don’t question why he has more than one; it doesn’t matter to you when he’s sliding the black lace panties off you and into his pocket. A soft kiss is pressed to your calf, working up to your knee as he worships your skin simply for being yours. His eyes watch yours the whole way up, distracting you from the way he glides against your folds, lubing himself up again for good measure.

You only look down when he’s pressing into you again, whining out a broken version of his name at the ease with which you take him in. Your pussy has already gotten used to having him inside you, a very dangerous thing. He groans into your skin when he’s down to the hilt, eyes fluttering like he can’t control the motion. You can’t when you repeat it, breath catching at how pretty he is.

He smiles at you, pressing another kiss to the inside of your knee, watching the way you seem to struggle with brain fog. He always did like it when you played a little dumb with him, it makes sense he’d relish in you being a little ditzy now, meant he could take care of your needs better. He looks away to follow his hands down your thighs, bunching your dress up high so he can properly see the way he fits inside you.

Hands grip your hips, firm but not painful. He’s distracted by the way they seem to sink into the skin there, squeezing and releasing over and over, methodical in the way he plays with you. You don’t interrupt the moment he’s having, letting himself enjoy the sight until he looks to you again. You don’t realize that’s your warning until he’s pulling out, fully this time, and pushing his hips back to yours.

It’s not shallow, hitting you hard and deep with each movement, trying to draw out moans from your lips. It’s successful, head rolling and back arching from the new pace. You feel his eyes burning a trail across your skin, but you don’t have the mind to be embarrassed by it at the moment. It’s so much more than you expected from him, but you have a hard time being surprised. You knew Caleb, after all, he was going to break for you eventually.

You can’t even lift your hips to match him; he’s pressing them firmly into the table, not allowing you to move. He was in control, and he wasn’t letting you do anything but give while he took. It was hard to be angry when he had your thoughts in such a tangled mess anyway, only wanting to chase after the pleasure. Since you couldn’t physically after his thrusts, you did the next best thing, fingers sliding down between your legs to help him out.

It makes you a little smug when his eyes follow them, hips stuttering for a second as they spread your lips to reach the little nub of pleasure between them. You rub circles matching the speed of his thrusts, slow and deliberate. Each one electricity through your body, doubling the whines of his name, but that doesn’t seem to satisfy him.

There is a spark of annoyance in his eyes, bringing his prosthetic arm down to swat your hand away so he could do it. The biometric skin there is cool in contrast to the heat of your own; the circles he draws are rougher but so much better than your own. You feel the coil from earlier building in your stomach, and you almost resent it for doing so. You didn’t want it to be over yet; you were enjoying yourself too much.

Still, your body wasn’t listening, nor was Caleb. He kept up the rough and hard pace, pounding the coil tighter and tighter. It only takes a few more rubs of your clit to get you screaming out his name, muscles spasming at the intensity of the stimulation. Your head spins, and he doesn’t relent, working you through your orgasm the same way he got you to it.

He slows when you start to push at him, removing his hand from you and making a show of lapping your juices off it. He pulls out of you instead of resting inside, massaging your hips gently as he watches you settle. He’s back to being careful with you, like he wasn’t just rutting into you like he was in heat. Contradictory as ever, and you wouldn’t change it for a thing.

He sets your legs down on the floor as he sits back, petting your thighs as you sit up. He smiles at you, tilting his head like a puppy, and you positively have to kiss him when he looks at you like that. Sighing against his lips satisfactorily, happy with yourself.

“Let’s clean you up,” He whispers against your lips, still so concerned for you.

You nearly agree there, if not for the fact that his still at attention, member bobs distractingly as he stands. You didn’t even notice with how much you were drowning in your pleasure; he never finished. It annoys you a bit how he doesn’t seem to care much either – wasn’t this for him? How could you let him walk away unsatisfied?

He grunts when you push him onto the couch, blinking up at you in surprise as you glare at him. He tilts his head, almost cutely, and pouts at you innocently. You don’t let it get to you this time, placing your hands on your hips stubbornly.

“You didn’t finish.” You scold.

He glances down at himself, “I didn’t need to.”

You screw your face up, angry that he would dismiss his needs so easily, “I need you to.”

He goes to give you another retort, but stops when you turn around again. For a second, it seems like you’re leaving, ready to pout in the other room and make him run after you like you were kids. You don’t leave, and you never thought to. Instead, your hand finds the zipper of your dress and slides it down, letting it slip off your shoulders and pool at your feet.

You smile over your shoulder, enjoying the way his eyes can’t seem to decide on what part of you to stare at. You turn, and they land on your chest, watching it jiggle slightly with each step you take toward him. Subconsciously, he reaches out when you throw your legs over either side of him, hands sliding to your breasts without thought. Squeezing and flicking experimentally, giddy like a kid on Christmas.

“This is your gift,” you say quietly, drawing his attention back to you, “I want you to take as much as you can.”

His jaw set, thinking it over like it was some dramatic decision. You’d already made it abundantly clear what you wanted tonight, but he was still himself. He was still worried about going too far, so you would be patient and remind him again and again until it was as natural as breathing. He sighs, pressing a kiss to your clavicle as his admission of defeat. It makes you smile, reaching down between yourself to help slide him into your heart again.

You’re still very sensitive, as is he, evident by the way you both whimper when he’s sheathed inside again. You don’t waste time before you’re rolling your hips into him, sloppy and desperate for a quick release. He takes your breast in his mouth, sucking and teething on it to muffle the sounds of his moans. His robotic arm helps you bounce on his dick while the human one plays with your free tit, rolling and pinching your nipple.

Both of you cum fast, overwhelmed and overstimulated. You don’t stop when you cum though, and he doesn’t make you. He lets you overstimulate yourself, holding you tight as you elongate his orgasm and pull another one from yourself. He only stops for a moment to flip you over, face down ass up, and take you from behind. Then, bent over the back of the couch, on your knees, legs over your head, held against the wall, until you eventually migrated to the window.

Your chest pressed to the glass, ass pushing back into his thrusts desperately, fucked dumb and empty headed. His fingers curl over yours on the glass, head tucked into your shoulder so he could suck more love bites into the supple flesh. You don’t think you’re capable of cumming again, you’re almost sure you’ve sucked him dry, but the burn in your tummy tells you otherwise.

He releases one of your hands in favor of lifting a leg up, supporting the new position with his strength alone, as all you can do is press into the glass. The glimmer of a sunrise shines over the horizon of the city, so pretty in the way it glints of the edges of the buildings, but all you can think about is how good he’s fucking you. Your only relief from the heat is the cool of the window, but even that seems to warm as your skin slides against it.

It’s intense, the way your orgasm comes over you. After multiple rounds of non-stop fucking, your throat can’t even produce more than a desperate squeak, body trembling in his hold. You feel him cum inside the condom, heat of his release seeping into your bones. It takes all the rest of your strength not to drop to the floor, letting him help you settle down in his arms instead.

He’s panting, just as dreary as you were, but he looks like a god amongst men in your eyes. He catches the look, gaze softening into something more tender. There’s no need for words in the moment, too encapsulated in one another to try and find them. The only thing you can think of is how much you adore him, and how happy you are to have been able to experience tonight with him like this.

You had found the perfect gift for him, and you hoped he would remember it for years to come. The way he was looking at you, so gentle and adoring, told you that he would.

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liuhsng · 12 hours ago

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✩ˎˊ˗ always been yours ( nk ! ) — part 2

✩ˎˊ˗ part of the untouchable series | enhypen masterlist

⤷ pairing — ni-ki x fem!reader

⤷ part 1 | part 2 ⤷ word count — 20.8k ⤷ taglist for the series — open !

⤷ warnings — a/b/o au, alpha!ni-ki, omega!reader, fem!reader, foul language, arranged marriage au, childhood friends to lovers trope, intense possessive alpha!ni-ki, minor physical violence, bullying and emotional manipulation (not from ni-ki !), emotionally charged confessions, ni-ki’s down bad and whipped, tooth-rotting fluff, angst with comfort

⤷ a/n — and just like that, the untouchable enhypen omegaverse series officially comes to an end 🥹💌 i’m honestly so overwhelmed with emotion even writing this—this series has been such a huge part of my heart, and finishing ni-ki’s part felt like closing the final chapter of something really personal and special. thank you to every single person who read, commented, screamed in the tags, and supported this chaotic, emotional ride from start to finish.

✩ˎˊ˗ summary — with your return, nishimura riki has never been happier—his walls lowered, his touch softer, his heart finally full. but when news of your sudden closeness spreads like wildfire, it doesn’t just confirm your bond—it invites the storm. omegas glare. alphas don’t take the hint. he tries to stay calm, but patience runs thin when the world refuses to understand that you were never up for grabs. so he makes a decision. no more whispers. no more pretending. he’s going to show everyone—loud and clear—that you’re his, and that ring on your finger? it’s not a rumor. it’s a promise.

Your laughter faded slowly, but the smile stayed. It lingered on your lips like a secret. Like something sacred.

And maybe… maybe this didn’t fix everything.

But it felt like a start.

But then Ni-ki let go of your hand.

Just for a moment.

You tried not to pout, really, but the absence of his touch made your fingers twitch. He didn’t say anything, only fished into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out a folded handkerchief—clean and white, embroidered with his family’s insignia in deep gold thread.

And then, with the utmost care, he reached up and brushed a thumb under your eye.

You hadn’t even realized the corners of your mascara had smudged from earlier—too much almost-crying, too many feelings. But he had. He noticed.

“I swear I didn’t mean to get you this close to sobbing,” he murmured, tone somewhere between sheepish and sweet. “But since we’re already here…”

You laughed under your breath as he wiped away the mess gently, like you were made of something fragile. Your chest ached in the best way.

When he pulled back, you tilted your chin up, blinking at him. “Do I look okay now?”

He scoffed softly. “Since when did you not look okay?”

You rolled your eyes. “Now.”

That made him huff, full of exasperated affection. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love that about me.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

You giggled, trying to compose yourself, but Ni-ki was already tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, shaking his head with a faint smile. “Thank god you wore waterproof makeup. Otherwise, you’d be walking back in there looking like some heartbroken Omega.”

Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me?!”

“I said what I said.”

“And how do you even know what waterproof makeup is?” you asked, squinting at him. “Don’t tell me… Riki. Are you out here wooing other Omegas?”

He looked at you, deadpan. “As if.”

You raised a brow, teasing. “That’s suspicious, Riki. Very suspicious.”

He rolled his eyes, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I live with two sisters,” he said flatly. “And I’ve grown up around personal stylists since I was like—born. I know what waterproof makeup is. I know the difference between setting spray and primer. I can braid hair in three different styles.”

Your mouth parted. “Wait, seriously?”

He shrugged, casual. “It’s not like I can woo other Omegas anyway,” he added, offhanded—like the thought had never even crossed his mind.

“You think I have the patience to deal with anyone else’s attitude? You’re already a handful.”

You smacked his arm lightly, grinning. “Rude.”

But he just smiled, not denying a thing. “True though.”

You snorted, and Ni-ki couldn’t help but smile again—wider this time, like the joy of just seeing you happy was something he wanted to hold close. Maybe forever.

He stepped closer, slipping his hand back into yours like it belonged there. “Ready?” he asked, his voice gentler now.

You glanced at the closed doors just down the hall, then back at him. His hair was still slightly tousled, his expression steady but soft.

“Ready,” you whispered.

The door clicked shut behind you louder than it should’ve. It was the same one Ni-ki had slipped into earlier with Konon—tucked near the grand entrance, away from the main crowd—but as soon as you stepped through it now, hand in hand, you might as well have walked straight onto a stage.

The venue was full. Not overwhelmingly so, but enough for the change in atmosphere to be immediate. Conversations stuttered. Footsteps paused mid-step. Heads turned slowly, like in disbelief that this was happening—that you were back. And more than that, that he was with you.

Ni-ki didn’t flinch. If anything, he pulled you a little closer. His hand slid from yours for just a second to rest on the small of your back. It wasn’t possessive in the territorial way others expected from an Alpha like him—it was protective, reassuring.

You could feel the heat of his palm even through the fabric of your dress. Feel how his fingers subtly curled into the fabric.

He leaned down slightly, his voice low, brushing the shell of your ear. “Keep your chin up. You belong here. Let them see it.”

And you did. You belonged. You both did.

It wasn’t just the way you looked together—though that was undeniable. The two of you walking side by side, calm and composed, looked like something designed.

A painting come to life. He stood tall, broad-shouldered in his black button-down and coat, dark eyes sharp, while you walked beside him with quiet grace, your steps steady, your expression unreadable.

Someone gasped from across the hall. You didn’t have to look to know who it came from. Another pair of eyes followed you from the second-floor railing. Whispers erupted—but no one dared to be loud enough to draw Ni-ki’s attention.

The look on his face alone was enough to put people back in line.

A subtle shift in his jaw. The faint crease between his brows. He wasn’t glaring—but there was something lethal simmering under his calmness.

Your heart beat a little faster.

“We’re… definitely causing a scene,” you muttered under your breath, a weak attempt to joke, though your voice barely rose above the hum of tension in the room.

Ni-ki didn’t miss a beat. “Good,” he said, his tone low, laced with something smug and proud. “Let them see. Let them know.”

The corners of your lips twitched.

He didn’t let go—not once. Not even as the stares kept coming, some bold, some subtle. But you were both walking with purpose now, step in sync, hearts stubbornly steady as you made your way across the room toward a familiar table near the far end. It was tucked by the wide windows overlooking the garden—Ni-ki’s designated spot, always reserved for the higher people in society.

You spotted them even before they noticed you—Jake’s distinct laugh, Sunghoon’s ever-smooth posture, Heeseung gesturing wildly about something while Jay rolled his eyes.

Their mates were there too, leaning in to whisper with each other, their backs turned. All of them too engrossed in whatever story Jake was trying to act out with his hands to notice the youngest Alpha in their group quietly approaching—with you in tow.

Not until Ni-ki cleared his throat. A sharp sound. Low, but commanding.

The effect was immediate. The table went silent, heads snapping toward the sound.

“OH MY GOD.”

You barely had a second to breathe before you were tackled—Sunoo’s mate was already on her feet, arms flung around your neck in a suffocating hug. “You’re here?! You’re—you’re back?!” she squealed, her voice shrill and bright with disbelief.

You laughed, completely winded but grinning ear to ear. “Hi—! Oh my god, I missed you!”

“Missed me?” she said dramatically, pulling back just to grab your face. “Girl, I thought you died.”

“(Y/N), oh my god,” Jake’s Omega gasped, standing up beside her. “She’s—wait. Wait.” Her eyes flicked between you and Ni-ki, still very much glued to your side. “Is this—?”

“No way,” Sunghoon said under his breath, leaning forward with wide eyes.

Heeseung blinked. “Did hell freeze over?”

“Shut up,” Ni-ki muttered flatly, but there was no bite to it. He still had his hand on your back, thumb brushing small circles near your spine.

Before you could respond, Sunghoon’s mate was suddenly in front of you with a gasp, her eyes wide as she took you in.

“Okay—hold on,” she said, practically breathless. “Can we talk about this gown? Babe, you look like you just stepped off a Vogue cover.”

You laughed, cheeks warm. “It’s just a dress.”

“No,” she shook her head quickly, fingers brushing along the silk fabric at your side with gentle admiration. “This is not just a dress. Look at how it’s catching the light—oh my god, it’s giving celestial. Who styled you?”

“I did,” you joked, and she gasped again, scandalized in the most loving way.

“You did not! Are you kidding me?!”

“She’s always been like this,” Heeseung’s mate chimed in sweetly as she pulled you into a warm hug, swaying a little as if to really feel that you were here. “Putting us all to shame like it’s nothing.”

You giggled, a sound that felt so much younger than the evening around you. “I missed you guys so much.”

“Here,” Jungwon’s mate said, walking up with a glass of wine already in hand, grin playful. “This reunion deserves a drink.”

“Oh god,” you laughed, accepting it. “You’re enabling me already?”

“Obviously,” she said, raising her own glass and clinking it gently against yours. “It’s what we do.”

For a moment, you were fully wrapped in them—their familiar scents, their voices, the way they talked over each other, poked fun, caught you up in the whirlwind of their comfort. It felt like breathing after weeks of holding your breath.

Ni-ki, still silent, stepped to the side of the table, letting you reunite with them properly. He took a spot just beside Jay, arms loosely crossed now, eyes never straying far from you.

Jay nudged his elbow with a glance, tone low but sharp with curiosity. “Since when was (Y/N) here?”

Ni-ki didn’t bother to look at him. “Literally just a few hours ago.”

Jay blinked. “You’re kidding.”

Ni-ki shook his head once, eyes still trained on you, watching as you laughed at something Sunghoon’s mate whispered dramatically in your ear.

From the other side, Sunoo looked over, lips quirking as he took a casual sip from his drink. “Well,” he said smoothly, “looks like you don’t need our help anymore figuring out what’s wrong with you tonight, huh?”

Ni-ki snorted under his breath, barely able to fight back the smile that tugged at his lips. “Not tonight.”

Just then, the girls—still buzzing with excitement—started nudging you not-so-subtly toward the empty seat next to Ni-ki. One even gave your back a gentle shove.

“Go on, go sit beside your man,” Jungwon’s mate teased, wiggling her brows.

You were still laughing, breathless and flushed from the whirlwind of affection, when you finally took a step toward the seat, only for Ni-ki to immediately act.

Without even blinking, he stood from his chair and shifted it slightly away from the table, careful not to step on the trailing edge of your gown. His movements were precise, instinctive. Like he'd done it a hundred times before.

The second you were seated, Ni-ki reached for the back of your chair and pulled it gently—yet undeniably—closer to his. You gave him a look, eyes narrowing just a little.

“Really?” you whispered under your breath, your tone caught somewhere between amused and incredulous.

He didn’t answer right away. Just smirked.

Without saying a word, Ni-ki draped his arm lazily across the back of your chair. His fingers settled near your shoulder, brushing against the silky fabric of your gown. The contact sent goosebumps up your spine, though his touch was anything but rough.

“You looked like you were about to be kidnapped by them,” he said lowly, nodding at the girls still watching you with matching grins. “Figured I should do my part and rescue you.”

“Oh, how chivalrous,” you murmured, lips twitching with amusement.

“You have no idea,” he muttered, leaning in just enough that his voice was for your ears only.

You let yourself smile, head tilted slightly toward him as your hand found the edge of his suit jacket. “So what now, Mr. Nishimura?”

He leaned closer, voice barely a breath above your ear.

“Now,” he said smoothly, “we let everyone know you’re mine.”

You tilted your head, glancing up at him with a teasing smile. “You mean… to your friends or to our families?”

Ni-ki huffed a quiet laugh, his lips brushing your temple as he replied, “Both works.”

You laughed at that, soft and easy, the kind of laugh that warmed your chest. He grinned too—half proud, half helpless.

But before you could lean further into the comfort of his side, someone across the table called your name, loud and playful.

“(Y/N)!” Sunoo grinned, leaning forward with bright eyes and barely contained mischief. “You have no idea how embarrassing this guy’s been since you left.”

Ni-ki groaned immediately, dragging a hand down his face as if that might shield him from whatever was coming. “Sunoo, don’t—”

But Sunoo was already ignoring him. “No, like—you’d think a pureblooded Alpha would keep it together, right? But this man? Sulked for weeks. Got passive-aggressive with the gym bag. Once wore your favorite perfume on accident and wouldn’t take it off for three days—”

“Sunoo, I’m warning you—”

“And,” Sunoo continued, ignoring the deepening scowl on Ni-ki’s face, “he literally almost bit Jake for suggesting he just ‘move on.’ Like. Bit. Him.”

Ni-ki groaned again, leaning back with a glare and a muttered, “Traitor.”

But before Sunoo could open his mouth again, another voice chimed in from the far end of the table.

“Oh yeah? And you think you have the right to talk?” Sunghoon said flatly, raising a brow as he looked across at Sunoo. “You couldn’t even hold down an Omega until my sister basically mixed herself into your life.”

Sunoo’s eyes widened. “Hey! That is so not how it happened—!”

Sunghoon smirked. “Isn’t it?”

Then, without looking, Sunghoon pointedly turned his gaze to his sister—sitting prettily beside Sunoo with flushed cheeks and an amused smile—and raised a brow like he dared her to disagree.

Sunoo threw up his hands. “Okay, to be fair, I liked her for like… five years before anything even happened.”

Sunghoon scoffed, crossing his arms. “Yeah? And you mated her while I was gone. During one party. At our house.”

He leaned forward, accusatory. “One. Party. I leave to go talk to people in the other wing of the house for like fifteen minutes and then the next morning, I find out my baby sister is scent-marked by you and you look like a smug little shit who won the lottery.”

Sunoo blinked, looking very much like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. “It… was mutual?”

The table was full of laughter now—Heeseung almost choking on his wine, Jungwon burying his face in his hands, and you were giggling uncontrollably into your palm while Ni-ki leaned in with a lazy smirk, clearly entertained.

He dipped closer, his lips brushing just beside your ear, voice low and laced with something playful. “See what I had to deal with without you for five years?”

You stifled a laugh, the sound bubbling past your lips anyway as you leaned into him, shoulder pressing against his.

“Well,” you murmured, glancing up at him with a smile, “I’m here now. So I’ll deal with it with you.”

Ni-ki huffed out a soft breath—somewhere between a laugh and a sigh—as if you had no idea what those words meant to him. He gave a slow shake of his head, dark eyes still crinkled with amusement as he dipped down and pressed a small, warm kiss to your temple.

“Yeah,” he murmured against your skin, “you’re here.”

It had been a week since you returned.

One painfully long, jetlagged, schedule-packed week that turned your body clock into a confused mess. Between re-adjusting to academy life, catching up on your duties, and trying to get used to the local time again, ‘hard to get used to’ didn’t even begin to cover it.

You were halfway through your morning routine, eyes still half-lidded as you absentmindedly swept a blush brush across your cheek in front of your vanity. You weren’t even sure what you were doing anymore—just trying to look somewhat alive for the day.

A notification lit up your phone screen beside your jewelry tray, pulling you from your thoughts. Curious, you placed the brush down and reached over for your phone.

riki 🐥🤍 [7:15 AM]: good morning. i’ll pick you up today. be ready, sleepyhead.

A laugh escaped your lips—soft and barely there—but genuine enough to fill your chest with warmth. Your thumb hovered over the screen, heart fluttering.

You felt like some lovesick Omega straight out of a drama, one who clutched her pillow at night and squealed over the smallest gestures.

But, this wasn’t just any Alpha. This was Ni-ki.

Nishimura Riki. The same cold, untouchable pureblood Alpha who’d once built walls so high around himself that not even his closest friends could reach him for a while. The same Alpha who used to speak in blunt one-word replies and walk off before people finished their sentences.

Now, he was opening car doors for you, sending early morning texts, and buying you strawberry bread and jewelry just because ‘they reminded him of you.’

It was ridiculous. It was surreal. It was kind of perfect.

You barely fought the smile tugging on your lips as you tapped out a reply with still-blush-stained fingers.

you [7:16 AM]: but i’m not done with my makeup yet :(

His reply came in literal seconds.

riki 🐥🤍 [7:16 AM]: you can finish that in my car. i’m already here.

You scoffed at your screen, rolling your eyes. “So demanding,” you muttered, but your grin said otherwise.

With your phone tucked between your shoulder and cheek, you quickly zipped your makeup pouch and tossed it into your bag. You took one last glance in the mirror and began straightening the collar of your blazer—only to notice the university pin was slightly crooked.

“Of course,” you groaned, adjusting it with both hands. It finally sat the way it was supposed to, a gold accent gleaming against the crisp fabric.

Grabbing your bag, you gave yourself a final once-over before walking out of your room.

And then you froze—eyeing the spiral staircase that curled down to the main floor like it was your sworn enemy.

You sighed, muttering under your breath. “Who thought stairs like these were a good idea before eight in the morning…”

Carefully, you descended step by step—heels clicking against polished wood—and peeked into the living room. Your mother was seated on the couch, robe still on, laptop perched on her lap as she scrolled through emails with her glasses slightly slipping down her nose.

“Morning,” you greeted softly, smoothing the back of your skirt as you approached.

Your mom looked up, smiled warmly, and closed her laptop. “You look nice today, sweetheart.” She stood to meet you halfway and pulled you into a gentle hug.

You returned it, nuzzling into the familiar warmth. “Where’s Dad?” you asked against her shoulder.

“Left early,” she replied, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. “He had a meeting. Something about the logistics contracts.”

You nodded in understanding. “Of course he did.”

She pulled back slightly and held your shoulders, giving you a little once-over. “You look a bit tired. You okay?”

“I’ll live,” you answered with a laugh. “New schedule’s just a lot.”

She kissed your forehead with a proud smile. “You’ve got this. Just pace yourself.”

You hugged her one more time before pulling away. She tilted her head curiously as you turned to grab your bag.

“Wait—who’s driving you to school today?” she asked, glancing toward the front of the estate. “I didn’t hear any of the drivers leave with any of the cars.”

You paused. Blinked once. Then smiled—small and sheepish.

“Uh… Riki is.” You rubbed the back of your neck. “He’s picking me up.”

You paused. Blinked once. Then smiled—small and sheepish.

“Uh… Riki is.” You rubbed the back of your neck. “He’s picking me up.”

“Of course he is,” she said fondly, eyes twinkling. “The perfect Alpha for my perfect little girl.”

You groaned playfully, but your cheeks were already burning. “Mom…”

She leaned forward and kissed your temple again, squeezing your arms before pulling away. “Just saying the truth, sweetheart. Go. Don’t let him wait too long.”

You hugged her one last time, letting yourself relax in the warmth only a mother could give, before turning to walk toward the main door. One of the estate guards gave you a polite nod and opened it for you, and you nodded back with a quiet, “Thank you.”

And there he was.

Nishimura Riki—leaning against his sleek black sportscar, one hand casually in his pocket, the other holding his phone. His tie was loose, the first two buttons of his uniform shirt undone in that typical Alpha-boy fashion that really shouldn’t look that good this early in the morning.

You smiled a little to yourself, standing still for a few moments just to enjoy the view. Because, that was your Alpha. In your driveway. Waiting for you.

He was busy typing—probably replying to some message from Jake or Jungwon, the way his brows were slightly furrowed in concentration.

But then, just like that, his head lifted.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to.

He stilled, the phone still in his hand, until his nose twitched just slightly—sensing your scent on the morning breeze.

The moment his eyes met yours, everything softened. His whole posture changed—phone shoved into his pocket without a second glance, his body pushing off the car almost on instinct.

