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24 | MDNI | nichojoo + hoonki + ohyul luvr my place to yearn in secret and share my thoughts with the void

[tonycries]

The Monster - G.S.

Synopsis. “Here ye, here ye—a royal wedding is upon the horizon! The uniting of two kingdoms long held in fierce battle: hybrids and humans. At the first light of sunset His Majesty, King Gojo Satoru, the sole snow leopard hybrid in all the lands, shall wed Her Royal Highness, the princess: you. For one moon the princess shall have to succeed - or survive - in marital bliss with the King, in order to commence peace negotiations between the two kingdoms. But remember, dear princess, no matter how gentlemanly a hybrid may seem…they still remain hybrids. They possess powers. They undergo ruts.  And humans aren’t built to handle them.”

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!princess!reader, snow leopard hybrid!Gojo, hybrids AU, royalty AU, he’s the cruel king of the North, King!Gojo, pIot, worldbuilding, humans vs. hybrids, poIiticaI marriages, arranged marriages, for the good of the people, reader is lowk a BAMF, YEARNING Gojo, paintings, palaces, setting descriptions, RÚTS, pheromones, hybrid tendencies, he goes FÉRAL, first times (both), sIight bIood, oraI (fem rec.), pússydrúnk Gojo, fíngering, spítting, hoIding you down with his tail, stopping you from running, p talking, rings, manhandIing, matíng presses, bréeding, making him BREAK, making it fit, cervíx smoochin, dúmbificatíon, p worship, HEAVY overstím, Gojo’s powers, creampíes, cúmpIay, KNOTS, implied marathons, fated mates, confessions, HAPPY ENDING, pet names swéaring.

Word count. 17.4k

A/N. PHEWWWWW y’all knew I just had to-

White dress.

Rouge.

Soaps and scents from all over the world.

Milk bath. The concoction of pale liquid stretches around you like a neverending sea; in a bath tub just as vast, with flower petals locked in a constant state of battle against the torrential waves of your attendants scrubbing you down to the very bone. 

Above the seething splashes, your mother’s droll tone emanates—veering into her fourth hour of pacing the royal bathing chambers now.

“—such an unseemly arrangement- but of course, we ought not to have expected anything more from a hybrid.” Her lip curls in distaste, “The Ton might even consider it scandal- and yet, I fear we have no choice in the matter. Not with him.”

“Yes, mother.”

“Not even the kingdom’s best advisors could negotiate his terms, my dear.”

“Yes, mother.”

“This is the only resolution remaining for the kingdom.”

“Yes.” For who was to go against the Queen?

In just an hour’s time, you’ll be married to King Gojo Satoru.

Gojo Satoru.

The infamous ruler of the Kingdom of Hybrids.

The shadow looming over your kingdom.

The last snow leopard hybrid alive.

There was a reason to that that made your heart clench—you’d felt the floor fall out of your history lesson the second it’d been taught to you. Legend said that your people had hunted down every last snow leopard hybrid after discovering that the opposing kingdom’s monarchs were of that family - every last one.

Except for one.

It was unsure how or when Gojo Satoru had escaped during the massive conflict, but your people had gotten their penance once he’d returned - stronger than ever - and declared battle.

But you didn’t want to think about that right now- not when all that led to were thoughts about just how the patriot might enact revenge for it upon you.

The Kingdom of Hybrids and the Kingdom of Humans have sat beside one another since the dawn of time, and so has the resentment between the two. It has always been ever-present and ever-growing. Your ancestors, and your ancestors’ ancestors. Like the overpass of frothy white clouds hovering through your blue, blue skies above—churning into dark storm clouds and blizzards once they reached the gloomy land of the neighboring kingdom.

The opposing kingdom always seemed colder, always seemed crueler.

And you were sure that the primary reason for that was the geographical difference between the two: your kingdom sat at the bottom of a mountain, where the valleys were fertile and nature flourished. Whereas the Kingdom of Hybrids was scattered in large, stone towers and huts across the enormous mountain range.

Only sharpening in weather and bite the further up the mountain one went. Its peak was completely obscured by clouds, and not even on the clearest day could you spot the spirals of where Gojo Satoru’s palace - aptly named the North Palace - was rumored to be.

Out of morbid curiosity, you did sneak a glance every day. Hell, you even fixed a lantern from your royal chambers—perhaps hoping that someday you might witness a lantern blinking back.

Though that was an experiment yet to bear results - you haven’t spotted even a single hybrid subject coming out of those hard stone homes. It was as if a ghost kingdom.

Even if the news from the front lines clearly stated otherwise.

The hybrids obscured themselves with snow and fog. Cloaked themselves in storms that sent trundling vibrations even to your palace. Residents of a perpetual winter that tore through their kingdom - even the stray gusts of air from the mountain made your subjects shiver, you couldn’t imagine what it was like to be borne and passed in such a state.

Borne and passed, because it was forbidden for subjects of either kingdom to cross into the other.

As all good neighbors must, your ancestors had raised a barrier separating the two lands for good; a thorny forest about seventy feet high and several towns’ length wide. It was made of thorned trunks about the size of boa constrictors. Plunging into the clouds with their barbed limbs as though to make the world pay for ripping apart the one body of the land into two parts.

Though if you made such a comparison in any of your tutoring classes, you knew you’d be punished forthright. 

It wasn’t a surprise when the resentment had exploded in the coming years.

By the time you were in your teenage years, announced as next in line to the throne, Gojo Satoru had already taken the mantle as king. And that was when the conflict had started.

Hybrid warriors attacking the outskirts of your kingdom. Your own feverish subjects bloodthirsty to set fire to their sparse farms.

It’s been a long and cruel battle.

You could sit here and recount the history lessons that your palace tutors had drilled into you - all those sabotages of war plans, all those attempts to oust either throne. The time your locals had been attacked by a ravenous pack of wolf hybrids, and the time your subjects had cut through the barrier, and clamored up the mountains just to spear through some of the prey. Hybrids with a taste for humans, and humans that bled no warmth. Blood and gore. Blood and gore. 

There never flourished a fruit sweet from blood and gore.

And the roots of the thorn barrier had been watered with such for ten years now. More from your own kingdom’s people than his.

Why had it even started? One could only guess.

You knew what the royal history tutors proclaimed - this was because of their hybrid powers, they’d been poisoning the wells and farmlands with their mystique, they’d been kidnapping humans for nourishment - but you also knew that those of the other side must proclaim something far different. Have conflicting stories ever settled on one answer? One truth?

Most definitely not. Battle only gave one answer, and the question was what numbers were lost.

Luckily for your kingdom, however, the end of the fighting was nigh. 

It had happened last week—the letter.

Just a day after you’d been announced to take up the throne in the upcoming week. The next Queen.

The resurgence of the people.

On a day when the fighting was stalled, and it wasn’t looking pleasant for your side: a sole hawk hybrid flew between those winding thorns, scratches upon his wings from the long flight, a white handkerchief of surrender tied around his neck.

The arrow upon your kingdom’s front lines had raised the moment the flapping of wings became clear. Drew closer.

If not for the wave of surrender, you weren’t sure what would have happened - Gojo Satoru was not the type of ruler to stand for a single one of his subjects being harmed. Especially one so seemingly harmless. And your lines of soldiers had been pushed back in the last few months…they wouldn’t have stood a chance.

The soldiers had shuddered as the half-human, half-bird creature drew nearer—something mythical from their storybooks, their greatest nightmares.

You hadn’t been there alongside them that day, and Commander Masamichi Yaga was the one to take the first step towards him. A handkerchief of white held in his own hand.

The two had met in the middle, you’d heard, on your side of the nation. 

There, the hook-nosed Commander - or so you’d heard from the whispers of the soldiers that had been there that day - had handed over the envelope. It was a snow-white parchment, cool to the touch; so starkly empty except for the slight heft in its weight, and the single, slanted line of blue cursive on its back.

To the future Queen.

A carriage had been called immediately to the royal palace.

Higuruma had flown off thereafter, and the Commander had set off down those high-ceiling, gold-capped corridors of the palace. At once.

You remember exactly where you’d been when you first saw the letter - in the circular meeting table with your royal advisors, poring over your nth war tactic that day. You’d just opened your mouth to suggest another treaty proposal between the two kingdoms - your strongest men and women and every warrior in-between couldn’t possibly last much longer against the formidable foe - when Yaga had barged in—his face solemn, his body bowed, his hand trembling where he held that unopened letter.

And at first, you’d assumed that something had gone horribly wrong - that your subjects had been harmed. But then you’d reached out and taken it.

The letter had no sender’s name, but it didn’t need one.

It was the first correspondence with King Gojo Satoru since he’d taken up the throne. Ever.

“To my dearest future Queen,

Though I suppose it shall be a falsehood to claim you as mine—that is not a privilege this lowly hybrid holds just yet. So I suppose you must forgive me; to the dearest future Queen.

I am aware of your kingdom’s valiant efforts against my own, and I commend you for maintaining such a fervent battle. I admit, no kingdom prior has managed to prolong one of my battles thus far—you’ve made me exercise battalions I never believed I would get the chance to, in this lifetime, and it has been quite thoroughly exciting to face my first challenge. You hold your fights well, my future Queen.

My apologies, it has happened again.

But you must be aware of what is undeniable - your kingdom is losing. Though not instantly, it is inevitable that, ultimately, your kingdom shall crumble before mine. Your humans are injured, and you falter in resources.

I know you know.

However, fret not. For it seems that across the duration of our snipes, I have grown to hold a strange affection for your kingdom, and most of all—you.

To the future Queen: if you wish for the war to come to a close, in a way that benefits both parties equally, I am extending this one olive branch.

Marry me.

Marry me. Marry me. Marry me.

You may hold the celebrations in any manner or place you wish, you may annul the marriage if you do so please. This lowly hybrid proposes that you may even take other lovers, shall it be your desire to do so; my only condition is that Your Majesty must reside in the North Palace alongside yours truly for one moon.

Yes, one moon with you is all I ask. After which you are free to return, to register the annulment, to even reside in the North Palace as long as you please.

Though, this lonely King shall do his best not to heighten his hopes.

On the moon after our union, my troops will pull back from the borders - we shall be at war no longer. 

On the third moon after which this letter has been received, Commander Higuruma will be awaiting in front of the thorn barrier for your response. Do not attempt to herald an attack, for there is a reason that hawks are birds of prey.

I await your response impatiently, the my future Queen.

Yours truly,

Gojo Satoru.”

The letter had dropped from your hands once you finished reading it.

One moon.

One night.

One night with the cruel King Gojo Satoru.

And of course, there was no promise that you’d ever be coming back—for, who could trust a King like so?

There was nothing more to be said about Gojo Satoru.

Everyone had a story about him.

Everyone.

Perhaps from the odd disappearance of a family member that strayed too close to the barrier, or a childhood bedtime story that always featured him as the fearsome villain. Lately, you have been the hero, of course. 

Though one knew not of what the hybrid looked like, nor his age, nor the full extent of his powers, nor any insight into his motivations - everyone knew one thing for certain: and that was to stay away. 

Gojo was deemed to be a brutal king—the cruelest of them all. The most wicked. The one that appeared on battlefields as fleetingly as a snowflake upon your palm, and disappeared just as quick - so quick that one won’t even be able make out his features, his form - leaving behind a trail of carnage that piled up high enough to form their own kingdoms. In just a single second.

And the more he aged, the more his powers grew.

He was the reaper. And you were being asked to walk right into his claws.

What followed had been a fervent series of letters - penned by only the best of the best advisors, authors, and peace negotiators in your kingdom - that were rejected one by one. Your kingdom’s messengers disappeared into the barriers upon their surrender-white horses, holding bagloads of letters and pleas from your council, and arrived with the very same an hour later—somewhat disoriented.

According to them, they’d followed the route to the other kingdom to a T - and yet, somehow found themselves exiting back out through your side of the wall once more.

Gojo’s magic, you knew. Though unaware of its uses and intricacies, you understood that this was what you’re getting for not following his instructions—waiting for Higuruma.

And you also understood that if his prowess was this expansive, then what more could they possibly do to your kingdom…

And so - after three moons - you’d accompanied Commander Yaga and the troops to the area where they’d first encountered Higuruma. Sure as ice, the hook-nosed man was standing there proudly.

He bowed luxuriously at you, before clipping the response letter into his clutches—then he stretched the massive wingspan upon his back and took flight. Disappearing towards his own kingdom in but a few blinks.

And you could only watch as your response was carried away.

“To Gojo Satoru,

I accept your proposal. It is time we finish this war.

Regards,

The future Queen.”

The date was set. You were to be married.

And so you’ve found yourself being fussed over by the entire palace - and even the tailors, and cake-makers, and florists from outside. The people. The outraged and the delighted alike.

Everyone and anyone bursting the seams of the palace in an attempt to catch a glimpse of you on your wedding day. What an honorable date it was, wasn’t it?

On the day that should have been your coronation as Queen, you’re being fitted into your wedding outfit.

It was initially supposed to be your first gown as ruler.

A lavish few meters of white silk pampered, teased, and pressed into frills. Millions upon millions of miniature diamonds bedazzle the fabric in increasing saturation towards the bottom, making it look as though you were the beauty of nature itself; the soft sunlight across freshly-ladden snow, the hymn of tree branches against the winter wind, an ice shard itself. Sharp when you’re not looking.

The train of your wedding outfit had taken several attendants to fix onto your jewel-encrusted tiara, and it billowed out the length of several ballrooms. 

It was equally as decorated with tiny fixtures of diamonds, heavy yet grounding - you’d specifically asked the tailor to add these on. If you’re going to bear yourself before the most wicked King, then you might as well make an impression.

You touch the silk gloves that covered you from fingertips to elbows - also something you’d requested. Just one night. You’d show that your kingdom wasn’t just the feeble humans he must think he was toying with- and afterwards all diamonds were ordered to be distributed amongst the people. 

This was your choice to marry your opposing monarch. Everything was yours.

Though the bouquet of white roses must have been a choice of the palace. Must have…

Your mask of quiet acceptance fixed. Your appearance radiant. You’re staring at the person in the mirror that seemed so distant from yourself—was this the new Queen of the Hybrids? 

Attendants and tailors fluttered around you like butterflies, harried that they weren’t able to suckle the honey out of you fast enough. They’re smoothing your fabrics down and fussing with your train, they’re making last-minute adjustments to the size and fitting- 

“Careful.” Your mother warns from a distance, and her tone is enough to make the entire room jolt. She stares down one of the tailor’s apprentices, “Heaven forbid you prick her- goodness knows what he will have to say.”

“Pricked or unpricked, he shall have to deem fit what he sees.” You’re responding, head held high. “For I was not the one that insisted upon a marriage.”

“But you simply must understand that—”

Mercifully, your mother’s getting cut off by the shrieking of trumpets outside.

There were many a royal and noble guests invited to your wedding, and each entrance had been marked by the stirring of your orchestra and the announcement by the chief butler. But this…this was a sheer symphony of sound, shivers, and suspense that made you realize that this couldn’t have been anyone but—him.

There was a special melody for your husband-to-be, and your heart thundered along to its march as everyone inside the dressing room rushes to the window overlooking the sprawling courtyard. It was a massive stone masterpiece - the brilliance of human craft - a swooping row of colonnades with a glittering fountain in the middle. Areas sectioned off for the spectators, and marbled pathways from which guests came and went.

Your hands grip the smooth windowsill as you witness a coach of pure white approaching. 

It was as unassuming as that of any other guest, only standing out for its sheer elegance. 

Large spiralled wheels pulling along a well-built carriage, with a gleaming white hood and its curtains drawn. Larger than most. It seems that the Kingdom of Hybrids had a tendency to use horse hybrids as both coachmen and those tugging on the reigns, they threw their long heads proudly as they pulled on the royal carriage. 

“Can you see him—can you see him?!” The attendants whisper to one another.

“I can’t see him yet- say, is it really true that he has the horns of the devil and wings like a bat?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, he’s a snow leopard hybrid. I’ve heard he turns into a leopard at whim.”

“My acquaintance’s acquaintance says he’s cursed with six eyes- yes, six.”

“I’ve heard he’s grotesque-”

They falter, and flicker their gaze towards you. You don’t react.

Your eyes follow its parade between crowds that hush as it passes. It leaves a cold breeze behind it that makes even the heartiest of those celebrating tremble, it leaves the flowing water of your royal fountain freezing. Ice. 

You’re leaning even closer to the edge of the balcony, hoping to see but a-flutter of those curtains that might reveal something about the man who was surely inside-

“Ouch-” Startling at the sudden prick of something against your shoulder, you’re turning around to find that the young apprentice had leaned into you- holding her needle from before. The very tip of it had accidentally touched your skin, in her frenzy to see the King himself—and as her face drops in apology, you’re opening your mouth to tell her that it was perfectly alright when-

BANG—!

When a sharp gale causes the windows to slam shut. 

Everyone in the dressing room jumps back a foot away from the offending part of the chamber, looking at each other as if to confirm whether they didn’t feel a single breeze prior. You certainly hadn’t, either.

That had just come out of nowhere…

Rattled, no one makes to open the window once more.

The trumpets blare yet again - this time with a slightly less rich tune signalling another guest from a far-off land - and some of the younger attendants merely stare at the closed window longingly—wishing to just see. But one look from the main attendant has them jumping back into action, pins and all.

They had a wedding to prepare you for.

And the groom was already here.

.

.

.

Music was pouring out of the gilded venue.

In a letter later sent by Commander Yaga - and allowed through the barrier by Gojo’s powers - you’d specified that you’d like the wedding to be held in this magnificent limestone building; older than the rest of the palace it was attached to, and just as revered. Gojo’s reply had been simple: I am already aware of this arrangement, my future Queen.

And you didn’t want to think of how he knew.

Low chandeliers. Sprawling rose pathways. Attendants zipped back and forth between extending your train and sneaking looks inside the royal cathedral.

“Do you see him- move-”

“Oh, heavens—is that him?” Your skin prickles in goosebumps.

“I thought he had…”

“I would never have expected him to be so…”

Traitorous to that expressionless facade you had on, your heart races as yet another attendant hastens to join the troupe peering inside the pews- and gasps. For, what could that mean? What could such a reaction be indicative of? 

What did Gojo Satoru look like?

It’s not that you held physical looks upon a pedestal - you knew such frivolities were ephemeral, and you’d met far too many handsome nobles whose good looks did little to compensate for their manners or lack thereof. But it’s just…

You had an image of Gojo Satoru in your head.

Though legends often described him as a half-man, half-leopard with six eyes and bat-like wings that carried him over vast battle fields—you envisioned him as something slightly different. Perhaps a half-man, half-beast just as they said, with paws far larger than a normal snow leopard, and a fur-muzzled face that looked ready to eat you.

Something as mythical as they made him sound.

You’re shivering, and one of the attendants asks you whether you’re cold.

You’re shaking your head evenly, and they look up at each other and nod. You touch your gloves for comfort. 

They throw the gauzy veil over your face and fully open the double doors to the cathedral. The music had uplifted: it was time for you to walk down the aisle.