He met you halfway.

“Good morning,” he murmured as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a hug that was warm, firm, and quietly sweet.

You melted into him with a soft sigh, cheek pressing against the smooth fabric of his blazer. “Morning, Riki.”

“You smell good,” he murmured against your hair, nose brushing your scalp. “I like it.”

You laughed. “It’s my new shampoo.”

He chuckled at that, hand ghosting along your back before he pulled away just enough to open the passenger door for you.

“My parents really raised me right,” he said under his breath, mostly to himself but loud enough for you to hear, “holding doors for my Omega like a proper Alpha.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t bite back the smile. “That or you’re just scared of what my mom will say if you don’t.”

He smirked, eyes gleaming as he helped you in. “That too.”

Once you were seated, he gently closed the door and rounded the car with that same easy confidence he always had—this time a little brighter, a little warmer.

He slipped into the driver’s seat and glanced at you, like he couldn’t quite help it. “Ready?”

You pulled out your compact from your bag and smiled. “Drive smoothly please, give me ten minutes. And then I’ll be perfect.”

Ni-ki shook his head, the smile never leaving his lips as he adjusted the mirror and started the engine. “Already perfect.”

You scoffed, cheeks heating up again. “You’re so—ugh.”

“Charming? Smooth?”

You groaned and covered your face with your blush brush, laughing. “Why do I even talk to you?”

Ni-ki only chuckled, the sound low and warm in his chest as he reached across to buckle his seatbelt. With one smooth motion, he grabbed your bag and gently set it in the backseat before starting the engine.

“Because,” he said easily, pulling his hand back to rest on the gear, “you have no choice.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips curled up anyway, amusement tugging at the corners. “Rude.”

The tires rolled softly over the stone-paved estate drive until the gates opened and the world beyond your sheltered home welcomed you both with the hum of early morning life.

As the city skyline came into view, tall buildings stretching up into the cloudless blue, Ni-ki calmly merged into the line of cars that filled the main road.

His hand rested loosely on the wheel, his posture relaxed yet effortlessly focused. He wasn’t rushing—not like he used to when he was younger and didn’t know better. No, this time, his driving was smoother. Slower. Careful in the way that made you feel safe. Loved, even.

You leaned back in your seat with a small sigh, flipping open your compact mirror to check your lips.

“Can you drive smooth today?” you asked absentmindedly, uncapping your lip gloss.

He glanced at you, the corner of his lips tugging up. “I always do.”

You looked at him pointedly.

“Okay, fine,” he conceded with a small laugh. “But only because you asked so nicely.”

You smiled, the kind of soft, helpless grin you didn’t mean to let slip around him, and focused on applying the sheer gloss to your bottom lip. You were halfway through reapplying when—

“Speed bump.”

His voice was low, steady—more of a warning than anything else—but his arm moved on instinct anyway. Without hesitation, he gently lifted his free hand and extended it across your front, resting just above your stomach protectively as the car eased over the bump.

You paused mid-application, startled but not at all bothered.

Your eyes flicked to him. He was still focused on the road, jaw relaxed, one hand still on the wheel.

The smallest smile tugged at your lips as you lowered the gloss and capped it. “You always used to do that.”

“Old habit,” he said with a shrug, though he didn’t move his arm right away. “Can’t help it.”

You leaned just slightly into the warmth of his forearm, grateful in a way words couldn’t quite hold.

“Thanks,” you said softly.

He still didn’t look at you. But his smile grew just a little wider. “Don’t mention it.”

You glanced out the window again, watching the blur of the morning crowd and flower vendors setting up shop at the corner. Your heart felt strangely full in your chest.

The council room was warmer than usual, filled with golden afternoon light seeping through the large glass windows. Papers were everywhere—spread out across tables, color-coded folders stacked unevenly beside laptops, and printed floor plans of the campus pinned to the bulletin board.

You were perched comfortably on Ni-ki’s desk, his sleek black laptop open in front of you, as you scrolled through an email thread about booth placements for the upcoming academy festival.

On the opposite end of the room, Sunoo’s mate sat cross-legged on top of her mate’s desk, pen twirling between her fingers, her sleeves rolled up and her head tilted in amused curiosity.

“So,” she said, eyes twinkling, “how does it feel to be back in the Student Relations Committee?”

You let out a soft laugh, leaning back on your palms as you stared at the ceiling for a second. “Stressful, and weirdly nostalgic.”

She grinned. “That sounds about right.”

“But,” you added, letting your gaze fall back to her with a crooked smile, “it’s kind of nice. I missed this. The work, the people, the feeling of being part of something.”

She nodded knowingly. “Especially being under Ni-ki again.”

You groaned, tossing your head back as your cheeks warmed. “Don’t even start.”

“I didn’t say anything!” she defended, biting back a laugh. “You said it.”

You huffed playfully, then set the laptop aside for a moment, grabbing the printed checklist beside you. “He’s different, you know. Not completely, but—he’s more, I don’t know. He actually answers emails now.”

She barked a laugh. “That’s character development.”

“Right?” you agreed, both of you giggling. “But seriously, he’s been… attentive. Helpful. Sweet, even. It’s kind of disorienting.”

“Disorienting,” she repeated with a smirk. “Is that what we’re calling soft Alpha behavior now?”

You groaned again and covered your face with the checklist.

She laughed, then softened her voice, leaning her chin on her palm. “You like working with him again?”

You slowly lowered the paper and gave her a quiet, thoughtful smile. “Yeah. I do.”

“Ugh, that’s cute,” she groaned, then suddenly straightened up and hopped off Sunoo’s desk. “Okay, no more of this—I need to fix that food stall layout before Sunoo starts sending me voice memos titled ‘concern.’”

You laughed as she crouched by the drawer and yanked it open, pulling out a sleek silver laptop. “You’re telling me he labels them?”

“Yes!” she huffed dramatically, blowing her bangs from her eyes as she sat in his chair and powered the laptop on. “Like, ‘Concern 1: Why is booth 3 beside the west exit?’ ‘Concern 2: Did you check for enough outlets?’ Like I don’t have 3 hours of sleep and 8 emails from the fire safety committee already.”

You gasped mockingly. “Sounds like a personal problem.”

She pointed a finger at you without even looking up. “Totally your fault. You were chatting me up.”

“Excuse me for bonding,” you replied, giggling as you slid Ni-ki’s laptop a little to the side and started tidying the printouts beside you.

Just then, the council room door swung open—and you both turned to see Ni-ki walk in, balancing two very loaded brown paper bags in his arms. The scent of food followed him in immediately, warm and sweet and slightly savory.

You blinked. “Um…”

Ni-ki didn’t say a word. Not even a glance at either of you.

He walked straight to Sunoo’s desk and gently placed the first paper bag in front of the older Alpha’s mate.

She raised a brow. Then, slowly turned to exchange a look with you.

You tilted your head, mirroring her confusion. What is happening right now.

Still wordless, Ni-ki crossed the room and stopped in front of his desk—where you were still comfortably seated, laptop slightly to the side. Without warning, he placed the second bag down next to you with a soft thud.

And then—without so much as a ‘hi’—he stepped behind you and placed both hands gently on your shoulders, giving them a light squeeze.

You blinked, startled by the touch, then turned your head to look up at him just as Sunoo’s mate gawked openly.

Ni-ki met your gaze with a completely casual expression.

“…What?” he asked flatly.

You raised your brows. “What’s with the food?”

He sighed like you were the one being weird. “I escaped an ongoing festival council meeting.”

Your jaw dropped. “You escaped?!”

“I had to,” he deadpanned. “Bringing Sunoo with me would’ve looked suspicious. So he texted me, listed some stuff she’d want.” He gestured lazily to Sunoo’s mate, who immediately smiled into her fist, unwrapping a rice ball.

Then Ni-ki looked back down at you, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “And I already know what you like.”

Your brain blanked for a second. “…Excuse me?”

“What?” he shrugged. “You’ve ordered the same lunch three times this week.”

You squinted. “So now you’re feeding your committee?”

Ni-ki finally let out a short laugh and leaned down closer to your ear. “No,” he corrected. “I’m feeding you. Because someone skipped lunch again.”

You frowned. “You haven’t eaten either.”

“I can take care of myself just fine, angel,” he replied, that little smirk back in full force.

Your cheeks warmed. You grabbed the paper bag beside you with a dramatic sigh and pulled it into your lap, peeking inside.

Your brows rose immediately.

Inside was a still-warm bento box of rice with golden tonkatsu cutlets drizzled in thick curry sauce, two strawberry milk cartons, two pieces of your favorite egg bread wrapped in parchment, a small container of sliced mangoes and peaches, and—resting delicately on top of it all—a folded napkin.

You picked up the napkin slowly and stared.

Your name was scribbled on it in a sharp, familiar handwriting. Definitely Ni-ki’s.

He leaned back against his desk beside you and crossed his arms. “I didn’t want it to get mixed up.”

“There were two bags.”

“Exactly,” he said, completely unfazed.

Sunoo’s mate let out a loud squeal from the other side of the room. “I swear to god,” she mumbled through a bite of onigiri, “if you two don’t date already, I’m gonna fight someone.”

Ni-ki didn’t miss a beat. “We’re engaged,” he said plainly, as he leaned back onto the edge of the desk beside you.

Sunoo’s mate slowly put the rice ball down onto a napkin in front of her and just—stared.

“…I’m sorry,” she said, eyes wide and blinking rapidly. “What.”

You immediately turned your head and smacked Ni-ki’s hand lightly, the one that was still resting snugly on your shoulder. “Riki!”

He just grinned, entirely too smug. “Oops.”

You let out a sheepish laugh and shrugged helplessly at Sunoo’s mate. “W-Wolf’s out of the bag…?”

She didn’t laugh.

Instead, she gave you the most betrayed expression ever, jaw dropped and blinking as if you’d just stabbed her with a spoon. “Ha. Ha. Ha. Very funny, (Y/N),” she said, tone dry as desert. “I would’ve laughed if I didn’t just get lied to.”

You groaned and hid your face behind the napkin with your name still scribbled on it. “It wasn’t supposed to be announced until next week!”

“Well, it’s already Tuesday,” she said flatly.

“I know,” you said, voice muffled. “I’m sorry.”

She sighed dramatically, flopping back in Sunoo’s chair, arms crossed. “Ugh. Yeah, I get it. Timing. Formalities. Family business and all that blah blah. I understand.” She paused.

Then added, “Still sad I didn’t get best friend privileges, though.”

You laughed again, feeling Ni-ki’s fingers gently twirling the ends of your hair behind you, absentminded and familiar.

“I wanted to tell you first,” you said honestly, peeking out from behind the napkin.

She narrowed her eyes. “But?”

“But he was being annoying.”

“Excuse you,” Ni-ki muttered behind you, flicking a strand of your hair playfully.

Sunoo’s mate stared between you two for a long second. “Oh my god. I hate how cute you guys are.”

You gave her a look. “You’re literally dating Sunoo. You can’t talk.”

She sighed dramatically, flopping into Sunoo’s chair like the weight of being called out had hit her. “Okay. Point made.”

Then she perked up, narrowed her eyes, and pointed a finger in your direction. “But! You owe us a girls’ day. No questions asked. I want cafés, nail salons, photo booths, and probably crying over nothing in a dressing room. We deserve it.”

Before Ni-ki could so much as open his mouth to object, she turned her gaze toward him and glared.

Ni-ki immediately sighed in defeat, hands up like he’d been caught mid-crime. “Noted,” he mumbled. “I’ll stand down.”

You giggled softly, glancing at her with a small smile. “Okay. Just confirm the day—we’ll plan it properly.”

She beamed and nodded, clearly satisfied, and went back to happily eating her food like she hadn’t just threatened your fiancé.

You looked back at Ni-ki then, eyes soft.

“I’ll drive you when you confirm the day, yeah?”

He leaned down a little, his hands returning to your shoulders, thumbs brushing gently along your blazer as he looked at you with warm eyes.

“Eat well,” he said, dipping his head to press a soft kiss to your forehead, then one to your nose. “That means the rice, and the fruits, Omega. Don’t test me.”

You huffed a small laugh, nose scrunching. “Yes, Riki.”

He smirked at that—but just as he was about to straighten up, you reached up and gently tugged him back by the collar of his uniform blazer.

He blinked in surprise—just before you leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

His smile bloomed instantly, wide and boyish and everything soft, and he bent back down just to press another kiss to the top of your head. “Cheeky.”

You laughed quietly as he rubbed your shoulders again, slower this time, a little reluctant to leave.

“Enjoy, alright?” he murmured. “And don’t forget you have class after this. I know your schedule.”

You groaned, making him laugh as he finally stepped away, bag in hand and heart completely full. “Bye,” he called as he walked backwards toward the door, tossing you one last grin.

“Bye,” you said, still smiling—already grabbing your chopsticks like he asked.

It was already 3PM, and you were seconds away from fully dozing off.

The professor’s voice droned on about ‘market penetration strategies’—something you’d already studied last semester in Italy and could probably recite in your sleep. You had half a mind to drool on your notes at this point, your head tilting ever so slightly…

Until someone gently tapped your shoulder.

You blinked, sitting up straight quickly as a neatly stacked pile of papers was handed to you. “Ah—thanks.”

The one who passed it to you gave a small grin. “Professor’s giving out the activity sheet.”

You nodded, flipping the paper over lazily. Just another case analysis. You passed the rest of the stack toward the students behind you, already bored again, when the same Alpha leaned a little toward you.

“(Y/N), right?”

You glanced over, slightly surprised. “Yeah, that’s me.”

He smiled a little brighter this time, more casual and charming. “I’m Riku. Maeda Riku.”

He held his hand out in that polite, practiced way.

You took it, smiling politely. “Nice to meet you, Riku.”

But before he could say anything else, the professor’s voice cut in like a buzzer. “Alright, class dismissed. Don’t forget to read the last three chapters for discussion tomorrow!”

The room immediately exploded into motion. Chairs scraped, bags zipped, conversations bubbled up. You were already packing your things quickly, more than ready to be done.

“See you tomorrow, (Y/N),” Riku said with one last glance over his shoulder before heading toward his group of friends near the back door.

You paused for a brief second, looking at his retreating figure—friendly enough. But your mind didn’t linger.

Because as soon as you stepped into the hallway, heading toward the student council wing, a familiar scent curled around you before you could even register the voice.

“There you are.”

You blinked—and nearly walked into Ni-ki, who was casually leaning against one of the stone pillars lining the hallway.

Hair a little messy from the wind, tie slightly loosened, and expression so neutral anyone else would’ve missed it. But you saw it—the small, barely-there curve of his lips.

“Riki,” you greeted instinctively, the tiredness from class melting into warmth the moment you said his name.

Without a word, he stood up straight and reached for your bag, slinging it over one shoulder like it weighed nothing. Then he grabbed the small bundle of books you were hugging to your chest—easily balancing them on the same arm.

His now free hand found yours without hesitation, fingers sliding perfectly between yours. You were so used to it by now, the easy way he took care of you without asking—but this time, it didn’t go unnoticed.

Not by the crowd of students still flooding the hallway.

Eyes darted between you and Ni-ki, jaws dropping. You could hear someone whisper “No fucking way” behind you, followed by someone else going “Is that—Nishimura? Carrying her bag??”

One girl dropped the chocolate box she had been holding, still debating whether to confess to him or not.

Ni-ki didn’t even flinch. He just turned his head toward you with that soft gaze reserved only for you and said, “Long day?”

You nodded, still smiling. “Tiring. Almost fell asleep.”

“Mm.” He raised your hand slightly to press a quick kiss to the back of it. “Should’ve skipped. I’d cover your attendance.”

You laughed, squeezing his fingers. “You already do that way too much for the others.”

This was not the Nishimura Riki people knew.

This was not the cold, unreadable, borderline terrifying Student Relations Director who once threw out a box of letters in front of the senders and handed the chocolates to his committee ‘because it’s free sugar, not affection.’

The same Ni-ki who once rejected someone with a single look and allegedly said, ‘I’m not taking applications.’

And now here he was—carrying your bag, holding your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, and saying things like ‘Should’ve skipped.’

The Ni-ki who was yours.

He paid no mind to the stares. No weight to the whispers. He never cared for them anyway—had never once let the opinions of others dictate what he did or who he showed up for. If anything, he only tightened his hold on your hand.

You were too busy recounting the rest of your afternoon to even notice the way the world seemed to slow down around you both.

“I mean, I get that he’s trying to explain the concept,” you were saying, frowning a little as your steps synced naturally with his, “but I swear I’ve read about product lifecycle models a dozen times already. He just kept saying ‘strategic positioning’ like it was some divine revelation.”

“Strategic positioning,” Ni-ki echoed dryly, eyes half-lidded with amusement. “He says that every semester. There’s a compilation video of him somewhere.”

That made you laugh, leaning your head briefly against his arm. “I believe it. I was this close to falling asleep if Riku didn’t poke me with that worksheet.”

“Riku?” he asked, tone even, but you caught the faint raise of his brow.

“Mhm,” you replied, brushing it off. “He was nice. Sat beside me today. Handed me the papers.”

Ni-ki didn’t comment right away. Just nodded, thumb running slowly over the back of your hand. “I see.”

You kept talking, caught up in your little recount like nothing had changed. “He introduced himself too. Kind of sudden, but I guess he’s new. Oh! And the professor—he tried to call my name, but butchered it again, I swear—”

And Ni-ki was still listening. Still eagerly listening. His head tilted slightly toward you, eyes soft and focused, nodding at every point you made, even humming now and then to show he was following.

His attention was gentle—undivided. Like there was nothing else worth watching. Like the world had narrowed to just you, and the rest could burn for all he cared.

But the rest of the world hadn’t disappeared.

Not really.

A few paces behind, stuck in the movement of the dispersing crowd, someone hadn’t looked away.

Still standing near the lecture hall doors, pretending to be mid-conversation with a friend—his eyes, however, were locked on you.

More specifically, on the back of your head… and the way Nishimura Riki's hand held yours with such instinct. Like he had done it a thousand times before. Like it was his right.

Riku’s friend nudged him. “You coming?”

He blinked. “Yeah. Sorry. Zoned out.”

But even as he moved, the name you’d said echoed in his mind.

Nishimura Riki.

The infamous pureblooded Alpha. Student council. Pureblooded. Standoffish. Untouchable.

He glanced one last time at your silhouette disappearing around the corridor, the boy beside you dressed in tailored navy, a step too graceful to be casual.

Riku’s lips curved into a subtle, almost domineering smirk.

“Interesting,” he muttered under his breath.

Beside him, his friend Ryo raised a brow. “What’s interesting?”

“Nothing,” Ryo replied smoothly, not even looking away at first. But just before turning the corner, he stole one final glance at you.

Nothing? Maybe.

But something about the way his gaze lingered said otherwise.

You felt it.

That unmistakable prickle at the back of your neck—the weight of a gaze. It ghosted across your spine, subtle and fleeting, but just enough to make you pause mid-step and glance over your shoulder.

But all you saw was a sea of students. Some rushing past, backpacks bouncing; others laughing by the walls, huddled in small circles or checking their phones. Nothing out of place. No one looking directly at you.

Still, the unease lingered for a moment longer.

“What's wrong?” Ni-ki’s voice broke through your thoughts, low and close. He slowed beside you, his grip on your hand never loosening.

Ni-ki raised a brow, gaze sweeping the crowd behind you like a quiet scan of the perimeter. Nothing suspicious. Nothing obvious.

“I guess not,” you added quickly, brushing it off with a shrug and a laugh you hoped sounded convincing.

But he didn’t look convinced. Instead, he pursed his lips and subtly tugged you closer, your shoulders now brushing as the two of you rounded the next corner. His thumb gently stroked the back of your hand. Typical Ni-ki.

Soon, the familiar tall double doors of the student council room came into view. The polished brass handles gleamed under the soft overhead lighting, and without hesitation, Ni-ki pushed one open with his free hand.

“Heads up, we’re back,” he called casually, his voice echoing through the large, lively room.

The scent of paper, fresh markers, and leftover milk tea lingered in the air. You followed him in, waving and smiling at your fellow council members as some of them perked up at your arrival.

But it wasn’t just your usual group inside.

“Oh, hey!” Jungwon spotted you immediately, waving with one hand as he held a stack of mood boards in the other. “We’re running through venue layouts. Heeseung’s idea.”

Heeseung grinned from across the room. “Tell me that stage arch idea isn’t genius.”

You let out a laugh. “You just wanted an excuse to use the stocked-up fairy lights.”

“Guilty,” he said with a wink.

Ni-ki gently nudged you toward his desk. “Sit for a bit. I’ll be back in a sec, I just need to give Jungwon the notes Sunoo sent earlier.”

You gave him a soft nod, settling into his chair. His scent lingered faintly in the fabric—subtle amberwood and something comfortably warm. Familiar.

From where you sat, you watched as Ni-ki approached Jungwon, his posture already changing into that cool-headed, smooth council member. He was efficient, already pulling up something on his tablet and pointing to a section as he spoke.

Jungwon nodded along seriously, the first years leaning in curiously.

You sat there with your chin propped on your hand, watching the boy who walked you through crowds without flinching, who noticed when your steps slowed, who carried your bag without needing to be asked.

Ni-ki stood tall in front of Jungwon, gesturing toward a tablet with his usual confidence, mouth moving with explanation, brows slightly furrowed. He was the very definition of composed. So focused. So steady. So stupidly gorgeous.

Your heart sighed in your chest. You were so gone.

Suddenly, the office chair beside you screeched lightly against the floor as someone dragged it over, snapping you out of your trance. Heeseung’s mate plopped down beside you, elbow already digging playfully into your ribs.

“Babes,” she whispered with a mischievous smile, “you’re drooling.”

You blinked. “I am so not.”

She grinned wider. “I’m kidding. But seriously—aren’t they dreamy?” She let out a wistful sigh, eyes drifting across the room toward Heeseung, who was now helping a first year tape something onto a board.

You followed her gaze, then looked back at Ni-ki.

And God, was she right.

The way his hair fell just slightly over his forehead, how he nodded as Jungwon spoke, the way he held the tablet with one hand and pocketed the other—all of it so clean, so infuriatingly attractive.

He looked like he was born to be in control of any room he stepped in, and yet still found time to hold your hand and tuck your hair behind your ear like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Yeah,” you murmured, your voice softer than you meant it to be. “He really is.”

He turned slightly then—Ni-ki—glancing your way just for a heartbeat. His eyes found yours instantly, and though his expression didn’t change much, the faintest twitch of his lips told you he’d caught you staring.

You looked away, heat creeping up your neck.

“God,” you muttered.

Your friend giggled, nudging your arm. “I heard you owe us a full girls’ day soon? I need to hear everything.”

You groaned. “I know, I know. I’ll make time.”

You groaned dramatically, sinking into the chair. “I know, I know. I’ll make time.”

“Good,” she grinned, “Because I want nothing held back.”

Before you could respond, the soft click of shoes against the tile drew your attention—Ni-ki, walking toward the two of you with his tablet in hand and that ever-so-slight tilt of his head that somehow managed to look both intimidating and soft.

He placed the tablet down on his desk, and without a second thought, you reached out and pulled it toward yourself with a little hum.

“You’re just gonna steal my stuff like that?” Ni-ki laughed under his breath, clearly amused.

“You left it unattended,” you replied with a teasing smirk. “Finders keepers.”

He rolled his eyes playfully and—without so much as a word—gathered both your bag and his in one effortless swing onto his shoulder. The sheer ease with which he did that made your heart lurch stupidly in your chest.

“You ready?” he asked, already reaching his free hand out to you.

You nodded, springing up from the chair. Before leaving, you leaned down and quickly hugged the older Omega still seated beside you.

“I’ll text you,” you promised her, and she nodded with a soft smile, waving you off.

Ni-ki’s hand found yours as soon as you stepped away, his fingers immediately interlacing with yours like it was instinct.

“Bye, everyone,” he called over his shoulder to the rest of the council members, voice calm and cool.

A chorus of goodbyes followed you two out, but you barely heard them—too busy watching the way Ni-ki, with one arm entirely full, pushed open the heavy double doors of the student council room with his occupied hand.

You didn’t even bother to hide your awe.

‘Pureblooded Alphas and their enhanced everything’, you thought, internally swooning. ‘Strength, posture, presence… unfair.’

“Stop staring,” Ni-ki murmured, amusement curling into his voice as you stepped into the hallway together.

“I wasn’t,” you said far too quickly, looking away.

“You were.”

You pouted, bumping your shoulder lightly into his arm. “Can you blame me? That door is heavy.”

Ni-ki chuckled under his breath, squeezing your hand a little tighter. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You love it,” you quipped, finally grinning at him.

His eyes softened as he glanced sideways at you, brushing your knuckles with his thumb. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I really do.”

“Come on,” Ni-ki said after a second, giving your hand a gentle tug. “Let’s go. I need to get you back home.”

You followed his lead without resistance, your steps falling into rhythm with his as the two of you strolled through the campus grounds.

The late afternoon sun spilled golden light across the halls, casting warm reflections on the marble tiles and polished banisters. No matter how many times you walked these paths, it always felt unreal—like stepping through the corridors of a palace instead of a university.

The high ceilings, intricate moldings, glass-paneled walls, and art pieces lining the hallways—it all whispered of old money and quiet power. It was regal, poised, a reminder of the world you both belonged to but never quite stopped marveling at.

Your hand remained in Ni-ki’s the entire way. He kept your pace slow, unrushed, like he was soaking in the last light of the day with you in it. And when you finally exited the last hall and stepped into the quiet of the private parking lot reserved only for high-ranking council members and purebloods, you immediately spotted his sleek, obsidian-black car resting under the shade.

Ni-ki reached into his coat pocket for his keys, his fingers brushing against yours as he did. The locks clicked with a soft beep, headlights blinking awake.

You instinctively moved a step forward, already lifting your hand to open the passenger side when—

“Uh-uh.” He tsked, stepping in front of you with a disapproving shake of his head. His tall frame blocked your path as he swung the door open himself. “Nope. Not gonna happen.”

You blinked. “What? I can open the door myself.”

Ni-ki scoffed, one brow raising as he leaned slightly against the frame. “You could. But why would you? I’m right here.”

You let out a soft, amused laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re spoiled,” he shot back with a smirk. “Get in.”

You climbed in, still shaking your head, but your heart was fluttering stupidly inside your chest. As he closed the door behind you with a soft thud and walked around to the driver’s side, you couldn't help but whisper under your breath:

“God, I’m in trouble.”

The drive home should’ve taken twenty minutes, thirty tops. But the universe clearly had other plans.