Your steps were just as poised and perfect as your years of etiquette lessons had taught you - and to the naked eye, you might even look confident. There goes the Queen, our savior, our monarch, marrying off the monster from the Kingdom of Hybrids to protect her people.

But out of their view, you knew your hands shook where you clutched that white rose bouquet.

It really was cold inside the venue.

It seems like eons before you’re reaching the end of the altar, and before your royal officiant begins his speech. Due to your veil, your vision of Gojo was obscured - other than the pointed tips of polished white shoes. You could sense that he was tall—but just how tall (taller than a human could be?) was still a mystery to you.

As the officiant reaches the end of his speech, two pale hands come into your line of vision. Long with slender fingers, slightly blushed at the tips of his knuckles - Gojo’s hands, you realize with a jolt - were reaching out for something you had.

Your own hands, it catches up to you.

And, tentatively, you’re putting your left hand in his.

It flinches- for just a split-second because of its frigidness. Before you’re keenly aware of the restlessness of your ministers in the front row, and you’re placing it back into his grasp.

“Your Majesty, if you could now place the ring on Her Highness’s finger and repeat after me—” And there was no ring in Gojo Satoru’s hands- there was no ring. But the next time you’re blinking - as if it had just manifested out of thin air - he’s suddenly holding the most beautiful band of silver in his hands.

A delicate wreath of precious metal, fashioned into two ferns that enveloped your ring finger perfectly, settled with a teardrop alexandrite in the middle and two smaller white diamonds on either side. Gojo’s fingers were cold as they held yours and pushed the ring on. The officiant continues, “-with this ring as a symbol of love, of commitment, of unity, and of peace—”

And a soft, smooth tone follows- his. 

Not quite the low, animalistic growl that you might have expected, nor the hissing sibilance of something shadowy - but something different entirely.

“With this ring as a symbol of my eternal love, of my commitment, of our unity, and of peace—”

It was the rich, noble tone of a royal. Gojo enunciated his words perfectly - and his deep voice echoed across every corner of the vast cathedral. Such a pretty voice and so- so human that it makes the hairs on your body raise.

The officiant continues with a light cough - if he were equally as surprised at the King’s voice, then he makes no indication. “I wed thee—”

“I wed thee—” And then Gojo says your name and it makes your heart almost stop. The way it rolled off of his tongue…it sounded like a prayer. 

“-and pledge my love to you in this lifetime.”

“-and pledge my love to you in this lifetime, and in each one after.”

There’s a slight shifting on the numerous wooden pews as Gojo takes his freedom with the vows. And then a slim silver band is handed to you - it feels cold in your palm, impersonal, though not nearly as cold as your future husband’s fingers - and your hands tremble as you take them in yours. The officiant turns towards you and utters those same vows- 

“With this ring as a symbol of love, of commitment, of unity, and of peace…” You’re repeating, sliding the ring onto his lengthy ring finger. Almost inhuman in nature. “—I wed thee, Your Royal Majesty, King Gojo Satoru-”

Your voice falters.

His hands grow a little tighter on yours.

“-and pledge my love to you in this lifetime…” And you’re unsure what makes you take it- you’re so unsure. But you can’t help but echo just what the snow leopard hybrid had stated earlier, “-and in each one after.”

A soft rush of exhales as both rings now glint upon your matching fingers.

United as one.

The officiant’s booming voice announces, “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you…husband and wife.” In the distance a bell tolls, and it swells above the creaking of mahogany as the spectators lean in their chairs. “You may now kiss the bride.”

Gojo’s hands - now clad with a single wedding ring - lift up the safety of your veil. And you’re blinking at the sudden rush of light now—you’re blinking up at him.

And oh.

Your breath catches in your chest, heart a-stuttering. Pert lips. Dimpled cheeks. Young- he couldn’t have been more than a few years older than you. Eyes such a pale blue that they looked almost white. For the crisp white strands of his hair catch the sunlight filtering through the windows, setting his features a-glow and revealing to you the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. Human. 

He looked utterly human.

Gojo Satoru lowers his head towards yours but hesitates, his gaze searching for an answer in yours. And perhaps it was the shock of seeing the King of Hybrids for the first time - after so long looking out of your window for a glimpse of him - or perhaps it was the dizzying rush of warmth that’d suddenly run through your body but—but you’re leaning in first.

You’re the one kissing him, sealing your fate with the cruelest king of them all.

His lips were smooth and cool to the touch, tasting faintly sweet. 

You feel Gojo smile into the union, before he’s pulling back and re-slotting his mouth more eagerly against your own. 

Cheers erupt in the cathedral. And surely your advisors were shaking hands with one another, surely your mother was wiping off tears. 

One of your hands rests against the silken material of Gojo’s suit, pressed up against his chest where his heart battered. Only slightly faster than your own racing one - even though it wasn’t an embrace too scandalous nor prolonged, a thrill rushed through your body that you couldn’t explain.

Gojo cups your left cheek softly, though there was a lack of pressure that let you know that you were free to pull back any time. And you had to pull back - you needed to.

If not for the fact that this was a man you’ve never met before, then for the fact that The Ton would have far too much to say after the wedding - the King’s condition of a single night only added to the scandal.

But you just….you just didn’t want to. Some strange part of you deep, deep down only wanted to sigh through your nose as you leaned even deeper into him.

Something deep, deep, deep—

Before a hoot of celebration from somewhere in your audience jolts you back into your senses. 

And you’re pulling away from him as if it burned. 

Burned.

Burned—your body felt as though you were burning up. Feverish. 

It feels as though your veins were suddenly thrumming with an energy that wasn’t entirely yours, and the faster every single particle of you was vibrating - the hotter your body was feeling.

Warm tears welling up in your eyes. Mind never having felt clearer.

You’re panting once and it’s the most scorching breeze you’ve ever felt—“Fuck.” A ripple runs through your body as you realize you’ve just sworn without meaning to- and it seems to extend past you and into the body of Gojo himself.

Gojo.

Gojo. Gojo. Gojo.

Whose nostrils flare and his eyes grow sharper. Behind him, his fluffy tail of white with rosettes swings from side-to-side—tail? You hadn’t seen that before…And you’re stumbling closer as if to get a closer look, to which Gojo Satoru easily catches you in his arms.

His strong hand clasps at your waist, and you’re finding your body leaned shamefully into his chest.

Looking up into his pale, pale blue eyes - like the skies of an ever-present winter - you gulp. And then you tilt your neck slightly to the side, as though bearing it for him.

Gojo’s lips part, and you see sharp canines peaking between his pink lips.

The cathedral has gone quiet by now, any sense of humor and victory bled dry - as dry as he could bleed you, if ever his canines chose to make a target of your pretty neck. As though reading their urgent thoughts, the Hybrid King leans in—close enough that his cold pants cascade down your throat and your arched spine.

You gulp as his dampened teeth approach until they’re mere millimeters away.

In what feels like another far-off land, you’re hearing the cluttering of iron and armored knights approaching. The footsteps of your kingdom’s best troop, led by Commander Yaga, and their shouts for Gojo Satoru to cease as he himself plunges into this inexplicable daze. Flesh on flesh.

But you’re only closing your eyes in anticipation of his bite-

His bite that falters as Gojo flicks his snow leopard-like ears over to the storming knights- and he cracks a slight smile. 

One arm on your waist, and the other gently grasping your nearly ring-clad hand, he swings the two of you around as though waltzing to a music you couldn’t hear. The orchestra had long stopped.

And then you’re both disappearing into thin air.

Leaving behind only the rose bouquet.

.

.

.

By the time you’re opening your eyes, you weren’t at the royal cathedral any longer, and it feels as though you never were.

And one look around the room you were in makes you think that you never will be again. Ever again.

The chamber opened up like the mouth of a beast, of which you were inside with no way out. Teeth-like artifacts and ridges of bookshelves swathed the circular room luxuriously; titles of both human and hybrid languages of which you knew only a few sparse words. This was clearly the room of someone well-read, and your eyes glazed over at the large mahogany desk scattered with pictures, diagrams, and maps. 

Portraits. Balconies with more bookshelves. Stairs and spirals. And a few remnants of armor emblazoned with your kingdom’s insignia, the debris of a meal well-had. Like a massive uvula a chandelier hung from the high ceiling, and the longer you stared at it- the more it dawned upon you that it seemed to be made of some ever-lasting ice. 

Its windows provided little light and even less location. Fogged with frosty clouds, they were merely windows into a beast that had no soul—a beast that only hungered with no thoughts. A chill runs down your spine.

In just a second, you knew where you were: you were in the North Palace. Presumably in one of King Gojo’s studies.

You’re feeling his cold presence next to you- and you’re pressing yourself against the stone wall instantly. And he follows. Putting a hand down your right glove and pulling out the dagger you’d hidden beneath—always had. Always will.

You raise the tip of its silver blade to kiss Gojo Satoru’s neck.

It trembles just a little as he swallows.

Gojo has you pushed against the wall - chest to chest, pant mingling with pant - and one of his arms rested on the space above your head. He looks down at you with steely blue eyes.

His snow leopard tail quivers for a little bit- before coming to wrap around your leg. 

He almost tugs you to him and you’re gasping, pricking the dagger against his neck until a bead of crimson follows. “A step closer and I shall end this war right now-” You’re hissing.

And to your surprise, Gojo merely smiles. “You may believe that.” He lazily flickers his eyes down to the weapon you had clutched, and a slow frost starts overtaking everything from its handle to the blade. “But I am aware you won’t.”

“You know not a thing about me-”

“So you may think.” He reaches up and you almost flinch- in fact, every fibre of your rational being believes that you should flinch. But something else…something else entirely deeper and ancient keeps you in place, staring into Gojo’s eyes as he runs his fingers down your cheek. Letting the cold metal of his wedding ring kiss your skin, and you’re leaning into the touch - you wanted it so bad. But you didn’t know why. “But I believe I know you more than you might think, my Queen. In this life and others.”

You struggle to keep your breath even- why did you wish to lean into him once more? “You’re nonsensical. You’re crazy.”

“Perhaps so.” Gojo hums, his canines glinted in the dim lighting of the chandelier. “But this lowly hybrid only grows crazy for you.”

Your breath stutters. You’re breathing in his ice-cold scent. 

Gojo raises his nose in the air as if smelling something - you do, too, but you’re unable to sense anything but the coldness of winter and pine. But whatever he smells in the air makes him smile something simpering, “You are free.”

You balk, “What?”

“You are free to roam wherever you wish.” He says, finally creating some distance between you two. “You are free to…” Something catches his attention- he reaches out. And for a second there, you think he’s about to steal your dagger—but what Gojo clasps onto is your glove. The King presses that precious fabric against his face and inhales your essence, “-do whatever you wish.”

Leaving you stunned, the hybrid turns his back to you and walks towards the arched door. Glove crushed between his fingers.

He makes it until the frame of the door - of which he fills out most of its vast shape - before looking over his shoulder at you. “Everything except leave, of course. For the night.”

As he walks away, he calls.

“My attendants shall see to it that you’re led to your room and given a tour around the palace, and they shall provide you robes to which you may change into. The bath is already drawn, and my kitchens have prepared refreshments.” 

You feel yourself sliding down the stone wall.

“Dinner shall be served once night falls- do not be afraid to let the royal chefs know what nourishments please you.” 

Ultimately ending up on the floor. Hand shaking on your dagger.

“Once morning comes, you may do anything you please.”

You’re wondering what it was you felt earlier as you bared your neck to him.

“You may even leave.”

It’s then that a troupe of attendants enter after Gojo’s exit, hybrids of all shapes and sizes and colors—human. For the most part. They were similar to Gojo in the sense that they possessed more human features than the stories of your kingdom foretold, with ears and tails pertaining to their hybrid type, and demeanours which gave away their status as hybrids even if they wore cloaks.

One such hybrid - a red panda with a scar across her beautiful face - introduces herself as Utahime, the head attendant. She looks down curiously at you.

Your panting breaths. Your widened gaze.

“Forgive my manners, Your Majesty, but I haven’t seen a human before.” She tilts her head down at you, red ears twitching. “Worry not…it’s a little startling the first time for us, too.”

“The first time?” You’re being helped to stand by her.

“The first time.” Utahime nods, “Are you perhaps a little disoriented? We may pay a visit to my mate, Shoko, in the healing ward - she’s a caracal if that interests you - if you wish?”

“A caracal—no, hold a moment-” So much was swirling in your head—the first time, the mate, the existence of a healing ward just as your palace did. What on Earth was…“What do you mean by the first time? A mate?”

Utahime looks confused, mouth dropping slightly. “Why, because His Majesty has-”

“Utahime.” A stern, feminine voice sounds from the doorway.

You’re looking over the red panda hybrid’s shoulder to see a woman with short, straight hair standing at the stone door. Her ears so large and triangular - twitching back and forth with its tufted tips—“Allow me to look over Her Majesty.”

“O-of course.” Utahime moves to the side.

The hybrid - Shoko, you assume - looks over you for any signs of injuries or scratches during the journey here, including testing you for symptoms of magical nausea. 

And it seems a somewhat regular check-up, one that was reminiscent of the ones conducted in your own kingdom, until Shoko takes a cotton swab out of her medical bag and slides it down the tender spot of your throat.

All down that column. Lymph nodes.

As if your skin was more sensitive than ever, you’re shivering.

She inspects that cotton swab and lets it waft in the air for a seconds - seemingly all ordinary, it’s not long before Shoko’s wrapping it up and placing it all back in her bag. 

And you’re not able to ask what that particular process was about before Utahime’s bounding up to you again. The attendants had waited for your brief check-up to conclude. 

“Are you prepared for your tour, Your Majesty? Or would you prefer we bathe you first?” She asks.

“I believe I would like to freshen up first.” You answer, before looking at the woman that had an open expression on her face. Little nubs of her canines peaked out through her smile. She wasn’t nearly as terrifying as all the stories had led you to believe, “For what reason do you do that?”

“Pardon?” She cocks her head.

“For what reason do you call me that—‘Your Majesty’?” Being led by her out of the study, you’re being shown around the various hallways and artifacts that were just as grand. “My coronation is yet to be held, though it was supposed to be today…”

“Oh…” Utahime looks at you in slight confusion, “But you are our Queen.”

Your brows furrow, “I am yet to be the Queen of my kingdom yet-”

“You are the Queen of the Hybrids, Your Royal Majesty.”

.

.

.

You’d been slightly too harrowed to wonder just what the condition of ‘one night’ would entail. If you were to go that far…perhaps you’d expected for the consummation of your marriage.

Or whatever it was that hybrids had equivalent. 

You’d been ready for it, however, both with your knife and your will.

If you had to fuck Gojo Satoru, then so be it—at least, that had been what you’d thought. Before. Before you’d seen him on the altar, and now, there was a part of you that would gladly exchange the rites of flesh. 

And that scared you more than any legend.

Utahime was a wonderful guide around the palace, she explored every grand nook and cranny with you. The ballrooms. The libraries. The frozen fountains- yes, frozen. She took you from staircase down hallway down secret alleyways between bookshelves, leading you into grand halls with portraits of the Gojo family.

You stared quite longingly at those: white-haired, noble-faced hybrids that resembled Gojo in their species and strength. He looked more like his beautiful mother, you learned.

And something clenched in you as you remembered just why they weren’t here.

Looking at the cherub face of the blue-eyed heir in the portrait, you couldn’t help but ask Utahime- “What are the consummation traditions in your kingdom?”

She’d looked towards you slightly startled, “The mating traditions, Your Majesty? Why…the same as your human mating traditions, I suppose.”

You gulped, “And the King-”

“His Majesty would never force you into something that you do not wish to happen.” Utahime reaches out and holds your hand, you’re learning that it’s just as cold as her monarch’s. “Fear not for your safety in this kingdom, my Queen. Harm shall never fall upon you in the Kingdom of Hybrids.”

You trusted her- you didn’t know why, but you trusted her.

It had been past afternoon when you’d arrived at the North Palace, and well into the evening once you’d finished your tour. Thoroughly spent, your jaw had dropped once Utahime told you that it was just a few wings of the palace that’d been explored-

“Tomorrow, we may explore the towns. The people shall be overjoyed to meet their new Queen-” And then she’d stopped in the middle of her sentence, throwing a nervous look your way. “That is…if you so wish to stay past the conditions, Your Majesty.”

And you did not know how to answer her.

Later, after some reading in their vast libraries - far greater than even your own palace’s - you’d been led into a sprawling dining hall for dinner. 

It was a chamber that reminded you of Gojo’s study, though vertically longer to accommodate for the snaking table. Polished wood. Sparkling chandeliers. Paintings plastered across its oblong walls. Spread from nearly end-to-end of the royal room, you counted at least a hundred or so chairs on either side as you were bowed inside the great dining hall. Knights stood on guard with their weapons, though they didn’t seem to pose a threat.

The table was laden heavy with food, fantastical ice sculptures, and a fireplace: you wondered how those ice sculptures didn’t melt. Was this a work of Gojo’s powers, as well? Puddings and pastries. Truffles and rice. Steaks and vegetables. Sweet and sour.

Piled higher than your head.

Chocolates melted and crafted into all sorts of artworks that you didn’t even know was possible to do with such an ingredient. In the middle of the table sat a six-tiered wedding cake, proudly crowned with miniature fondant figures of Gojo Satoru and…you.

A cake like this would have taken well over two days - since your response - to create. And that’s not to mention the fact that he already knew what you looked like…

Just how long had he been planning this?

There was everything your heart could desire- and you meant that. You hadn’t taken Gojo up on his offer to make the kitchens privy to your preferences, and yet you were pleasantly surprised to find that almost all of the foods were…your favorites.

All your favorites.

How did they…

You’re being led to the chair positioned at the very end of the table - the head chair often reserved for the leading ruler. The King, in this case.

Only…Utahime pulls out the silver-tipped chair at the very end and gestures for you to sit there.

You?

You’re stopping short, “King Gojo—”

“Shall be sitting beside you, Your Majesty, worry not.” And you’re unsure whether you should be embarrassed that she’d assumed you missed him - rather than the fact that you were wondering when he’d make an appearance, claim that chair the way he claimed you. 

And as if to emphasize her point, she’s tapping at the chair right beside yours.

Not the one at the head of the table.

The one beside it.

Lower-tiered.

“His Majesty’s request.”

You’d never heard of a King who’d been happy to sit at a position lower than his Queen- let alone request for such a seating arrangement. 

Slightly trembling, you’re taking your seat nonetheless.

And just as soon as you’re settling in- the doors bang! wide open.

In hurries a ferrety man in spectacles, holding an agenda to his chest and bowing so low that his nose touches the floor. “Y-Your Majesty!”

“At ease.” You’re responding, somewhat wary.

“Ijichi…” Utahime grumbles, “What’s the meaning of this? You’re interrupting the royal couple’s dinner together.”

“I-I fear that’s exactly the problem, Your Majesty.” The man - Ijichi, it seems - turns to you with an expression that couldn’t have looked more apologetic if he tried. “I have been sent by His Majesty to inform you that he extends his deepest apologies, for he shan’t be able to attend the royal dinner tonight.”

You’re gripping the silver butter knife at your side, “Pardon?”

And he flinches as though he’s just been struck—“Forgive me! It seems that some ah- unavoidable circumstances have risen that make it somewhat…difficult for His Majesty to join Her Majesty tonight- th-though that’s not certainly not for a lack of want! And His Majesty is supremely upset over the fact, it’s simply…”

Ijichi looks to Utahime for help. In the far corner of the room, the knights shuffle on their feet at the tension.

With a cautious expression, the woman steps closer - and as soon as she’s within his proximity, Ijichi leans down to whisper something in her ear—and her expression melts into one of understanding. Disappointed, but understanding.

She turns to you with an equally apologetic expression, “My apologies, Your Majesty…”

Your heart jumps to your throat.

“The King is unable to attend tonight’s dinner.”

You don’t know why you’re disappointed. 

.

.

.

You admit that the dinner passed by in a blur - delicious, and yet still a blur. 

Perhaps if you don’t miss anything of this excursion, then you’ll at least think back on those delicacies fondly.

Although, you admit that Utahime - and even the ever-anxious Ijichi - had certainly grown on you. They kept you company throughout the rest of the dinner, and once you were finished the red panda hybrid escorted you to your royal quarters.

It was a vast chamber located not too far from Gojo’s study.

Even though most of the palace found itself composed of cold, hard stone—this room was special. It had the most delicate layers of paint spread across it, something you hadn’t seen before even during your tour - baby blue in color, with faint patterns of snowflakes etched into every corner. Gilded decorations on every piece of furniture. A fireplace against one wall. More books than you could ever read in your entire life - let alone single moon here. 

There was a balcony overlooking a befogged land that you could not discern, and a drop from it would have been fatal. 

What drew you in the most, however, was the painting.

Most chambers in the North Palace were decked with precious paintings - hand-crafted oils of color in silver frames, those that looked more valuable than a room full of treasure and perhaps just as ancient - for it seemed that King Gojo was a lover of the arts. Interestingly enough.

You wouldn’t have expected that of him.

But this one…this painting was the largest of them all.

It took up the space of one entire wall, which - according to your mental calculations - would have been thirty-two feet tall and eighty-eight feet wide. One side of your bedroom that was donning robes of oil paint—featuring the most picturesque vision of…your kingdom.

Your palace. Your people. Your dream as a monarch: seeing the people of your kingdom as happy as they should be.

The humans in this painting were hand-in-hand in the town square, dancing around a roaring bonfire. Around them were heaving tables laden with food, and behind- oh. Your eyes widened as you take in the painting even further - it wasn’t just the humans that were dancing with one another. There were hybrids, too.

Your bed was a sprawling four-poster, and you huddled in amongst the silk-covered pillows.

This was your one night with King Gojo Satoru.

The first and the last.

Your one and only.

But there must have been a reason for this marriage, for his condition- there must have been. A full moon circled high in the sky, and peace couldn’t have been so easy.

You kept your dagger underneath your pillow that night.

And so you slept—not as fitfully as one might have expected. 

When you wake up- it’s still nighttime.

You’re sitting up on the bed and attempting to blink your vision back. It must have been an hour, perhaps two, since you’d gone to sleep- and you hate to admit it, but that must have been the best hours of sleep you’d gotten in years.

You might not even have woken up at all had it not been for the thunderous sound of footsteps outside. 

Someone was running- no. Multiple people were running.

Heart battering against your chest, you’re grabbing the dagger out from underneath your pillow and getting onto your feet. You were wearing a thin layer of silk Utahime had bestowed upon you as a nightgown, but there was no time to consider propriety now - something was happening inside the North Palace. 

Quickly unlocking the latch upon those double doors, it’s dark enough in the corridors that you’re slipping past the personal guards stationed outside your chamber. And crowded enough that you could slot into the chaos unnoticed.

Attendants. Advisors. Knights.

Hybrids of all different types and varying degrees of urgency - from urgent to being nearly in tears - were trampling like a herd in the same direction down the corridor. 

You’re keeping your head down low as you fit into a sparse gap of space and let yourself be led to wherever it was they needed to be. Forwards. Down a hallway. Forwards. Forwards. 

Ultimately, you’re not travelling too far before heading down a high-ceiling hallway—the pathway leading up to a private chamber. And by the sheer luxury of this wing - and the constantly incremental paintings of the Gojo family - you’re guessing that this must be where the Hybrid King slept.

Something stirs at the pit of your stomach- did something happen to…?

No, you couldn’t let yourself think that.

Shaking your head free from such thoughts, you’re managing to squeeze past attendants and staff that stuffed every nook and alcove here like sardines. Everyone was fervid to get inside, and even more desperate to get out before too long—

Then…the slightest crack in the door.

Breath catching in your chest, you shoot your arm out to catch it before it closes. Warm light filters from inside, and even warmer air follows it - fighting against whatever hybrid attendant was attempting to close it, you’re managing to wrench it open far enough to push yourself within. 

Just as you’re thrust inside, you turn around and catch Utahime’s gaze- also pressed against one wall of the corridor. 

Her eyes widen as she realizes just who it is—and her mouth shouts out a silent ‘no-’ 

Those double doors slam! shut.

It’s a royal bedroom just as large as yours.

And you could go on describing all the polished pieces of furniture, and the draped blue curtains, and the chandeliers, and the books. One of the walls in his bedroom was covered in a painting, just as the wall in your room had been - though you’re not too focused on it right now. A carpet spread from underneath the king-sized bed and nearly to every corner of the room—it was a stone-cold white, stitched intricately in the Gojo family emblem. But that was exactly what caught your eye.

Not the carpet, no- the bed.

Not exactly the bed itself, but rather the heavy metal chains on either side of it. Like dungeon chains.

There were six rings - thick and composed of rusting iron, one being half the length of your body - fastened to both walls sandwiching the bed. Falling from them were chain-links, each one the size of your head and twice as hefty—snaking like boa constrictors along the chamber floor, the foot of the bed, on top of the mattress.

Each one was shackled to the hands and feet of Gojo Satoru.

Panting. Flushed.

Feverish.

Surrounded by some guards, Shoko, and the rest of her healers who kept pressing cold cloths to his forehead, wiping him down furiously. 

Bucking into the air with a husky groan- it makes the dungeon chains rattle as they’re tugged on. Hard enough to make the metal creeeeeak—!

You don’t know what more to gape at - the fact that he was strong enough to fight against six of those massive chains and nearly win, or the fact that Gojo was underneath a thin cover and…naked.

Something stirs between your legs.

And instantly-

Instantly, Gojo stills.

The healers take a startled step back, cold cloths suspended in their hands as they assess their silent King. 

But Gojo doesn’t mind them.

He’s sitting up properly on the mattress, eyes widened and locked on- oh.

Locked on you.

It makes you jolt.

For there was a harrowed look in his gaze - as though he’d just stumbled across a carnage site, might perhaps be tempted into creating one. And Gojo’s pupils were the size of pinpricks, the sea of blue around them somewhat glowing—were you going mad? Were they really glowing?

His beautiful face was expressionless and primal.

His head raises into the air and sniffs it-

And suddenly those pearly white teeth display in an animalistic growl.

One by one, the healers follow their monarch’s line of sight - and their lips part as they take you in. His human bride.

Shoko’s the first to take a step forwards, “Your Majest-”

“Out.”

A strange thrill runs through your body.

It’s not that Gojo’s voice was particularly loud, nor was it particularly threatening—but it makes every single hybrid inside the room bow. 

Falling to their knees. 

They’re nodding once.

And in the blink of an eye, the healers - and most of the guards - are jerking onto their feet and running out - barely even throwing you a glance. Those double doors crack open once more, and you’re realizing that the commotion outside had calmed—you get the strange feeling that if you were to turn around, you would see that every other hybrid there was kneeling, as well. 

You don’t know how you’re so sure - but you know he isn’t speaking to you. 

In mere moments, it’s only Shoko and Higuruma that remain at Gojo’s bedside. They look at you in concern, and then each other- opening their mouths to say something when—

“Out.”

Gojo’s sole command is followed by gales of wind that clatter the windows open and send the two hybrids toppling. They’re collapsing to the ground from the sheer force - ultimately being pushed up until the tips of your feet.

Their King needn’t say a word more for them to stumble onto their feet and make a break for it.

The doors close thunderously, though not nearly as loud as your racing heart.

The wind dies down as they’re leaving you alone with Gojo, and you’re wondering whether he even realized. Not a single waft of the gales had touched you somehow. 

You swallow.

It’s just you and him now.

Him and you.

And you’re not understanding where it came from, but you’re overwhelmed by the sudden feeling to walk over to him-

As soon as the thought manifests in your chest, you blink—

And Gojo Satoru’s standing right in front of you.

Towering figure. Heated pants.

Your dagger falls to the floor.

He was flushed as though burning from the inside out. 

You swear that he’s even larger than you remember him—and you do remember him being large in the first place. But Gojo’s size right now was nearly inhuman - he stood about a foot taller than before; and the tips of his fingers had elongated with predator-like claws, the canines of his teeth had grown even sharper. 

His fluffy patterned tail swishes agitatedly from side-to-side.

Nostrils flared as he drinks in your air.

Envelopes in it.

You’re hesitating before raising your eyes up to meet his- and a gasp catches in your chest at his contracted pupils. Like a snow leopard on the hunt.

He stares you down like his most delicious prey. 

And it should make you run- it should. But your body takes a stuttered step closer, until you could feel the heat radiating off of his body in feverish waves. 

You’re keeping your gaze confined to the area of his face n’ his sculptured chest, words picked carefully. “Satoru…”

“Leave.” But whatever was on the tip of your tongue washes away with his breathless tone- voice sibilant as though a prayer. “I need you to—fuck, I wish for you to-”

“I refuse.” And your response bewilders the both of you, “You’ve exhausted your requests of me. Are we not fulfilling the marriage contract?”

“We will- we have—” His blue eyes clench shut, as though he was holding himself back. Fists clenched firmly at his sides, they shake- “Fuck, this was not the planned course for our first meeting. Know that you are free to leave if you so wish - leave the chamber, leave the palace, leave the kingdom-”

“I will not breach the conditions-”

“I rescind the conditions.” 

Shock pumps through your body, “Pardon?”

“I wished to romance you, I wished to write to you- I wished to show you the beauty of my kingdom tonight but…those gloves- you made me…” He shakes his head, “War shall not prevail—we shall commence the peace negotiations without a moon spent together.” He’s slicking back his dampened white hair, “O-on the terms of an unforeseen illness, you may leave-”

“What sickness?” You demand.

“Rut.”

Oh.

Oh.

It was one of the preliminary lessons in your hybrid history classes: the rut. A period of intense pheromonal and sexual desire; during which the hybrid grapples with the physical, emotional, and pheromonal desire to mate. It was always a concept that intrigued you. For a hybrid, these ruts are best exhausted when spent with a partner, though unmated hybrids may choose to weather through the week independently. 

The mating period ends once the hybrid bites into the scent gland of their partner. 

Between hybrids.

So why were you feeling so feverish, as well?

You’re unsteady on your feet- and Gojo’s hands shoot out, but then surge back to his sides as though he thought better than to touch you when he was in this state. “Please-”

“I would like to spend the moon with you.” You’re blurting out before you can stop yourself, drunk on the heady scent of winter pine in the room—was it growing stronger? You look at him squarely, “As newly-weds do.”

His breath catches, “You are not aware what you ask of me-” Though his tail wraps around your ankle.

“I am.”

“You are not aware what you ask of yourself.”

“I am.” Insisting. 

Something deep inside you. Something deep inside you. Something deep inside you.

Fingers reaching up to the tie of your nightgown- before getting stopped instantly by Gojo’s hand. He pulls back with a hiss as though you burned—the pine fragrance grows even stronger inside the chamber. 

His voice cracks as he looks at you, “You…” Eyes blowing out ferally, “You humans are not built to handle a hybrid in rut. I shall easily ruin you-”

“Then so be it.” Your cunt twitches.

And Gojo sniffs the air as though he could smell it.

He moans.

And in a split-second you’re being tackled to the ground- pounced upon. As though you really were nothing but a pretty prey beneath his fingertips, Gojo spreads your back flatly against the carpeted ground—too far gone right now to even start thinking of the bed.

Hands caging either side of your head. Hot breaths wafting your features like a furnace.

He slots his toned, naked hips between your bent legs and ruts-

“Fuck.”

Before letting out the most erotic sound you’ve ever heard in your life - his spit-slicked lips fall open with it and stay open as he keeps pushin’ his trembling hips into yours. Glazed eyes clenching shut. Perspired head falling behind him. 

Again and again.

You’re feeling his thickened, throbbing erection press against your pussy through your thin nightgown. Openin’ up the crevice of your folds and massaging all along your outer cunt - because of how closely he was collapsed on top of you, you couldn’t make out just what his cock looked like. But you could feel the heat, you could feel the pulsing of his prominent veins that glissaded down the damp patch of your entrance and made you squeal—

“Y-Your Majesty-” You buck.

And he’s fucking pinning you down with his capped knees upon your legs. His bodyweight leaning on you. “Satoru.” He whispers breathlessly, eyes wide and somewhat dazed still. 

“Pardon?”

The hybrid reaches his hand across your body, “My mate shall call me Satoru.”

Mate…?

The fingers on his dominant hand snake down your front and grab a fistful of that satin nightgown you were wearing- before his claws extract and he’s teeeeearing straight through it. Ripping it into nothing but shreds that he’s throwing blindly over his shoulder. 

Soon enough, you’re left in nothing but the scraps of what had once been a decadent robe. And the coating of lust across your body.

The evidence was undeniable - even in the yolky yellow fireplace lighting up the bedroom, there was a lecherous glisten between your legs. Naked. Pulsing. 

A pretty gloss that makes Gojo take just one wide-eyed look- and gulp.

You think you can audibly hear the effect merely seeing your dampened cunt has on him, and it sends a thrill up your spine. The bed chambers only seem to be spiking in temperature.

A bead of glitterin’ slick drops from your tight hole, making you shiver as it falls vertically between your pussylips- only to be stopped by a single chaste kiss of Gojo’s swollen cockhead. He grasps his base using his right hand, motioning that plump, puckered tip to point around the orifice of your cunt.

He’s probing the reddened top of his shaft against your hole and letting it stretch just a lil’ bit- “Fuck.” You think that it should be you spewing out the profanities - but it’s Gojo instead. He growls. His blue peripherals roll to the back of his skull as he feels you clench around nothing. “Fuh-fuuuuck.”

“Shit—”

He dots at the pearly bead of slick.

He swirls it around your entrance.

He uses it to lacquer his already-glistening cock before reeling his hips back and pushing in-

You’re gasping, hands coming up to dig your nails into his broad back. “Sa-Satoru-”

And his jaw practically unhinges at the hot, heavenly feeling. “Oh heavens…” Muttering something primal at the back of his throat—“O-oh heavens.” He’s feeling the first few centimeters of his throbbing cock get suctioned in, before there’s a sudden tightness of resistance that makes jerk his hips back and push once more- “Oh my Queen—”

“Satoru…” Just about the only thing that you can say, like a frenzied mantra. Eyes shuttering, “Shit, I think you must know-”

The knobbly edge of his thumb veers between your pussylips, stretchin’ them apart and taking a good look in-between. He pumps even harder - “My Queen—please take it.”

Mewling.

He’s tugging those dampened lips even further apart, “Please fit in.” Only growing more and more desperate the longer your cunt refuses to gobble him up whole, “Please- please fit in–”

“Satoru- fuck.”

Fingertips trembling where they were glued to the side of your pussy, stretching your entrance. Thwack after thwack. “Please take- me-”

“You must-” And he was now hammerin’ his hips into you in short, rapid semi-thrusts just to see himself swallowed up. So tight that it felt nearly impossible. So tight that a single drop of crimson escapes you, “-know that-”

“My Queen-”

“-this is my first time.”

There’s a ragged exhale that gusts across your features, making your eyes fall shut at just how scalding hot it was feeling - molten inside. Every bit of his skin in contact with yours felt as though he was burning up—“Oh.” That pretty, spit-glossed mouth of his falls - he ruts once more. “Oh.”

Your toes curl at the swabbin’ intrusion - Gojo was just so big that it was hard for you to take him. Bigger than any normal human.

And you’re feeling it even more once he’s pulling out.

With the most lecherous squelch! his erection plops out of your geysering orifice and ends up laid between your shivering thighs. 

“I see…” Gojo hoarsely mutters, eyes entrenched in a staring competition with your pussy. “Mine, too.”

“Pardon?” You lean up onto your elbows instantly.

“I believe I said—” He trails off, “Mine, too.”

A thousand and one questions are whirling through your mind - everything from why Gojo hadn’t partaken in a mating period prior to this, to why he’d chosen you—

And then you’re blinking.

And suddenly you’re finding yourself sprawled out across his king-sized bed.

Head laid gently against the numerous luxurious pillows, your legs spread apart as though you’d never moved from the floor. You’re faced with the slight inertia of the entire room shifting so suddenly- and it takes you longer than it should’ve to realize that he’d just teleported the two of you once more.

You’re clamoring up to rest upon your elbows, and staring down at the hybrid that’d slotted between your legs now.

His soft strands tickle your body. Gojo’s already shifted until his face was level with your navel - his hot breath wafting across your skin. It sends goosebumps skittering across your middle n’ all the way down to your cunt—

Something that he’s leaning in and sniffing.

Breathing in. 

And then Gojo trundles out a low, animalistic growl.

You feel your hips bucking up in response and you’re not quite sure as to why-

But you don’t have the time to ponder upon it for too long before Gojo dips the tip of his looooong, luscious tongue between your pussy’s slit. 

He’s sticking just the very edge of his tastebuds fitting between your folds and slide-slide-sliiiiiding down that dampened crevice. Up and down. Slipping between the two and slurping away the dewy droplets of sap that cling onto your cunt-

Gojo halts as the first taste of your pussy trickles into his mouth.

And then he’s gasping his parched lips open- already sounding as though he’s run a fucking field. “So this-” Letting those deep vibrations of his voice scatter right between where you were most sensitive, “-this is what my mate tastes like.”

There it was again—mate. 

Your body thrums, taking a strange pleasure in being titled that by the hybrid. 

“Wh-what do you mean by m—oh.” Moan turning into a yelp as his fluffy rosette-decorated tail - one you hadn’t even realized was snaking ever-closer to your body - wraps around your right thigh and wrenches you closer to his hungry body. You stare into his eyes- starving.

Plastering his lips against your other ones as though he was fucking famished- Gojo’s nose digs between the wet slit of your core. Delving in-between. “My mate.” The only thing he can manage to utter. The pointed tip pushes on the nub of your clit as though a button, grindin’ away deftly as he’s making out. “My mate, my mate, my mate—”

“Satoru—” You’re crying out, “I-I’ve never done this before…is it supposed to feel this good?”