You were twenty minutes into sitting in the exact same spot, cars barely crawling in front of you, the setting sun starting to disappear behind the tall city skyline.

Horns honked in the far distance, but inside the car, the atmosphere remained surprisingly calm—thanks to the soft instrumental playing from the speakers, and Ni-ki's steady presence beside you. His hand remained loosely draped on the steering wheel, the other resting by the gear shift, fingers tapping along to the beat. He looked completely unbothered.

You, however, were ready to scream into a pillow.

You shifted in your seat, sighing dramatically. Your legs tucked up slightly, cheek leaning against the window for a beat before you slowly turned to him with a pout.

“Riki,” you called softly.

He hummed immediately, head turning just slightly toward you, attention drawn like a magnet. “Yes?” he asked, already half-smiling. “What do you need?”

“Your bag please.”

Ni-ki reached to the backseat with one arm, blindly finding his bag—and pulled the leather messenger forward, placing it gently on your lap.

“Thank you,” you muttered, zipping it open quickly. You rummaged through the neatly organized contents, until you found what you were looking for—his tablet. You held it up, already grinning. “What’s your password?”

He didn’t even blink. “Your birthday.”

You paused, staring at him. “…Really?”

Ni-ki shrugged, eyes still scanning the road. “Yeah. Who else am I putting there?”

You blinked, once, then twice, warmth rushing to your cheeks like a wave crashing hard against the shore. You tried to laugh it off, biting your lip to contain the squeal rising in your throat.

“Oh my god, you’re such a sap.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said without missing a beat.

You typed in the digits, heart thudding just a bit faster as the screen unlocked instantly. Inside were his neatly categorized folders, color-coded schedules, council documents, and photos—some of which were clearly candid shots of you he must’ve taken when you weren’t looking.

You were just about to tap on a game—something mindless to kill time—when Ni-ki cleared his throat softly. It wasn’t loud, but it was enough to snap your attention away from the screen.

Your head tilted curiously, and before you could ask, his hand slid gently over your knee—warm, a little clammy. It made your stomach flip.

His eyes stayed on the road ahead for a second longer before he finally glanced at you, lashes low, expression unreadable except for the slight flush on his cheeks.

“So…” he started, his voice low. “I got you something. A few days ago.”

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “You… what?”

Your fingers stilled on the tablet, and you immediately powered it off, placing it gently on your lap as you turned your full attention to him.

Ni-ki shifted slightly in his seat, clearing his throat again as he reached to the space behind your legs, fingers curling around the strap of the bag that had been sitting there quietly this entire time.

“I mean, I know the engagement’s already official,” he continued, voice softer now, almost sheepish. “And technically our families already made this a thing… but I just—” He hesitated, pulling the bag into his lap. “I wanted to do something special. Something that’s from me, not them.”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. Your heart was pounding so hard you could barely hear anything over it.

He unzipped the top compartment slowly, fingers moving with care, before he pulled out a velvet box the color of deep plum—luxurious and heavy in his palm, the gold trim glinting faintly in the warm tones of the setting sun streaming through the windshield.

“Riki…” you whispered.

He didn’t look at you right away. Instead, he stared at the box in his hand like it was the most terrifying thing he’s ever held.

“It’s not… like, this isn’t the final one or anything,” he mumbled quickly, clearly flustered. “Like—there’s going to be a formal one from both families, I know that. But I just thought… I wanted to give you something that actually felt like me.”

You watched, wide-eyed, tears already stinging at the corners of your vision.

“I designed it with one of my mom’s jewelers,” he rambled, nervously rubbing his thumb along the edge. “I remembered you said you preferred white gold over silver, and I just—I didn’t want it to be something generic. You deserve more than that. And I didn’t tell anyone. Not even Jay. I just… it’s for you.”

And then, gently, he opened the box.

Inside sat a four-carat princess-cut diamond, perched delicately in a crown of white gold that shimmered even under the dimming light. The edges were sharp and elegant, the center gem catching every last bit of sunlight that filtered through the car windows, scattering tiny rainbows across the dashboard.

It was the most stunning ring you’d ever seen in your life.

“Riki,” you whispered, hand flying to your mouth as tears welled in your eyes, “oh my god…”

He finally looked at you—really looked at you—eyes flickering with something tender and raw.

“I know it’s a lot,” he said quickly, almost breathless. “You don’t have to wear it all the time, or even now—I just… I wanted you to have something that came from me. Something that says this isn’t just a deal, or arrangement, or whatever they want to call it.”

He took a shaky breath, “This is me loving you. This is me choosing you.”

“You idiot,” you sniffled, laughing through the tears as you leaned forward to press your forehead to his. “You’re gonna kill me one day with this softness.”

He smiled then, a little crooked and a lot nervous. “Is that a yes?”

“You don’t even have to ask,” you whispered, lips brushing his as your hands curled around his wrist.

Ni-ki’s breath caught for a split second. Then, slowly, he pulled back—not far, just enough to see your face clearly as his eyes softened.

He leaned in first to press a lingering kiss to your forehead, tender and grounding. Then, without a word, he reached back into the velvet box and carefully lifted the ring between his fingers. You held out your hand, heart hammering in your chest, and watched as he gently slid it onto your ring finger.

It fit perfectly.

He held your hand up, studying the way the white gold caught the last rays of sun, before turning it palm-up and pressing a kiss right to the center.

But his eyes—his eyes flickered, for a moment, from your hand to your lips. It was quick, instinctive, and he caught himself, biting down the beginning of a smile as if to stop himself from getting carried away.

Except you were already gone.

You surged forward, cupping his face with both hands as you kissed him—deep, slow, entirely without hesitation.

He gasped softly into your mouth at the suddenness of it, but his body moved without delay. One of his hands flew to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you in, closer, closer still.

The other, still warm from holding the ring, found its place on your jaw before sliding down—knuckles dragging across your neck, his wrist instinctively brushing over your scent gland.

You felt the warmth immediately—the heady pull of his Alpha instincts scenting you, marking you as his. It was possessive and sweet and made your head swim in the best way.

He deepened the kiss, lips parting against yours as he breathed you in like he was starved. You could feel the quiet groan in his chest, the way he smiled into it despite the intensity, how his nose nudged yours between breaths.

When you both finally pulled away, cheeks flushed, breaths uneven, your eyes fluttered open—and you burst out laughing.

“Riki,” you giggled, brushing your thumb across his bottom lip, “my lip gloss.”

It was smudged across his mouth—shiny and sticky, definitely not part of the plan. He blinked once, cross-eyed trying to see it, before snorting and dragging the back of his hand across his mouth.

“Worth it,” he said, laughing as well, eyes crinkling. “I’d wear the whole tube if it means I get to kiss you like that.”

You grinned, still breathless, still glowing as you looked down at your hand.

“I love you,” you murmured.

“I know,” he whispered, brushing his nose against your cheek. “And I’ll keep making sure you do. Every single day.”

The early morning sunlight spilled through the tall windows of the council room, golden and soft as it kissed the scattered papers across your desk. You sat in perfect silence, tucked neatly into Ni-ki’s seat, scribbling down final revisions for the Memory Garden exhibit.

Outside, the campus was slowly stirring awake, but inside the council wing, it was quiet save for the scratch of your pen and the gentle hum of the old air conditioning unit above. A bottle of strawberry milk sat opened beside you, halfway empty, condensation dripping down the sides.

You checked the time—again.

Ni-ki had been in the second-floor meeting room for almost an hour now, probably discussing final security layouts with faculty heads. You sighed and took another small sip of your milk, lips curving slightly as your gaze wandered down to your hand.

A soft creak sounded as the double doors swung open.

Your heart skipped, already expecting the tall frame of your fiancé—but instead, in walked Jungwon’s mate, her long cardigan trailing behind her, followed closely by Heeseung’s mate, who was already sipping from a bubble tea cup and chatting animatedly.

“Oh,” Jungwon’s mate smiled when she spotted you, “good morning!”

“Hey,” you greeted, straightening in your seat as they made their way across the room. “You guys done with the booth line-ups?”

“Almost,” Heeseung’s mate chirped, settling herself onto her boyfriend’s desk like it was second nature. “We just wanted to double-check which spots were going to get extra lights.”

“I think Ni-ki has the lighting chart,” you replied. “He should be back soon.”

Jungwon’s mate had just pulled out a pastel highlighter when her eyes drifted—slow, curious, and calculating—towards your hand. She blinked once.

Then a second time.

“Wait.” She leaned forward, voice suddenly laced with amusement. “Since when did you wear rings?”

Eyes wide, you looked down almost comically slow, only to find the glimmering four-carat diamond engagement ring proudly catching the sunlight on your ring finger.

“Oh,” you stammered, a smile tugging at your lips that you didn’t even try to hide. “Right. Um.”

Heeseung’s mate gasped—loudly and dramatically. “You’re joking!”

“Nope,” you whispered, the flush crawling up your cheeks.

Jungwon’s Omega leaned across the table, eyes wide. “When did this happen?!”

“Last night,” you murmured, fiddling with the hem of your sweater. “Well—we’ve been officially engaged for a while but Ni-ki… he wanted to give me something more personal, so… he gave me this.”

Heeseung’s mate squealed. “He gave you a diamond that could pay off half the dorm’s tuition, that’s what he did.”

“God,” Jungwon’s mate breathed, staring at your hand like it held the key to the universe. “He really said ‘rich Alpha fiancé’ and meant it.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up from your chest. “It’s not even the size—it’s just… he remembered. About the white gold. I’ve always preferred it over silver, and he just—he remembered.”

Both girls melted instantly.

Heeseung’s mate wiggled her brows. “I wanna see how he reacts when I casually bring this up later.”

You rolled your eyes fondly just as the door creaked open again—and this time, the familiar sound of long, confident strides echoed into the room. Your eyes met Ni-ki’s the moment he walked in, his gaze instantly softening.

Ni-ki didn’t say a word as he stepped fully into the room, the heavy council door clicking shut behind him with a soft thud. His lips curled up into that familiar, quiet smile—warm, content, just for you.

He didn’t even hesitate as he grabbed the extra chair from the corner, dragging it beside his desk without a word and lowering himself into it. His hand found your thigh immediately, his fingers warm as they curled there like second nature.

Heeseung’s Omega let out a loud, dramatic sniffle from where she sat cross-legged on her boyfriend’s desk.

“My babies are so big now,” she said, fanning her face like she might cry. “Engaged. Mature. In love. What is this character development?”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, glancing at her with a scrunched nose, heat crawling up your neck. “Shut up. You’re literally graduating next semester.”

“Exactly!” she gasped, like you’d proved her point. “I’ll be gone! Out! No longer here to babysit you two lovebirds through your pining era!”

Jungwon’s mate laughed. “She’s acting like she’s your honorary parent.”

“She basically is,” you muttered with a snort, glancing sideways at Ni-ki.

Ni-ki didn’t say much—but the twitch of his lips and the light squeeze on your thigh said enough.

“She’s gonna cry at the wedding,” you added with a grin.

“Oh, I know.” Ni-ki smiled, soft and sincere, his gaze brushing across your face before dropping down—just for a second—to the ring still proudly sitting on your finger.

Your heart flipped again.

Jungwon’s mate groaned, clutching her chest. “God, you guys are worse than the dating sims.”

Heeseung’s mate fake-wiped a tear. “I love love.”

The festival had barely started and already the entire campus buzzed with energy—music playing from the central speakers, booths lining every garden path, and students buzzing with excitement. But inside the council room, things were calm, coordinated, and surprisingly smooth.

You adjusted the hem of the special council jersey you wore, proud to see everyone in matching ones. It was a sleek design—clean white with navy trimmings, the council seal on the chest, and your last names and jersey numbers printed on the back. It gave the high-ranking members and committee heads a fun sense of unity.

You were leaned over the long desk with Sunghoon, pointing at the final set of posters and promotional banners laid out on the screen in front of you.

“Make sure the font size on the event time is consistent across all materials,” you reminded, fingers tracing over the preview.

Sunghoon nodded, typing away at his tablet. “Got it. I’ll send it to the other committee heads to approve within the hour. The graphics team’s been working nonstop.”

“Tell them they did amazing,” you said genuinely, handing him a clipboard just as someone approached from behind.

Jake’s mate, graceful and always so polished, stepped between the two of you and handed Sunghoon a folder.

“Final checklist for the broadcast schedules—”

But she stopped mid-sentence, her sharp eyes catching something shiny as you reached over to adjust the folder in Sunghoon’s hands.

She gasped. Loudly. Audibly.

“Oh my god—” Her hands immediately flew to her mouth, her eyes locked onto your left hand like it was glowing. “Is that what I think it is?!”

Jake, who had been halfway across the room teasing Jungwon, blinked and appeared next to her in under two seconds. “What happened? What—are you okay?”

“She’s engaged,” she whispered, pointing, like she’d just uncovered national treasure. “She’s actually engaged.”

You tried, really tried, to hold it in—but a laugh bubbled up from your chest, and you bit down a grin. With the whole room turning toward you, conversations pausing mid-sentence, you slowly raised your hand and wiggled your fingers just a bit.

“Surprise,” you said sweetly, trying not to laugh at the stunned faces around the room.

Jay looked up from his notes, mouth hanging open. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p.’

Ni-ki’s laugh rang from the corner where he’d been joking around with Jay. “Why do you all look like I dropped a bomb?” he said, casually pushing himself off the table.

The second he reached you, his arm wrapped around your waist like it belonged there. You leaned into him instinctively, and his hand rested against your lower back with ease, protective—his.

“She’s mine now,” he added with a grin, resting his chin briefly against your temple, “legally and everything. Well… almost.”

Jake's mate blinked back into focus. “You proposed and didn’t even tell us?! That’s betrayal.”

“It just happened recently,” you said with a little shrug, your tone playful. “We weren’t keeping it a secret—we just weren’t broadcasting it.”

“Well, you’re glowing,” she said, absolutely beaming now.

“Can we expect wedding invitations by the semester’s end?” Sunghoon asked, one brow raised.

Ni-ki chuckled, gently tugging your hand into his. “Let’s get through the festival first.”

“Fair,” Jungwon said, already tapping a note into his phone, probably to remind himself to plan a small celebration party later.

And as the room slipped back into laughter and chatter—plans resuming, papers passed around again—you glanced up at Ni-ki. His smile hadn’t dimmed once since he’d walked to your side.

He was still looking at you like you hung the stars, his fingers brushing soft circles along your waist through the fabric of your jersey.

“Heads up, everybody!” Heeseung’s voice rang out, loud and commanding with a grin that always bordered on too smug. “We’re being called down. Everyone’s expected at the open field in ten!”

He stood tall at the front, already wearing his own customized jersey with ‘LEE 01’ stitched proudly on the back. His mate, now standing beside him with her hands on her hips, looked equally ready.

“You heard him!” she echoed, clapping her hands twice. “Let’s move, council!”

Groans and chatter broke out instantly.

“Already?” Sunghoon muttered, closing his tablet with a sigh.

“I just got comfortable,” Jake added with mock offense as he pulled his mate by the hand. “We better get VIP seats for this.”

“You’re literally a main host,” she said with a smirk.

Ni-ki gave you a look, and you nodded, squeezing his hand before gathering your notes and the council event checklist you had on clipboards.

“Let’s go, Mrs. Nishimura,” Ni-ki murmured just low enough for you to hear.

You rolled your eyes with a smile. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” he replied with a wink, leaning in to whisper near your ear, “because soon it won’t just be a tease.”

You laughed under your breath, nudging him playfully as the two of you filed out of the room with the others, the energy rising with every step.

Downstairs, you could already hear the buzz of students gathering in the open field—the beat of opening music pulsing through the ground, the smell of festival food lingering in the air, and a sky turning the softest shade of peach as sunrise approached.

The open field was surrounded by colorful banners, vendor stalls, booths still covered with tarp, and string lights that would glow brighter as the sun climbed higher.

Right at the front stood the student council members, lined up neatly in front of the stage. Each of them wore their custom jersey-style shirts: bold white with navy stripes along the sleeves, a subtle emblem of the Decelis crest stitched on the chest, and their last names and numbers proudly printed across the back. The committee heads stood right next to them—ironically, or maybe by fate, every single one was a mate to a council member.

Jungwon stepped up first, grabbing the mic like he was born for this. He tapped it twice, then once more for good measure. “Testing—okay, I think we’re good—HELLO, DECELIS!”

Laughter and cheers erupted across the field. He grinned, running a hand through his already messy hair, clearly overwhelmed and giddy.

“Welcome to this year’s Spring Festival!” he called out, voice carrying across the speakers.

“You guys have no idea how hard everyone’s worked on this. From the committee heads, the student council, the design and logistics teams, our sponsors—everyone poured their hearts into this.”

“But!” he held up a finger dramatically. “Don’t forget to drink water. That sun is not playing games.”

“Real,” Sunghoon said, stepping up to his side with a smirk as he took the mic. “We don’t want anyone fainting before the fireworks, okay? The health tent’s right by the main gate. If you’re not sure what you’re eating, ask. If you need help, shout. If you see Sunoo running around—it’s probably because something exploded.”

“Hey!” Sunoo cut in, laughing as he reached out for the mic. “That happened once.”

“And we never let you live it down,” Jake chimed in, taking the mic from him smoothly. “But seriously, we’re here to have fun and keep each other safe. Be kind, don’t litter, stay hydrated, and maybe don’t eat all seven food booth specialties in one sitting.”

Heeseung shook his head, the crowd laughing as he waved. “Alright, alright. Guys—this week is ours. This festival is for us. So let’s make it count. Let’s make it loud. Let’s make it worth remembering.”

“And,” Jay added, stepping forward as he gave a short nod to the crowd, “if you happen to win any of the competitive events—you're welcome. I designed most of them.”

“Delusional,” Sunghoon muttered, and laughter followed.

Then Ni-ki stepped forward, his hand casually wrapping around your waist. He reached for the mic with an easy smile. “One last thing—on behalf of all of us here… thank you. For trusting us to do this. We’re proud to bring this to life for you.”

With that, Jungwon lifted his hand dramatically and shouted, “Hit the music!”

And just like that—the speakers boomed back to life. The first beat of the opening anthem shook the ground. Confetti cannons launched into the sky, showering the field with gold and white strips as the crowd erupted into cheers again.

The kitchen was warm with activity—ovens humming, trays clinking, the scent of freshly baked vanilla and strawberry wafting through the air. Laughter echoed between you and Sunghoon’s mate as you both leaned over a large tray of cupcakes, carefully piping soft pink frosting onto each one.

You wore a matching pastel pink apron, loosely tied around your waist over your jersey. The name printed on the back peeked out through the flour-dusted ribbon. Frosting stained your fingers, and you giggled when Sunghoon’s mate accidentally flicked a small swirl onto your cheek.

“Oops! You moved!”

“You liar, you aimed for me!” you laughed, swiping a dollop of icing from your finger and smearing it lightly on her nose. She gasped.

The two of you dissolved into another fit of laughter, the kind of warmth that made the kitchen feel like a home rather than part of the school.

But then it happened—suddenly and purely by accident.

One of the younger Beta students came rushing in with a bowl of scrambled eggs, probably meant for one of the breakfast-themed booths. She turned too quickly, slipped slightly on a patch of flour on the floor, and collided right into you.

The bowl tilted, warm scrambled eggs spilling out—half of it splattered across the front of your apron and jersey.

“Oh my god, (Y/N)!” the Beta girl gasped, panicked. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean—are you okay?!”

You blinked, frozen for half a second. You looked down at the now egg-stained pink apron and the yellow smudge across your shirt.

Sunghoon’s mate clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.

You looked at the girl and gave her a soft smile. “It’s okay. Accidents happen.”

“I—I swear I didn’t mean to, I was trying to get to the front—”

“I know,” you said again, gently patting her shoulder. “Breathe. I promise it’s fine.”

But of course, Sunghoon’s mate wasn’t about to let it go that easily.

“Oh no, no no no, you are not walking out there looking like someone’s breakfast!” she fussed, already trying to untie your apron strings. “We are fixing this right now—hold still—do you feel warm? Is that egg hot?!”

“It’s warm but not tragic,” you replied with a sigh, still amused. “I’m more worried about smelling like a hotel buffet for the rest of the day.”

That’s when a head peeked through the kitchen door.

You blinked, surprised. “Riku?”

Riku—the tall, well-mannered Alpha from your business class—stepped into view, brow furrowed as his eyes immediately scanned your form. His gaze dropped to the egg-stained jersey, apron dangling off one arm now, and his eyes widened.

“Wait, what happened? Are you alright?” he asked, already making his way across the kitchen.

You opened your mouth to explain, but Riku beat you to it, tone shifting to something more worried. “Did you get hurt? Was something hot? That looks—wait—here, hold on.” He shrugged off the light tote bag on his shoulder, digging inside.

“I’m okay,” you said softly, cheeks pink from the sudden attention from everyone. “It was just scrambled eggs.”

He didn’t seem convinced. “Still. You shouldn’t walk around like that.” He pulled out a black shirt, folded and clean. “I brought a couple extras just in case anyone needed one at the stalls. Here.”

He held it out to you, gaze steady.

You hesitated before gently taking it. “Thank you, Riku. You really didn’t have to.”

He just smiled—polite, almost a little proud. “Can’t have one of our business partners presenting a marketing pitch smelling like breakfast.”

You let out a soft laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “That pitch was last week.”

“And yet you’re still doing all the work,” he chuckled. “Come on—there should be a few changing rooms scattered around the building. I’ll help you find one.”

You looked at him, a little reluctant. “Riku, really—”

“I insist,” he said kindly. “You shouldn’t have to walk around covered in eggs.”

You sighed, but gave in. “Alright.”

The two of you walked down the hallway, your shoes softly tapping against the tiled floors. Light conversation drifted between you—mostly about the festival booths, how crowded the quad was getting, and whether or not the matcha latte stand was open yet.

You turned the corner together, barely a few hallways away from the baking booth, when a familiar voice cut through the hallway.

“(Y/N)?!”

You both stopped in your tracks.

Ni-ki.

He was jogging toward you, urgency in every step, worry painted all over his face. Sunoo’s mate trailed closely behind him, eyes equally wide, the hem of her skirt slightly lifted from the run.

You didn’t even get a chance to call out his name before he reached you.

“Are you okay?” Ni-ki asked quickly, hands immediately reaching out to brush your hair behind your shoulder and scan your expression. His hand hovered over your side, thumb brushing against the egg-stained jersey. “Someone said you got splattered—was it hot? Did it burn you? Where are you hurt?”

His voice was low but fast, almost breathless. That Alpha panic—protective—was setting in fast.

“I’m okay,” you said softly, blinking up at him. “It was just scrambled eggs. No burns.”

You couldn’t help it—your eyes drifted down to take him in. His usual council jersey was unbuttoned now, hanging loose like a flannel over a fitted black shirt. The thin fabric clung perfectly to his torso, the edge of his silver chains dangling near the embroidery on the jersey—his last name glinting with every move he made. He looked undone, slightly winded, flushed from the quick run, but still every bit of Alpha—sharp and soft in the same breath.

Your breath caught. “You—um.”

Riku scoffed lightly beside you, like Ni-ki’s presence was hardly worth the effort of acknowledgment.

“She’s okay, Nishimura,” he said smoothly, voice laced with something that made your pulse jump. “I was just helping her find a place to change. That’s all.”

Ni-ki’s gaze slid to the Alpha beside you, his body going still in that way only a pureblood could manage. His jaw ticked once, tight. Controlled. But his eyes were sharp.

Riku’s tone wasn’t defensive. No. It was confident—possessive, even. Like he was deliberately poking the bear.

“I see,” he muttered, voice low and flat.

You stepped in quickly, hoping to smooth the crackling air. “Thank you, Riku,” you said, offering a small, polite smile—your version of a peace offering.

But Riku didn’t take it.

“Of course,” he said, but there was no warmth in it. His eyes dragged back to Ni-ki, not even pretending anymore. “Wouldn’t want you partner walking around smelling like breakfast.”

The emphasis wasn’t lost on anyone.

Ni-ki took a step closer—not to Riku, but to you. His arm slid around your waist, tugging you gently, yet firmly, into his side despite the mess on your jersey. It wasn’t just about comfort.

It was a claim.

He raised a single brow, eyes flicking to where Ni-ki’s hand now rested on your waist. “Relax,” Riku said, voice smooth, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. “She’s not property, Nishimura.”

Ni-ki’s gaze darkened instantly, pupils sharpening. His hand on you tightened—not to hurt, but enough that you could feel the heat behind his restraint. A growl threatened at the edge of his throat, barely muffled as he exhaled hard through his nose.

You looked between them, confused, lips parting slightly. The tension was suffocating. You couldn’t figure out if this was some long-standing grudge or if something had just snapped into place between them—but neither Alpha was backing down.

Then Ni-ki’s attention dropped. To the black shirt in your hands.

His nose twitched once. The change in his expression was instant—something in him turning cold and bitter. His fingers uncurled from your waist just long enough to yank the shirt from your grasp with a sharp pull.

Without a word, he shoved it against Riku’s chest. Not enough to knock him off balance, but enough to send a message.

“Keep your shirt, yeah?” Ni-ki said lowly, tone flat—but the words hit hard. The double meaning echoed, more territorial than anything you’d ever heard from him.

Riku caught the shirt with ease, but the cocky smile never left his face. He let out a short, almost mocking chuckle, like the whole thing had gone exactly how he wanted.

“No worries,” he said, turning on his heel without so much as a glance back. “Let me know if she changes her mind.”

You watched him disappear toward the booth, slow and confident, his hand swinging the shirt casually at his side like it meant nothing.

You turned to say something, but the moment was cut short by the sound of hurried footsteps and a familiar voice weaving through the crowd.

“There you are!” Sunoo’s mate huffed, coming into view between clusters of students. “Ni-ki, I’m so sorry—I lost you in the crowd.”

Her tone was breathless and apologetic, eyes flicking quickly from him to you, landing immediately on the mess staining your jersey.

“Oh no—(Y/N)!” she gasped, hands flying up to her mouth. “I’m so sorry, I panicked earlier. I didn’t even think to grab you an extra shirt—I just ran off to try and find Ni-ki.”

You blinked at her, heart still half-tangled in the moment that just passed, but you shook it off quickly, offering her a gentle smile.

“It’s okay, really,” you said, voice soft. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I still feel awful,” she said with a sheepish wince, cheeks tinged pink. “But I’m here now! I’ll cover your shift for a bit. You look like you need a second.”