“Hmmm…” He’s clearly leering against your sensitive parts- and you can feel it. The hardness of his pearly whites tracin’ all over your entrance - “I haven’t partaken in such activities either, is this kitty supposed to taste this sweet?”

You gasp. “You can’t just utter such obscenities-”

To which he pays no attention before rubbin’ his flushed cheek along the inner parts of your thighs—Gojo leans in takes a gooooood whiff of where your pheromones were most saturated. Eyes falling shut as he indulges himself in it, and once he’s opening them back up you swear those pupils of his have transformed into hearts. “Is this kitty supposed to smell this sweet?”

You’re simply bucking in shock at that.

Elongated claws tapping warningly against where he’s holding the right side of your waist, “Settle, my mate.”

And he can smell it- the way your cunt grows even more aroused, even sweeter, at being given this command. Paired up perfectly with your pet name.

That’s when he decides that he’s had enough of lappin’ away at the numerous layers of slick that polished your cunt - he’s had enough.

He wasn’t some little kitty.

Gojo Satoru was a big cat, and that meant he has a big tongue.

Big enough to drown himself completely n’ utterly silly in the sweetened juices leaking out of you. In a mere few moments, he’s licked you completely dry. And he’s spreadin’ away the inside of your rim, scouring his tongue inside for more, more, more—

Long, thorough slashes inside your cunt.

“Sh-shit—” You’re babbling away stupidly, back arching off of the mattress. Ending up draggin’ your pussy even further against Gojo’s mouth - knocking against his nose and making him take your restless body on happily. “Shit, your tongue-” Your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull, “-it’s sho big—”

“All the better to taste you, dear.” It’s a wonder that Gojo could detach himself from your pussy even for those brief seconds to answer.

Thrusting right between those swollen pussylips of yours- right into that quivering hole. He swirls his thickened muscle around a few times, “And y-you’re so…” You could feel the texture of his uniform, ridged tastebuds molding to the sides of your walls. “-fuck, your tastebuds are so pointed.”

“All the better to feel you, dear.” But of course, if you were in any better state of mind then perhaps you would’ve remembered that snow leopards in particular possessed tongues with specialized tastebuds. Longer. Sharper.

Yet right now, the only thing you’re thinking of is just how good it feels to have Gojo Satoru fuck you with said tongue.

He was just so looooooong and thick. He stuffs you to the brim already.

Spreading and stretchin’ his tongue against your walls- as far inside as it could possibly go. Quite audibly, you swear you can hear the sounds of his wet muscle expanding against that snug channel. “A-and, Satoru…” To him, your mewls sound like the prettiest song he’s ever heard. “-you’re so ravenous.”

He chuckles out something feral - something octaves higher than his usual baritone - against the front of your pussy. Pulling away from it with a wet smack! “All the better to…” And you know the strangely predatory tone of his voice shan’t bode well for you. And you know the way he fucking purrs—yes, purrs as he nears your pussy once more shan’t bode well for you. “-eat you, my dear.”

And then Gojo’s slamming every inch of his tongue back inside you - every fucking inch.

Except, this time…there’s a clear motivation tinglin’ at the honed tip of muscle. You could practically taste it in the soft sizzling wads of spittle that kept on leaking out of you. 

Gojo was tonguing at your pussy like a maddened man- letting his nose crush against your clit, letting his canines nip slightly on your bloated folds. He plasters your cunt against his chin, head angled juuuuuust the exact number of degrees it’d take for him to propel his tongue forwards and hit a particular spot inside you.

Your feet anchor onto the luxurious mattress. Your back forms the perfect curvature against the bed.

You’re letting your moans pour out of you twofold as you throw your head back n’ forcefully wrench your hips forward. “There—” Registering, it takes a second for your mind to catch up to the fact that Gojo’s lengthy hybrid tongue has just rammed into your g-spot - with just his tastebuds. “Y-you hit my…I didn’t know that was even—oh, Toru.”

“My Queen.” Hoarse. Hissing. His tone was completely fucked as he uses his powerful tail to tug you even further against his slackened mouth, “My mate.”

“Toru, that feels too-”

“Let this kitty cream on my mouth.” Even his high cheekbones burn a faint crimson at the declaration, though he doesn’t deny nor retract it. “Let this, kitty—” Come to think of it…the snow leopard hybrid was purring as he’s makin’ out between your legs. “-let this kitty cum…”

“Gonna—” Your voice starts hatching at the back of your throat, “G-gonna cum-”

Spurred on by your affirmations, those slashes at your g-spot grow even faster. More frequent.

Deeper.

There’s a tingly buzz coating your outer pussy at the rapid movements of his tastebuds- back n’ forth, back n’ forth, back n’ forth. And you’re feeling your pleasure start to ember even more powerfully as he keeps on planting constant hits and thrashes.

Tugs and pushes.

Hit after hiiiiiiit upon your poor g-spot.

Soon enough, your vision starts to overload with sultry white stars of bliss. And Gojo smells the cloying pheromones on you before you even register it- but you’re cumming.

All over his tongue.

It’s a wave of euphoria that starts from the tips of your toes and explodes where his tongue was diggin’ between your pussylips- before ultimately shooting through every valve, blood vessel, and capillary within you. Taking over you.

Toes curling. Tears shooting up to your eyes.

This might just have been even better than those long, lonely nights beneath your royal covers - when you’d slip in a finger or two and fervently hope that your attendants didn’t need you for anything.

You’re letting out the prettiest few echoes of his name- and you don’t even care who hears you right about now. Because the one person that commanded them all - this entire land - had his head between your legs and his tongue lappin’ away hungrily.

As though he hasn’t had a proper meal in months—you’re suddenly remembering with a jolt that he’d missed dinner tonight.

Gojo manages to probe your most sensitive spot during peak after peak.

Rush upon rush of dopamine flooding your body- he was sure to drag his textured tastebuds along your most precious caverns when those times came. And perhaps if your mind was any less muddled, he’d be able to tell you that he’s timing them perfectly using the spikes of your heady pheromones whenever you felt too good - but he was happy to merely listen to your babble right now. To fuck you stupid with his mouth.

He was tugging aside your pussylips and scraping every inch of your walls as though he wanted his entire nation to hear you—“Mine.” The pointed tip of his tongue tickles your g-spot, “My mate-”

Those mere few droplets of slick you were letting out wasn’t enough for Gojo, and he’s using the unyielding restraint he had on your ankle to keep on gyrating your hips. Manhandling your hips. Grinding your wet pussy against his mouth.

His maw slurpin’ every orifice-

Spreading aside your velvety walls as though he wished to go even deeper. And he’s reaching up his right hand to push aside those swollen lips of yours and—

“Sh-shiiiiit—” You’re just barely surfacing from your last orgasm when you feel something cold n’ clammy sliding down your swollen pussylips. 

Claws retracted. The knobbly tips of Gojo’s fingers spread you open—and you’re just starting to wonder which set of hands this is…when you feel the frigidness of his fucking wedding ring probe inwards. It was a band of pure silver far colder than even his own hands- contrasting thoroughly against the heat of your pussy.

You’re whining as though you’re wounded (though it was the complete opposite of feeling as such) as the ice-cold sensation of it circles your sensitive hole a few times.

Gojo teases your entrance before he’s properly sinking in. Taking his time—not at all.

Did you really think that a hybrid in heat took his time? Did you really think that a hybrid in heat didn’t have the patience to merely take his ready mate?

And that was exactly what the King was doing with his perfectly prolonged digits - already having stretched out your cunt enough that he doesn’t have to hesitate before plunging in two fingers into your wet cavern. “Wait- you’re still not done?”

His long lashes flutter, “Would you like me to be, Your Majesty?”

“N-not exactly, it’s just…” And you almost feel shy admitting this to him - even though you’ve already come…so far, there were still some etiquette lessons drilled into you. “-I thought I’d be getting Your Majesty’s cock by now.”

And that makes him stall.

That makes his doughy fingertips lurch up and hit the roof of your cunt—accidentally locating your g-spot with just a bit of swerving.

“Oh.” Gojo’s jaw drops a bit- and those dimples make an appearance once more. “Worry not, my Queen.”

There’s the most long, lecherous sluuuuuurp! as he then pulls his fingers out.

“A beautiful creature such as yourself shan’t be fucked like any other lowly human.” The hybrid leers up at you with a half-lidded gaze, and those fingers of his twitch excitedly at your entrance. He murmurs thickly, “I’m going to breed you.” 

Slam! 

And that’s all it takes for his fingers to stuff you in every nook n’ cranny. 

Those mountainous knuckles of his start up like a battering ram between your legs, and no matter how much you’re squirming at the overstimulation- you can bet on Gojo’s tail to hold you in place. Stronger than it looked with its unassuming demeanor. 

Every time you’re being lurched backwards by the sheer force of his fervid thrusts, the King drags you back down using his appendage.

Leaving you not an ounce of mercy as he’s swabbin’ his rounded fingertips into your g-spot—so long that he’d be able to tease that particular bundle and then glide down to swat your cervix. 

Your eyes bulge at the feeling of his intrusion, back arching. “O-oh my god—” 

“Satoru, you mean.”

“Sato—pardon?” Tears layering over your peripherals, your vision’s starting to become hazy nonetheless. And a shiver runs down your spine as you’re watching his handsome face lean closer to your dripping wet core once more.

All the excitement of Gojo hookin’ his fingers in n’ ruining you from the inside meant that your slick was overflowing. Excess that he leans down to lap his tongue over as though the sweetest nectar- and maybe it really was.

Gojo’s flattened tongue starts rolling the most lewd kitty licks over your throbbing clit—holding eye contact with you all the while. “My mate.”

“Satoru-” You yelp.

“My mate—” The constant rhythmic slamming against your g-spot was starting to make your g-spot feel tender. Perhaps it has even started bruising - perhaps you were hurtling into your second orgasm faster than you might’ve thought. 

And it’s with his upper half bowed over your pussy - with his canines gnawin’ away on your clit - that Gojo pushes you into cumming. Again.

He makes yet another zap of euphoria take over your body- so lightheaded now that it felt as though you could keel over at the softest breeze. Your thighs tremble. Your legs fight to wrap around his head.

And Gojo’s taking such utter pleasure in stopping your squirming hips from moving- from smoochin’ and smoochin’ the slender tips of his fingers against your sweetest spots.

“Hafta make my- ngh, mate feel good.” He’s whispering, almost to himself. Gojo runs the plumpness of his fingertips aaaaaaall across your insides, quirking them perfectly when he has to run you through a peak of your high. “Hafta-”

“Cumming—” Too late, you’re bellowing out. “I’m c-cumming, Toru.”

“I know.” He responds simply. “This kitty told me.”

And you swear that’s enough to push you straight over another edge - another high. Sparks of friction breaking out across your skin. As Gojo stimulated your clit n’ your deepest innards to elongate this current one, and past that into another one, and another one, and another-

“Cum—fucking cum, kitty kitty.” He hums. 

Four- yes, four of his fingers pushing aside your slick-glazed walls now. 

By the time you’re letting the waves of pleasure wash over you, you’re completely and utterly spent. Exhausted. Unable to do anything but lay yourself spread-eagle on the duvet, you’re raising your head weakly to look down at Gojo.

He pulls off of your clit with a lecherous pop! 

A few thin strings of spittle still connect you to his mouth, “Brace yourself, my mate.”

“Brace…?” And as he straightens from his position at your feet - from his position worshipping your pussy at your feet - you’re letting your jaw drop. “Oh.”

Because it was justified for him to ask you to brace yourself.

Hell, you might just not make it out alive if you didn’t brace yourself. 

You’d already known that Gojo was considerably big from his time ruttin’ against you on the carpeted floor like some animal. But what you didn’t know was just what he looked like exactly. 

Large.

Lavished in veins.

It was expected that Gojo would be bigger than a human man - or, at least, what you’d assumed a human man would average based upon your sparse knowledge from anatomy books - but it’s just how much bigger than made your jaw drop. For he was comfortably around eight inches, perhaps even veering into nine.

Seeing the sheer girth of his base was enough to make your thighs squeeze together- squelch! You’d underestimated just how wet you’d gotten.

Plump tip furiously swollen n’ agitated - the merest breeze was enough to make him dollop out a generous serving of his precum. It was flushed a shade of pink that matched the blush upon Gojo’s cheeks as he took in your staring.

Vermicular veins. Throbbing circumference. 

And then there were his pretty balls - so full. Decorated along his v-line with a spattering of snow-white hair.

And you found yourself admitting that Gojo Satoru was strangely—pretty. 

All the way down to his cock.

You swallow, “S-so?”

“Pardon? And so?” The King cocks his head in cute confusion.

His ancient bedframe then creeeeeaks as you’re lifting your hips up, “Aren’t you going to breed me like you promised, Your Majesty?”

He flinches as though he’s just been struck.

Oh…hasn’t anyone ever taught you not to poke the bear? Or in this case, the snow leopard? Nevermind that now, however, because it was far too late for it - given you’d found yourself married to one. 

To the beast that bears his teeth carnally upon your provocation.

To the monster that slots his hips between your thoroughly jittery legs and gives your cunt a gooooood spankin’ with his ruddied tip.

To Gojo Satoru who runs his twitching tip down the forefront of your pussy a few times before he’s spreading apart your pussylips and push-push-puuuuushing. Sinking in his teeth into his lower lip as he sinks his cock into you—and immediately, tears spurt to his eyes.

Gojo’s barely easing an inch between your swollen folds before he’s fucking sobbing-

“It- it feels—” He’s clawing out a few wretched moans from the back of his throat. “It feels s-so—”

“So—?” You’re attempting to coax out of him. This was his first time just as much as yours, and although you might not know much about hybrid mating rituals, one thing was for sure - Gojo was extra, extra sensitive tonight.

“So g—ngh.” Choking those words straight back into his throat- he’s just barely managing to fit his plump, reddish tip in. It was throbbing against your walls and slippin’ inside with the help of your slick. “How can it feel so good?” He hisses.

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull, “Pardon? Y-you’re asking me- hck! how?”

“How.” As though no other explanation was needed. Gojo’s fucking into you in shallow, short thrusts—almost nothing. Barely squeeze-squeeze-squeezing the first thickened segment of his shaft inside before he’s met with the resistance of your tight channel- and then he’s pulling back with a pained groan as if it killed him to detach himself from the glutinous embrace of your pussy.

And the more n’ more he’s feeling you—the more he’s utterly breaking upon entering your warmth. “Is there magic that you use? I-is there a spell you’ve put me under?” His grip on your waist trembles.

“No…” You whimper, “And for what reason…”

“For i-it should not be possible for a kitty to feel so…” He groans. Gojo’s eyes are fluttering shut once you give his throbbing girth a little clench, and when he opens them back up again you’re finding those sky-blue peripherals to have been covered with a few layers of tears. “-so delicious.”

“You make it sound as though you wish to- ngh, feast upon me.”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?”

The hybrid edges his perspired head closer to yours, letting the tips of his white bangs tickle your skin. “For what else must newly-weds do on the night of their wedding?”

That silver wedding ring glints on his left hand - both due to the quality of the metal, and due to the fact that it was still covered in the remnants of your sweet juices. 

Gojo notices this, too.

And without a single warning, he’s reaching his hand up and sucking off the glaze of slick. Looking you straight into your dilated pupils as he does so.

It sends a carnal throb down to your cunt that he sniffs in the air-

And then everything’s happening at once.

Gojo’s jolting, Gojo’s grasping both of your pretty legs and throwing them over his shoulders. Hands upon either side of your limbs n’ wrangling them easily as he bends his upper half down looooow—kissing his sweaty forehead to yours.

The sudden change in positions makes you keen. “A-and you’re completely sure you’re inexperienced, Toru?”

“Promise, my mate.” He exhales into your mouth. “I’d never take another but you.”

And though the gesture had started off sweet…the further his mazin’ tip scoured in, the sharper his canines grew against your poor wobbly lips. The stronger his body seemed to grow in response to pinning your needy hips down and shoooooooving rude cock inside-

“Take it.” Gojo snarls into the crook of your neck, “Take it.”

“Please—” Being pushed constantly up towards the mahogany headboard.

“Take- oh.” Absent-mindedly, he wraps his powerful tail around your left thigh once more. Stopping you from being jostled back and forth because of the sheer force of his rovering hips- hips that were just hungry to feel his mate warped around his entire, rock-hard cock.

And you wonder whether he even realized.

Because if you thought it was far-fetched to assume that Gojo Satoru was breaking on your pussy just from the ruined state of his voice, then you’d be sorely mistaken.

The longer he’s tunneling between your sodden pussylips, the more n’ more he’s less the composed gentleman you’d been married to at the altar. “Take it-” To be quite honest, you’d be comfortable stating that he was becoming more hybrid than human the longer he was in lecherous contact with the wet cavern of your cunt. “Take it, take it, take it—please.”

Tears falling down his pretty cheeks.

The longer his thrusts became, the more hidden crevices inside you that he was opening up. You’d been completely right to ogle Gojo’s massive cock- because right now it felt like he was splitting you in half. 

In the best way.

“You need to take it, sweetheart—” Gojo damn near whimpers, “You n-need to take your mate’s cock…”

He was straightening out the smallest crevices at your innards, he was digging his claws deeeeep against the sides of your thighs. Pulling you back after every thrust.

And it’s not long before Gojo finds himself completely bottoming out.

Letting his divot baaawl out a few ribbons of pre that slick towards your womb. Letting his bulbous, blushin’ tip thud! away at the very back of your cervix. 

The silken bedsheets are bunching up where Gojo’s knees were scrambling to get even closer to the bottom of your pussy. Attempting to push his probin’ cockhead even deeper inside your sponge-covered depths, Gojo’s practically falling over himself to bend you in half.

To bend and to bend.

To thrust and to thrust-

The bed creaks in a cacophony that accurately represents just how he’s fucking you like he’s furious. Body burnished in heat. Hissing and snarling between his clenched fangs.

Those unfairly attractive hips of his were affected, too, because they’re starting to stutter forwards as though he’s just found heaven inside of you. Reeling his hips aaaaaall the way back in reverse - until his rounded, reddened tip was the only thing holding your entrance open. 

And then Gojo wastes no time before pounding himself inside all the way till the hilt.

The very hilt. 

You’re squirming at the patch of his white, white hair that scratches your pretty clit. “A-and about the breeding thing…”

“Hmmmm?”

“Are you really going to fuck me- ngh, pregnant, Toru?”

Awwwww—how cute. Those glowing azure eyes of his widen in amusement- or perhaps something else entirely that you weren’t able to pinpoint. He leans in with a simpering smile, “Fuck you pregnant? How crass.”

“N-ngh—” Your head throws back at the feeling of his globular cockhead lining down your g-spot. He ends up rubbin’ over that particular bundle of nerves for a few seconds, before glissading a hit straight to your womb-

“I’m going to make you my mate, my Queen.”

“Oh-”

“Officially.”

You’re unsure what exactly such an arrangement between hybrids would entail—but all you know is that you want it. Badly. 

A primal desire deep-rooted into your very being, one that you couldn’t explain even if you tried - it was from the depths of your soul, pouring outward in every ribbony wire of slick that you were letting out. All for Gojo Satoru. Clinging onto Gojo Satoru.

It’s coating his thickened cock in numerous layers that glisten underneath the pale lighting of a royal chamber, splatterin’ between your two bodies as his frenzied pace only accelerates. “Sa-Satoru—”

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

It always sent such a shocking thrill across your body to realize that he was the one referring to you like that - perhaps your most formidable foe yet. 

And the massive bedframe creaks as you’re raising your hips up to meet his- the constant smack-smack-smacking of skin on relentless skin growing in pitch and volume. “I need it.” Looking at him through your tear-drenched lashes, “I need it s-so badly—”

“What is it?” He breathes out in an almost desperate tone. Gojo presses his lips to yours and kisses you in a way that was so fucking filthy—he’s flickering his tongue in and out, fishing out the sweet wads of your saliva. Before leaning his head back a bit and spitting between your wobbling lips - claiming every spot inside you that he wanted to. “What is it that you wish for, my Queen?”

Before anything else, his right hand then snakes between your two sweaty bodies.

Familiarly locating your cute clit and giving a few niiiiice rolls between his index and his thumb.

“Tell me—” He responds. He begs. “Tell me what it is your heart desires-” His sentences and syllables being punctuated by a solid slam against the back of your pussy every time. “Tell me, and I shall move mountains and heaven for you, my mate.”

And after such a declaration, a part of you almost feels embarrassed about the next words out of your mouth—“I want you to…cum inside me, Toru.”

He jolts. “Sweetheart, are you aware-”

“Not that.” Gojo answers - and the sudden leer that follows is something that makes your lips part. Something that was certainly not going to bode well for you or your poor pussy…“Sweetheart, are you aware that-”

And before he’s finishing that particular sentence, Gojo reaches down and gently clasps your dominant hand in his own.

He tugs it down between his legs-

To where you’re feeling the smooth gliiiide down his erect shaft—down every single curve, crevice, and vein. He was just so long that this made you squirm. Ultimately, you’re ending up with your fingertips pressed against the very start of Gojo’s hilt, where the carpet of his white hair was just ending.

And you’re wondering just what it is he was trying to oh-so-lecherously make you feel when…

When your palm pushes up against something so very thick and swollen at the base of Gojo’s cock. And you’re just gasping-

“A-are you aware of the effect you have on me, Your Majesty?” Gojo’s ragged tone permeates your hearing, punctuated by the constant thrashes n’ bucks of his hungry cock. Inside, inside, inside. “Are you aware that this is how you make me feel?”

He crushes your hand even further against that extra swollen portion of his erection, “And h-how exactly…”

He falters, “Pardon?”

“How exactly is…this, Toru?”

“How exactly?” He’s hissing through his teeth, tone wavering unsteadily. He sounds ruined, he sounds shattered—he sounds gone. There’s almost a sense of amusement in his tone as though you were pulling on his leg - he bores deeeeply into your eyes whilst he fucks you. “How exactly—?” 

“Y-ye—oh.”

Slam!

At that very moment, he’s rammin’ his hips into yours so hard that the skin around his pelvis reddens. Stings. 

And Gojo himself can’t help but let his head fall backwards with a guttural hiss, those pretty white brows of his knotting—“Fuh-fuck.” Before starting to rut down in even sloppier pushes of his firmed-up cock.

Hard.

Fast.

Your ass cheeks were practically refusing to have contact with the bedspread below. Just bent that far. 

The question he’d asked you earlier had been a rhetorical one - though that doesn’t stop Gojo himself from pistoning into you as though he was attempting to fuck the answer out of you. As though he was hoping the globular edge of his shaft would reach your pretty brain, n’ swerve around a bit to ultimately activate whatever part of you there was that’d understand. 

To flick a switch on - something carnal. 

Once you’ve been pounded utterly stupid- Gojo presses down with his mazing cockhead until you’re filled up to the very hilt. And you can feel the swollen ring at his base start to relax against the front of your puckered pussylips, “What you need to know is…this is a knot, sweetheart.”

“A knot?” Babbling through your tears.

“A knot.” Gojo affirms, “And do you know what hybrids do to their mates using their knots?”

Shaking your head.

“First, we claim our mates.” He’s draggin’ his roughened thumb down between your sultry pussylips and rolling over your clit. If you were in any clearer a state of mind right now, perhaps you’d have noticed that he was spelling out his first fucking name on top of that swollen nub. “First, we fuck them until they can’t speak—can’t move—can’t do anything but beg for more.”

You’re bucking upwards greedily, and in response he’s letting out a growl. “Y-yes, and?”

“Then we let them cum a few cute times—” He’s giggling at the way your mouth drops in realization - he was doing the exact same thing to you.

Was technically, still doing the exact same thing to you with the way he’s stimulating every fibre of your being. “And then-”

“Then we get them in a cute- hah, mating press.” His fluffy tail swooshes around before looping around your left thigh and tightening, veering dangerously close to the in-betweens of your legs. As if he was sharing his most precious secret in the world with you, Gojo leans dooooown until his lips were at your ear- “Then we cum so much inside them that they can’t even breathe without feelin’ me all inside your pretty kitty.”

Sobbing, “Th-then—?”

“Then…” The King’s reeling his powerful hips backwards, all the way until he’s nearly pulled out. Only the better to fuck you with…“Then m’fucking you with my fat knot until you can’t even think about letting my cum go to waste, my mate.”

“Oh—”

And with one hand braced upon the right side of your head - the other furiously toying with your perked clit - Gojo’s striking your pussylips in constant thwacks! Thwack! after thwack!

Trying to get his knot to fit inside.

Gojo’s vein-covered cock massaging your walls in such a frenzy just feels so good- “O-oh my god…” You’re babbling out, “Toru, m’gonna cum again.”

“Good.”

“Toru, m’gonna cum now—”

“Good.”

Those half-lidded blue eyes of his were locked on every expression you were making - even the tiniest shifts and twitches. His nostrils flare once you’re feeling your stomach give into the surges of pleasure shooting up from your cunt—and the hybrid seems to know before even you do when you’re crash-landing straight into your nth high of the night.

You’ve seriously lost count.

“C-cumming…” You mewl out weakly- hands coming up to clasp onto his sweaty head. Pressing your lips against his as he fucks you through every zap of pleasure. “Feels so good- ngh, feels so good—”

“Is that so?” He harkens, “Is that so, Your Majesty?”

“Never felt anything better-”

Eventually, your high rises and falls faster than it has before - solely due to the sheer number of times tonight. It’s nothing but the splash of dopamine that engulfs your body and leaves it sizzling with pleasure moments afterwards.

Even the slightest rub-a-dub of Gojo’s veiny patterns leaves you gaping. Those aftershocks were so strong that it makes your eyes tear up—“I need it.” 

Before long, Gojo feels you grab onto a handful of his perspired hair and haul him even closer. And he can’t deny the way that makes his swollen tip twitch just a little harder inside you-

“I need you to c-cum inside me…” You’re pleading up at him, “Need you to- ngh, mate me, Toru.”

“Oh…” After a few more sloppy strikes, he’s letting his tail drift up from your legs to your abdomen. Just where your spine ended, you’re feeling that powerful appendage of his push up on your body and arch your hips up a bit further. “Then brace yourself, my mate.”

And it takes only a single, slammin’ thrust for him to empty out his wads of cum.

Bucketload upon bucketload that he’d been waiting to pour into you for soooooo fucking long now. Thick. Treacly. Those constant ribbons of cum web your insides like a flood, splashin’ around and helping him reach your womb in no time.

It’s just so hot and wet.

It’s just bloating up those poor pussylips of yours- before the man himself eases down his pace to better end up pushin’ those wettened wads inside.

You could physically feel the flared ridge of his mushroom tip—spreading apart those gluey walls of yours and fucking his cum even deeper. Deeper. “Fuck.” Clinging onto every nook n’ hidden cranny inside you as you’re getting utterly stuffed—straight to the brim. It’s already starting to froth outwards, “Fuck-”

“Settle, my mate.” Gojo’s dragging you in with his fluffy white tail, ears flattened in pleasure. It takes a single tug for him to jerk you down- “Shhhhhhh shhh shh, settle.”

“I’m- I’m trying—”

“We’re not even halfway done yet.”

“Pardon?”

It’s the last thing you’re hearing before Gojo jerks his hips forward and fucks his knot past that first ring of your entrance - only about halfway through.

The Hybrid King has to use his hand upon your clit to stretch your pussylips apart- to ease your elastic hole to the side just a bit before he’s siiiiiiiinking his thickened base inside. It takes a few tries - a few animalistic bucks - for him to finally fit his knot between your legs with the loudest slurp. “Got it—”

Gojo’s hissing breath cascades down the front of your body, and his clammy head drops into the crook of your neck.

“G-got you.”

Before you know it, you’re feeling the sharp punctures of his canines against your swollen scent glands. Those sensitive bumps against the side of your neck - you’d noticed them growing more and more inflamed throughout the course of the night, and they’re just so volatile as Gojo sinks his leopard-like fangs in.

You feel something deep inside you pop!

Your scent gland. Or whatever it was that humans had similar…

And he holds you there like this - like a predator with his teeth dug into the throat of his prey - until both your waves of bliss have completed. Until he’s emptied his swollen balls inside of you, and he’s completely n’ utterly sucked dry by the wettened warmth of your pussy.

You’re squirming at the feeling of his heaping puddles of ivory deep inside you—“T-Toru.”

Gojo finally pulls off with a heated pwah! and stuffs his face into the crook of your neck. “Yes, my mate?”

Mate. Mate. Mate.

Now you were officially his mate. 

His knot was pulsing deep inside you, softening ever-so-slightly as the moments pass.

You’re running your hands through his perspired air, “I just wanted to know…” Wording your sentence carefully, your sentiments hidden. “Why m-”

“Who else would it be but you?” He’s interrupting you instantly. Immediately, Gojo pulls away and peers at you with his widened eyes—“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but in this life and every other…” He grasps your hand and presses his pinkish lips to the back of it, “-this lowly hybrid has always been fated to be yours.”

“Every other?” You ask with bated breath.

“Every other.” He affirms. “In every life, we were meant to find one another…” And he looked almost shy admitting such a thing—“We hybrids…we can feel it. Though for you humans, it may not be so strong.”

“Oh.” Your mouth drops softly.

“But even if we weren’t…” Gojo finally tears his eyes off of you- as though it pained him to not have you before his gaze for even a mere moment. “—I would have found you if it tore down the Earth.”

And then you’re turning with him.

Following his line of sight.

Right to the wall of his bedroom that you’d noticed had been painted before- but never noticed exactly with what upon it—

It was a painting of you.

More specifically, of a landscape from what you’d assumed to be this very bedroom: the sprawling valleys and fields that led up to your kingdom. The thorn barrier that separated him from you. Though no barrier could ever possibly hide the spiral of your wing, the blinking light that you’d put out every night - hoping, just hoping that someone would see it and answer.

How had you not noticed this before?

Perhaps, in your own way, you’d been searching for him, too.

“I would like to stay, Satoru.” You breathe, as if a secret. “I would like to stay- and I would also like for you to love my kingdom just as much as I shall love yours.”

“Then it shall be done.” He presses his forehead to yours, “Revenge has never been my strong suit.‘

Unbeknownst to yourself, you’ve teared up- and Gojo reaches down to gently wipe those hot tears away. He murmurs deeply, “My mate…”

“Yes, my husband?”

“We’re going to rule the world.”

You’re learning two more things about hybrids in the succeeding hour. 

The first being that they really did have a particular talent for the arts - Gojo especially, considering that he’d been the one to paint most of the artworks in the palace. Including this one.

The second being that ruts last for a week.

A/N. HYBRIDS AND ROYALTY AUS MY TWO FAV THINGS-

Plagiarism not authorized.

[heedimples]

kiss me thru the phone | ykh

ʚɞ summary - according to the rest of your friends, you and yoon keeho have always been a little too close to one another. you’ve always brushed it off—but when his accidental text reveals exactly what he’s been doing with all your missing panties, that line between platonic and something else much, much filthier is disappearing fast… ʚɞ tags - 18+ MDNI, f!reader, keeho and reader are best friends, phone sex, mutual masturbation ʚɞ w.c - 5.9k

Keeho let himself in with the key you’d given him months ago, a fact your friends still teased you about. “You gave a boy a key?” they’d shrieked. But it wasn’t like that. It was practical. He was always over anyway, crashing after late-night studio sessions, bringing over takeout when you were swamped with work, or just showing up because, as he claimed, your couch was comfier.

“Yo,” he called out, toeing off his sneakers by the door. He was in gray sweats and a loose white tee, his hair slightly mussed. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, which he probably had. It was a Saturday afternoon.

“In here,” you called from the kitchen, where you were attempting to make coffee. You heard his footsteps, and then his presence was right behind you, warm and solid. His hands landed on your hips, and he peered over your shoulder.

“You’re doing it wrong,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble near your ear. His breath tickled.

“I’m putting grounds in a filter, Keeho. How can I do it wrong?”

“The ratio’s off. You’ll make brown water.” One of his hands slid from your hip to your stomach, pulling you back just an inch against him. He was always touching you, it was just the way he was. A hand on the small of your back to guide you through a door, an arm slung over your shoulders on the couch, a playful slap on your ass when you bent over to get something from the low cabinet. You’d done the same: squeezing his bicep when he flexed after a workout, poking his abs, running a hand through his hair when it looked particularly good. It was just your dynamic. Sure, the two of you were flirtatious with one another, but it was entirely platonic.

Probably.

“Then you make it,” you said, leaning back into him for a second before slipping out of his loose hold. You turned and looked up at him. He was smiling, that lazy, charming smile that made his eyes crinkle.

“I will. Because I’m a good friend.” He set to work, and you hopped up on the counter to watch. This was the routine. He moved around your kitchen with an ease that should have felt invasive but didn’t. You talked about everything and nothing: the stupid meme Theo had sent in the group chat, the new song he was working on, the annoying thing your boss did. The conversation was easy, peppered with his laughter and your own.

He finished the coffee and poured two mugs. As he handed you yours, his fingers brushed yours, lingering. “Careful, it’s hot.”

“I know,” you said, holding his gaze for a beat too long before looking down at the mug. Your heart did a weird little stutter.

It’s just Keeho.

Later, he was sprawled on your living room floor, controller in hand, yelling at the game on your TV. You were folded into the corner of the sofa, scrolling on your phone, half-watching him. His sweats rode low on his hips, and the hem of his shirt had ridden up, revealing a strip of toned stomach. You let your eyes trace the line of it before forcing yourself to look at your phone.

A text from him popped up, even though he was right there.

Keeho: u watching me or the game?

You glanced up. He hadn’t turned around, still focused on the screen. You typed back.

You: shut up

You saw his shoulders shake with a silent laugh. He didn’t reply, but a minute later, he lost his character on purpose and tossed the controller aside. He rolled onto his back, looking up at you from the floor. “I’m bored.”

“You’re a dumbass.”

“Your dumbass?” he asked, grinning.

“Ew. In your dreams.” You threw a couch pillow at him. He caught it and hugged it to his chest, still looking at you. His gaze was warm, heavy. It made something in your stomach flutter. You broke the stare, getting up. “I’m gonna go switch the laundry.”

“Thrilling,” he drawled, but he followed you to the small laundry closet in the hallway anyway.

You pulled the damp clothes from the washer and started shoving them into the dryer. As you were loading, you frowned. “...That’s weird.”

“What?”

“My black lace pair. I could have sworn I put them in this load. They were on top of the basket.” You shrugged, tossing in a towel. “Maybe they got tangled in the sheets from last time.”

“Maybe,” Keeho said. His voice was oddly neutral. You glanced at him. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you. There was a faint pink tinge to the tips of his ears. “You keep track of your panties that closely?”

“No,” you said, perhaps too quickly, the denial sharp. “It’s just… I’ve noticed it a couple times now. They, like—disappear from the basket for a while, then just show up again, clean and folded, a day or two later. I thought I was going crazy. Or that I was just forgetting which loads I’d done.”

As you said it, your mind, now fully engaged on the topic, began to connect dots with a swift, cold clarity. It had happened before. The silky navy blue panties you loved—gone for two days, then reappeared neatly on top of your folded t-shirts. The burgundy lace pair—missing after you’d stripped them off after a date night, then found them sitting in your underwear drawer days later. You’d brushed it off each time, blaming it on an overworked, distracted brain.

But now, standing here with him filling the doorway, it struck you that this only ever seemed to happen after he’d been over. The disappearances coincided with his visits. The reappearances happened when you were alone. A cold, then hot, wave of understanding washed over you. Panties didn’t just—fucking phase in and out of the space-time continuum.

He’d been here yesterday. The black lace pair had been in the basket this morning. Now they weren’t.

“Probably just the laundry gnomes,” he joked, his tone forcibly light as he pushed off the frame. He didn’t meet your eyes, turning to walk back toward the living room. “Happens to the best of us.”

You stared after his retreating back, the strange little itch of suspicion blooming. Your mouth went dry. He wouldn’t. The thought was absurd, embarrassing, a dizzying leap off a cliff of your entire friendship. Keeho? Your best friend? The thought of him—taking them… why? What would he even…?

You finished loading the dryer with mechanical movements, your mind racing. You slammed the door a little too hard, the metallic bang too loud. You leaned your forehead against the warm, vibrating machine, closing your eyes. No. It’s too weird. But the evidence, circumstantial as it was…

You pushed the thought down and tried to forget about it.

The two of you ordered pizza for dinner, and then he left around ten, clapping you on the shoulder. “See you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah, sure,” you said, leaning in the doorway as he slipped his shoes on. He gave you a little salute and was gone, his smell of his cologne lingering in the entryway.

You cleaned up, the quiet of the apartment settling around you. It always felt a little too big when he wasn’t in it.

It was when you were in bed, scrolling through your phone, when a text notification lit up the screen.

Keeho: yo u awake

You: unfortunately. what’s up?

Keeho: look at these sneakers

A screenshot followed. It was a pair of obscenely expensive, limited-edition sneakers. You rolled your eyes, a smile gracing your lips.

You: kyo you do NOT need another pair omg ur closet is a damn shoe store atp

Keeho: but just look at them y/n theyre calling my name

You: theyre calling u a sucker. hard pass

Keeho: so mean. u wound me :(

You waited for the typical follow-up—a joking selfie of him pouting, maybe. The typing bubbles appeared, then disappeared, then appeared again. You settled back against your pillows.

Then, a new image loaded.

It wasn’t a selfie.

At least, not in the way you’d expected.

For one dizzying, heart-stopping second, your brain refused to process what you were seeing. The image was dimly lit, taken in Keeho’s bedroom. But the focal point was a pair of black lace panties—your black lace panties, you were sure of it—held between a set of straight, white teeth. Below that, a hand was wrapped around a thick, hard cock, mid-stroke. The phone was angled just enough that you could see the tip, glistening, and you could even see the faint dusting of hair leading down from his navel, the tendons standing out in the forearm you’d touched a hundred times.

It was Keeho.