She gave your shoulder a warm squeeze, eyes full of guilt and kindness all at once. You opened your mouth to say thank you, but she was already taking a step back, waving quickly with both hands.

“I’ll be in the booth! Go breathe for a bit!”

And just like that, she disappeared into the same direction Riku had gone.

Ni-ki let out a slow breath beside you, the weight of it settling on his shoulders. He didn’t say anything—just gently tugged on your hand, his fingers curling tighter around yours like he wasn’t planning to let go anytime soon.

You followed him wordlessly, walking through the sea of students that still buzzed and laughed, unaware of the whirlwind in your chest. The crowd thinned the farther you walked, voices fading into background hums. Your steps fell into rhythm with his, the hallways quieter now, lined with paper signs and festival flyers starting to peel off the walls.

Eventually, the two of you turned a corner into the academy’s left wing—quieter, shaded, the buzz of activity distant now. Only a few students lingered around, mostly lounging near the walls with drinks in hand, too caught up in their own chatter to notice the tension wrapped around your frame.

You blinked up at Ni-ki, about to ask what you were even supposed to change into, when—

He pulled his hand from yours.

And then, without a word, he peeled his jersey off in one smooth motion. The fabric slipped from his frame effortlessly, revealing the black shirt underneath—thin and slightly loose, the edge of one silver chain glinting against his collarbone. You barely registered the way your throat dried.

He held the jersey out to you, arm outstretched. “Here,” he said simply.

You froze. “Wait… Riki—”

“It’s clean,” he said, gaze soft but unreadable. “And it’s mine.”

The fabric in his hands—the same one that had clung to his skin all day, soaked in his scent, threaded with something warmer now that it was being offered so suddenly. Not just for comfort. Not just out of convenience.

Your hands twitched at your sides, unsure of what to do. Panic sparked up your spine, but it wasn’t fear. It was something else—something warmer, messier.

“Are you sure?” you managed, voice small. “I don’t want you to get in trouble or—”

“I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t sure,” he replied, quiet but firm.

You slowly reached out, brushing your fingers against the edge of the jersey. The moment it touched your skin, you felt the difference—the heat still trapped in the fabric, the unmistakable pull of Alpha scent that made your heart do something wild and unsteady.

He watched you for a moment—like he could see all the thoughts tumbling in your head and didn’t mind waiting for you to sort through them.

“Change inside,” he said finally, his voice dipping a little, eyes flicking to the booth behind you. “I’ll wait right here.”

You nodded slowly—wordlessly—the jersey pressed tightly to your chest like it might slip away if you didn’t hold it hard enough. You stepped into the small booth, the curtain falling shut behind you with a soft swoosh.

The space was dimly lit, just a single overhead bulb flickering above, casting shaky shadows along the metal frame. You let out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, heart thundering in your ears.

Carefully, you reached for the hem of your stained jersey, fingers brushing over the ring on your finger—Ni-ki’s ring—worn on a chain for safekeeping. You adjusted it gently, making sure it didn’t tug or catch.

Your hands trembled just a little as you peeled your own jersey off, careful with the fabric even though it was ruined. And then you held up his—still warm from his skin, still heavy with the scent of him.

The moment you pulled it over your head, your Omega curled warmly inside you like a contented sigh. It was too big—his scent immediately wrapping around your frame like a second skin, sinking deep into the crook of your neck, down your spine, and blooming in your chest.

You were wearing something that was his, and your body knew it.

When you stepped out again, Ni-ki was leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed loosely. His gaze had been fixed somewhere else, distant—jaw still tense from earlier—but the second he looked up and saw you, something shifted.

The irritation melted right out of his eyes, his arms dropped to his sides slowly, uncrossing as he straightened up.

You looked shyly at him from under your lashes, fingers fidgeting with the hem of the oversized jersey that nearly swallowed your hands.

“I… I’m done,” you mumbled, biting the inside of your cheek.

Ni-ki didn’t answer, he just stared.

Like he’d never seen you before. Like he’d forgotten what he was angry about—what he was supposed to care about at all—because there you were, standing in his jersey like it was always meant for you. The sight hit him with a force stronger than any punch. Stronger than the stupid bitterness he’d been trying to swallow since earlier.

You looked like his—and he couldn’t pretend that didn’t matter.

He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing, gaze trailing down the fit of the jersey on your frame. It clung to the edges of your shoulders, hit mid-thigh, sleeves way too long—but that was the best part. It looked right on you. Too right.

His voice, when it came, was quiet—almost a whisper.

“Come here.”

You blinked up at him, eyes wide, but your feet moved before you could think. And the second you were close enough, Ni-ki reached out and wrapped his arms around you—pulling you in like he didn’t plan to let go for a while.

You melted instantly.

The jersey was warm between you, the weight of him familiar as you pressed your cheek to his chest. He was solid, heartbeat steady beneath your ear, the rise and fall of his breathing calming you more than you wanted to admit.

Your arms snuck around his waist without hesitation, fingers knotting into the back of his shirt as if they belonged there.

Ni-ki sighed—deep, relieved—and tilted his head just slightly so his lips brushed the top of your head. He lingered there for a second before placing the softest, gentlest kiss into your hairline.

“You look good, angel,” he murmured, the word curling into you like a brand.

You beamed before you could stop it. The kind of smile that bloomed without warning, the kind that pulled your whole face with it.

You shifted a little on your feet, raising up on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek—barely even reaching it, just the edge of it—but it was enough to make him laugh, full and boyish.

He let go, but only enough to reach for your hand, fingers locking through yours like instinct.

“C’mon,” he said, eyes still crinkled from the laugh. “Let’s go—”

“Wait,” you blurted, tugging him gently by the hand.

He paused, brows lifting. “What’s wrong?”

Your scent spiked sweet in the air—like raspberries melting under the harsh sunlight—and Ni-ki immediately stiffened a little, taken off guard. It was your nervous-sweet, your shy scent, and he knew it too well by now.

Your fingers fumbled into your pocket, cheeks pink, voice small. “I just—before we go…”

From your pocket, you pulled out a neatly folded pink and white handkerchief—soft cotton, dainty edges embroidered in pale thread. Your initials sat stitched into the corner, barely the size of your thumb.

Ni-ki’s gaze followed it, curious.

You looked away bashfully, rubbing the fabric gently along the inside of your wrist—just enough for your scent to soak in, for it to cling and linger. You folded it once more, carefully, and stepped closer to him. With shy, delicate fingers, you reached for one of the front belt loops on his pants and looped the cloth through it—tying it into a small bow that rested lightly against his hip.

“There,” you whispered, barely above the wind.

Ni-ki stared down at it, then at you.

His eyes softened completely, the edges of his lips curling up into something open and unguarded. “Is that for me?”

You nodded, trying not to combust on the spot. “Mhm. It’s… so you can have something scented, too.”

He smiled so widely it made your chest hurt. “You really just did that.”

You laughed softly, heart thudding way too fast as you reached out and laced your fingers through his—warm palm against yours, fingers naturally curling between your own like they were always meant to fit there.

You tugged him forward with a grin, gently pulling him back into the sunlight pooling between the banisters and the soft chatter of students echoing nearby.

“It was only fair, you know?” you said teasingly, giving his hand a playful swing as you walked. “You gave me something of yours.”

He let out a quiet hum, the corner of his mouth still quirked up. “Still,” he muttered. His free hand brushed against the little pink and white bow now fluttering slightly from his belt loop. “I’m never taking this off.”

You laughed again, cheeks blooming with warmth. “But Riki—” you tilted your head up at him, teasing, “—you have to wash it eventually.”

His face twisted in mock offense. “What? No.”

You giggled. “It’s going to get dirty.”

“But your scent will come off,” he protested, brows furrowing like a pouty kid. “I want to keep it like this.”

You laughed again, breathy and warm, giving his hand a playful squeeze. “You’re so dramatic,” you teased softly, and he gave you a mock offended look—though his fingers didn’t let go of yours for even a second.

“Come on, Mr. Scent-Obsessed,” you mumbled fondly, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. “Let’s go back.”

He let out a hum, allowing you to tug him gently down the corridor, the two of you walking in no particular rush. Your pace was slow—like your own private bubble had formed, untouched by the noise of the festival still bustling around you.

You walked hand in hand, fingertips interlaced and swinging lightly between you, your head occasionally brushing against his shoulder. He let you pull him toward the direction of the booth, but neither of you were in a hurry to leave the little moment behind.

There were stares—people passing by, whispering, watching. After all, Ni-ki wasn’t the type to walk around publicly this soft, this clingy, this visibly whipped.

But he didn’t care, and neither did you.

You gave his hand a few light squeezes as you passed a group of stunned-looking underclassmen, giggling under your breath. “I think you just ruined someone’s perception of you.”

He glanced sideways at you, smirking. “Good.”

You laughed again, heart so full you couldn’t help it—you stood on your toes, leaned over, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

It barely landed—your height not quite enough and him not expecting it—but it still made his entire body still for a second.

“…You just—” he blinked, that soft pink blush spreading across his ears.

You smiled, eyes glowing. “Mhm. I did.”

He bit back a grin, exhaling hard through his nose like he couldn’t quite handle it. “You’re killing me.”

You giggled as you turned the final corner and spotted your booth coming into view.

Sunghoon’s mate perked up instantly from her place by the counter, her face lighting up in relief as she spotted you. She stepped toward you immediately.

“There you are! I was starting to think you got kidnapped or something—” her eyes raked over you once, gaze lingering on the jersey you now wore. “Wait. That’s not—oh.”

You smiled sheepishly. “I’m okay, promise. Just needed a minute.”

She glanced at Ni-ki beside you, who gave her a small wave with his free hand, the other still firmly locked around yours. The sight made her blink, lips twitching into a slow smile.

“Well,” she said, letting out a sigh. “I’ll leave you two then. You got your scent reset and everything,” she teased, stepping back toward the booth with a tiny smirk.

You gave her a grateful look before turning to Ni-ki again.

“I’ll see you later?” you asked, giving his hand one last gentle squeeze.

He smiled—soft and full of something deeper than words. “Text me if anything happens.”

You nodded, and he lifted your hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it before slowly letting go.

You turned back toward the booth, heart still fluttering, and just as you stepped behind the counter, you glanced back—Ni-ki was still watching you, hands tucked into his pockets, smile still etched across his lips.

The third day of the festival was in full swing, and the west wing buzzed with life. Colorful banners fluttered above head, laughter echoing through the open walkways.

Students weaved through stalls with food in hand, music playing faintly from a nearby booth, and somewhere in the distance, a karaoke machine wailed a familiar pop ballad.

You walked with Jake’s mate and Jungwon’s mate at your sides, the three of you armed with clipboards and pens, diligently checking off updates from the clubs stationed in the area. Despite the paperwork, your pace was casual and your conversations light.

“Okay, the Robotics Club extended their booth for another day,” Jungwon’s mate said, tapping her pen to the checklist.

Jake’s mate grinned. “As long as they don’t start flying drones over the food stalls again, I’m good.”

That sent you all into a quick burst of laughter.

You paused near the newly built Wedding Booth—complete with plastic flower arches, a rented velvet aisle runner, and a cardboard sign that read: "Find your potential mate, or at least look good trying!"

“I can’t believe they actually pulled this off,” you muttered, eyeing the velvet guestbook and fake rings lined neatly on the side.

“Honestly,” Jake’s mate giggled, elbowing you gently, “with how you look in that jersey, someone might just propose to you here and now.”

You blinked, caught off-guard. “What?”

Jungwon’s mate was already spinning you around dramatically, cackling. “You seriously didn’t think we’d notice? Navy blue Decelis jersey. Number ten. Nishimura stretched loud and proud on the back?”

You swatted at them playfully, heat creeping up your neck. “It was an instruction for today!”

“We were told to wear our own jerseys,” Jake’s mate pointed out, arching a brow.

You sighed, exasperated but fond. “Riki refused to wear his. Gave it to me this morning, said he’d rather see me in it than wear it himself.

Jungwon’s mate clutched her chest. “That’s so disgustingly cute I want to throw something.”

You laughed, heart fluttering. “And then he pestered Jay for a new one, with my last name on the back.”

Jake’s mate snorted. “So that’s why he was flaunting his jersey earlier—before we were called down for the parade lineup. He kept tugging at the sleeves like he was showing something off.”

“Jay refused at first but… let’s be real. He can never say no to Riki.”

“He’s basically his son,” Jungwon’s mate chuckled.

You three stopped near one of the more crowded food booths. The smoky scent of grilled chicken and barbecue skewers filled the air, and rows of sizzling meat on sticks lined the stall counters. Students gathered around, picking at fried rice, fish balls, and spicy wings stacked in paper boats.

“This smells amazing,” Jake’s mate said, leaning forward to peek at the handwritten menu.

“Remind me to get a stick before we go,” Jungwon’s mate mumbled.

You handed off your clipboard briefly. “I’ll catch up—I need to find a restroom.”

“Go ahead,” Jake’s mate waved you off. “We’ll be right here. Don’t get kidnapped by a wedding booth Alpha.”

Jungwon’s mate snorted, nudging Jake’s. “As if Ni-ki would ever let that happen.”

You laughed under your breath, shaking your head as you waved them off. “You guys are ridiculous.”

Your feet carried you in a light jog across the tiled walkway, sneakers thudding gently against the floor as you made your way to the nearest restroom nestled between the photography club’s booth and a snack corner.

The door creaked as you pushed it open, a burst of cool air greeting your warm skin. You placed your clipboard gently down on the sink counter, the paper checklist still clipped tightly in place, and turned the faucet on.

Cool water splashed against your fingers as you lathered up, the sweet scent of Ni-ki’s detergent lingering faintly on your borrowed jersey sleeves as they rolled back slightly past your elbows.

Your gaze flicked to the mirror as you leaned closer, pulling out a familiar, slightly worn tube of lip gloss from your pocket. The light pink tint shimmered faintly under the restroom lights as you applied it carefully, dabbing your lips and smacking them together once before tucking the gloss away again.

The star-shaped clips framing your face had slipped slightly with the wind, so you gently adjusted them—each little motion calming.

The door creaked open again.

Loud voices immediately followed—three, maybe four girls giggling as they poured into the restroom behind you. You didn’t think much of it at first, focused on your reflection as you fixed the hem of your jersey and reached for the clipboard again.

“You’re (Y/N), right?”

You glanced at the mirror, catching their reflection as you raised a brow at the tone—too casual, laced with just the right amount of disrespect to catch your attention. You didn’t recognize her, but her badge said she was from your year.

Still, you kept your cool.

“Yes,” you said simply, fingers curling around the clipboard. “Excuse me.” You took one step forward before another girl—shorter—sidestepped directly in front of you, blocking the door.

You sighed under your breath and forced a tight smile to your lips, straightening your shoulders. The air suddenly felt heavier. Your eyes flicked to her badge, then to the other girls now huddled behind her like shadows.

Same year. Figures.

One of them let out a stifled laugh, whispering something into the ear of the taller girl beside her. You didn’t catch it, but it didn’t matter. The smug look on their faces said it all.

“So…” the girl in front said, head tilting like she was trying to look curious and not catty. “Are you really wearing Ni-ki’s jersey right now?”

You blinked once, tone steady. “What’s it to you if I am?”

That made them laugh—too loud, too rehearsed.

The girl blocking your way scoffed, arms crossing in front of her chest. “Who even are you to do that? Like, seriously? You think wearing his jersey makes you someone special?”

There it was. The bite behind the fake curiosity. You stared at her for a moment, expression unreadable.

“No,” you said. “But being his fiancée does.”

Like a glass shattering on tile, the laughter abruptly died. One of the girls behind her coughed, eyes widening slightly as the smirk slid off her lips.

The girl in front furrowed her brows. “Wait—what?”

You didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. “I’m his fiancée.”

And the moment the words settled in the air—unshaking, confident—they scoffed again, this time with disbelief.

“You’re kidding.” The shorter girl laughed again, looking you up and down as if expecting a punchline.

But you didn’t give one. You just looked at her. Expression steady. Shoulders relaxed. Chin tilted just slightly higher than it had been a minute ago.

You were the (L/N) heir.

A pureblooded Omega born into the higher ranks of the food chain. Groomed with etiquette sharper than knives, raised with poise sewn into your spine, and molded under pressure that would’ve crumbled people like the ones standing in front of you. You were never taught to flinch. Not even in the face of fire.

Your smile only tightened as you stared the four of them down. Being scared of jealous people? That was beneath you. You’d been envied all your life—admired, whispered about, hated from across gilded rooms. What were four girls in a bathroom compared to the world you were built to rule?

You were treated like a goddess among men. And they? They were just mortals—wielding bitterness like it made them powerful.

One of them—standing near the girl who first spoke—let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “You’re lying,” she sneered, eyes rolling like your words were dirt under her shoes. “Ni-ki would never go for someone as low as you.”

“Yeah,” the fourth girl chimed in, stepping closer to your right. “He’s way too serious for romance. Everyone knows he doesn’t care about stuff like that.”

Your head tilted ever so slightly. “Mm,” you hummed. “Too busy for omegas like you?”

Suddenly, the girl blocking your path lashed out.

Her fingers curled around your clipboard and yanked it from your grasp with a forceful tug, the wood smacking the tiles as she slammed it to the floor. The pages scattered, fluttering like leaves around your feet.

But you simply pushed your hair behind your ear, tilting your head in polite disinterest.

“Are you done?” you asked softly.

“Listen here, you pathetic excuse of a bitch,” The girl in front growled. “You’re gonna stay away from Ni-ki. Got it? You don’t belong anywhere near him. So take that jersey off, wipe that smug little smile off your face, and disappear.”

You laughed. Not the nervous kind. Not even a gentle one. It was mocking. Low, amused, cruel in the way it curled from your lips with zero fear. The sound echoed off the tiled walls, drawing tension from the others like a struck match.

“You’re adorable,” you said slowly, eyes narrowing. “Thinking you can threaten me like I haven’t heard worse at family dinners.”

The girl in front raised her hand.

You didn’t block it. Didn’t lean away. You simply stood there, posture poised, shoulders relaxed—untouched by the rage blazing in her eyes. And when the slap landed—sharp against your cheek, the sting echoing with a faint crack—you barely blinked.

You sighed. “Hmm,” you murmured. “That’ll bruise.”

Your cheek burned. It would definitely swell later. But you still looked at her like she was a mild inconvenience at most.

“You done embarrassing yourselves?” you said, voice low but firm now. No more fake sweetness. “Because I really have better things to do than stand here while a bunch of desperate little nobodies throw tantrums over my Alpha who doesn’t even know your names.”

And then, with nothing but the click of your tongue and the rustle of your jersey as you turned, you walked out.

Your shoulder brushed—shoved—into the two standing in front of you, not enough to throw them off, but enough to send a message. You didn’t shrink. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t run.

Your footsteps were steady. Your head held high.

You spotted them easily—Jake’s mate and Jungwon’s mate, standing exactly where you left them by the food booth. Their laughter had stopped. The light conversation had vanished the second they caught sight of you.

Jake’s mate blinked, her eyes widening as she took in the redness blooming on your cheek. Jungwon’s mate stiffened, clipboard nearly dropping from her hand.

They were by your side in an instant.

“Hey—hey, what happened?” Jake’s mate asked, voice gentle but frantic as her hands flew to your arms, eyes scanning your face. “Why do you look like that? What the hell happened to your—?”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, brushing it off, trying to smile even as your cheek pulsed.

“You’re not,” Jungwon’s mate said, her voice deadly calm. Her scent, normally floral and light, began to sharpen—tinged with smoke and stormclouds. “Your scent’s all over the place.”

“I just—look, it’s not that big of a deal—”

Jake’s mate rubbed your arm softly, like you were breakable, like one wrong word would crack your composure. “It is a big deal. Your cheek is turning red.”

“I said I’m fine—”

“No, you’re not.” Jungwon’s mate stepped back, fingers already digging into her pocket for her phone. “Who was it?”

“Don’t,” you said quickly, reaching for her wrist. “Seriously, it’s—”

She dodged you, stepping out of reach like a flash. Her eyes met yours, narrowed and blazing, and for a second she looked so much like your mother—stern, impossible to argue with—you froze.

“I’m not letting anyone touch our girls and walk away from it,” she muttered under her breath as she typed furiously on her screen. “Ni-ki’s gonna find out in the next five minutes whether you like it or not.”

Jake’s mate let out a low whistle. “You know,” she said, trying to ease the fire in the air with a soft laugh, “you used to be so timid before you met Jungwon. And now look at you—like a mother wolf ready to bite someone's head off.”

Jungwon’s mate didn’t even pause. “That’s because people keep testing me.”

You sighed again, torn between affection and mild dread. “Please don’t cause a scene.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Jake’s mate smiled softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “that ship sailed the second someone laid a hand on you.”

The next thing you knew, you were walking beside Jay’s mate and Heeseung’s mate, both having joined the fussing. Their Omega instincts were in full swing as they cursed under their breaths, furious.

"They dared touch you?" Heeseung’s mate snapped. “Where are they? I’ll break their teeth.”

“Jay’s going to lose it when he hears, you’re practically his sister,” his mate muttered, shaking her head.

Behind you, Jake’s mate and Jungwon’s mate were whispering sharply, their conversation too low to catch—but you knew it was about you.

You all reached the student council meeting room. The door swung open.

Inside, Sunoo’s mate and Sunghoon’s mate immediately rushed forward.

“Sit down—come on, sit,” Sunghoon’s mate urged, guiding you gently to the head of the long table.

Sunoo’s mate placed a cold strawberry milk in your hands without a word.

They exchanged worried glances. “What happened?”

Before you could even open your mouth, the doors slammed open.

The air turned suffocating.

Every Omega in the room flinched.

And there he was—Ni-ki. A storm in human form, standing at the entrance with his eyes blown wide in rage and his scent turned foul, bitter and sour. His chest rose and fell in sharp bursts, and his jaw was locked so tight it looked like it might snap.

The other six Alphas followed behind him. Jay and Heeseung were at his heels, trying to talk him down.

“Ni-ki, you need to calm down,” Heeseung urged, voice low.

“You’re going to scare (Y/N),” Jay added, stepping closer. “Come on, kid.”

But Ni-ki wasn’t listening. He barely heard them.

Sunghoon stepped in before Heeseung could lunge after him again. “Let him be,” Sunghoon said, calm but firm. “He’s not going to hurt anyone. He needs to see her.”

Jungwon lingered behind them, visibly torn. His eyes flicked from Sunghoon to Jay, to Ni-ki, unsure of who to follow. His Alpha instincts were clashing—protect Ni-ki? Protect you? Pick a side?

Meanwhile, Sunoo’s eyes had narrowed dangerously, his posture stiff as he walked beside Jay. “You’re seriously going to let this slide?” he asked under his breath, furious. “Someone laid a hand on (Y/N) and no one’s doing anything?”

Ni-ki’s scent spiked again.

Ni-ki stormed across the room, the sound of his shoes echoing as he came to a full stop in front of you. His hands landed harshly on the arms of your chair—gripping tight, like it was the only thing keeping him from breaking something.

You didn’t meet his eyes, you couldn’t. Not when your cheek still ached and your pride was hanging on by a thread.

“Fuck,” Ni-ki hissed, voice low and raw. His head lowered, nose brushing the air just above your shoulder. “Who?”

You stayed silent, still refusing to look up.

“I need names, Omega,” he bit out, jaw clenching. “Right now.”

The room was silent, thick with tension and bitter Alpha scent. Even the other couldn’t speak—caught between instinct and logic.

“There are pros and cons to being a pureblooded Alpha,” Ni-ki ground out, every word dripping with restrained fury. “You know what the downside is?”

He pulled back just enough to let you see his face—eyes burning, lips pressed in a tight line.

“Stronger blood. Stronger instincts. Harder to fucking control.”

“Ni-ki,” Jay warned softly from behind, trying to reel him back. “You need to think rationally. You can't—”

But Ni-ki turned sharply, sending Jay a glare that made even the older Alpha tense.

Jay held his hands up, trying to stay neutral, but the twitch in his jaw gave him away. He was close to growling. Sunghoon placed a firm hand on Jay’s chest, stopping him.

Ni-ki turned back to you, breath shallow. “I said I need names. Who did this to you? Who fucking touched you?”

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t shrink away. But you didn’t answer either.

Ni-ki’s eyes shuttered, frustration curling in his throat. He looked at Jungwon—just one glance, and Jungwon understood.

Jungwon gave a single, sharp nod before clapping his hands once. “Everyone. Out.”

The room exploded into soft gasps and protests.

“Jungwon—” Jake’s mate started.

“Out,” Jungwon repeated, firm. “She needs space. He needs space.”

Sunoo’s mate grabbed Sunghoon’s mate by the wrist, muttering something about giving them a few minutes. Jay pulled his mate close and backed toward the door. Jake lingered, gaze flicking between you and Ni-ki before Jungwon tugged his arm.

And just like that, one by one, they all filed out. Until it was just you and Ni-ki.

He stood in front of you, still tense, chest rising and falling with each breath like he was forcing himself to stay grounded. He dropped to one knee, finally, carefully—slow enough that you realized this was him trying.

His hands reached for yours, hesitant, but he didn’t grab.

“(Y/N),” he said softly, finally—like your name was the only word that could calm him. “Please. Tell me.”

You inhaled shakily.

And then—slowly, finally—you lifted your gaze and met his eyes.

Your own were glossy, clouded with the emotion you’d been biting down for too long. But you swallowed hard, forcing it down, blinking quickly as if you could will the tears not to fall.

“I… I don’t know their names,” you admitted, shaking your head once. “But Jay’s mate does.”

Ni-ki’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t interrupt.

You glanced down at his hands—still kneeling, still holding yours with a gentleness that didn’t match the rage boiling in his scent. His thumbs moved over your knuckles, calming himself.

“I know they’re from the Han, Choi, Yoon, and Nam families,” you added carefully, your words deliberate, quiet. “All Omegas. All from our year.”

His expression didn’t change much—but his entire body seemed to lock into place, like every nerve had gone tight at once. He pressed his forehead against your intertwined hands. His breathing was ragged now.

You felt the tremble in his fingers before you heard the soft, barely-contained growl curling in his throat. “Why,” he whispered, voice cracking under the strain, “didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I had to find out through Jay’s mate,” he said, a low rasp. “I was halfway to the north wing when I got the text and—I should’ve been there.”

“Riki—”

“No,” he said sharply, pulling back just enough to look at you again.

His eyes were bloodshot. Unblinking. “You’re mine, Omega. Do you understand that? Mine to protect. Mine to stand in front of when people look at you wrong, let alone touch you.”