The image vanished. ‘Keeho deleted a message.’

Your phone buzzed immediately.

Keeho: shit sorry

Keeho: i didnt mean to send that

You stared at the screen. Your palms were slick with sweat. Your heart was hammering against your ribs. The image was burned onto the back of your eyelids. His teeth on your panties. His hand on his cock.

You took a shuddering breath. Your fingers trembled as you typed.

You: its okay dw !! i didnt even see

A lie so blatant your throat felt blocked.

Keeho: thank fuck. that wouldve been so awkward lol

You: lmao yeah

Keeho: anyway. u were right. i probably wont get the sneakers. gn.

You: night :)

You dropped your phone onto the mattress, then lay there in the dark, your entire body buzzing, a deep, rolling heat pooling low in your stomach, spreading up your chest and into your cheeks instead of disgust.

He has my panties.

He was using them.

He was thinking of me.

The thoughts wouldn’t stop. Every touch, every look, every teasing comment over the past few months felt sudden and new. The friendly ass-slaps, the lingering touches, the way he’d nuzzle into your hair when he hugged you hello…

You didn’t sleep much.

The next day, you met up with Lily and Jiung at a noisy ramen place. Keeho was already there, saving a booth, waving you over with his usual, easy-looking grin. He looked perfectly normal.

“Hey, loser,” he said as you slid in next to him, his arm automatically going around the back of the booth behind your shoulders. His fingers stroked the nape of your neck, and you almost whimpered out loud.

“Hey,” you managed, hoping your voice didn’t sound as strained as it felt.

The lunch was a blur. You laughed at the right moments, added your own little anecdotes, but your attention was completely captured by the boy beside you. The heat of his thigh pressed against yours under the table. His knee bumping into yours when he got excited telling a story. Him stealing a piece of your chashu pork with his chopsticks, popping it into his mouth with a wink.

“You two are so gross,” Jiung snorted.

“Yeah,” Lily said, rolling her eyes. “Just date already.”

Keeho choked on his water. You froze.

“What? No way,” Keeho said, recovering with a laugh. He nudged you with his elbow. “She’s, like, my best friend, dude.”

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a laugh that sounded tinny to your own ears. “Disgusting.”

But when his leg pressed more firmly against yours under the table, you didn’t move away. You were hyper-aware of every glance, every casual touch. When he leaned over to look at something on your phone, his cheek almost brushing yours, you could smell his cologne again. It made your head swim.

He was stroking himself to the thought of you last night.

He drove you home afterward, the car filled with the low beat of his playlist. The silence wasn’t awkward, but it was thick and charged. You stared out the window, your mind replaying the image from last night on a loop.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft. “You’ve gone so quiet.”

“Just tired,” you said, glancing at him. His profile was sharp in the afternoon light. “Long week.”

“Yeah,” he said. He reached over and turned the music down a fraction. His hand lingered near the volume knob. “Listen, about last night…”

Your heart leapt into your throat. “What about it?”

“Just—sorry if I was weird. Sending random shit. You know me.” He gave you a sidelong smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was a nervous edge to it.

“It’s fine, Kyo. Really.” You looked back out the window. “I told you, I didn’t see anything.”

A beat of silence.

“Right,” he said quietly. “Of course.”

He pulled up to your apartment building. “See you later?”

“Yeah. Thanks for the ride.”

You got out, and he drove off. You stood on the curb for a moment, watching his car disappear around the corner. The air felt too still.

The next two weeks were torture.

It began with the touches. They were the same as they’d always been, weren’t they? But now, everything felt completely different. He came over on Tuesday, complaining about a sore shoulder from the gym.

“Here,” he’d said, flopping face-down on your living room rug. “Work your magic.”

You’d kneeled beside him, your hands on the firm muscle of his shoulder through his thin t-shirt. You’d done this a dozen times before. But now, your thumbs pressing into the knots, you were acutely aware of the heat of his skin, the way his breath hitched when you found a tight spot. Your fingers drifted lower, skimming the ridge of his spine. He let out a low, contented groan.

“Lower,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by the carpet.

Your heart stuttered. “Keeho…”

“My lower back is killing me, you prude.” He turned his head to the side, one eye peeking open, a lazy grin on his face. “Unless you’re scared.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled back intelligently, your voice tighter than you intended. You placed your palms flat against the small of his back, right where his sweats sat low. You could feel the defined muscles flexing under your touch. You kneaded there, trying to be clinical, but your mind was a traitorous thing, flashing the image of his hand in that same general area, but lower, gripping himself. You pulled your hands away immediately.

“All better,” you announced, too brightly.

He rolled over, looking up at you with those dark, knowing eyes. “Thanks, doc.” He sat up, his face suddenly close to yours. “You’re all flushed. That hard work for you?”

You swatted his arm and scrambled to your feet, muttering about getting water.

The following Saturday, you went to a packed, noisy bar. You were squeezed into a circular booth, Keeho’s entire side pressed firmly against yours from shoulder to thigh. The music was loud, forcing you to lean in to hear each other, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. Each time he spoke, his warm breath sent a shiver down your neck that had nothing to do with the volume of the bass. When you got up to go to the bathroom, his hand landed on the back of your thigh to help you slide out of the booth, and you felt your knees go a little weak.

You were going crazy. You’d catch yourself staring at his mouth, wondering what it would feel on yours. You’d watch his hands as he did something utterly mundane, and your stomach would clench. You replayed every interaction from the past year, searching for signs you’d missed. Was it ever even platonic?

One evening, he came over after his studio session and collapsed onto your sofa, his head in your lap without asking.

“My brain is mush,” he groaned, closing his eyes.

Your fingers automatically went to his hair, carding through the soft dyed-blond strands. You traced the shell of his ear, the line of his jaw. He nuzzled his face against your thigh, his nose pressing into the soft cotton of your sweats.

“You’re the best,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleepiness.

“I know,” you whispered.

He was asleep in minutes, his breathing deep and even, and you sat there in the dim light of the TV, your hand still in his hair, and let yourself want. You wanted him to wake up and look at you. You wanted him to admit it. You wanted to know what had happened in that deleted photo.

But the breaking point, as it turned out, was a mundane Tuesday movie night at Shota’s cramped, perpetually messy apartment. His couch was a deceptively small loveseat that could comfortably fit two and uncomfortably fit three. With seven of you there, it was a logistical nightmare.

“Okay, floor for the losers,” Shota declared, already claiming the prime spot in the center of the sofa. Jongseob, Theo, Jiung and Intak immediately flopped onto the large floor cushions, leaving the remaining couch space.

You moved to join them on the floor, but a warm hand closed around your wrist.

“Where you going?” Keeho’s voice was a low murmur, barely audible over the opening credits of the movie. He was already sitting on the far end of the couch, his long legs stretched out. He tugged gently. “There’s space.”

“There’s really not,” you whispered back, your skin burning where his fingers circled your wrist.

He just grinned and pulled harder. “Sure there is. C’mon.”

Before you could protest further, he guided you down—not onto the sliver of space beside him, but directly onto his lap. You yelped softly, bracing your hands on his shoulders as you settled sideways across his thighs. “Keeho!”

“Shhh,” he shushed, his arm snaking around your waist to anchor you firmly in place. His other hand came to rest casually on your outer thigh. “It’ll just be more cramped down there. This is more efficient.”

Theo side-eyed the both of you. “You two are so weird.”

You were frozen. The solid muscle of his thighs was beneath you. His arms were around your middle, his hand splayed possessively on your hip. His thumb began to move, a slow, absent-minded stroking motion against the thin fabric of your jeans, right on the sensitive dip of your waist. The movie started, the room dimming further, but you couldn’t have told anyone what it was about. Your entire focus had narrowed to Keeho and the teasing movements of his hands.

At first, it was subtle. His thumb tracing the seam of your jeans at your hip. His fingers flexing, pressing you more securely against him. You tried to relax, to pretend this was normal, just Keeho being Keeho. But then his hand on your thigh shifted. His fingertips began to draw lazy patterns on the denim, moving from the outside of your thigh inward, creeping higher with each pass.

You held your breath.

His touch was driving you crazy. It skirted the edge of your inner thigh, a hair’s breadth from where the denim grew taut between your legs. Each near-miss sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel the hard line of his own arousal pressed against your outer thigh, undeniable and firm through two layers of clothing. The knowledge of it, the proof of his desire mirrored in the tight ache blooming low in your own stomach, was almost too much to bear.

You squirmed, trying to adjust your position, to relieve the sudden, desperate pressure. The movement made you rub against him, and you felt him stiffen further, heard the sharp, quiet intake of breath near your ear. His arm tightened around your waist.

“Be still,” he murmured, his lips so close to your ear that you felt the whisper of his breath more than heard the words.

A tremor ran through you. You obeyed, going rigid in his lap. But his hand didn’t stop. It grew bolder. His palm flattened on your inner thigh, his fingers squeezing gently, a slow, rhythmic pressure that was somehow more intimate than any overt caress. His other hand, the one splayed on your hip, slipped under the hem of your sweater, his warm, calloused fingertips finding the bare skin of your stomach.

You gasped, the sound lost in a burst of movie soundtrack.

His touch was fire on your skin. His fingers stroked up your side, tracing the lower curve of your ribcage, his thumb brushing perilously close to the underwire of your bra. You were melting, a boneless, trembling mess held together only by the cage of his arms. Every rational thought screamed that your friends were right there, just feet away, oblivious. But you couldn’t resist playing this game.

You let your head fall back against his shoulder, surrendering, and felt the vibration of his hum of approval against your back. His nose nuzzled into the space behind your ear, and for one terrifying, thrilling second, you felt the wet heat of his tongue trace the shell of your ear.

You jerked, a full-body shiver wracking you.

On screen, a car chase exploded in a cacophony of noise. Intak laughed at something. In the cocoon of Keeho’s lap, his hand on your thigh inched higher, his fingers now applying a firm, circular pressure right at the junction of your thigh and hip, a direct line to the throbbing ache between your legs. You bit your lip to stifle a moan, your own hands gripping his forearms for balance, for something to ground you.

He was driving you insane. And he knew it. Every breath he took, every subtle shift of his hips to press himself more firmly against you. You were panting softly, your chest rising and falling rapidly, and you were certain he could feel it. The thin fabric of your clothes felt like an agonizing barrier. You wanted his hands everywhere. You wanted to turn in his lap and crush your mouth to his. You wanted to know if the reality of him felt as good as the fantasy that had haunted you since that deleted photo.

The movie’s climax came and went. The credits began to roll, the room brightening slightly with the white text on the dark screen.

“That was so mid,” Jongseob complained, stretching.

Keeho’s hands stilled. But they didn’t move away. He held you there as your friends started to get up and gather their things. His breathing was ragged against your neck.

“You good?” he asked softly, his voice rough.

You couldn’t speak. You just nodded, your head still resting on his shoulder.

It was only when Shota flicked the main lights on that Keeho’s arms loosened. He let you slide off his lap, his hands lingering on your waist until you were steady on your feet. You avoided looking at him, your face flaming. You couldn’t look at any of them. You mumbled a quick goodbye, grabbed your jacket, and practically fled the apartment.

You barely remembered the drive home. The night air did nothing to cool the fever in your blood. You replayed every second in his lap, every clandestine touch, every whispered breath. It was too much.

You needed to tip the scales.

As soon as you were home, a idea, reckless and terrifying, took full hold. You went to your room, your pulse fluttering in your throat. You sat on your bed, your MacBook open. You opened Photo Booth. The screen showed your reflection, eyes wide, lips parted just so. You adjusted the laptop, angling it on your desk, then leaned back on your elbow, arching your spine just so. You’d changed into a low-cut, soft cotton top, and you pulled the neckline down an inch, letting the swell of your cleavage become more pronounced. You stuck your ass out, the curve of it evident in your thin sleep shorts. You looked directly into the camera, and clicked the shutter.

The picture was perfect. It looked candid, like you’d been caught in a private moment. Your skin was bathed in the warm glow of your desk lamp, your eyes dark.

Your heart was a wild thing in your chest as you picked up your phone and took a picture of the image to send in a text to Keeho. You typed the words.

You: oops mb haha. it was an accident lol

You hit send, then immediately deleted it from the chat, the little ‘you deleted a message’ notification popping up.

You waited, every muscle tense.

The typing bubbles appeared. They stayed there for a full minute. Then, a new message.

Keeho: i saw that

Three words. That was all. But they carried a universe of meaning. You bit your lip.

You: yeah?

Keeho: yeah. u should be more careful

You: or what?

The pause this time was agonizing. You held your breath.

Keeho: or u might give a guy the wrong idea.

You: wdym

Keeho: you know what i mean. that wasnt an accident

The directness punched the air from your lungs. You curled your fingers into your comforter.

You: was yours?

His reply was almost instantaneous.

Keeho: mine was 100% an accident. you just wanna fuck w me

A soft whimper escaped you. You were playing with fire, and every nerve ending was singing with the heat.

You: frustrated?

Keeho: yeah. bc the pic is gone. and ur over there. and im over here.

You: what would you do if you were here?

The bubbles came and went. You imagined him deciding how far to go.

Keeho: i’d start with that neck. you have no idea what it does to me when you tilt ur head like that. i’d kiss right there. under ur jaw. i wanted to so badly today

You read the words, and your skin tingled where he described. You could almost feel the phantom press of his lips.

You: yeah?

Keeho: yeah. then i’d move to that top. i’d pull it down slowly. just enough. put my mouth on you. right where the lace of ur bra starts. i’d taste ur skin.

You were breathing faster now. You shifted on the bed, your thighs pressing together.

You: kyo

Keeho: what? you asked.

You: i know. keep going

There was another pause. Then, a new message, simpler.

Keeho: call me

Your thumb hovered over his contact. This was the point of no return. This was your best friend. The boy who stole your fries and laughed at your dumb jokes. And he wanted to—

You tapped the call button.

It rang once. Twice.

He picked up. You heard the soft rustle of fabric, a quiet, steady breath. No greeting.

“Hi,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Hey.” His voice was different. Lower, rougher around the edges. “So you’re gonna kill me, is that the plan?”

“Maybe.” You could hear the smile in your own voice.

“You’re in bed.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah.”

“What are you wearing?”

“The top from the picture. And shorts.”

He let out a slow breath. “Fuck. Okay. Are you comfortable?”

You cleared your throat. “I could be more comfortable.”

“Yeah? How?”

You almost hesitated, but the heat in between your legs overrode the fear. “My hand is on my stomach,” you murmured, doing just that. The cotton of your top was soft under your palm. “But it’s—it’s kind of hot in here.”

“Take it off,” he said, his voice gentle but firm.

Your fingers trembled as you pulled the soft fabric up and over your head, tossing it aside. The cooler air of your room kissed your skin. “Okay.”

“Good girl.” The praise, delivered in that low, intimate tone, sent a shiver straight to your core. “Now, the shorts. Take them off slow for me.”

You hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your sleep shorts and slid them down your legs. The sound of the fabric rustling seemed impossibly loud over the line. You kicked them off the bed.

“Done,” you breathed.

“Are you touching yourself yet?”

“No,” you said. “Not yet.”

“You should.” His words were teasing. “I am. Can’t get that picture out of my head. Fuck, Y/N.”

You heard a soft, slick sound from his end. Your eyes fluttered closed. You let your hand drift down your stomach, over the plane of your hip, and then lower. Your own fingers brushed through soft hair.

“Tell me,” you whispered.

“I’m thinking about that spot on your neck,” he said, his voice a little strained. “Under your jaw. I’d kiss there, yeah. Then I’d work my way down. Your collarbone. Use my teeth a little. But I’d take my time with your pretty tits, baby. I’d use my mouth on you until you were squirming.”

You gasped as your fingers finally made contact with your clit.

“You like that?” he asked, hearing your breath catch.

“Hn—yeah…”

“Yeah? What are you doing right now?”

“I’m… touching myself. Just a little.”

“Good. Keep going. Just like that.” He groaned softly, and you heard the unmistakable sound of his hand moving over his cock. It was wet, deliberate. “I wish it was my hand. I wish I was there to see your face. Are you wet?”

“Yes.”

“For me?”

The possessiveness in his question made your stomach clench. “Yes. For you.”

“Fuck, that’s good. That’s so good.” He let out a shaky laugh. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. Been thinking about you for ages.”

“The panties,” you breathed, your fingers moving a little faster. “You—did you take them?”

The sound on his end stopped for a second. “Yeah. I did.” His voice was thick with shame and arousal. “I’m sorry,” he breathed out, then— “Fuck it, I’m not sorry. I’d see them in your basket and I just—I had to have them. I’d take them home. I’d… use them. And—hah—then I’d wash them and bring them back the next time I came over, slip them into a clean load so you wouldn’t notice.” He swore under his breath, and the noises on his end got wetter. “Fucking pathetic, right?”

He was right. The image was depraved—but it turned you on beyond belief. “Which ones?” you managed to ask.

“The black lace. The red satin ones. The light blue cotton pair with the little bows.” He listed them off like a prayer. “My favorite is the black lace. I can smell you on them right—ngh—now, it’s driving me crazy.”

A moan tore from your throat. “Keeho…”

“Yeah?” he prompted. You heard the slick, deliberate sound of his hand moving again, faster. “Do you like that? Knowing I’ve been jerking off to the smell of you for months? That I’ve had my mouth on your panties while I pictured you just like this, all spread out and desperate in your bed?”

“Yes,” you whimpered, the word barely audible. Your hips lifted off the mattress.

“Tell me what you’re doing,” he commanded, but it was a playful command, a coaxing one. “Talk to me. I wanna hear it. I’m over here fucking my fist and thinking about your pussy. The least you can do is narrate, baby.”

“I’m—rubbing my clit,” you breathed, your voice shaking. “It’s so—hngh—sensitive. And—um, I’m thinking about your mouth.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, the sound strained. “I’d start right there, you know. Right on that little bud. I’d use my tongue, nice and slow at first, just to feel you jump. Then I’d suck. Just a little. You’d grab my hair, probably. You’d try to pull me closer, grind your pussy right against my face.”

Your hand finally slid down, two fingers slipping inside yourself with a soft, wet sound—a slick, squelching slurp that echoed through the quiet room, your arousal coating them instantly as you pumped in and out, the obscene rhythm growing louder with each thrust, your pussy so drenched it dripped around your knuckles.

“Shit, is that you?” he asked, his breath catching. “You fucking yourself now? For me?”

“For you,” you panted. “’m so wet, Keeho.”

“God, I wish I could taste it.” His voice was full of ragged want. “I’d make you come on my tongue first. I wouldn’t let you up for air until you did. You’d be shaking, and I’d just keep going, just to feel you clench around nothing. Then, when you were all soft and boneless, that’s when I’d slide into you.”

Thinking about it was pushing you to the brink. Your movements became frantic, your breathing shallow gasps. You were so close, a tight, bright coil of pleasure winding impossibly tight.

“I’m close,” you choked out. “Keeho, I’m so close.”

“Don’t stop,” he panted. “I’m right there with you, baby. Keep—hah—thinking about it. Think about me filling you up. Think about how fucking big I am, how you’d have to stretch to take me. Think about me holding your hips down and just—fuck—pounding into you, right in that sweet spot, over and over until you scream.”

“Oh—fu—”

It was enough to make your orgasm crash over you, your pussy clamping down hard on your fingers like a vice, waves of heat pulsing through your core. You cried out, a high moan spilling from your lips, your body arching off the bed as you rode the peak, slick sounds turning frantic and sloppy. Over the phone, Keeho's breath hitched sharply, turning into a groan, his strokes audible in the wet slap of his fist on his cock, faster now, desperate. He came with a shuddering gasp,

“Shit—baby,” his voice fracturing into heavy pants and low, rumbling hums as ropes of cum spilled over his hand, his hips bucking into the air. You could hear every hard inhale, every strained exhale.

“Well.” his voice broke the silence first, his tone returning to its familiar, teasing lilt, though it was still rough around the edges. “That was… definitely something”

A weak, breathless laugh escaped you. “Yeah.”

“You good?” he asked, and your heart squeezed.

“Yeah. I’m… good. Really good.” You were. Your body felt liquid and warm, humming with satisfaction. “You?”

“I’m fantastic. I’m also kinda freaking out, not gonna lie.” He let out a short, nervous chuckle. “Are—are you sure you’re not… mad? Or weirded out? About the panties thing? And, like, all of it?”

You thought about it for a second. The initial shock had melted away, replaced by this deep, spreading warmth. “No,” you said softly, with more certainty than you felt a minute ago. “I’m not mad. I’m—I don’t know, I’m feeling a lot of things right now. But definitely not mad.”

“Thank fuck.” The relief in his voice was palpable. “Because I think I might be in love with you? It’s, like, a whole thing I need to unpack, but the short version is I’m really, really into you. Like, ‘steal your underwear and jerk off to your pictures’ into you. Which, now that I say it out loud, sounds super creepy. Sorry.”

You smiled into the dark, muffling a giggle in your pillow. “It’s okay. I basically sent you a picture of my tits on purpose, so I think we might be sort of even on the creep scale.”

His laugh filled your ear, and it was the most normal, wonderful sound. “That’s true.” He paused. “Good. Alright, then.”

“Alright.”

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

“Okay.” He cleared his throat. “Go to sleep.”

“Mhm.”

“Dream of me.” And then, because it was just the most Keeho thing to do, he added, “Preferably of me going down on you, because I have some new ideas after hearing you come.”

“Goodnight, Keeho.”

“Night, baby.”

for my ari @ewstain whom I adore i hope u like it and pls dont shoot me for posting when ur asleep ok ily

© 2026 heedimples. this work belongs to @heedimples. do not repost, modify, translate or plagiarize it in any way on any platforms.

[nichobby]

belift count your fucking days #bring_heeseung_back #enhypen_is_7 #justiceforheeseung

[swiftjay23]

HE CAN DO A SOLO AND STILL IN THE GROUP WTF IS WRONG WITH THESE COMPANY!!!! ‼️‼️‼️EVERYONE REPOST!!!‼️‼️‼️ From engenes, Sometime ago Belift posted the official notice about heeseung leaving ENHYPEN on X, Heeseung also wrote a post on weverse showing his gratitude towards engenes and saying a final goodbye. From his post we understand he want to release his own solo songs. But that could be done even by being in the group, so many kpop groups have done this, millions of them. We feel Belift forced heeseung to leave the group as he wanted to produce his own music. They don't want any member having a solo career while being in the group for their own selfish reasons. Heeseung would never leave the group on his own seeing how much he loves engenes, he wrote songs like blossom, highway 1009 for engenes, these prove his love for us. Recently he has been seen looking very upset and depressed. I'm sure it's because of Belift. I request the engenes who live in Korea to find out the reality and once we are sure Belift did this then let's start sending protest trucks, boycotting belift and whatever we can to bring Heeseung back. If its found that is heeseung's own decision then let's support him!! What we have been told is just a cover story but we need to know the truth!! We deserve to know the truth!! Pls engenes let's support each other and contribute in any way we can to stop Belift and bring Heeseung back!! To: ENGENES & ENHYPEN #bring_heeseung_back #enhypen_is_7 #justice_for_heeseung

[yum-nyang]

(credit)

[lngshotty]

⌗ kwon ohyul - about damn time

summary; a party, a hallway and months of built-up tension. ohyul wants you, you want him. now it’s just a matter of who gives in first

warnings; friends to lovers, sort of. slow burn tension, teasing, bold and flirty comments. kissing, alcohol, party scene

wc; 4.3k

not proofread sorry

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

you’d always joke about how you somehow had fallen into a funny little friendship triangle with ryul and ohyul. ryul, your long time friend who’d you met years ago, had somehow roped you into his group and ever since, you’ve been an almost natural addition to the group. and ohyul, well yk ohyul is kinda hard to ignore.

there was something about him, almost like a magnetic pull. and by how he acts around you, he for sure feels that same energy towards you. it’s in the way his eyes linger a bit too long or how his body automatically moves closer to you when you’re around.

you knew it. he knew it. but neither of you ever crossed that line.. at least, not yet

it started with little things, his hand brushing yours as he reached for the snacks on the table. a laugh that lingered a beat too long when you teased him about something. sitting closer than necessary whenever you had a movie night with the group.

small things that seemed innocent for the outside world but that made the heat rise in your heart and chest.

he was sharp, playful and impossibly witty. your fav kind of trouble

༝༚༝༚

it’s friday night and just like every week it’s either staying in and watching movies with a table full of snacks and take out or you and your girls tag along to yet another random party one of ryul’s friends is throwing.

this week is no different, somewhere throughout the week you got the usual text from ryul asking you guys to join him and his boys to a party his homeboy invited him to. and even though your bed was calling your name, you obviously couldn’t pass up the chance to be close to ohyul. (and ryul ofc cmon we can’t forget about your bestie)

you dressing up, getting ready in the bathroom with your girls must be one of the best things in girlhood. dresses getting passed around, heels getting worn and almost immediately getting thrown off, because no way you were going to be walking around on high heels all night.

after at least 10 different outfits and many attempted hair styles, you girls were finally ready to go. and even though you don’t want to admit it, you definitely spent a little extra care.

by the time you got to the party, the house was already packed. there were people laughing, dancing and literally shouting over the music. the lights were low, those funky colored bulbs lighting up the room with that cozy atmosphere.

you could already feel the warmth of the people who had one too many drinks and the vibe was up and running, almost immediately after stepping through the door you got drinks pushed in your hands. a ‘welcome’ gesture from one of the hosts, who excitedly pushes you girls into the living room.

the energy of the party hit you immediately, you looked around the room, you spotted some familiar faces from other parties, a couple making out in the corner of the room and a very serious game of beer pong going on somewhere on the side.

but the moment your eyes caught his, everything else faded.

ohyul was leaning against the couch, talking to ryul, his posture relaxed, confident and effortless like always. but when his gaze met yours, something shifted slightly. even though he was in the middle of a conversation with ryul, his lips curved into the smallest smirk, just enough that you noticed

you smiled at him, but didn’t rush. you let your girls drag you to some other people first, your focus on whoever your friend was introducing you to, it was almost measured and natural, like he wasn’t secretly the only reason you were there

it was the sight of you laughing with other people, the easy confidence in the way you moved, the way you sway your hips slightly as you went for a new drink, the way you tilt your head whenever someone said something to you like you were giving someone just enough attention.

his eyes were following you and your every move. his gaze stayed on you longer than it should have, long enough to feel that familiar pull settle in low and steady, impossible to ignore

he didn’t move towards you, didn’t break composure. but his presence was almost magnetic. and you were very aware of his eyes on you. you could almost feel him staring from where you stood, your chest already tightening up by the thought of him

after a while ryul walked up to you and excitedly pushed you and your girls in the same direction as his friends, saying something along the lines of ‘enough small talk with strangers’,

your groups finally came together, drinks were handed around, jokes were being exchanged, laughter filled up the little corner of the room that you were all in.

it was natural and fun, the way it always was

you didn’t say anything when you stepped into their space. neither did he. his gaze held yours as you greeted some of his other friends, his mouth curving just slightly. not a full smile, but something quieter, almost restrained but still warm like he was letting himself have it.

and assoon as you made yourself comfortable. his attention settled in, steady and unmistakable

the room was loud, ryul almost impossibly louder lmao, people were pushing past, the music and dancing continued but the air between the two of you was tight, almost charged. you could feel the natural pull and so did he.

after a while, he shifted slightly, turning his body more towards you without making it too obvious. his eyes were still glued to you, he saw every glance you gave with that small smile, almost like you were letting him know that you noticed him

no words were spoken yet, also thanks to ryul who doesn’t know how to shut up, but the tension was undeniable. both of you were fully aware of each other, fully aware of the heat between you two.

the night had only just begun but the silent acknowledgment and warmth between you two, was already felt the second you laid eyes on the other

༝༚༝༚

a few drinks later, everyone was loosening up, dancing in the crowded room, laughing at someone’s funny story.

ohyul had a drink in his hand but his gaze hadn’t left you in minutes. he followed you as you laughed with ryul next to him, catching the way your eyes lit up even in the dim, colored lights.

your eyes almost naturally search for his every once in a while and when you looked back you found him already watching. he didn’t look away, didn’t even pretend.

you laughed softly, closing the distance just enough to let your fingers trail along his arm as you reached past him for your drink.

he caught it, ofcourse, every little touch, every little brush, intentional or not, it all went straight to him

he had been hovering near you ever since you joined his group. occasionally brushing past, lingering a moment too long near your shoulder.

you on the other hand, were intentionally slow, letting him watch as you got caught up in a talk with other friends, letting him know your presence but not fully giving into him yet

and when you finally turned back towards him, his eyes were still there, unwavering.

“you’re staring again” you said casually, one corner of your mouth lifting

he gave a small, sly smirk, leaning just a little bit closer; “i can’t help it. you look.. pretty tonight”

you raised an eyebrow, playful; “nhm is that how you look at someone who looks.. just pretty?”

he laughed softly, trying to hide the effect you had on him; “dangerously pretty, almost like i shouldn’t get too close”

you tilted your head, a small smile on your face as you brushed your hand across his chest in the most casual way you could manage; “and yet you’re still standing here”

he looked at you, your eyes glinting with mischief, he swallowed, tens but still holding his relaxed gaze; “maybe i like standing here”

you smiled that smile he loved way too much; “i’m sure you do”

you moved a little closer, just a bit but enough to let yourself in his space. he shifted slightly, but didn’t move away.

at some point, you found yourself in the kitchen with ryul to get new drinks. and as you wandered out of the kitchen with that same easy confidence, ohyul’s eyes automatically followed your moving body, not casually but with purpose.

the moment you stepped back into your spot, he was there. closing the space between you with a little more intention now. his movements easy and certain, his hands found your sides just briefly as he closed you in, the high table at your back leaving no room to pretend this was accidental.

“another drink?” he asked, his voice low, that familiar tone he had whenever he spoke to you

“yeah” you murmured, trying not to notice how close he was, his chest radiating literal heat with the small space between the two of you

he leaned in slightly, you felt his warmth against you as his mouth came to your ear; “where’s my drink?”

you glanced up at him, a small controlled smile on your face; “mhm i didn’t know you wanted one”

he stepped even closer as you took another sip of your drink, he mirrored your smile, mischief and that familiar glimmer in his eyes. his presence was steady, confident, that kind of closeness that many would say was a bit too much for just ‘friends’

and before you could react, his hand came up over yours, pulling your glass up to his mouth, taking a sip without breaking eye contact with you

you didn’t pull away, you shifted slightly, just enough to let him step closer, so your pressed against his chest a little more now, and he adjusted naturally.

one of his hands slid up to your waist, steadying himself there, like it belonged there. you didn’t stop him, a small smile on your face, almost unbothered, before you turned around again. your focus back on your other friends

you let him hold you, he let you lean into him. both letting the tension hang in the air.

“you’ve got a way of moving yk” he murmured, voice low and husky, just enough for you to hear; “like you want me to notice you”

you tilted your head, pretending to be focused on your drink, that same smile creeping back on your face, slightly shifting in his hold; “maybe i do” you said softly, but surely

his hand slid up and down your side, lingering into your waist. not possessive, but controlled, the heat of his touch and the closeness of his body made it very clear how much he wanted you

he let out a satisfied grin, his body pressing against yours, leaning down slightly, his lips brushing near your ear. “i’m sure you do” he murmured

and for a moment, you let it happen. the crowded party, the music, the laughter- all of it faded in the background. the heat of the room wrapping around you like a private bubble.

every touch, every glance, every brush of his hands on your skin held a heat and spark neither of you wanted to break

༝༚༝༚

after some time, lots of dancing and a few rounds of beerpong later, some of you decided it was time for some fresh air. you stepped outside with the others, the door swung shut behind you, automatically muting the music inside

the cold air of the night hit you immediately. a lot cooler than you expected and sharp enough to make you pause in your steps for a mini second.

you exhaled slowly, as the chatter and excitement outside picked back up.

someone laughed, another one complained about the cold, someone else said something about needing another drink

ryul and his group were standing a few feet away, ohyul looked relaxed as ever, shoulders loose, hands tucked casually in his pockets. he looked like the cold did not affect him at all, in comparison to you. and when his eyes land on you, they stayed there.

you stumbled after your friends, who dragged you towards ryul and the others. folding your arms loosely over your chest

“wow” ryul called out, grinning as he noticed you were rubbing your arms; “you’re freezing already?”

you shrugged lightly, a tiny pout on your lips; “it’s colder than i thought”

a couple of your girls chimed in immediately, a “told you to bring a jacket” and a “i told you we should stay inside” were thrown at you as you laughed at them

you sighed out loud as you stepped closer to the boys. the cold creeping up to you fully now, sharp enough to make you step your feet in your spot a little.

ryul laughs at you as he nodded towards ohyul with exaggerated expressions; “well?”

“well what?” ohyul asked, shifting his weight a little

ryul grinned, his eyes flickering between you and ohyul, clearly entertained; “you just gonna let her freeze?”

there was a beat of silence in which ohyul doesn’t answer

you could tell his brain was working overtime, he was clearly reading the scene in his usual way but his posture was softened by the alcohol, a little more easily caught by what was happening.

his eyes were heavy lidded, dazed in the best way. his gaze locked on you longer than it should have been

and after a split second his hand comes up, his fingers catching your wrist, smooth and confident, pulling you closer towards him

in that same motion, his arm slid around your waist and pulled you back against him, firm and steady like it was the most natural thing to do

your breath caught for a second as his other hand followed, settling at your side. a little higher this time. his palm was warm and steady, his thumb resting right under your ribs.

you could feel the way he leaned closer towards you from behind. no rush. no questions.

“better?” he asked quietly, close to your ear. you could feel the grin in his voice

you leaned back into him without thinking, shoulders relaxed as you let his warmth take over you; “much” you murmered

“oh!” one of your friends said, laughing softly; “okay then”

ryul grinned, clearly enjoying this as another friend said; “he didn’t even give her a chance to argue”

ohyul’s grip tightened slightly, not possessive, just confident. his hand shifted at your waist, fingers spreading a little more and firmly like he was claiming the space underneath.

he low, satisfied chuckle left his lips. a small laugh, amused and pleased in the same breath. he didn’t even look up as he spoke; “she didn’t need one”

that earned a few reactions- quiet laughs, a soft whistle and some amused raised eyebrows

ohyul didn’t move when the attention landed on the two of you. if anything, he seemed more at ease, arm settling around your waist like it had always belonged there.

someone laughed softly from behind you; “so are you two together or are we just watching this happen in real time?”

ryul glanced between the two of you, grinning

you felt ohyul’s chest lift slightly behind you. not tense but just aware. he didn’t answer right away nor did you

“you’ve been glued together all night” another friend points out which earned a chuckle from ryul;

“well that’s nothing new for me”

before you could say anything, one of the guys laughed; “i mean, if it’s just about staying warm, i’m available too” opening his arms as an invitation

it was meant as a joke, everyone knew it

ohyul reacted without even looking at him. his hand adjusted at your waist, firmer now, closer as he steadied you. even when he was tipsy, his movements were deliberate. his presence unmistakable as he angled you more against him.

ryul snorted; “i think she’s covered”

you laughed, looking at ryul who was shaking his head in amusement.

the teasing lingered a little, but ohyul couldn’t care less. he let the moment sink in.

“you good?” he asked after a while, quietly, low, close enough for only you to hear.

you only hummed in response, tilting your head just slightly to glance at him over your shoulder. with a slight shift, you leaned back into him, pressing closer to let him feel every inch of the space you were taking

ohyul grinned to himself and a few friends snickered again.

ryul laughed as he gave you both one last look before he chugged the rest of his drink; “you’re being very obvious”

you felt him chuckle behind you, low and almost careless, but there was something certain in the sound. he leaned down slightly, his breath brushed the side of your neck, warm and faintly and you shivered slightly before he moved

then, just enough to make your pulse hitch, he leaned into you a little more. his lips grazing the curve of your neck in a slow, almost feather like kiss.

not urgent, not pushing, not claiming. just testing, letting you feel him there

you could sense the effect of his drinks, the way his usual calm, confident composure softened, his movements a little slower and more daring than usual.

his hands stayed steady at your waist, guiding you without pressure but his lips whispered against your skin like a question, leaving the answer entirely up to you

a hum came from him as you tilted your head just slightly. letting him hover over the line of your neck, teasing the moment without breaking it.

it was so small, so careful, but the tension between you two tightened like a knot.

you leaned back, letting your head rest against his shoulder.