“And they dared lay hands on you?” he continued, voice hollow. “While I wasn’t there? While I was wasting time checking fucking booths and pretending I could focus on anything when I should’ve known something was wrong?”

He brought your hands up and pressed a kiss to your fingers—tender, but desperate.

“I would burn the entire world for you,” he whispered, his lips trembling against your knuckles. “And you think I wouldn’t rip through a few desperate, entitled Omegas?”

“Riki, it’s not about—”

“It is,” he said, a growl finally bleeding into the syllables. “This isn’t just some worthless drama, (Y/N). They crossed a line. They laid a hand on what’s mine.”

“All I’ve done is hold back.”

His voice was low now, sharp and fast like venom slipping through his fangs. “I’ve played nice. I’ve waited. I’ve controlled myself around people who didn’t deserve my restraint. And for what? So some egotistic Alpha prick could think he has the right to look at you like he has a chance?”

“So Riku thinks he’s some sort of god now?” he scoffed bitterly. “Thinks that just because he’s from the Maeda family and walks around like he owns the academy, he can steal you away from me?”

Ni-ki’s lip curled into something between a snarl and a heartbreak. “And those Omegas? Those girls who think they can corner you, question your worth, my feelings, my claim—”

He stood up, towering over you like a wall between you and the world. His chest was heaving, hands clenched into fists at his sides. The scent of burnt lime was still there—but calmer now.

“I have been patient,” he seethed, “when all I wanted was to scream to the world that you belong to me. That I would tear down anyone who so much as thought of touching you.”

He leaned forward slowly, one hand braced on the chair behind your head, the other gripping your jaw just gently enough to tilt your face to him. “So let me say it now, and let everyone hear me: You are mine.”

His forehead met yours again—harder this time, but not to hurt. To anchor. To swear a vow. You leaned forward, pressing back as much as you could in your seat, meeting him halfway even if it meant losing your breath.

How could you not match the fire in his gaze when every word he said was drenched in love—twisted and feral, but love nonetheless?

“I’m calling our families,” he muttered against your skin, voice so low you almost thought you imagined it. “After this. No more waiting.”

“We’re moving up the engagement announcement,” Ni-ki continued, pulling back just enough to look at you. “Tomorrow. No more long talks. No more letting people assume they have time to get between us.”

“I will not give them a single second longer to doubt you. Or me.” He straightened, his thumb brushing away the tear that slipped past your control. “I’ve waited long enough.”

You sat with your back straight, hands folded neatly on your lap, but it was obvious—your nerves were everywhere.

The large venue hall buzzed with low murmurs and flashing lights, cameras capturing every polished angle of the Nishimura Enterprises press conference. You sat beside Ni-ki in the front row, the only Omega seated beside the board’s Alpha heir—and everyone noticed.

On stage, Konon—Ni-ki’s older sister—cleared her throat and continued confidently, gesturing toward a digital chart on the screen behind her as she finished it up.

Applause echoed in the hall, polite and expected.

You were supposed to be in the academy right now. Checking booths. Chatting with Jungwon’s mate. Laughing with your friends and not… sitting in front of every broadcast journalist in the country.

You swallowed thickly, your hands curling just a little too tightly into the fabric of your dress pants.

All around you, cameras clicked—some subtle, some not. Every movement was being analyzed, every whisper caught by directional mics. News anchors from national stations muttered softly under their breath, piecing together a live feed, and you could already feel the headlines forming.

A gentle squeeze to your hand beneath the table, calloused fingers sliding against your palm like a lifeline. Ni-ki’s hand wrapped around yours with a quiet kind of fierceness.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to catch him leaning in.

He dipped his head low until his breath brushed your ear, voice soft—only for you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

Your throat bobbed. “I—just… overwhelmed”

Ni-ki hummed in understanding, his thumb brushing small circles over the back of your hand. “I know. I shouldn’t have asked you to come.”

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I wanted to. I need this to be over.”

“You’ve got nothing to prove to them,” he said, voice low and firm. “You just sit here, hold my hand, and look pretty like always.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Riki—”

“I mean it,” he said, smiling softly now. “Let them all talk. Let them watch. You’re mine. And this?”

He tilted his head toward the stage where his sister’s voice echoed through the room, still talking about market shares and quarterly projections.

“This is just noise. We’re the headline.”

You let out a breath, one that almost turned into a laugh. “You’re such a show-off.”

He grinned. “Only for you.”

You glanced around. The cameras had definitely caught that moment. But you didn’t care—not when Ni-ki was looking at you like that, like you were the center of his entire universe.

He leaned in once more, pressing a fleeting kiss to your temple, so quick you almost missed it. “Ten more minutes,” he promised, “and then I’m dragging you out of here. I heard there’s strawberry milk waiting for us in the car.”

You were just about to turn to him, the corners of your lips lifting, when—

“May I now call on Nishimura Riki and (L/N (Y/N) to come on the stage?” Konon’s voice boomed through the venue, calm and commanding through the microphone. The murmuring in the room rose in volume, camera flashes flickering like fireflies.

Ni-ki sighed softly, squeezing your hand one last time before standing. “Well, there goes our exit plan.”

He straightened his posture and extended his arm toward you with a slight smirk. “Shall we?”

You looped your arm through his without hesitation, letting him pull you gently to your feet. Despite the swell of eyes and lights on you, his presence kept you steady. His other hand hovered protectively at your back as he guided you through the aisle, careful to keep pace with your steps.

“I told you not to wear those heels,” he whispered lowly, glancing down with a frown at the strappy, elegant but clearly uncomfortable shoes. “You’re barely walking, angel.”

“They matched the dress,” you whispered back.

“They match nothing if you trip on the stairs.”

You bit back a laugh as you both climbed onto the stage, the applause swelling around you. Konon greeted the two of you with a polite nod and a knowing smile. Her poised, professional demeanor didn’t hide the subtle glance she gave your intertwined hands.

Without waiting, Ni-ki took the mic from his sister with a nod of thanks, standing tall in front of the crowd of stakeholders, executives, journalists, and live-stream viewers.

“Good afternoon,” he began, voice smooth, practiced—but still very him. “I’m Nishimura Riki, and on behalf of my family, I’d like to extend our deepest gratitude for your support of Nishimura Enterprises and its many developments these past months.”

A pause.

“And while today is a celebration of progress and success, I’d like to take this moment to share something… more personal.”

He turned to look at you. The lights made his eyes shine.

“With the blessing and push from both of our families,” he continued, voice firmer now, “I would like to announce my engagement to (L/N) (Y/N).”

The entire venue erupted in noise. Flashes exploded from every direction. Voices overlapped—cheers, gasps, even a few stunned laughs. The applause felt deafening, but you didn’t flinch. You were used to it.

What you weren’t used to was the way Ni-ki looked at you in that moment—not just as the Nishimura heir, not just as your Alpha—but as your best friend since you were both kids building castles out of pillows in your living rooms, hiding away from the pressure of your last names.

You turned slightly to face the crowd, and when you spoke, your voice came out warm and composed.

“We’ve known each other since we were too short to reach the kitchen counter,” you said with a soft smile. “And even back then, Riki always looked out for me. From scraped knees to late-night calls to strawberry milk after long days… he’s always been there.”

You felt him smile beside you.

“And now,” you continued, “I’m honored to be by his side—not just as his partner, but as someone who believes in the future we’ll build together.”

Ni-ki nodded once, like you’d just said the exact thing his heart was holding. He leaned toward you subtly, just enough that your shoulders brushed, and whispered, “You were perfect.”

“You’re biased,” you whispered back.

“I’m yours,” he replied, and even with all the noise, all the lights, and all the eyes watching—you swore it was just the two of you on that stage.

Another wave of applause erupted like thunder, sweeping through the grand venue. From the reserved family section near the front, your parents stood—smiles stretched wide across their faces—clapping with such pride and joy it made your chest ache. Beside them, the Nishimuras, regal and composed, mirrored the same warmth, their approval unmistakable.

Ni-ki’s eyes didn’t leave yours.

His hand gently tugged you closer, your sides brushing as the lights above cast a golden hue around your figures. He smiled down at you—real, soft, the kind that only you got to see when no one else was looking.

And you, unable to help the emotion building in your chest, looked up at him with eyes full of everything you’d never been able to say out loud before.

Your lips parted, voice quiet but certain as it reached him despite the noise.

“Always been.”

⤷ read part 1 here !

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desertnightradiostatic · 9 hours ago

Text

There is an observation that has been made in studies about complacency, choice, and our sense of identity vs the actions we take when socially pressured. And that is: despite who we may think we are, we often go along with things we're told whether it's a trivial or even life-threatening matter.

We can all think of a time when we said "yes" when we really wanted to say "no". We all have an instance where we knew that we didn't want to agree to something and even understood why we didn't want to, and yet went along with. We have all spent time kicking ourselves with "I knew I shouldn't have," and "I knew that it would end up this way," deciding too late that the situation called for us to take a stand.

We all have also thought about doing the right thing when the occasion calls for it. But often, when we are confronted by this moment, we tend to freeze. Unable to fully commit our values into action. Social experiment after social experiment, it continues to show that in spite of who we believe we are and our good intentions, we often choose obedience over defiance.

This is largely due to our society not being set up to facilitate defiance. We're taught from a young age; simply, that obedience is good and disobedience is bad. Rarely are any of us taught how to defy, despite being encouraged to "stand up for what you believe in", we have no instruction on how. This has been found to be in relation to 3 commonalities:

- We often face pressure to go along with what others want us to do whether it be an Authority figure, family, friends, or even strangers

- Most of us don't truly understand what compliance and defiance are

- When we do choose to be defiant, we lack the knowledge of how to put it to action

We don't enjoy this aspect of ourselves. Often, we feel that grating discomfort of being made to do something that goes against what we believe in. A tension in the back of your neck, stomach upset, sweating, or overall unease. It's natural to want to be rid of the feeling or even ignore it. But that bodily discomfort is key to defiance. It is our "inner voice" being discontent and pushing for us to act in integrity. The force that drives us to be complicit is complex and reinforced, but not impossible to overcome.

First comes in understanding the difference between concent and complacency. Concent is better defined in our society, even possessing a medical definition.

- Knowledge is possessing the facts of the situation.

- Capacity is the awareness, cognitive ability, or competence to make decisions.

- Understanding is how a person processes the information they’ve been given.

- Freedom means your decision is voluntary, you have not been coerced or unduly pressured, and you have the choice to say no.

- Authorization is an explicit active decision.

Not only are we clear on how to define concent, but we also are apt at predicting if we will concent to something. But it isn't the same for us predicting if we will comply - and we comply more often than we concent. But just because we obey authority doesn't mean we have given up our sense of morality. Instead, it is given to the authority figure. Instead of debating on our own morality in our actions, we will measure our morality on how well we obeyed. This is often seen in work settings, becoming more focused on giving a good performance over moral concerns. And when we only aim to please our boss, our frame of responsibility shrinks. "Ethical fading" is the psychological phenomenon of pushing ethical dilemma to the background or removing it from decision making altogether.

We might follow orders because we think the responsibility and blame will lie with another person if something goes wrong. But following someone else’s advice against our better judgment doesn’t save us from feeling culpable; we actually feel worse. We cannot wish away responsibility. Better then to stop running from it and instead use it to align our behavior with our values.

Start by looking inward, and try your best to answer the question, "Who am I?" We don't often voice our values or deeply examine them. Often, they are only listed off when casually asked. In order to act on your values, you have to know them well to allow them to shape your choices and spend time considering them in depth. Learn how to slow down, give pause. In our modern life especially we are raced to make decisions. But in reality, there is a space between stimulus and action. In that space is your power to choose. Defiance is a choice. It is YOUR choice. When you are confronted with a call for obedience, take a pause and ask yourself, "What would a person like me do in this situation?" We have been compliant for too long, and need to ensure we empower our "no" to be equal in strength to our "yes. " I believe we can do it. In order to make a better world, we have to treat "no" with the same importance.

I have some news for members of the united states armed forces who feel like they are pawns in a political game and their assignments being unnecessary.

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shintaru · 3 days ago

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Tell me all the time not to worry and think of all the time that I'll have with you

m.list ♡ taglist ♡ inspired by

Vinny ~ @wthphe1n @prepchii

You were feeling down lately and couldn’t get yourself to do anything. Life was becoming too hard for you to handle in your current state. You were so exhausted, so worn out from trying so hard but barely getting by. It would be different if you got a break or if the cycle would end but it never does. You had gone on a walk to clear your head before you were ready to take on life’s hardships again. You lead yourself to Vinny’s without realizing his place felt like another home to you.

His mom was so kind and welcoming and she adored you and all his friends. When you walked in his mother greeted you and told you to tell Vinny when he arrived that she headed out to meet Jay Jo’s mother. You gave her the promise that you’d let Vinny know when he returns. You sit down to play with Jack, you bring him a toy, you always keep a treat or toy on you in case Vinny needs one for Jack. Sometimes Vinny lets you keep Jack for a bit when he knows he’ll be really busy and when you don’t want to be alone.

You sit on the floor and play with Jack rubbing behind his ears until you hear him purr. He swayed his tail back and forth slowly in delight as you continued rubbing his favorite spot. “You’re so cute” you say to him in a sweet tone. You hear the front door unlocking, alerting you Vinny has returned. Jack sprints over to Vinny’s direction and Vinny bends down to scoop him up and pet him. “Your mom let me in, she told me to tell you she is with Jay Jo’s mom” you say. “Why did you come over?” He asks.

“I had a toy for Jack and whenever I find myself feeling alone I somehow always end up here” you say honestly. You take it by his expression that he understands what you mean since he and Yumi broke up. He has opened up a little to you about how he had been feeling and you’ve opened up to him about some personal things in your life that you needed off your chest. “Do you need to talk?” He asks you to shake your head “No I just didn’t want to be alone today” you reply.

He doesn’t pry any further; he respects your decision to withhold from saying what’s weighing on your heart. “Well you’re in luck” he says turning to you with a funny look on his face “because I just came from the store and I got not one but two packs of ramen” he says holding the two of them up. “Yay I love when you make ramen” you say excitedly. He turns on the stove allowing the water to boil. He sits at the table and you both catch up until the ramen is ready to be cooked.

He is standing in the kitchen adding the ramen into the pot and adding the necessary ingredients. He stirs it until it’s fully cooked and ready to eat. You can smell the ramen from where you’re sitting making your stomach grumble. He puts the ramen in two bowls and walks over to the table handing you a set of chopsticks. You thank him and take the chopsticks and begin eating the ramen. “Vinny, your ramen is the best, food tastes so much better here” you say. “It’s just ramen…” he says blushing, making you laugh.

He still gets easily flustered when someone compliments him. It’s interesting to you he has this bad boy vibe he use to beat people up now he’s on the infamous sabbath crews team. He’s working with Juwon Ryu so yet deep down he’s very caring. You hate how so many judge him for his looks he’s the least judgmental and most understanding and considerate person you’ve ever met. Now he does have a temper but you don’t judge him. People are constantly in his case because he looks different. You'd have a bad temper too if that happened to you.

You both finish your ramen and Vinny tells you that you can spend the night. He nearly killed you for using his shower and borrowing his clothes. Literally you thought he’d have a heart attack when you walked into the bathroom and turned the shower on and came back out with his shirt on. You didn’t see the big deal, it's just a shower… but he was ignoring you like you insulted him or something. You decided not to worry about it and you slowly fell asleep after sliding under the covers.

Extra dedications @dzvelinaskebiyars @bfwooin @zyart-jpg @sanzuslutttt @sylith I hope it’s ok to tag everyone if you’re not ok with the tag please lmk 🩶🥹🦢

#Spotify #windbreaker webtoon #windbreaker #windbreaker x reader #windbreaker manhwa #sabbath crew #windbreaker sabbath #vinny hong x reader #vinny windbreaker #vinny hong #windbreaker anime #windbreaker manga

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housemdork · 1 day ago

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house md rewatch: 1x22, "honeymoon"

somehow one of the show's tamest season finales still ended up rocking my world.

an episode full of actions speaking louder than words, making it an excellent season one send-off, if you ask me. this one has excellent synergy with the pilot, despite how radically things have changed in the last 21 installments. wilson agrees that house cares about him based on his actions, and in 1x22, house spends the whole episode working in spite of his words to express his love to stacy through caring for mark. even though he can't stand the guy. good one, david shore and co.

3 separate notes i want to make from the top of the episode:

have there always been at least 3 red mugs? i swear we've only seen 1 so far, but one of the earliest scenes showcases 3.

the first drugging incident is in the books! along with their goofy "you dosed me/them/him" lingo.

wilson immediately maxed out his season 1 hypocrisy scale when he told house to "treat the husband. stay away from the wife." just because you abandon your wife all the time does NOT make you the right person to distribute relationship advice. idiot.

my general thoughts on stacy are very positive - i cannot think of a better past love interest for house, nor can i think of anyone who could give a better performance than sela ward. the way she still fits in with house doesn't lessen house's strong characterization thus far, and her screen time feels interesting and warranted throughout. the way she shuts him down when he asks about potential infidelity here gives the instant impression that house cannot mess with her like he does with just about everyone else:

most importantly, what i like about stacy are the ways she problematizes the ethics, or lack thereof, that we've become adjusted to under the Greg House Regime. she strong-arms people all the time as a lawyer, but in a completely opposite venue as house. in her world, there are grey areas abound; she just has to navigate through them all to reach a favorable conclusion. from our experience in 1x21, this was a major point of contention between them, and i think it's a really clever way of showing 2 different life paths manifested in 2 wildly different people with similar moral codes.

but something doesn't sit right (intentionally so): are their understandings of, and respect for, patient autonomy the same?

that house never fights her on this point gives us a superficial answer, at least: yes. stacy demands that house make mark, her current husband, go through a highly dangerous test in the same way that house would have strong-armed any other patient into doing the same thing. he can't refute this point when she throws it in his face, and goes so far as to accuse house of wishing mark would die (more ofc to come of that later):

but, subliminally, there's 2 key differences at play here: stacy hasn't known house that much post-infarction, so she hasn't seen the full impact that her middle-ground medical decision had on him, and now she's advocating for the dangerous procedure, whereas amidst house's infarction, she wanted the more fool-proof, cautious option. they make a nod to the former point when she comments about house bouncing his cane: "some people would find that annoying."

i don't think stacy is aware of this irony - and who would be while their husband is dying of freak brain matter and nerve degeneration? she's operating from a place of love for mark and arguing - in a rather courtroom-esque way, begging house to forego the legal consequences - for him to do something drastic. when he gives in, we see a flash of house's most dangerous side.

this was the least surprising "plot twist" yet btw. house md writers i'm not idiot. i knew he had that Look in his eye and was gonna do it.

it's such a weird moment; house was choosing to be safe by not directly threatening mark's life with a dangerous test, but he was doing it out of selfishness. this highlights a persistent conflict of morals that reappears all over the show. these 2 make a pretty dangerous duo lol.

personally, i'd be lying if i said stacy's disregard for house's choice about his infarction didn't bother me, and i LOVE the discomfort that generates within me as a viewer. i have to hold house to that same standard, but we've been so endeared to his character over time that it's textually difficult to maintain that integrity. maybe it's something to do with how we're taught to consider house as god, too, no matter how often he fails us/the show emotionally? much to think about.

next, i want to highlight this moment of fellow solidarity:

this speaks louder than dozens of words ever could about where the fellows are at emotionally. despite the ways in which they're all like house and all the ways he's influenced them, they can still identify his tipping point. this in and of itself is a small act of love, i'd argue, and we can extrapolate that:

chase, despite being so deep in the shitter with house post-vogler, still cares enough for him to prevent him from making this crazy choice.

foreman hasn't been so corrupted by house as to abandon his morals; he's stood firm against the mini-house accusations by being so consistently upstanding.

cameron can see through house, like she's been trying to all along, and knows that a large chunk of his current motivations are not for mark's benefit.

they each have unique insights into house's breakdown in 1x22 based on their unique relationships to him, all condensed into this brief "three musketeers" formation. love to see it, the fruit of 22 episodes' worth of writerly labor.

circling back to stacy (sorry for how disorganized this recap is!), there's an interesting comparison to make between stacy and wilson's function in this episode. stacy enables house to act on his craziest, instinctive impulses, whereas wilson is demanding the exact opposite - that he keep everything repressed for the sake of the patient. ofc, the highest irony is that, had house done that, mark would have died. this episode doesn't feature wilson's enabling crimes (those haven't come up that much this season, i don't think), but more so acts as a precursor for what's to come on that front.

but i would be VERY REMISS if i didn't mention a scene that i had nearly forgotten about myself that had me open-mouthed, thinking about The Future of this show and of These Two:

something should go here about the sign above wilson's shoulder. very no-turning-back. a nod to how he's quite literally leaving his wife for house here?

wilson gets to do one of my favorite things here: be house's moral compass on the subject he's the least trustworthy about - relationships. but i think this exchange highlights why house comes to wilson with his feelings about mark and stacy; wilson's own imperfections lets the vulnerability come easier. house admits that he was glad that mark's tests were inconclusive, that mark is "probably a great guy...and some part of me wants him to die. i'm just not sure if it's because i want to be with her or if it's because i want her to suffer."

that stacy picks up on this very fact later in the episode speaks to how well she knows house; that house tells wilson and not her shows the high regard that holds her in. that wilson doesn't respond says a lot. in an episode where everyone's voices are especially loud, and when wilson has already scolded house on this whole unraveling stacy debacle, his silence is peaceful...

...and a little bit prophetic. (4x16 spoilers) this reminds me a hell of a lot of a future, much more serious dilemma wherein a certain Broken Moral Compass asks his best friend to undergo a highly dangerous treatment to save someone else whom he loves. it's not perfect, but there's definitely a parallel to be drawn here: does wilson wish for house to undergo the life-threatening brain surgery just to save amber, or is there a small amount of selfishness there that wants to see house suffer? once again, much to think about! check back when i finally get to season 4 lol.

regardless, what i find compelling above all else is how wilson's silence helps prompt house to act above his words -- even though the subsequent actions are exactly the opposite of what wilson had been advising house to do thus far! no matter what his feelings may be about stacy and mark, he solves the case in the end, undoing his previous commitment to wait "for something to change." it was an obvious scapegoat when he said that to stacy, coming from the man who rejects all notions of change.

wilson's influence is even visually represented, too. when house returns to mark's hospital room, determined now to do the crazy thing and give him the dangerous treatment, we get a very brief shot of the teddy bear that wilson sent stacy and mark (he's so annoying lol):

lastly, i liked the step 1x22 took in throwing one of the show's background themes into the spotlight: house's neediness.

we've seen traces of it growing throughout the season, especially in how he tries to maintain order among the fellows, keeping them at his side while also self-sabotaging. it's clear to anyone that he can be exhausting to be around, but stacy confirms that this exhaustion extends well into his romantic/intimate relationships as well. according to her, while he is The One: "i was lonely. with mark, there's room for me."

OOF.

this somewhat contradicts what i said earlier about stacy not knowing house as he is now; like she told cameron, he's been This Way for a while - this also has interesting implications for wilson's comment during "detox" about whether house's changing behavior is "just the leg" or not. the antisocial behavior predates the infarction - very important in the Gregory House Timeline, and i think it actually endears us to him even more. and the mystery just got deeper, too.

in stacy's POV, he's always been needy. the relationship was always consuming, all about him. and as we well know, this isn't a trend that goes away. each of the fellows will grow apart from house, though at different paces and for very different reasons, and his future romantic relationships do the same, too.

but there IS someone who has a house-shaped hole in their heart, someone who defies the relationships that house has worn out thus far and will wear out in the future, someone that goes so far as to say that we "can't really choose who our friends are" because house fits that empty space too well.

"my wife's gonna kill me. we're having company. she cooked."

"i got mark's latest bloodwork. he's not responding to treatment."

"i'm sorry."

stacy was completely right to say that her relationship with house was too all-consuming; we see that play out again in the first half of season 2. but we also lay the seeds for what happens when there are 2 people, stricken with that same neediness dilemma, who are balanced perfectly for the other person, no matter how toxic things may become.

are there more things i could talk about? absolutely! i think i'll be doing an overall season recap, so i can evaluate some more atp. for now, happy end of season 1. wow, has the show transformed!! i'm sure that the final shot of the season being house contemplatively downing some vicodin isn't foreshadowing how his addiction becomes much more destructive in season 2...

HE'S SO SEASON 5 HERE.

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literaryvein-reblogs · 3 days ago

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When your Character Jumps to Conclusions

Jumping to Conclusions - (JTC or inference-observation confusion) is a psychological phenomenon in which a person comes to an unwarranted decision—usually a negative assumption—without all of the information.

Ways of Jumping to Conclusions

Researchers identify 3 different types of jumping to conclusions:

Fortune telling: In this form of jumping to conclusions, you believe you know how a situation will resolve without enough information.

Labeling: When you label, you use preconceptions, fallacies, or overgeneralizations to make assumptions about a person or situation rather than relying on existing evidence.

Mind reading: This form of jumping to conclusions involves believing you understand how someone is thinking without supporting evidence.

Examples of Jumping to Conclusions at Work

There are many ways you may find yourself jumping to negative conclusions while decision-making in the workplace, including:

Being quick to judge someone’s performance: If someone turns in a project late or performs unsatisfactorily in a meeting, you may indulge in negative thoughts about their performance or commitment. However, without further investigating and talking to them and their coworkers, you’re relying on a snap judgment rather than an informed opinion. There are many other reasons they may be struggling with deadlines, such as family trouble or miscommunication about work expectations.

Making assumptions about a potential hire: In the hiring process, jumping to conclusions can create unfair advantages and disadvantages for applicants. A hiring manager may accidentally rely on preconceived notions about potential hires or the general population instead of focusing on the application materials and interview.

Using shortcuts to summarize a target demographic: When companies identify their target markets or analyze market research, they may jump to the wrong conclusion about the needs and desires of particular demographics and build their foundation on a faulty assumption. For example, you may assume all young people want more social media platforms.

How to Stop Jumping to Conclusions at Work

Here’s how to avoid jumping to conclusions in the workplace:

Identify your sources of information. To stop jumping to conclusions, you first need to identify where you’re getting your information. The aim is to gather information from various reliable sources; if you rely on your own experience or cognitive biases, you’re at risk of extrapolation from limited, subjective sources.

Gather all the facts. Identify all the possible sources of information, and work to consult each one. For example, if you’re concerned about the performance of a particular employee, consider consulting their coworkers, their boss, and the employee themselves before you make any assumptions about why they’re struggling.

Consult trusted coworkers or resources. In addition to gathering information on your own, consult trusted mentors or guides to ensure you’re accessing all crucial sources of information. In the case of a big business proposal or wide-reaching decision, present your findings for review before moving forward.

Many people jump to conclusions in their thinking patterns because they fail to realize they’re missing all the facts, or they have overconfidence in their analytical abilities.

Jumping to conclusions can also result from preconceived notions, prejudices, or unconscious bias rather than real-time information.

Jumping to conclusions can have significant negative consequences in every area of your life, including in the workplace.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

#jumping to conclusions #writing reference #character development #writeblr #literature #dark academia #writers on tumblr #spilled ink #writing prompt #creative writing #light academia #writing ideas #writing inspiration #writing resources

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trans-goat-girl · 2 days ago

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In the comments there's discussion justifying this by phrasing it as the desire to have a partner with shared insight and lived experiences.

Our lived experiences are never ONE thing, we exist at an intersection of factors (Socio-economic/culture/race/age/disability/etc) which for every individual will radically effect their experience of being lesbian/bi/etc.

There will be plenty of bi women out there whose lived experiences mirror yours as a lesbian. Conversely there are no shortage of lesbians whose experience of being a lesbian couldn't be more radically different from yours.

From my experience, I thought I would find refuge from the soul-crushing alienation of being trans by only dating other trans people. That decision gave me a sense of reassurance, as if by that decision I was guaranteeing my future relationships would be built on a foundation of true understanding.

It was really unsettling to then realise that, no actually, despite seeds of similarity even our experiences with and relationship to transness are all radically different.

Being any kind of queer is scary and alienating, that fear can make it so tempting to find safety by flattening our conception of people into labels, but it doesn't make us any safer or less alienated, if anything it makes that worse.

As somebody who constantly struggles with feelings of alienation I wish I had an answer, but I know that treating people as labels isn't it.

I think every lesbian who says she wouldn't date a bi woman is functionally on the same wavelength as men who say they would only marry a virgin

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rukias-carval · 1 day ago

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"Silence Between Us"

A Nanami Kento fanfiction.

⚠️TW:Emotional abuse, toxic relationship dynamics, codependency, self-worth issues, abandonment themes, and heavy angst. Please read with care.

Also, this is my first time posting my writing here so hopefully, it's not that awful. Not proofread. Enjoy and tell your thoughts if you would like♡

You prided yourself in being a level-headed woman, always understanding, always trying to see the perspective of others, that's why you always ignored that little heartbreak that happened in your chest every time your workaholic husband Nanami didn't spend time with you, or when he didn't come home for lunch or stayed at the office to work overtime late in the night.

You'd always try to shut that nagging voice inside you by telling yourself that he is burying himself in work for you, for both of you to have a better comfortable life, whenever your attempts to spend more time with him he'd give you an apologetic smile and an "Sorry love I have work to do " you'd smile at him ignoring the small crack you felt yet again in your chest and busy yourself with something else or sleep.

You could understand him to some extent, you were struggling at the begging of your marriage, he didn't come of a rich family neither did you, and he wanted to provide you with the best of everything, so he worked his ass off and you were there to support him and hold him when he felt like the weight on his shoulder was too big, though he never complained, you could see when he tired and even when he did that spark and greed for more never stopped and you loved his determination.

But today was different, as the rain rattled against the window as if trying to break it to small pieces to match your fragile heart state, you cried with the sky, remembering all the times you felt neglected when he chose his work over you everytime. as the plane tickets you booked for your marriage anniversary vacation sat on the table, the ones you asked him if you should book and he said yes, the vacation that you reminded him of far too many times for your pride to take but you did for the both of you.

Your memories overlapped with your childhood memories, mixing with the image of a terrible father and husband, and a miserable mother who tried to make up for it and ignored herself, you were proud of your mother and who she was, but you swore to never live her life when you heard her sob to sleep at nights. But as you sat on the couch of your home, tears staining your cheeks, you saw your mother's reflection in the dark TV screen where you're supposed to see your reflection, and your decision was made as your gaze drifted to the tickets you booked for the two of you to celebrate your marriage anniversary together, you decided that you won't mourn a man who treats you like an option, you'll choose yourself, your heart would break for leaving the only man you ever loved yes, but staying would break it even more.

‘I'll not repeat that past’ You whispered to the darkness.

It was midnight when Nanami came back to the penthouse, thick blond hair tousled, tie undone, sleeves rolled up and suit in his hand crumbled, the emergency at work drained him.

He was barely able to avoid a disaster, though it wouldn't have affected him immensely but it was his responsibility and he hated failure as much as he hated working overtime. He wanted nothing more than to rest and hold his beautiful wife in his hand, only when he holds her does everything feel peaceful again.

She must be asleep so he made sure to be quiet as he tiptoed through the living room, but something on the coffee table made his blood freeze and the suit jacket fall from his hand to the floor.

“Fuck” he whispered as he held the plane tickets between his fingers “ Fuck” he cursed again, running his fingers through the root of his hair, how could he have forgotten? He clearly remembered the day a month ago, remembered the spark in her eyes as she told him about the trip and as she booked the tickets, the doubt in her eyes as she reminded him of it many times, he was sure he wouldn't forget, hell he remembered the whole day, he was even going to leave the work early, but that damn emergency at work made him unfocused outside of it.

He looked at his suitcases on the floor and the temperature dropped to zero, her suitcases weren't next to them. He rushed to the bedroom to find it empty as well as the walk-in closet, he checked every nook and cranny in the penthouse even though he knew he would find nothing in it. He wanted nothing more than to slap himself, to find her and beg for forgiveness. How could he do that to the only woman who mattered?!, the one whom he built everything for?!

He didn't waste a second gripping his car key and stumbling till he reached it, he broke every traffick role while driving to her place, he didn't need to think hard, her old house that she inherited from her mother and decided to keep and look after as if her mother's soul resided there, it was his only hope that she went there and didn't try to disappear front his life for good, he wouldn't be able to survive it.

Stopping the car and stumbling out of it, he didn't bother closing the door as he rushed to the small house's front door, he knew that if he tried to call she wouldn't answer but maybe she would answer the door, then he would apologise and take her back where she belonged, with him.

He knocked far too many times to be considered polite but he was a desperate man, he knew she was inside, the plant pot the she hid the spare key underneath was moved an inch to the side, and even though she kept the lights off he could feel her on the other side of the door, he knew she loved him, he knew this was as hard on her as him and that it must've taken a lot of willpower of her to leave because she wasn't the type of person to let go that easily and he hated himself for putting her through the pain.

"Sweetheart, please, I know you're Inside, please open the door and let's talk” he begged “Let me apologise, let me make it up to you, whatever you want, just… please don't do this”

You stood on the other side sobbing silently, heart breaking to a thousand shard and that lover girl In you scolding you and begging you to listen to him, open the door and accept his apology and fall between his strong arms.

But you knew that would only start the cycle again, that the peace would be short lived, and it would only be a while before he went back to his old ways and then, you weren't sure you would have the strength to leave again, you would probably take the scrapes and be quite, and that terrified you, that's why you have to crush that lover girl inside you for she is a fool blinded by what have been.

But you knew you needed to talk to him, and so before cowering like usual you wiped your tears, he was still rambling and banging the door, you knew he would find you easily and maybe that's what you wanted, to get it over with before rushing back to him and cowering. You opened the door tentatively and he stopped talking, breathing in sharply as he took you in.

“We need to talk” you intended for your voice to come out sharp and strong but instead it was horse and meak, almost a whisper.

“Yes” his was gruffer than usual, he moved to walk in but you stopped him with your hand, shaking your head, you saw the hurt flash in his red-rimmed eyes, his glasses no longer on his nose, and you felt the lump back again in your throat but you swallowed. You couldn't let him in, Nanami was a determined man, and letting him in would mean giving him the chance to break your walls using every trick up his pockets, and you would give in, you already wanted to give in by the look of desperation in his eyes, so you made it clear that you would have the conversation in the safety of your doorstep whereupon any alarm of danger you can slam the door or run in the street.

Maybe you could have waited for him at home and said whatever you wanted but you ran away without thinking.

“I'm sorry, I'm a jerk, I deserve whatever punishment You see fit but please come ba–

“I'll fill for a divorce “ you announced and he froze, all the colours draining from his face

“What?” He whispered as if he didn't hear.

“I can't do this anymore “ you choked out

"Don't do this please, we can fix it, I'll try harder. I will never forget our anniversary again–

“It's not about the damn anniversary anymore “ you tried to hold the sobs but the wounds were too fresh, too deep for you to control

His composure crumbled as he talked frantically “ whatever it's I'll make it right I just need you”

“Need me for what? To show me off as a trophy wife ? To neglect me more and forget about me? When was the last time we had a conversation together or had a meal or just sat together outside of the bedroom?” You broke down completely, once the words were out there was no stopping even if you wanted “ we aren't even married anymore, all you care about is work while I'm suffocating there alone “ you sobbed

His eyes were rimmed with tears as he swallowed hard, jaw clenching “ And who am I working for ? Don't you see I'm doing all of this for us ?”

“There's no us anymore” you unconsciously yelled not caring about your neighbours “ don't you see what we became ? Not even roommates” your next words were the hardest but they have been forming inside you making an ugly home inside your head and you had to get them out, you breathed deeply whispering “ Sometimes I feel Like I'm only there to warm your bed, how many anniversaries did you forget about, how many plans have you cancelled and how many days did you stay at work while I waited for you at home?!”

“You were never a mere bed warmer for me” anger flashed through his eyes at how you phrased yourself “ don't you know that my whole existence is for you?” Vulnerability took the place of anger “ just give me this one last chance, I won't mess it up I promise”

You shook your head “ this is futile I made my decision”

He clenched his jaw in determination “ I'm not divorcing you “ he announced.

“Namani please”

“NO” he snapped and you sighed in resignation, you knew how stubborn he is

“My lawyer will call you” you announced before shutting the door softly, choking on your sobs.

Nanami was a composed man, he prided himself on being a calm man in the face of disasters, no matter what happened he never lost his composer, but the idea of losing you forever, his only sanctuary snapped something inside of him, he was furious with himself for hurting you, you sobbing face crushed his heart like a withering flower, and even after breaking every breakable thing in the penthouse It didn't take the anger inside him toward himself, so he sat on the floor among the shattered glass like his soul drinking from the bottle of liqueur, even though nothing could make him forget about you or how you cried because of him

He really hated himself.

The next week was hell for him, he ignored work calls, and stayed at home doing everything he can to stop the divorce, he couldn't imagine his life without you, He would stop the divorce and fall on his knees and apologise till you forgave him, because without you he had no purpose, ever since he met you he has been doing everything for you, how hard he worked and all the overtime was to grantee you had the most comfortable life, but he got greedy thinking he could have everything and his greed costed him the only thing that mattered.

The divorce papers you filled for crumbled in his fist, Nanami was an insatiable greedy man for what he loved, before he met you, he was obsessed with his plan of working and then retiring to an island In Malaysia, because that was his life, he could only drag himself through it and get comfortable later, but when he met you his obsession and fixation became you, he didn't work because he wanted to retire to Malaysia anymore, he worked to provide you with not just everything But the best of it too, but his greed made him Think he could have it all, and now he was losing everything.

He staggered to the door determined, he would fight till his last breath, as long as you didn't hate him he had hope, and you didn't hate him, you were deeply hurt but he could still see that loving gaze underneath everything, so he took a taxi to your place since he didn't trust himself with driving.

Maybe if you refused to give him a chance he would drive’ he mused.

It has been a week full of heartache and tears for you, surely you weren't stupid enough to think it would be easy, but you didn't think it would feel like this, like a limp had been torn from your body.

You planned to get your shit together but you didn't have the energy to move though you forced yourself to do something, baby steps, and the first was to find something to do, a job.

That's how you ended up scrolling through job applications, though you started to feel how rusty you became.

Nanami never forced you to work or quit your job, it was your choice, he was happy to provide for you both and even when you did work he refused to let you spend a penny, he even gave you his card information and unlimited access. Though you refused to take anything from him before marriage, were too vulnerable at the beginning afraid that you were misjudging the situation, after marriage, you made your own decision to quit, you have been working since your teenage years, and you weren't good with people, every day among the crowds took part of your mental health away.

‘Was he pressured to work more because I quitted?’ The question caught you off guard.

But now he had the money that he could spend his entire life without working and it wouldn't run out, hell it might even still be plenty for their children to spend.

Your eyes gazed at your stomach at the thought, That was another part of why you quit was that you wanted to have children and provide them with all the love in the world, eagerly so, but years after and nothing still.

You remembered your conversation with one of your friends Shoko, she told you that you both hurt each other by your silence and negligence, that your silence and his greed couldn't coexist.

Was she right?” You wondered, was your silence doing the opposite of what you intended?, you didn't say anything because you didn't want to be ungrateful, scared that you are pressuring him, but it backfired, and you ended up getting hurt and hurting him anyways.

The rain pattered against the windows, the sound that made you feel giddy always rang hollow In your chest today. Not sure anymore of anything.

A knock at the door node you jump. It was him, your husband, you knew, You didn't need to see to know, you just can know, as can he.

You clenched the cushions beneath you, You were lonely and hollow and so in need of a hug, his specifically, but you can't, not after the ache you caused both of you, you have to stay strong, or it would all return to zero.

He called your name in a pained plea, his voice hoarse and his syllables slurred.

“Please, just let us talk, don't I deserve this much?” knock Knock knock.

Was he crying?

You swallowed, your breath hitching as your eyes misted.

“I'll change, I'll do whatever you want please, just…. Tell me …let me in”

You walked slowly to the door placing your hand on the wood where he placed his on the other side, two hearts bleeding for each other, two people wounding each other.

You opened your mouth to say something but the knocking stopped, and you could only hear the rain.

You felt your heart clench wondering if he got fed up with you and decided it was best to sign the papers that he has been avoiding and doing everything he can to stop.

But wasn't that what you wanted?

You choked on your silent sob as you sat against the door not knowing what's right and wrong anymore, feeling like a lost child.

But you could still feel your husband's presence on the other side, your stomach clenched and you didn't care to decipher the emotion as your mind registered the storm howling outside.

God he must be soaked to his bones, you stumbled to your feet opening the door hurdley and almost gasped.

There on the porch sitting on the stairs like a drenched puppy was Nanami, his back hunched and his head in his hand, no longer standing tall and proud no matter the circumstances as you knew him to be.

“What are you doing?” you rushed to him taking his hand to help him stand up, he was shivering but he looked at you like a puppy who found its owner at last.

You dragged him to the house and he happily obliged.

“God you're drenched” your voice wavered, scolding yourself at how you left him out in the cold, but you simply didn't think you were mourning.

He followed you to the bedroom where you took a spare of his clothes that was left there. You instructed him to take a warm shower as you prepared something hot for him to drink, you were fretting around him like a worried mother, and you were worried sick that he would catch a cold, you hated seeing him sick.

As you poured the hot drink in the mug he emerged from the bathroom, wearing grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips and a white t-shirt that was a bit on the tighter side since he got even more muscular than before your marriage.

“Sit down,” you told him as you handed him the steaming mug, he didn't utter a word despite your expectations, he only looked at you with deep emotion in his eyes, something raw and powerful that your knees almost gave out.

As he sat on the sofa you stood behind him with the towel and gently started to dry his thick blond hair, something you used to always do before work took him away from you.

A content sigh escaped him as his head unconscious leaned into your touch until it rested on your chest.

You didn't push him away a sigh similar to his slipped through your lips as you felt your missing piece of puzzle fit back into its place

Was that why your mom never left your dad?”

“I'm sorry I left you out in the cold” you whispered “but you should have gone home”

“ it's okay” his voice hoarse and thick with emotions whispered back “ I deserve it, I hurt you and you hate me now”

You sighed as you moved to sit next him “ no you don't deserve it, and I don't hate you”

“Then why leave me ?” He looked it you with eyes full of hurt

“Because I don't want to hate you” you whispered back pained.

His head hung low, as if in guilt. “ tell me what to do” he looked up “Anything… I'll do whatever you tell me to, I will even stop working If you want, but please not divorce” his hand reached to yours unconsciously “you're the only valuable in my life, don't take that from me, I know I messed up but I thought I was doing the right thing for us never did I once forget about you or intentionally neglected you, my greed got out of hands” I exhaled “ I'm not justifying my actions all I'm begging for is a chance to prove that I'm still the same man you loved and fell for you”

You swallowed the lump in your throat “ My father wasn't a good father nor a good husband” you started.

He turned his whole body to you in attention, you have told him snippets of your past but never in detail, it was too painful for you, but you felt you had to tell him your point of view, your silence didn't do you any good.

“Him and mom married of love they were so deeply in love together, but then after she gave birth to me, the company he worked in went bankrupt “

His big calloused hand reached out to wipe your tears gently but not interrupting.

“My mom worked and he couldn't find a job satisfying enough for his ego, and he began drinking, and gambling, and eventually ….he became violent”

His Jaw clenched and fury clouded his gaze, You squeezed his hand, reminding him it's in the past now.

“Even then my mom couldn't leave because she was deeply in love with him” you sobbed. “ I know you'll never hurt me that way, you're not him and it's not the same situation but…. I want to become another version of my mom, even though she protected me and I love her, But….” you went silent

His eyes misted as he nodded “ I understand sweetheart, I do, but I will never hurt you that way, And I would never hurt you intentionally” he said with determination you loved him but your wounds ran deep, and were tangled “Don't make us carry our parent's mistakes, we are not them, you are the strongest bravest gorgeous woman I know “ his thumb caressed the back

of your hand.

“but I'm begging you don't look at us with that lense, at least give me a chance to prove to you that we are different, just one chance, at least no divorce, I can ask for your forgiveness and beg for it for years if that's what you want, every day I'll reassure you that I have never loved nor will I love anyone more than you, I'll stay on the steps of your door until you take me back, cause without you I cease to exist”

You listened to him, and started wavring, maybe he was right, you deserved a second chance at happiness, but you were still afraid, but maybe you will give him and yourself another chance, maybe both of you were at wrong and at this together, he did neglect you but you neglected facing your problems heads on too and buried your head in the sand hoping everything will resolve until it exploded right in your face.

Maybe he was right, maybe it was unfair to judge the situation based on your past trauma but that was the thing about traumas wasn't it, they affected us to the core even if we thought they didn't.

“I.. “ you swallowed “ this will be the only one Nanami, no second chances” You didn't know if that was the right move logically but your heart was doing happy dances.

His face lit up and he smiled “Thank you “ he tentatively kissed the side of your lips, almost hesitantly as if expecting you’d push him away, but you didn't.

“ I won't mess up, I promise “ another kiss on your lips and you started to melt, That past week without the warmth of his embrace was a hell, and you missed him.

“Fuck I missed you” He groaned as his tongue invaded your mouth in a desperate kiss and you returned it with the same desperation as if you two have been separated for 7 years and not 7 days, you took from each other and gave back as much.

Until he ended up on his knees between your thighs, conveying how sorry he is and begging for your forgiveness until you were the one tearing and begging him to stop.

You didn't go back with him to the Penthouse, still fragile, but you did stop with the divorce idea, And Nanami started acting like he was courting you again, sending you gifts and taking you out on dates, late-night calls, and late-night apologies. He even started sending you letters for every occasion he missed conveying how he never forgot about you that day but he was too stupid to realise how he should act at the time. You even started couple therapy based on the advice of one of your friends, Saturo Gojo. He stopped putting his work over everything And you stopped avoiding confrontations. And even started a new job to find yourself again. You talked and listened to each other more.

And as you sat next to him watching a movie in the cinema that he booked all of it for you, you realized that the past didn't always repeat itself, but you don't regret what you did, maybe you should have talked it out in the first place but what you did brought your man back to you and that's what matters the most, because as you sat there hand engulfed in his as he gazed softly at you like you're the most precious, you knew he'd never break your heart or hurt you again, and that was enough.

I would love to read your thoughts, reblogs are highly appreciated🌺

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kiame-sama · 18 hours ago

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Hi! Not really an ask and more like an analytical essay (not bad all praise) I wanted to say I love your work and AU! I’ve been following it for a while and check for updates daily. I’m not a huge social media person so I tend to lurk a lot more than I interact but I really wanted to say that I absolutely adore your work. I would say that my favourite character is Malleus. Originally I really liked Leona because Leona was one of the only people taking into consideration the humans thoughts and feelings but through the rest of story I ended up really liking Malleus. You don’t have to respond to this as it’s sort of an essay rant of my thoughts but I wanted to share.

I think I probably have a little bit of a higher tolerance for Malleus’s shenanigans than most because most of the people in my life tend to be neurodivergent people that struggle a lot with social interactions and social skills, and I read a lot of that in Malleus both canonically and in your HAEAU. A lot of my childhood friends and uni friends exhibit a lot of the same behaviours—the kind where you sometimes have to explain in fairly excruciating detail why something is socially acceptable or unacceptable because that’s not going to be an immediate thought to them. To me, Malleus’s character is really nuanced because he very specifically lacks any form of social integration and that plays an extreme part in how he interacts with the world and the Human. He may be hundreds of years old but canonically he really is about late teens/early twenties if we’re equating his growth to that of humans. He’s still in the awkward adolescent learning phase where you’re an adult but clearly not a reliable adult. And his social isolation expounds upon that. While that doesn’t give him a free pass at all it makes his character and decision making more understandable and gives that nuance I mentioned. Is it okay for him to be overly possessive of the Human and doings something as big as extending their life and binding their soul to his without their consent? No absolutely not. But I also think that while that is clear from our understanding it’s not as clear from his. From Malleus’s perspective his human has become the most important thing in his life—he wants to protect them and desperately wants them to choose him and like him. From his perspective his actions aren’t unusual or something to be viewed as morally questionable because literally everyone around him is like that: it’s the norm, it’s the standard, and it’s fed into by those around him. He has absolutely no reason to question it until the Human pushes back. Giving the human his mother’s Magestone just makes sense—especially with Lilia (who practically stands in as a parental figure) supporting and giving him the idea. Because Malleus lack social skills he very heavily relies on those around him that have them to give him his social cues with Lilia being the person he takes cues from and follows the follows the most. If Lilia thinks it’s the right thing to do, it has to be the right thing to do because it’s Lilia that’s saying it. And with no pushback from those around him who do understand what he’s doing (like his grandmother just be being like “well if you’re sure then get to it.”) it makes sense why he wouldn’t see it as wrong.

Adding to this, we do get to see some of Malleus’s growth when the human does pushback against the things that he does. The difference from the first and second week where he wouldn’t leave the human’s side and threw a several day long thunderstorm tantrum about them living in Savanaclaw to the argument when the human was about to ovulate where the human was able to talk down Malleus—getting him to understand that they did not want to mate—and his decision to not only respect that choice but protect it by getting all of Diasomnia to guard Ramshackle when everyone else was trying to break in shows great character growth and learning from Malleus. It’s clear he does genuinely care about the human even if the way he shows that care is misguided and a little warped due what he believes is right being at odds with what we perceive as right. These actions to me read very similarly to the way that a lot of neurodivergent behaviour manifests—it’s not that the person in question doesn’t care about the feelings of others but that their lack of understanding of others views and social norms reads as cold and sometimes selfish to those that don’t understand their way of thinking or seeing the world. Malleus demonstrates several times that while he doesn’t initially understand why the human might be upset by something it does matter to him and when explained to him he takes steps in the right direction.

The most recent chapters are another example of that. We see plenty of times that characters get upset that the human is unhappy or upset with them but it’s usually from a perspective that highlights a selfish aspect to the narrative: Riddle being upset about his overblot because *he* should have been protecting the human and hurt them instead; Vil feels entitled to the human’s attention after all that *he* has done for them; etc. And while those characters show remorse because their actions “hurt the precious human” that they so adore Malleus’s remorse comes from a different place: his grief isn’t just over the fact that he put the human in danger but from the realisation that the things he’s done to “protect” them have majorly overstepped the human’s boundaries. Day one Malleus wouldn’t have had that realisation—he’s doing it because he believes he’s right, Lilia supports him, and the human will learn to understand it—current Malleus realises what he’s done is wrong not because of the physical hurt but because he recognises that he has hurt the human’s feelings in his obsessive efforts to keep the one being that he felt like had the ability to care for him without the strings of being the fae prince attached. Their conversation in the most recent chapter majorly highlights that as Malleus realises that his and everyone else’s behaviours have put the human through the same feelings and isolation that he has felt for decades—that realisation hurts Malleus so much that it brings him to tears. All of this shows major character growth and again while it doesn’t make the things he has done okay it shows how he can be better in the future using the things he’s learning now.

Malleus has become my favourite mostly because I tend to enjoy characters that the audience or reader gets to watch grow and develop but also because so far he’s felt like the character that has most consistently tried to grow and take the human’s words into account. Obviously the story isn’t over and we’re going to see more of the characters develop (especially ones like Kalim and Jamil that we just haven’t seen much of yet) but I’ve thoroughly enjoyed it so far and I hope our angsty dragon keeps moving forward in the right direction.

I am loving these essay style analysis pieces y'all are sending in, and I love reading over them several times. I also appreciate the heck out of the fact that you are picking up on Malleus' dilemma. His behavior is not acceptable, but he truly doesn't know any better until he is told that his actions are not okay. He has had zero friends who aren't painfully aware of how dangerous he is and his status, not to mention the fact that very few interact with him willingly even among those in Briar Valley.

In the HAE AU, he is over 300 years and has lived most of those years in relative isolation, excepting the most recent 24 years since Lilia took in Silver. Lilia, Silver, and Sebek are his few and far between social links to others, Lilia being an unreliable source of social cues given the old Fae is over 800.

His Grandmother and Great Grandmother are practically of the mind that Malleus is going to do what Dragons do, all of them accustomed to making decisions that others just obey blindly because of how strong and frightening Dragons actually are. Malleus is already slated to be stronger than both Malefica and Maleficent, so they just assume Malleus is going to be a wild-card until he settles down with the Human and relaxes. Dragons often make their Hoard's 'Crown Jewels' their mate, and the Human is the prized Jewel of Malleus' Hoard, so the elder Dragons just assume he is pent up and will calm down once mated.

Lilia has lived with these Dragons for almost all of his life and is the one who gave Malleus the idea in the first place, also used to Dragons getting what they want whenever they want it. Malleus severely lacks nuanced social grace and tries to mirror what those around him are doing, eager to uphold the Dragon reputation, yet not realizing he is pushing the Human away with his behavior. As smart and quick witted as Malleus can be, when it comes to social interactions he truly doesn't understand what is best or acceptable.

Dragons are Yandere by nature, and Malleus is struggling to deal with his impulses on top of his instinctual desire to claim. He wants to make the Human happy and he is desperate to keep them safe, but he is going about it the way his ancestors would, not the way that will make the Human happy with him. Not only does he not completely understand his overstepping being a problem, but he is- like all the others- a slave to his instincts. His instincts say The Human needs to be protected at all costs, but his heart says he needs to listen to that Human when they say he has overstepped.

#kiame-sama #humans are extinct twst au #hae malleus #tw yandere

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rivertinghaze · 2 days ago

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hi there! hope you’re doing well <3

could i get Jotaro (part 4), Rohan and Josuke with a Ranpo Edogawa type reader? preferably headcannons but if you want to write a piece than just Rohan. thank you <3

the greatest detective! | jotaro/reader, rohan/reader, josuke/reader

rating: teens and up; content: gn reader, slightly suggestive in Jotaro's part, silly deductions; genre: headcanons; word count: ~500 for each

masterlist ☆ requests open

⋆ Jotaro is very weary at first, of course. he likes to keep his cards close to his chest, watch and see where the wind will blow before he makes a decision. he's not that rash teenager anymore – he's a man with a lot of responsibilities on his shoulders, and he can't afford to make mistakes

⋆ especially when it comes to judging people. it makes the difference between friend and foe, between life and death

⋆ so, that's why, when you step into his life, in quiet and mysterious Morioh, he's watching you like a hawk. you claim to be so great – the greatest detective in the world – and yet, he doesn't believe a word you say. he believes it to be all a bunch of nonsense, or lucky coincidences, or broad remarks about general truths (like the way fortunetellers do.)

⋆ he expects your predictions to fail. expects it all just to be one big joke. yet, on every single occurrence, he's proven wrong. or, better yet, you prove him wrong.

⋆ Jotaro doesn't understand how you do it. you say it's your super special, super cool Stand power that allows you to solve any mystery, see through any lie straight to the truth. but he doesn't see anything – just your easy-going smile as you put on your special deduction glasses, and then the wide-eye look you give him. (it doesn't mesmerize him at all. doesn't make him stay up at night thinking about the confidence written over your face, the steadiness of your presence).

⋆ until it does. until a crucial moment in a fight when all odds seem stacked against him, and Jotaro grows genuinely worried innocent people will get hurt. you're there at the exact perfect moment (of course you are, you've been pestering him for weeks already, always on his tail), and every single part of your carefully-crafted plan falls in place as they should.

⋆ maybe you don't appear to take things seriously, not like he does. but he's learned he can rely on you to be there, to have his back and take care of all the details he can't see. and while it's something to get accustomed to, this new, chaotic presence in his life, he feels safer after finally understanding that part of you – the one that protects quietly, just like he does (although, obviously, you do ask for the praise and recognition you deserve for your incredible plans and deductions, after the fact).

⋆ endearingly annoyed when you're casually using your deduction to help him with things before he mentions them. he's always been a man of few words, and to have someone next to him that knows what he needs without him saying it – well, it does help him actually open up. he wants to say things when it's just you and him.

⋆ when you're both tangled in soft sheets, tired but content, bodies warm in the places they touch – your hand over his chest, like a shield, his arm around you, holding you to his side, like armor – he breathes in and out, slowly, relaxed and protective. until you begin to tease him about just how much he seemed to enjoy that thing you did, and how you already knew it would turn out like this. he just huffs and pulls you closer, telling you to shut up and go to sleep.

⋆ this man is completely fascinated with you right from the start. your energy, the unique way you shift the atmosphere in a room and nudge things along in the exact direct you want, without anyone else noticing until it's already too late

⋆ Rohan wants to understand you, see what makes you tick, understand the full extent of your so-called 'special deduction power'. he tries, he really does, following you around town, accidentally bumping into you when you're getting snacks and pulling you into long conversations. he needs to know more about it

⋆ to his defense, he is better at it than most people – paying attention to you, the particular way you do things, trying to predict your decisions before you vocalize them – but at the end of the day, try as he might, he will never be able to fully grasp the extent of your way of thinking

⋆ he's not fully sold on the whole show you make whenever you do use your deduction ability in public (over the top? just a bit, but within reason. he's aware he's like that too, sometimes). he will admit he thinks the glasses look cute, and the smug look on your face when you explain the exact way something transpired near made his brain stop the first time he witnessed it

⋆ never overbearing, but just slightly overprotecting when it comes to reminding you to take care of yourself whenever it slips your mind – honestly, with all of those mysteries you're solving in there, he's not surprised you forget sometimes. still, he learns how to cook the meals you enjoy, buys an extra toothbrush to keep in his bathroom when you oh so inconveniently decide to fall asleep on his couch.

⋆ he does however, fuss over your safety and lack of self-awareness. the first time you got lost (honest to god, lost) on the way back to his house from the store, well… he might have called a few of his close high-school-aged acquaintances to search the whole of Morioh for you. you greeted him like nothing was wrong after they found hours later, making friends with some sketchy-looking guys and acting like it was completely normal for you

⋆ later on, he gets super smug on your behalf, and hypes you up to the moon and back. in the 'you tell them babe!' sort of way, just – so proud that you're always the smartest person in the room, and no one can even dare challenge that (he's proud he gets to witness all that, at your side).

⋆ while the creative process when it comes to his work is his and his alone, he grows to ask you for advice on clever twists and turns to add in his stories. he accepts that he will never be able to surprise you, but it's not so bad, especially since it gets him a lot of kisses when he pouts and pretends to be mad at you for spoiling the ending for yourself

⋆ he's not expecting much that day, maybe a surprise test or two, maybe some bizarre video game Okuyatsu wants to try out after school. he's certainly not expecting a new classmate in the middle of the year, and not one as interesting as you

⋆ you're not subtle, or nonchalant, or any other synonym he could bother to look up in the dictionary that describes your openness. but he can tell right away that you are earnest, maybe a bit peculiar, but the sparkle in your eyes as you scan across the entire classroom is unmistakable.

⋆ Josuke doesn't know when it happens exactly, but one day he looks over and you're already looking back, like you're already waiting for him. some days, being around you is kind of like playing a game he doesn't know the rules to, but he finds it fun, nonetheless.

⋆ after school, you drag him to convenience stores just to rate every brand of chocolate bars they have (and get more snacks for your secret stash, of course). he dares you to eat an entire bag of marshmallows, and he feels so smart, thinking he's finally got you at something you can't accomplish perfectly – until you near inhale the whole bag and look at him with those innocent, puppy eyes, and he laughs at how silly the situation really is.

⋆ he starts to notice that whenever you say hey, trust me, it's followed by a completely crazy, completely brilliant deduction. even if sometimes he can't wrap his head around them, he follows you anyway, because even if it would turn into a disaster, he needs to stay by your side and keep you out of harm's way

⋆ it happens in the park, when the sun is over the Morioh's skyline, painting the houses in softer colors. you stand on top of a bench, finishing a difficult level on his gameboy for him with one hand, the other playing with your deduction glasses, and declare the final piece of the puzzle with an easy-going grin, and it's the answer that ties everything together in a way no one else saw coming. Josuke stares, a little stunned, as you get all smug about it (but not unkind), that you figured it out, obviously, how could he ever doubt you?

⋆ it'll take some time until he admits it, but you kind of take his breath away. especially the first time you surprise him with a full-bodied hug, tender yet firm, saying everything that you can't quite put into words just yet (suppose he's just special in that way, being the first person to make you stumble over your words in his wonderful, protective presence).

author's notes: whooo, first time doing multiple characters hcs! this was super fun to figure out (since i am, predictably, a casual ranpo enjoyer) so i hope y'all enjoy (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) happy weekend!

#jjba x reader #jjba fanfic #jotaro x reader #rohan x reader #josuke x reader #jotaro kujo x reader #rohan kishibe x reader #josuke higashikata x reader #request completed ★#jjba

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dozybeez · 4 hours ago

Text

Spin For Me (Pt. Three)

She's the quiet girl in class with a secret life after dark. He's the campus heartthrob who's used to getting what he wants-except her. When a class project forces them together, buried truths, blurred lines, and undeniable tension threaten to unravel everything they thought they knew.

→ part one → part two

→ part four coming soon

pairing: college au! kim mingyu x exotic dancer f!reader

word count: 4.7k

content warnings: slowish burn, smut, lap dances, adult club setting, derogatory language toward sex workers, internalized shame, emotional distress, subtle? size and innocence kink. MDNI

authors note: in no way do I think I'm a good writer. I wrote this a while ago just for self indulgence and decided to post it for fun, so please understand.

songs for this chapter:

- Pyramids by Frank Ocean

- Cold Sweat by Tinashe

- Gilded Lily by Cults

The heavy bass still echoed in your chest as you stepped off the stage, breath shallow and skin damp beneath the soft sheen of sweat. Your thighs ached from holding each spin, and your calves trembled faintly. The crowd’s cheers had already started to blur into a wall of white noise, fading behind you and replaced by the quiet thrum of your pulse.

You were halfway to the dressing room when your manager caught up to you.

He called out your name with that smug look on his face—like whatever this was, the decision had already been made for you.

“Private room three. Some guy just offered triple the other girls’ rates for ten minutes with you.”

You paused, furrowing your brows. “I don’t do private—”

“I know,” he cut in, expression unbothered. “But this isn’t a request. You want to keep your spot? You do this one.”

The ache bloomed in your chest. That old, familiar mix of shame and survival clawing its way up your ribs like a splintered memory. You stood there for a long second, jaw clenched tight.

You could walk. You could quit. It’s not like you didn’t think about it every night when you got home, eyes gritty and bones sore.

But three times the rate.

Two months of rent. Groceries.

The pressure cracked something in your chest, and your voice came out colder than you meant it.

“Fine. One time.”

It was probably just some old creep anyway. Someone hoping to find the youngest girl in the club. As long as it wasn’t your professor, you could stomach it.

You adjusted your outfit. Reapplied your gloss. Pulled the familiar black mask over the upper half of your face—it made you feel a little less naked, a little more untouchable despite the circumstances.

⸻

The hallway to Room Three felt long. The lights above flickered like they were judging you.

You pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Darkness greeted you. The red lights were dimmed to a low hue.

You looked up—and froze.

Legs spread slightly, sleeves of his button-down pushed to his elbows, head tilted like he was just relaxing on some frat couch after class.

But even in the dim light, you could tell. You could feel it in your bones.

Mingyu.

Your mouth went dry.

It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.

Your heart slammed so hard against your chest you were sure it echoed.

No. No. This can’t be real.

What the hell was he doing here?

Had he—had he really requested you? Spent that much money on you?

But he looked so calm. So relaxed. Like he didn’t recognize you at all.

Maybe he didn’t. You were in full gear—thigh-highs, gloves, the mask, even a different lipstick than usual. No one ever recognized you. That was the entire point of Fawn.

Still, your body wasn’t listening to logic. Your pulse spiked. Your palms turned slick with sweat.

Even in the dim amber lighting, you could make out his sharp jawline. The slow, easy curve of his smile.

Every part of you screamed: Leave.

But you didn’t.

You walked forward, slow and deliberate, keeping your eyes slightly averted, your face mostly hidden behind your signature mask.

His eyes followed you. Careful. Curious.

The music started—slow, deep bass. Cold Sweat by Tinashe. Something far more sensual than your usual main stage routine consisting of divorced dad rock.

You took a breath.

Your hips began to sway. Your hands slid down your own body, grazing your waist as you stepped closer. Your thighs brushed his knees when you turned, pressing your back flush to his chest—close enough to feel the heat radiating off him.

You bent at the waist, slowly, your hands on his thighs as you rolled your ass up against his lap. You felt him tense beneath you.

You kept going, rolling your hips in smooth circles as you sat more firmly against his groin.

His breath hitched.

A rush of adrenaline flooded your limbs.

You arched your back a little deeper, let your ass drag forward, then back again—this time slower, more deliberately.

Still, you didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

“You’re nervous,” he murmured behind you, his voice low and laced with something darker. “It’s cute.”

You swallowed hard and rose from his lap, turning to face him. Your knees settled on either side of his thighs as you straddled him now, chest inches from his, arms braced on his shoulders.

He didn’t touch you. His hands remained clenched on the chair.

You began to roll your hips again—slow, sensual. Grinding softly against him through the layers of his clothes, your body trembling despite the heat in the room. He was watching you too closely. It made it impossible to think.

You felt ridiculous.

Embarrassed.

And yet… something warm lingered in your chest that had nothing to do with nerves. There was a part of you that didn’t want to get up. Not because it was Mingyu, the campus heartthrob. But because it was Mingyu. And even if he didn’t know it was you, you liked being close to him. You liked the quiet way he watched you without touching. You liked that he didn’t laugh when you stuttered and got shy at the library. That he seemed… patient. Here and then.

“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he whispered, voice truthful. “Except one.”

Your eyes snapped to his.

Your rhythm faltered—just for a beat—but you corrected it quickly, dragging your body back down in another smooth grind. You couldn’t stop. Couldn’t react.

Your fingers moved up to his lips, pressing gently to silence him. Your hands were trembling.

He didn’t flinch. Just kissed your fingertips softly and let you keep them there.

“I won’t talk,” he murmured after you removed your fingers. “If that’s what you want.”

Your face burned. Your thighs were trembling. But you kept moving—hips rocking slowly, drawing tight, sensual circles against the obvious bulge between his legs.

His lips parted. A faint groan escaped him.

“You remind me of someone,” he added a moment later, voice barely audible over the music.

You stopped breathing.

You dropped your gaze to his chest and ground against him one final time, slower now, lingering, trying to finish the set with control.

The timer beeped softly. Ten minutes.

You were about to get off his lap when he whispered your name, your real name. Not Fawn. You.

Your whole body froze.

Your breath caught painfully in your throat. Your stomach dropped through the floor.

He knew.

You jerked away from him like you’d been burned. Stumbled off his lap. Nearly tripped over your heel.

He didn’t move.

Just sat there.

Watching you.

You didn’t wait. Didn’t speak. You pushed the door open and ran—down the hall, past the dressing rooms, through the back exit.

Your breath came in shallow gasps as you leaned against the alley wall, hand over your chest, lungs struggling to catch up with your heart.

He knew.

⸻

He wasn’t sure what he expected when he booked the dance.

Maybe just to confirm it. Maybe just to see you move up close, without the safety of distance and dim lights. Maybe to stop pretending he hadn’t recognized the way you touched the pole—awkward at first, then ethereal. He’d memorized your body long before tonight.

But the moment you walked in, it hit him like a sucker punch to the chest.

It was you.

Your figure. Your soft, nervous energy. Your walk. Your hips.

You.

Fawn.

Same damn person.

He kept his expression unreadable, though inside he was burning—heart pounding, breath stuck somewhere between his lungs and throat. You didn’t know he knew.

Not yet.

But when you climbed onto his lap? When you bent over and rolled your hips against him like that, your soft curves brushing over his groin with each slow, sensual drag?

He nearly lost it.

You were nervous—he could feel it in the way your thighs trembled against his, in the tiny stutter of your rhythm, the way you refused to speak.

And it only made you more real.

He’d thought Fawn was just some unattainable fantasy. A beautiful, untouchable performer with a mask and a stage between them. And you—you were the girl who made his heart race, with sarcasm in your smile and eyes you wouldn’t let him hold too long. A contradiction. A puzzle.

But here you were.

On him.

Gripping his shoulders with soft, shy fingers and grinding yourself against him in slow, burning circles.

And fuck—you were gorgeous. And so, so cute. Especially when you tried to act like you weren’t shaking. Like your heart wasn’t racing.

He wanted to laugh. He wanted to groan. He wanted to grab you by the waist and pull you close and tell you you didn’t have to be scared.

But mostly?

He wanted to tell you you had him.

He wasn’t sure when it happened—maybe back when you first told him off in class, or when you laughed behind your laptop screen, cheeks pink, thinking he hadn’t noticed—but now it was like every version of you had collided in front of him. And he couldn’t unsee it.

Fawn.

And you.

And suddenly, every time you’d tucked your face into your hood, every time you’d ignored his flirting, every time you’d squirmed when he leaned too close during study sessions—it all made sense.

He bit back a groan when you rubbed down against him again, the friction dizzying. You were trying so hard to stay composed, even as your body betrayed you.

When he whispered your name, it was a whisper of reverence.

A test.

And a confession.

You froze.

And then you bolted.

He didn’t expect you to run like that. Didn’t expect his chest to hurt the way it did watching you stumble off his lap, eyes wide with terror, mask still on, but everything else exposed—emotionally, physically, completely.

Fuck.

He didn’t move at first.

He sat there, jaw clenched, fists pressed into his knees, trying to absorb the moment.

Then he was up.

Out of the room.

Down the hallway.

Past the blinking exit signs and down the side corridor he’d seen dancers use earlier. He didn’t know where you’d gone—just knew he had to find you.

He wasn’t chasing Fawn.

He was chasing you.

And now that he knew they were one and the same, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to stop.

⸻

The cold hit you the second you burst out the side door.

Your heels clacked against wet pavement as your breath clawed at your lungs, coming in sharp, painful bursts. Your mask—your armor—was clenched in your trembling hand now, crushed in your palm like it was the reason any of this happened.

You hated this.

You hated the way your heart was racing. Hated the fact that your eyes were burning. Hated that your lips still tingled from being that close to him. From touching him outside of just brushes in the library. From hearing him whisper your name like it meant something.

You didn’t know what to feel.

And then you heard him.

His expensive shoes hit the pavement behind you, steady, fast, familiar.

You didn’t have to turn to know. His presence was unmistakable.

A breathless gasp of your name escaped from his lips— like he was in pain for even saying it aloud.

You whirled around. “Don’t.”

His eyes went wide. His hands froze halfway in the air, jacket in one of them, like he didn’t know whether to touch you or not. He looked… helpless. Still in that sleek black button-down, eyes soft like he didn’t know how to fix this.

And you hated him for it.

Because you wanted to crumble.

“Don’t come near me,” you whispered, your voice cracked and wild. “I mean it.”

But he took a step anyway, slowly, silently, and then put his jacket on your shoulders. “It is freezing, you’re gonna get hypothermia.”

You looked down. Your arms were trembling. Your stage outfit was barely anything. Your skin was goosebumped, your breath fogging in the night air.

You hated that you were cold. That his jacket—that smelled like the cologne you would crave to smell once more after he left your study sessions—helped.

So when he gently placed it over your shoulders, you let it sit there for a second before shoving it off. “Don’t pretend to care now.”

He flinched.

“I don’t need you to play the good guy,” you continued, voice rising. “I don’t need you to make me feel better after—after whatever the hell that was in there.”

He tried to speak. “Wait—”

“No, seriously. You got what you wanted, didn’t you?” you laughed bitterly.

“Little shy girl from class turns out to be some pathetic stripper who rubs herself on strangers for rent money. Must be your dream, huh? Something about the thrill of it?”

His face fell, completely, and you hated that too.

“You think I’m easy now, don’t you? That I’d do anything for the right price?” you spat. “Is that why you offered that much money? ‘Cause you knew I was too poor to say no? Or because it turns you on to play pretend with some dumb girl who sits next to you at the library and then dances for you at night?”

“no—” His voice broke around your name.

But you didn’t let him speak.

“You probably think I’ve slept with half this town, don’t you?” Your mascara was streaking now, dark lines down your cheeks. You were spiraling. “You probably think I’d fuck you if you just waved enough cash in front of me. You have half the campus wanting to sleep with you. But that’s not enough for you. It’s the degradation of paying for it, right? God, I’m such an idiot.”

“You’re not—” He stepped forward, but you shoved him.

Hard but he barely even moved. Stepping back on his own accord to give you space.

“I said don’t touch me.”

You stood there, breath shaking, heart splitting open. You couldn’t stop. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t handle the way he was looking at you like you were made of glass and heartbreak.

“I hate that you saw me like that,” you whispered, the tears leaving streaks in your makeup.

And then you turned, heels scraping against the concrete as you pushed the door back open and vanished inside.

Mingyu didn’t follow.

He stood in the alley, alone, staring at the spot where you’d been—jacket on the ground, mascara-streaked tears still carved into his memory.

And he couldn’t move.

He couldn’t fix it.

Not yet.

⸻

Two weeks.

Fourteen days of unanswered texts, unread emails, and skipped classes.

You had vanished like smoke.

At first, he thought you were just avoiding him. Understandable. After what happened in the alley behind the club—the breakdown, the look on your face when he said your name—he figured you needed space.

But then you missed your scheduled study session. Then another. And another.

No café sightings. No familiar shape curled into your favorite corner of the library. No nervous voice during lectures. You’d gone ghost completely, and it was killing him.

He sent you everything—paragraph-long messages, quick check-ins, even just: “Are you okay?”

Nothing.

The silence was starting to scream.

By the time the morning of your presentation rolled around, he’d convinced himself you wouldn’t show. He’d rehearsed the whole project alone,and planned to tell the professor you were sick and pray he wouldn’t tank your grade. You did most of the project anyways, while he would sit there in the library making googly eyes at you.

He was never mad. Just worried.

And heartbroken.

So when you walked into the classroom twenty seconds before you were set to begin, Mingyu nearly dropped his notes.

Your usually clean and soft hair was tied in a loose, uneven braid, strands sticking out. Your hoodie swallowed your frame. Your under eyes were darker than he remembered, and your jeans were baggy, wrinkled, like you hadn’t done laundry in weeks.

You looked like a ghost of yourself.

But you were there.

He didn’t get to say anything. The professor called your names, and you quietly stepped to the front beside him without a word.

The presentation went… surprisingly well.

Your voice was quieter than usual. You stumbled over one or two slides, but nothing major. Mingyu picked up where you wavered, and you fell into that unspoken academic rhythm you’d formed weeks ago—two very different people functioning as one oddly cohesive unit.

He kept glancing at you from the side. You didn’t meet his eyes once.

As soon as you finished and the applause from the class died down, you muttered a thanks to the professor, and beelined out the door.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

Then he ran.

The sound of your name was yelled from his eager lips.

You didn’t slow down.

But his legs were longer, and you were moving slower than usual—exhausted, probably, or maybe just trying not to cry again.

He reached you at the edge of the courtyard, just past the main entrance, and gently grabbed your wrist.

“Wait,” he said softly. “Please.”

You froze. Didn’t look at him. But you didn’t pull away.

His chest tightened.

He stepped in front of you, moving you just behind one of the large pillars near the side of the building—more private, out of the flood of students filing out after class. His hand never left your wrist, but his grip was feather-light.

“Just… let me talk,” he pleaded, voice low. “Please let me fix this.”

You scoffed bitterly, and finally, finally looked up at him.

“Oh my god,” you snapped, voice hoarse. “You really can’t take it, can you?”

Mingyu blinked. “What?”

“You,” you said, shaking your head like you couldn’t believe him. “Mr. Perfect. Campus golden boy. Everyone likes you—how could they not? Tall, hot, charming. You’ve got girls lined up around the block for you, and yet—”

You laughed, but it cracked. “What, because you didn’t get the stripper? Is that what finally broke your ego?”

“You couldn’t fuck me, so now your world’s imploding?” you pushed, venom in your voice but pain behind your eyes. “I must really be something, huh? That even you—the notorious playboy Kim Mingyu—lost your mind over a hooker who told you to fuck off.”

His heart clenched.

“That’s why you asked me out on that date, right? Made me think you actually liked me for me. But this whole time you were chasing after the thrill of sleeping with Fawn. Paying for Fawn. What an act.”

“You think I care because I didn’t get to sleep with you?” he whispered.

“You don’t care. You just hate the idea that someone out there thinks less of you. That you couldn’t get the one girl you assumed would be easy just because she takes her clothes off for money! What, your dick doesn’t get hard anymore for a girl who doesn’t need money to sleep with you?”

“Stop,” he said, gently but firmly.

“Go post a shirtless mirror selfie and cry about it—”

He whispered your name softly, not a warning but rather a plea for you to just breathe.

“I’m sure your fans will stroke your ego back to life—”

He moved quickly—his large hand reaching up, cupping over your mouth gently, the entire bottom half of your face fitting beneath his palm. Not forceful. Not angry. Just… quieting you.

Your eyes went wide.

“Please,” he said, voice barely audible. “Just… breathe.”

You were trembling beneath his touch, every bone in your body radiating with exhaustion and rage and something even worse—hurt.

His hand stayed where it was until your breathing began to slow. Just slightly.

Then he dropped it.

You looked away again, eyes glassy.

“I’m not in love with Fawn,” he said softly.

You flinched.

“I’m not. I never was. I only started going to see her to help distract myself for what I actually felt—what you made me feel,” he said. “I was… intrigued by Fawn. She reminded me of someone. And then… when I realized it was you—”

“Stop,” you croaked.

“I can’t. Not now.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, big doe eyes looking up at him with too many emotions swirling in them.

Mingyu shoved his hands through his hair, exhaling.

“I like you. I liked you way before I even knew it was you at the club. Your sarcasm. Your awkward little shrugs. The way you never look me in the eyes for more than three seconds without panicking.”

He smiled, soft and sad. He looked at you hopefully, like maybe, this would finally fix things.

A tear slipped down your cheek.

And then you remembered.

You remembered that night, months ago—the reason you brushed him off since the beginning of your study sessions, the reason you never let him get too close. The same reason your walls were so carefully built… until he started dismantling them, piece by piece.

Your eyebrows pulled together—not in anger anymore, but in something far heavier. Pain. Betrayal. Mistrust. He had just laid his feelings bare, but could you believe them? Could you risk it?

No. You couldn’t afford to.

Wordlessly, you wiped your cheek with the sleeve of your hoodie, the fabric trailing past your fingers like a shield you no longer had the strength to hold up. Then you gave him one last look—full of sorrow, maybe even regret—before turning away.

Walking away from him.

From his feelings. And from your feelings.

⸻

22 notes · View notes

bluerose5 · 13 hours ago

Text

Heart-to-Heart

Summary: Davrin and Lucanis's relationship isn't the only one progressing forward. Davrin has a long-overdue chat with Spite.

A sequel to A Better Tomorrow.

Rating: T

Word Count: 5,640

Tags: Romance, Prompt Fill, Fluff, Communication, Polyamory

Note: Prompt fill for @jtownnn and @afeleon276 for a conversation between Davrin and Spite while Lucanis is sleeping.

AO3 Link.

After settling into bed, Davrin didn't get much time for shut-eye before a certain someone woke him up.

For once, it wasn't Assan.

“Davrin!”

Okay, his voice was way closer than it should have been, Davrin fighting his first instinct to reach for a weapon as he peeked an eye open, Spite's face so close that their noses nearly brushed. Violet eyes glowed in the flickering shadows of his room. Spite grinned while he studied him, but Davrin wasn't smiling.

What he wasn't going to do was enable a demon's bad habits. What they needed were some—

“Boundaries,” Davrin said, his voice firm. Sitting up in bed, Spite jumped back when he shooed him off with a wave of his hand, Spite's brow furrowed in confusion. “We seriously need to establish some boundaries, starting with the fact that you can't barge into my room whenever you feel like it.”

Of course, Spite bristled at his tone, instantly defensive.

“But you said that I could come!” he retorted. Deep down, Davrin had a feeling that it was taking all of his willpower to hold back from stomping his foot. Spite's wings flared out for a brief second before they settled back into place, his feathers ruffled. “You said that we could talk!”

“That, I did.” Davrin wouldn't deny it. “And we will talk. After you walk yourself right out that door.” Narrowing his eyes at him, Davrin got to his feet and pointed in its general direction. “Then try asking for permission to enter my room this time.” He took a page out of Taash's book. Treat Spite like his own person, but don't let him get away with anything that would make others feel uncomfortable. Still, it felt almost surreal, talking to a demon like that. “Might I suggest knocking first?”

Off to the side, Assan watched them from his spot on the floor, bouncing up and down in place. Once Davrin said his piece, Assan gave a loud chirp in what Davrin thought to be amusement.

Spite looked towards him with a grumble.

“Yes!” he agreed, placing his hands on his hips in a way that was eerily similar to Lucanis. “He is bossy!”

Davrin rolled his eyes at them, even though he was more curious about the interaction in general.

“You can speak to him?” Davrin asked, nodding towards Assan.

Spite blinked owlishly at the question.

“You can't?”

“We understand one another to some extent, but we don't actually speak to each other. It's more about us being able to interpret body language and different sounds,” Davrin explained, glancing between the two of them. “Huh, maybe I should use your expertise more often.”

Spite stood a little taller at that —well, as tall as he possibly could in Lucanis's body. He held his head up high and beamed at Davrin, practically preening in response.

“Don't think you're off the hook, though,” Davrin said.

That was all it took for Spite's face to fall, his expression scrunched up, but Davrin wasn't going to backtrack on his decision that easily.

He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Out the door,” he instructed, giving a slight jerk of his head towards it. “Now.”

His tone left no room for argument.

Even Spite knew not to push his luck.

“Fine.” Snarling, he threw his hands up into the air, then marched his way right outside of the room. “Fine!”

Once he opened the door, he stepped out and turned around, ready to close it as Davrin ordered. However, Davrin could tell by the clench of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders that he wasn't looking to do so gently.

Concern coiled around his heart, his chest tightening.

“Don't slam it,” Davrin told him, his lips pursed. “Look, whatever issues you have with me are one thing, but Lucanis doesn't get enough sleep as is. If you wake him…”

Spite paused, hesitant.

He cocked his head to the side, staring into Davrin's eyes for a long, drawn-out moment while he processed what was said, caught off guard by the sentiment.

Whatever he found in Davrin's gaze must have sufficed because Spite nodded in agreement.

“I won't,” he swore. “Lucanis needs rest.”

That was the understatement of the century, but what was even more surprising was finding something that both Davrin and Spite could agree upon. Finding common ground was usually a good way to lay the foundation for a relationship, something Davrin would keep in mind when Spite was around.

It was even better in Davrin's book when their commonalities involved making sure Lucanis took proper care of himself.

“Yes, he does,” Davrin said.

Silence settled in the air, thick with an awkward uncertainty about where to go from there, so Spite took the opportunity to close the door.

Assan wandered up to Davrin's side, looking pointedly between him and the door, his eyes wide.

“Aw, come on,” Davrin huffed, standing his ground. “Don't look at me like that. I want him to do this one thing out of courtesy, and now I'm the bad guy?”

He might not have understood Assan as far as words went, but the squawk he gave told Davrin all he needed to know about what he thought of him at that moment.

Yeah, yeah, how dare he inconvenience his griffon's demon friend in any way? What a terrible man he was.

Although, it was interesting to consider how far everyone had come since the days when Spite tried to—

When he tried to escape through the eluvian.

Now, that gave Davrin an idea.

Drawing him out of his thoughts, Spite knocked, giving three sharp, solid raps of his knuckles that pierced through the room.

Davrin didn't hesitate to open the door. He leaned against its frame, staring thoughtfully at Spite, who stared back with curiosity swimming in his gaze.

When he started to shift restlessly in place, Davrin said, “Hey, if you can pull it off without waking Lucanis up, then what would you say to getting out of here for a bit?”

There was no ignoring how quickly Spite perked up at the offer.

“Really?” he breathed.

Davrin nodded.

“Yes, really. I wouldn't ask, if I didn't intend on following through.”

Taken aback by the sincerity in his voice, Spite glanced over his shoulder towards the rest of the Lighthouse, then back to Davrin, his expression shocked yet unsure.

“But the others—”

Davrin cut him off with a scoff, a brow raised in question.

“Are you going to tell anyone that we're leaving?” Davrin chuckled. “Because I'm not.” Spite instantly shook his head. “Good, then it'll be our little secret, yeah?”

“Yes! Ours. Our secret.” Spite grinned. “Let's go! Before he wakes.”

Squawking his agreement, Assan circled them, leaping around at their feet.

“Just remember to stay close,” Davrin warned, walking past Spite to take the lead. “Both of you.”

“Glad to,” Spite hummed.

His reply nearly stopped Davrin in his tracks, but Davrin couldn't let them see him falter. He continued on after only a slight stumble, even as his mind cycled through those two words over and over again.

Was he mistaken, or was Spite flirting with him?

It was hard to say for sure. After all, he wasn't an expert in spirits and demons beyond what his job called for. If knowledge of their behavior didn't serve to kill them quicker, then it was useless to him.

Or so he thought.

Nevertheless, they made their way to the Vi'Revas and snuck out of the Lighthouse together. Davrin had to shush Spite and Assan multiple times on their way to the eluvian to keep them from getting loud enough to disrupt the others’ rest, not that they did a good job of listening to him anyways. Their chattering was almost non-stop, so Davrin decided to cut them some slack once they entered the Crossroads at least. Only when they boarded the boat to set sail from one island to the next did Spite fall silent, those glowing, violet eyes trained solely on the Caretaker as the spirit ferried them away to their destination. Spite shifted in his seat, easing closer to Davrin's side, but the latter made a point not to mention it, even as confusion clouded his mind.

After they arrived, Davrin took the lead again, but all of them had explored the area enough to know the safest, quickest path that led them straight to Arlathan's eluvian.

Eventually, they pressed their way through the mirror.

And on the other side, they emerged in the Veil Jumpers’ camp.

Night had fallen, and guards were posted.

Good thing Davrin was familiar enough with their surroundings to guide them through undetected. He doubted that the guards would have any problem with him and Assan passing through. Spite, on the other hand…

How people would respond to a demon walking amongst them was always up in the air. It was better not to risk a confrontation, so long as they could avoid it.

Before long, they were beyond the Veil Jumpers’ reach, venturing deeper into the forest.

Away from campfires and torchlight, the moons and stars dominated the heavens. Looking out over Thedas, they cast a silvery glow down onto their subjects before them, twinkling brightly against the vast sea of darkness that formed the night sky.

Tree branches extended their hands up towards Thedas's moons in praise of those who brought light to their darkness. They waved back and forth with the same passion as the grasses that swayed around them, dancing along to the tune of the evening breeze.

Some of the local wildlife scurried about in the dirt underfoot while others darted about among the trees overhead, accompanied by the snapping of twigs and the rustling of leaves.

The entire symphony of nightly noise fell apart, however, as soon as their little trio passed through.

All fell silent.

The forest's occupants, even the trees, seemed to hold their breath at the sight of them, awaiting their next move.

When Spite stopped abruptly behind them, Davrin and Assan turned to face him, just in time to watch him freeze in place like a startled halla. His eyes widened, darting all around them with uncertainty. Every noise caused his muscles to tense and twitch in response, so his wings remained outstretched at his sides, ready to take flight at a moment's notice.

“Spite?” When Spite recoiled at the sound of his voice, Davrin held back a grimace. It was understandable for him to react that way, Davrin supposed. Not too long ago were he and Harding threatening to put Lucanis down if Spite so much as looked at them the wrong way. Now, Davrin had him outside of the Lighthouse with no witnesses around. Perhaps Spite thought it was a trick, and he had gotten in over his head without thinking. Either way, Davrin tried to give him a reassuring smile. “Hey, it's okay. I swear.”

Slowly, he held up a hand, then offered it out to Spite.

“Nothing is going to hurt you, not while I'm here.”

How ironic it was for the monster hunter to be the one reassuring the demon —who could very much tear people to shreds if he had the desire to do so— that he was safe. If nothing else, it was an olive branch, extended in good faith.

For a long while, Spite looked between Davrin's hand and his face, searching for any sign of deception.

About the time that Davrin was ready to give up, his arm starting to fall back to his side, Spite reached out and slipped his hand into his grasp. He didn't move a muscle then, his fingers stiff and his palm clammy against Davrin's.

Only when Davrin gave his hand a soft squeeze did Spite relax, returning the gesture in kind.

A little progress, but it was something, at least.

While Davrin led him forward into a clearing ahead, Spite looked around them and commented in a shocked, hushed tone, “It's so quiet.”

That was when realization hit Davrin like a punch to the gut.

Now that he thought about it, this might have been one of the few times, if not the first time, that Spite had been outside of the Lighthouse in this state without there being a fight or a battle going on. Surely, it felt different to be able to experience the peace that the waking world had to offer when he was the one in control instead of Lucanis.

Davrin considered that until he caught sight of what he was searching for.

“Look.” Slowly, he guided Spite to a spot where they could sit and admire the view, Assan settling in at their side. For a single beat, there was nothing. Then, Davrin spotted it again. A flicker of light that floated past where they were seated. He pointed them out to Spite with growing excitement. Spite narrowed his eyes in concentration. “See? They're fireflies.”

“Hmph,” Spite huffed, even as his eyes glowed brighter with awe. “They're not made of fire, though!”

Davrin couldn't hold back his responding chuckle. Leave it to Spite to interpret the name literally.

“You're right. They're not,” he allowed, “but they glow like one, and they fly. Sort of like you in a way. I figured that you might like them.” More and more started to illuminate the air around them. Davrin watched them closely, unable to look away. “They're beautiful, aren't they?”

“Also like me?” Spite asked.

Well, that certainly wasn't what Davrin expected him to say, but Spite stared directly at him while he spoke. The intensity of his gaze bore into the side of his face, causing warmth to build under his scrutiny.

Really, all Davrin could manage to do was try and make light of the situation, wondering what Spite's angle was in all of this.

“Wait.” Davrin eyed him with a smirk. “Are you actually fishing for compliments right now? I thought you were Spite, not a demon of Pride.”

“No, not Pride. Pride is insufferable,” Spite protested, but he didn't press the matter any further, dropping it for now. Instead, he focused on the fireflies again, studying their movements with keen interest. Of course, Davrin should have expected what would come next. “Can you eat them?”

Never would Davrin have thought, when he first joined Rook's team, that their resident demon would have such a fascination with eating and smells. And it for sure didn't seem as endearing back then, as it was now.

“You technically can, but you probably shouldn't,” Davrin advised. When Spite's entire posture drooped, his wings included, Davrin was quick to come up with an alternative to satisfy him. He couldn't exactly blame Spite for wanting to try out new experiences in the waking world, but it would be best to do so in a way that was safe and enjoyable for everyone involved. “Tell you what, if Lucanis is okay with it, I'll make you a meal one night while he's sleeping. Something that's actually edible.”

Spite squinted his eyes at him, his head cocked to the side.

“Do you even know how to make food?”

That little shit.

“Excuse me,” Davrin scoffed, insulted, “why wouldn't I?”

He shrugged.

“Lucanis cooks. Bellara cooks. Even Harding cooks, but badly,” Spite explained. “I have not seen you cook.”

“That's because my style of cooking is more…” He trailed off into a hum, considering how best to phrase it. “Let's call it more rustic than what some of the others are used to.”

Or practical, maybe? He didn't exactly get this far in life without learning a thing or two about fending for himself. Davrin could confidently say that his food was good, but was it for everyone? Probably not.

Spite replied with a simple, “Ah.” He nodded, as if he knew what Davrin meant by that.

In all honesty, what better way to explain, than to show him?

“Trust me, you have nothing to worry about,” Davrin said. “Not only will I make sure you survive the experience intact, but I guarantee you'll enjoy it.” Already, Davrin was running through some ideas in his mind. Lucanis had a palate catered more towards Antivan food, but what would Spite like? “So, you clearly want to know more about what you can and can't eat—”

“Need to know,” Spite corrected him without missing a beat, picking at a blade of grass. “In case something happens to Lucanis. I need to know how to keep our body alive. So much here is not like home.”

Hold on. Was that really the reason why he asked all those questions? Suddenly, some of them didn't seem all that strange, given that context.

If it came to Lucanis's safety, then Davrin would rather he ask them, as he had been, than wrongly assume that a course of action was okay.

How could Davrin do anything but encourage him to learn more, knowing that? Better to be safe than sorry, as they always say.

“You know, I think that I have a foraging guide back at the Lighthouse. The only good it's doing me right now is stopping one of my tables from wobbling,” he joked. “I could probably teach you more about what's safe to eat out in the wilderness, based on my own experiences, but the book is a decent enough starting point for a beginner. Consider it yours, if you want it. Maybe some new reading material will make the nights go by faster for you. I'll give you your first lesson, though.” He reached out to tap him on the nose. “Not everything that smells good is edible.”

“So I can't eat you?” Spite scrunched up his nose at him. “Disappointing.”

“Ha!” That earned the demon a nudge to his side. “Very funny.”

“I thought so.” He stared down at his fingers, smoothing them out along the dirt, and Davrin swore that his expression turned almost… wistful?

The pieces of the puzzle were sliding into place, slowly but surely, the more time they spent together. While Davrin hadn't expected him to open up about the Fade so quickly, he knew a thing or two about what it was like to be homesick, and it wasn't the best experience to say the least, especially when there was no one around to talk about it with.

“All of this must be a big adjustment for you.” Davrin waved a hand around in a vague gesture. “Venturing out into the waking world.”

With his eyes downcast, Spite nodded, lips pursed.

“You don't seem all that excited about being in the Lighthouse, though,” Davrin observed. “One would think that you would feel at home there.”

There wasn't the slightest bit of hesitation when Spite shook his head.

“No. It's not home!” he protested. Violet light flared in response, his emotions stoking the flames. “It's a pocket. Kept apart. Part of the Fade, but different. Similar, but not the same.”

Unable to put his thoughts into words, Spite growled in frustration.

If there was ever a sign to tread carefully, then that was it.

“Is the Lighthouse more like this world in your opinion then?” Davrin asked, curious yet wary.

“No,” Spite repeated in a grumble. “Your world does not bend. It does not listen. Sometimes, mages can make it listen with practice. But in the Fade, it is effortless. As easy as breathing is for you.”

Allowing that to sink in, Davrin eventually followed up with, “You miss the Fade.”

Not a question, but a statement of fact. It was similar to saying that the sky was blue or the grass green. There was no doubt about it.

Spite's wings started to curl in around himself, but they seemed to think better of it at the last second, tucked in stiffly against his back while he sat up straight.

“People say that demons want to come to your world, but I never did,” Spite explained, surprisingly patient. “I didn't want to come here. I was happy before. Here, people want me dead.” He peeked over at Davrin with a sad smile. “You wanted me dead. Harding, too.”

“I can't speak for Harding, of course, but it's less so that I ‘wanted’ you dead, and more so that I was willing to go to whatever extent necessary, should you prove to be a problem. I might not encounter them often, but in my experience, demons aren't usually here to have tea and cakes with us lowly mortals.”

“Some spirits are bad,” Spite agreed, shifting in place. “Some spirits are good. Kind of like mortals.”

He had Davrin there.

“Fair enough, but I did what I thought was best at the time. I won't apologize for trying to protect others.”

“I don't expect you to,” Spite said. “You wouldn't be Davrin otherwise.”

How understanding of him. Truly.

There was a resiliency to be admired about someone who remained in a place where they weren't welcomed, existing there in spite of all the crap being thrown their way. Davrin couldn't keep track of all the villages he had been to, where the Dalish were viewed with suspicion at best, even from some of the elves in the area. A single look at his vallaslin would earn him a crinkle of their nose and a curl of their lips, up until the point when he revealed his profession. The second they realized that not only was he a monster hunter but a Grey Warden at that, their tunes changed entirely. Either they tolerated him, or they gave him a level of respect that he could have only dreamed of mere moments prior.

As if people's prejudice wasn't a big enough pain in the ass on its own, it was also tough to be away from home, having to learn almost everything new again on top of that. Even if he couldn't have predicted the consequences of his actions, Davrin could acknowledge that he did at least have a choice in the matter when it came down to leaving his clan, to leaving his home behind.

Spite, on the other hand, did not.

How easy it was for Davrin to forget, especially back when he first thought Spite to be an imminent threat, that even the demons were in the Ossuary against their will, according to Lucanis.

“Maybe we can get you back home one day,” Davrin offered, but the words left a strange, bitter aftertaste on the back of his tongue.

It was weird to imagine Lucanis without Spite, and Spite without Lucanis.

He tried not to linger on the thought for too long, because any discomfort on his part shouldn't stop him from doing what was right, if that was what Spite and Lucanis wanted.

However, Spite didn't jump at the opportunity, as part of him expected.

“I won't go. Not unless Lucanis wants me to.” Spite took a deep breath, held it, then slowly released it. “Until he departs from this world, I shall remain with him. Home is with Lucanis now. With Rook. And the others.”

“But not with me?” Davrin teased.

“Hmm…” With their not-so-subtle glow, it was impossible to miss how Spite's eyes lingered in his direction. In time, he said, “Assan is nice.”

“Damn, so you have jokes now? And brutal ones, at that.” Davrin chuckled, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Watch out, everyone. We have a real jester on our hands here.”

Amusement tugged at the corners of Spite's lips. He smiled to himself as he stared up at the endless expanse of stars winking down at them from above.

Davrin admittedly got distracted by the sight of him in all of his glory. His very own shining star in the darkness.

However, as he contemplated the demon that was Spite, Spite was busy contemplating the beauty of the waking world. His new home, for the foreseeable future.

Eventually, his brows knitted together, causing his forehead to wrinkle as a result. His once-awestruck smile flattened into a thin line, his jaw locked with tension.

Seeing him like that left no doubt in Davrin's mind why the Rivaini referred to him as a Spirit of Determination. He held his head high, each word filled with an unbreakable conviction.

“I will make life work here,” he stated. “Not because I have to, but because I want to.”

The passion with which he spoke took Davrin's breath away. Spending time together was starting to make Davrin a bit reckless. It made it all too easy to forget at times that Spite was still a demon, which only served to make it more difficult for Davrin to keep his distance.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning his weight back onto his hands, “I can respect that.”

He stretched his legs out in front of him in the grass, and Spite copied his movements, his fingers brushing along Davrin's upon the ground.

Their eyes locked; and when Davrin managed a small smile for him, Spite beamed eagerly in return.

Davrin stared at him until Spite cleared his throat and averted his eyes.

It took him a minute before he remarked, soft and hesitant, “Lucanis… likes it when you kiss him.”

Unsurprising, really. The last time they kissed had been intense, to say the least, and they did have their talk about it as promised. The two of them decided to see how things between them went from there. They were progressing beyond friendship at that point, sure, but neither of them knew what to call it quite yet.

Regardless, “That's good to know, Spite, but maybe we shouldn't talk about Lucanis's feelings without him knowing about it first, alright?”

The man deserved to have his privacy, after all. If he wanted to share something with them, then he should be able to do so on his own terms.

“No fun,” Spite huffed.

Nevertheless, he nodded his agreement with a pout.

It was that pout of his that gave Davrin an idea, probably a foolish one, but nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

“Here.” He couldn't believe he was going to do this. “You decide for yourself if you like it.”

“What—”

Before Spite could finish his question, Davrin leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss upon his cheek. There was a sharp intake of breath as warmth radiated from his touch. Spite jolted in shock, but quickly recovered with a quiet whimper, melting into the kiss.

Davrin's lips lingered, grazing along the corner of Spite's mouth when he felt the air start to shift, Spite's wings curling around them.

With an appreciative hum, Davrin whispered, “Good boy,” and that was the end of that.

In the blink of an eye, Spite disappeared, his violet light snuffed out like a flame.

He vanished so quickly that it left Lucanis reeling in response, the Crow startled awake by Spite's sudden departure, struggling to regain his bearings.

Before he could fall face-first into the dirt, Davrin was there to catch him as he swayed forward. Lucanis shook his head back and forth with a groan, blinking past the dizzying remnants of his slumber, now wide awake for the time being.

“Davrin?” he muttered. He took in the sight of their surroundings through his growing confusion, attempting to reorient himself as much as possible. “Uhh… Not that I'm opposed to a good frolic through the woods—” Davrin snorted at that, bringing a smile to Lucanis's face. “—but where are we?” He pointedly peeked over in a single direction, raising an eyebrow at the scene he returned to. “And why is Spite freaking out right now? Did you break him?”

“I sure hope not,” Davrin chuckled sheepishly. “We decided that he needed to get out of the Lighthouse for a bit. Go get some fresh air, you know. I figured he could do with a change of scenery, so I brought him out to Arlathan Forest. Let him watch the fireflies, gaze upon the stars.” Before Lucanis could even begin to get worked up about it, Davrin rushed to reassure him. “Don't worry, though. He was on his best behavior. Nothing happened. Not even one escape attempt.”

“Heh. Try not to sound so disappointed.”

“What can I say?” Davrin swooped in to give Lucanis a brief peck on the lips, Lucanis instantly dragging him closer so that their foreheads could rest against one another, their breath warm upon each other's skin. “I do enjoy a good chase.”

“I'll have to keep that in mind,” Lucanis said, humming in delight when Davrin leaned in to capture his lips into a proper kiss this time. Their noses brushed when they parted, neither one of them wanting the moment to end. “You explained where we are, at least, but not why my demon is currently struggling to string together a single thought.”

Right.

“Yeah, about that…” Davrin didn't know exactly how much Lucanis was able to glean about the situation from Spite's memories and his mind, but honesty was key either way. “I did kiss him. On the cheek, I mean.”

Lucanis stopped for a minute to consider what this new development meant for them, staring off towards that same spot where Davrin could only assume Spite remained.

“Ah,” Lucanis responded with a nod, “now it makes more sense why he's acting like this.”

When he didn't elaborate further on the subject, Davrin pressed the matter, “Is that alright? Because if you're uncomfortable with any kind of affection or intimacy —no matter how big or small— without you being there, then say the word, and it won't happen again. It is your body.”

With a slow blink, Lucanis listened closely, turning the words around in his mind while Davrin spoke. He looked between Davrin and Spite, Assan happily snoring the night away nearby, and he smiled.

“While it is my body, yes, Spite and I are both sharing it for the time being. And since it doesn't look like that will be changing anytime soon, everyone needs to accept that the two of us are part of a whole now,” Lucanis explained. “If you want to explore your relationship with him as well, then I would not begrudge either of you that opportunity to do so. It would feel almost hypocritical to deprive you of each other's company now.”

Davrin had to admit, that came as quite the surprise.

“That's very… understanding of you.”

“Or practical, or perhaps a bit of both.” Lucanis shrugged. “Your clan is Rivaini in origin, are they not?” At Davrin's nod, Lucanis continued, “Then, surely this is not your first time hearing about such an arrangement with more than two individuals being, uh, involved.�� For lack of better terms.

“Of course not.”

One of the most common relationship structures in Rivain was the triad, composed of the mind, body, and soul of a group. It was largely inspired by the Qunari concept of the Triumvirate, but the Rivaini's acceptance of multiple partners predated even the Qunari's arrival. They weren't opposed to such dynamics, so long as the group contributed to the happiness and success of both their own household and their community as well.

Honestly, it wasn't a surprise that the Dalish from Rivain incorporated such dynamics into their culture, too, focused on the wellbeing of both the clan and its members.

Even then, as much as Rivaini society welcomed spirits among them, Davrin didn't know many who would ever willingly enter into a relationship with one.

There was a first time for everything, he guessed.

Lucanis's voice fished him out of his thoughts, drawing his attention back to him.

“Good, because while I might not have firsthand experience being involved in such an arrangement, it is not my first time being exposed to the idea either. The Crows —or, rather, most Antivans, come to think of it— pride themselves on being rather flexible and open-minded about these sort of things,” he said. “It pays to be adaptable, after all. I'm fine with the three of us figuring things out together, so long as you two are.”

Yeah, this was definitely not how Davrin envisioned this night going when Spite woke him up earlier, but it wasn't an entirely unwelcome turn of events either.

This was new territory for all of them, so taking things one step at a time, figuring it out as they went? He had no problem with that.

“Sounds good to me,” Davrin said.

“Just one thing first, you two.”

At that, concern bubbled up inside of Davrin, chasing away even the smallest sliver of relief.

“What?”

“The kissing is nice and all, continue with that if you must,” Lucanis sighed, the corner of his lips twitching ever so slightly as he fought back a grin, “but do me a favor next time. Try not to wake me up.”

In place of a reply, Davrin burst into a fit of laughter, startling Assan awake, which earned a petulant grumble from the now-grumpy griffon, who soon started to swat away any remaining fireflies that dared stray too close.

Davrin could only imagine what Spite was saying to Lucanis on his end, the latter staring smugly off into that same empty space again.

However, as soon as Lucanis snuggled closer to Davrin, staring up at the night sky, Davrin swore that he felt an unnaturally cool breeze travel down along the opposite side of his body. A chill flowed through him, and goosebumps followed suit.

There was a deep-seated loneliness inside of him that splintered and cracked when faced with such a peaceful resolution to their night, allowing a sense of belonging to blossom from the empty shell it left behind.

Davrin pressed a lingering kiss to Lucanis's temple.

He inhaled deeply, drawing in the scent of metal and coffee, and said, “You know what, you have yourself a deal.”

#dragon age #datv #davrin #spite dellamorte #lucanis dellamorte #lucavrin #is there a ship name for the three of them 😅#if so i can always change the tag #davrin x lucanis x spite #bluerose writes

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