“okay!” ryul called out grinning; “we’re definitely interrupting.. something”

he laughed again as he patted ohyul on his back, letting out a quick; “i’ll get us new drinks” before he disappeared in the house again

ohyul didn’t look at him. his attention was fully on you. his hands were steady, his movements controlled by both his needs and the alcohol.

even when you shifted slightly in his arms, he adjusted without hesitation, keeping you right where you were.

you had no idea how much time passed when somewhere behind you, muffled music grew louder again as someone opened the door. he glanced back once, his gaze shifted for a brief second towards the noise, then returned back to you, his hands still resting on your side, as if he wasn’t ready to let the moment slip

“i should go check on ryul” he said finally, low, more as a statement to convince himself rather than you

you nodded; “i’ll stay out for a bit”

his thumb brushed once more at your side, subtle but intentional before he released you. letting his arms slip away from your figure.

he smiled down at you with that familiar grin; “don’t get too cold now” he murmered, voice low. teasing but warm

“i won’t” you chuckled, glancing up at him

he stepped back a few steps, his eyes lingering on you for a second longer than necessary before turning towards the door completely.

right as he stepped inside, he looked over his shoulder, a small smirk on his lips as he saw you still looking at him.

you watched him disappear back into the noise and light of the party inside

your girls immediately closed in on you, giggling and grinning widely at what just happened

༝༚༝༚

by the time you and your girls came back inside, the living room was crowded again. music still blasting through the speakers, people still singing and dancing.

but the party definitely shifted into something softer and looser.

you and your girls hung out with some other people you’ve met at other parties before. some small talk and shared laughter about stories that were being told.

the atmosphere was more chill now. the alcohol in your system definitely worked its magic and you could feel yourself getting more and more comfortable in the still buzzing house.

more drinks being handed around, stories being picked back up like no time has passed

after a while, and yet another small round of talks, you could feel your legs getting a bit sore and tired from all the dancing and standing, even though you weren’t wearing your heels (thank god)

and you clearly weren’t the only one as one of your girls dramatically dropped herself on a chair somewhere close by

after yet another moment your eyes drifted to the big couch on the side of the room. accompanied by ryul and his group.

ohyul was already seated on the couch when you noticed him again in his usual relaxed manner, one arm stretched along the backrest of the couch.

he didn’t stare, he didn’t wave you over, he just watched you approach. his eyes following you in that quiet, unhurried but definitely yearning way that made it feel a little too intentional

there wasn’t much space left, someone was sprawled across one end, definitely having had one too many drinks. some people were cozied up leaning into each other, their knees overlapping while they were in the midst of what seemed like a very interesting conversation

“well” one of your girls joked as she took the last free spot on the loveseat, letting out a big satisfied sigh; “guess you’re standing babe”

ryul smirked to himself, his gaze turning from you to ohyul who was seated next to him, like he already knew where this was going.

you smiled, more to yourself than to anyone else, as you accepted a new drink that was pushed into your hand.

you took a sip as your eyes met ohyul’s. he looked up at you without saying anything, his gaze holding yours a little longer than necessary, which was becoming a habit at this point

a small hint of a smile on his face was enough for you to turn slightly, lowering yourself down to sit on the armrest of the couch. your legs turned to the other side, your back towards him.

you immersed yourself in a new conversation with your friend, who was now very comfortably spread out on the loveseat, not really giving anyone else any thought.

a giggle left your lips every every once in a while, your voice was soft but he could clearly hear you even with the music still playing. he was trying to pay attention to whatever ryul and the boys were telling him but his ears and eyes drifted back to you every time

you were just talking about this new project you were working on, completely leaning into your conversation, your laughter spilling naturally.

then- just as you were mid sentence, he shifted slightly behind you. his hand moving quiet but with confidence as he brought it up until it rested on your lap.

not tight, not even urgent or pushing, just enough

a subtle weight, letting you feel him and more importantly him feeling you without interrupting your actual moment.

his thumb traced a line along the side of your thigh, slow and careful, watching your reaction. you didn’t stop talking and you also didn’t look down. you just shifted slightly in your spot and his hand followed naturally, adjusting to you.

he stayed still behind you at first, his hand remaining on your lap, relaxed but intentional, his fingers moving just enough to remind you that it was there

you grinned to yourself as you noticed how the drinks loosened him up to a point he wasn’t even trying to hide whatever he was doing anymore. he was bolder, much bolder than he’d been before, but still not careless

if anything, he seemed more certain, aware of what he was doing

you finished your drink eventually, your glass light in your hand as you straightened your back a little and without thinking much of it, you leaned forward to stand up

the second you moved, his hand slid away, lingering for a second longer before it completely dropped to the armrest again

you stepped forward to place your now empty glass on the side table, smoothing your clothes as if nothing had changed.

except, you could feel his eyes on you the entire time

and ofcourse ryul noticed it too. he glanced between the two of you, his mouth twitching; “you finally going to admit it or..?”

“admit what?” ohyul echoed, like ryul was the one being obvious

ryul scoffed, shaking his head with an amused grin; “that you’re into her”

ohyul let out a quiet laugh, more breath than sound, eyes flicking back to you before turning to ryul; “you talk too much when you’re drinking”

“that’s not a no” ryul shot back; “just saying- took you long enough”

ohyul leaned back slightly, lifting a brow as his lips curled up like he’s been holding it in all night; “mind your business” he said easily, a smug smile sneaking up on his face once more, clearly entertained

ryul raised his hands in surrender, still smiling as he saw you approaching them again; “alright alright message received”

ryul got up, dramatically bowing to you, his arms gesturing you to sit on the now empty space like a butler showing you your reserved seat.

you laughed, smacking his arm playfully

ryul mirrored your laugh; “don’t leave him hanging too long- he’s been patient”

you rolled your eyes; “patience is a virtue” you said, tilting your head with a smirk

ryul chuckled, shaking his head; “i’m sure it is” and with that he turned back and walked off, leaving you with him

you didn’t immediately sit down next to him, instead you turned to your friend, chatting her up quietly, as you went to get her a glass of water to make sure she was drinking her portion

you let ohyul sit a little longer, watching, his gaze heavy but still patient

when you came back, glass in one hand, you didn’t move to him right away, again..

“hey” his voice cut through the low murmer of the people, deep and steady, carrying an edge that made your stomach clench a little; “come here”

you glanced at him, a sly smile tugging at your lips, and he motioned with one hand, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that almost made you pause mid step

there wasn’t really any question in his tone, no hesitation and he wasn’t asking to begin with

you walked over slowly before you sat down next to him

“stop running off” he murmered, his hand immediately brushing against your side, sliding down to your hip, his thumb pressing in slow, bold circles

“running off from what” you teased, tilting your head, keeping your voice ligjt but daring

“running from me” he said easily, but there was a tension behind his words that made it clear he wasn’t holding back anymore

“why? what’s with you?” you said, smirking, leaning just slightly into his side, letting him feel your weight, like you’re letting him know that you’re aware and enjoying yourself

his hand moved with purpose, one sliding behind your neck, fingers threading into your hair, pulling your hair back just enough to expose the side of your throat.

the other pressed firm on your thigh, his fingertips teasing the seam of your skirt, gripping just enough to make his point clear

his lips brushed your ear, soft ar first, then tracing a slow path along your jaw line, each movement leaving a warmth and spark in its place

“you’re actually impossible” he murmered against your skin, his voice rougher now, almost desperate

you chuckled softly, tilting your head a little more, letting him take you in, teasing right back; “i’m impossible?”

“yes” he said, lips grazing the skin of your neck, his thumb tracing circles on your thigh; “and you’re driving me insane”

a shiver ran through you, and you tilted your head back into him, letting the moment linger for a second longer; “okay then, …let’s go” you said playful, rising from the couch, expecting him to just follow

and ofcourse he didn’t hesitate.

his hand was immediately on your waist, pressing you flush against him, guiding you down the hall

you turned around in his hold

his lips hovered close, almost brushing yours and his hands were hungry. gripping, teasing, steady but definitely (finally) claiming

you reached a quiet corner, and he immediately pressed you against the wall, hand sliding back behind your neck, the other gripping your hip firmly

his lips were at your ear again, teasing, brushing over the skin, warm and soft, and you could almost feel his desperation

“no running anymore tonight” he murmered, his voice strained with need; “not from me”

you tilted your head, smirking, letting the tension build, teasing him in return; “mhm and what if i do?”

he pressed forward, an almost disbelieving chuckle coming from him. his one hand slightly tugging at your hair; “then i’d have to make you stop”

“is that so?” you murmered, letting your fingers graze his arm, watching the way his jaw tightened, and how his eyes darkened

he didn’t bother anymore and pressed his lips to yours, finally closing the space he’d been holding off for so long.

he moved on impulse but still careful, every motion screamed impatience, all his restraint gone. letting the kiss speak for everything he’s been holding in, like he was claiming your lips with the patience that’s been worn thin from wanting you all night

you responded immediately, hands flying up to his hair, pressing your body into his, matching his boldness and letting the kiss deepen.

his hands roamed your body, desperate to feel you close to him. sliding over your skin, just enough to test the boundaries

and even through the heat of the moment, he murmured against your lips, teasing and still desperate; “i’ve waited long enough”

you laughed into the kiss, lips still moving in an almost perfect synchrony with his, your hands threading into his hair, pulling him almost impossible closer

for a long moment, the hallway seemed to have disappeared, the party forgotten.

time slowed, the world shrinking to the space between you two

no voices, no funky disco lights, just you and him, his hands, his lips and the way he pressed you flush against him, like he’s never going to let go.

and somewhere down the hall, ryul passed by and shook his head, a quiet, approving grin on his face, the kind that said; about damn time

mlist ツ

[stllmnstr]

echoes - part one.

pairing: yang jungwon x f reader

genre: royalty au, soulmate au, fantasy elements, friends to lovers, angst

part one word count: 15.4k

warnings: jealousy, copious amounts of yearning, complicated family dynamics, swearing, magic and prophecies and other fantasy elements, arranged marriage, mild depictions of injuries, minor character death

soundtrack: echoes - enhypen / no way back - enhypen ft. So!YoON! / ivy - taylor swift / too much is never enough - florence & the machine / if only - raveena / die 4 u - dean

note: I am splitting this into two parts, because post block limit got me once again. It's alright though! You get to enjoy this now and look forward to the rest of the story soon. It's nearly all finished and will be posted within the next few days. For now, this is part one. I hope you enjoyyyyyy

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

In a kingdom marred by instability and unrest, a prophecy is made. Your bloodline - common, ordinary, unremarkable as it may be - will bring peace to the nation and ensure the long-lasting success of the royal family. As such, your elder sister has been in an arranged engagement with Jungwon, the crown prince, since before either of you could walk.

But despite the prophecy, people continue to suffer. The kingdom continues to decline. Cracks continue to form. And when time eventually reveals that you, not her, have a strange, supernatural connection to the prince, everything begins to change.

or, every word you say is on repeat. every thought of you is bittersweet.  

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

The palace gardens are most stunning at sunset. Bordering the eastern gate of the royal pavilion, the grounds are extensive. Flowers in full bloom, winding labyrinths, crystal blue ponds that nearby ducklings make a habit of visiting. 

There's a serenity here. One that becomes especially prominent as the last rays of sunlight begin to die on the horizon. The roses face the light, too. As if they want to kiss the day goodbye.

Wordlessly, you run a gentle finger over a stem, careful to avoid the thorns. It’s quiet. The only sounds that reach your ears are the gentle flow of a nearby stream and soft calls of birds in the trees above. 

One, a blue jay, captures your attention as it flits between branches. Captivated, you watch as it jumps to a different tree. Dipping its beak as if to assess its new landing spot. It doesn’t stay in one place long. Restless, you think. Itching for something new. Or perhaps craving the comfort of familiarity. It’s difficult to tell.

You inhale sharply at the prick of pain that suddenly radiates from your fingertip. In your absentmindedness, you threw caution to the wind. Retracting your hand from the rose stem, you’re met with a tiny drop of ruby red blood.  

At least, you consider, life here hasn’t yet been able to strip you of your ability to feel. Even if it is pain. And surface level, at that.

Letting your fingers drop to your side, the singular drop of blood rolls to the tip of your finger, hesitating for a moment before falling to the ground below.

Swallowed up by grass and dirt and earth. Now forever a minuscule, insignificant part of the palace around it.

Again, you turn your gaze to the sky. The trees that line it.

The blue jay tests one last branch before it inevitably decides it’s had enough. With one final assessment of the garden, it spreads its wings. And then, with little fanfare, flies in the direction of the sunset.

You watch until it becomes nothing but a blip. A blur of motion on the horizon. 

It’s long gone by the time the last rays of light vanish at the edge of the earth. 

The garden isn't dark, not entirely. The lanterns and torches that intermittently line the perimeter make it easy enough to find your path, as long as you know your way around. 

But they are a bit more conducive to stealth, to concealing things that don’t want to be found. Avoiding the most well lit paths, you let quiet, expert steps carry you through the winding labyrinth until you arrive at the stables. 

The palace horses have been fed and groomed for the night. You know. You’ve memorized the stable boy’s routine. And found that even on the nights he strays from it, is quite willing to turn a blind eye under the correct circumstances. 

Just like you’ve memorized which horses are less predisposed to whinny when taken out for the evening.

Just like you’ve memorized which palace gates are less heavily patrolled. What time the guards switch shifts. Which ones take longest to station themselves into position.

The palace is a well-oiled machine. But even the most streamlined systems have their flaws, their cracks. The best part about being someone of little consequence within the palace walls is that you have ample time to find them. 

As long as you’re present and accounted for on the rare occasion your presence is required, no one notices if you slip through the gates most nights. No one cares if the dark circles beneath your eyes become a bit more prominent every harvest season. 

No one keeps track of your unusually high number of trips to the tailor’s assistant for all of the strange tears and rips you always seem to have in your clothes. 

Closing in on the stable, you wrap a silent hand around the handle. The door creaks, ever so slightly, when you open it. Despite the fact that you know there are no patrols in this area this time of evening, you can't help the way your heartbeat picks up speed anyway. 

You close the door behind you, just as quietly as you opened it. Taking quick, measured steps, you approach your favorite horse’s stall. 

Rounding the corner, your brow furrows in confusion when you find it empty. Glancing around in worry, it takes your eyes a moment to land on the tiny, folded piece of paper wedged between the stall door and the wall. 

With steady hands, you pull it free. Unfolding the paper, you bring it close to your eyes in the dim light. 

It’s a letter, you realize, once you open the paper fully. From the stable boy. You’d recognize Sunghoon’s rather neat handwriting anywhere. 

Sorry, it reads. 

Blossom’s front left hoof was bothering her, so she’ll be in the western stable until the vet has a chance to assess her. Maeum’s in the fourth stall from the door. He’s not quite as quiet as Blossom, but he’s fast and wicked smart. Have him back by dawn. 

And at the bottom lies one final instruction. 

Burn this letter. 

Sighing, you read the message once more. Twice. It’s hardly ideal. You and Blossom have come to know one another like the back of your hand, but you suppose you’ll have to make due. You tuck the letter into the pocket of your dark, fitted jacket, fingers brushing against the small stack of papers already there. 

And then you look up again, silently counting four stalls from the door. 

Approaching slowly, you pull the door open as quietly as you can, doing your best not to startle Maeum. 

And you know he’s only trying to help, but one glance at the stallion in front of you has you wondering what the hell Sunghoon is thinking. 

Blossom was built for stealth. With a midnight black coat and the softest whinny you’ve ever heard, she always knew when you needed her to be quiet. The perfect trait for late night, unauthorized rendezvous from the most secure place in the kingdom. 

Maeum, however, is white. Startlingly so. And the second you have the stall door open enough to reveal yourself, he whinnies at you. Loudly. 

“Shhhhh,” you whisper, eyes widening in panic. You hold your open palms towards him, hoping he’ll understand the sign that you’re not a threat. “It’s okay.”

It takes him a minute. With large, intelligent eyes that seem almost a bit too cognizant, Maeum takes a moment to assess you. Finally, with one final, and thankfully much quieter, sigh, he acquiesces, tilting his neck towards you. 

Reaching forward, you stroke his mane in a long, gentle rhythm. 

“It’s okay,” you assure once again. “What do you say, Maeum? Are you up for an adventure?”

It sounds ridiculous to think it, much less say it, but you swear something sparkles in his eyes at your question. In either case, he lets you saddle him without so much as a peep of protest. 

And when you climb up onto the saddle, he gives only one experimental stomp before settling into stillness. Acceptance, you think. 

Turning his reigns towards the eastern gate, you check the position of the moon just beginning to rise in the sky. It’s late. Nearly time for the next guard shift switch. 

Perfect, you think. 

And without so much as a glance back, you and Maeum are off into the night. 

…..

“What the hell is that?” Jaeyun is whispering, albeit rather harshly, despite the fact that this hilltop is isolated. WIth the city stretching far beneath you, there’s no one else around for miles. 

Sliding off of Maeum’s back, you gently pull him a few steps forward before offering an apple from the bag at your waist. 

“A horse.” You don’t even bother to look in Jaeyun’s direction. You already know what you’ll find if you do. With a friendship that spans nearly ten years, his expressions have become second nature to predict. 

“Yes, thank you very much.” His voice drips with sarcasm. “I can see that it’s a horse. Why is it white?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “Something to do with recessive genes, probably.”

“Are you trying to get spotted? A coat that bright practically screams ‘I’m from the palace.’”

“Blossom was out of commission,” you explain. Finally turning to face your friend, you add, “Sunghoon said one of her hooves is hurting. She’ll have to see the vet.”

“And this was the next best option?” Jaeyun eyes your substitute horse warily. “He’s so… pristine. I mean, seriously. If you told me he was the prince’s horse, I wouldn’t even question it.”

The sudden mention of the prince has you curious. Does he have a horse? You suppose he must, but the thought of him doing anything other than attending strategy meetings and making carefully curated appearances with your sister at his side is almost unimaginable. 

Shaking the prince from your thoughts, you argue, “It’s not like Blossom’s exactly shabby.” 

“No, but she is far less conspicuous.”

“I still managed to get out, didn’t I?”

“Please.” He rolls his eyes. “Palace security is lax these days.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one putting it to the test every night.”

Jaeyun’s lips part like he wants to say something else, like he wants to keep the banter going, but then he looks at you. Really looks. 

Takes in the deep shadows beneath your eyes. The exhaustion that has your shoulder slumping forward, words losing their bite around the edges. The work the two of you do is taxing in nature, but few people ever feel the strain as acutely as you do. 

At this point, you’re practically living a double life. 

During the day, you’re the younger sister to the future heir of the throne. It’s true that you’re largely left alone. While she attends dress fittings and lessons in etiquette, you’re left to your own devices. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t still appearances to maintain. Expectations to meet. Like it or not, you’re still a product, a belonging of the palace. You’re expected to maintain a smile and respond appropriately when spoken to. It’s a shallow life, yes, but draining in its own right. 

And with the wedding date creeping closer and closer, you’re doing your best to provide support to your older sister. Even if the distance between the two of you only ever seems to widen. 

And then there are the nights. While Mina and the rest of the palace are asleep, you’re usually out on an errand like this. Meeting Jaeyun on a remote hilltop with a fresh stack of secrets to trade. 

Because no matter how picture perfect life in the palace appears from the outside, there are cracks in every surface. Pressure points in every household. 

Much like you, there are plenty of people inside the palace walls who don’t come from money or nobility. They’re cogs in the machine. Their existence, their purpose, is to serve the crown. 

Like Sunghoon, the stable boy. And Sunoo, one of the groundskeeper’s assistants. Jay, who works in the kitchens, and Riki, the tailor’s apprentice. 

Despite the roles and the palace they’ve sworn to serve, they have identities outside of their titles, just like you. They have family and friends and people they love that live outside the palace walls. Who suffer from the hunger and unrest and turmoil the royals could easily mitigate if they had any interests outside of themselves and their firm grip on power. 

It’s how you ended up in the palace in the first place. Power. Or, at least, the illusion of it. 

Sixteen long years ago, three years after you were born, the royal seer became gravely ill. It wasn’t all too devastating, considering that for several years, the royal family had stopped relying on prophecy and started relying on military power to maintain their control of the land. 

But it was considered bad luck to lose a seer, and considering that the old woman had no children or family to carry on her legacy, the king became nervous. Ancient myths of crumbling kingdoms and vanishing wealth after the death of a seer began to haunt him. 

With a young son of his own, the only heir to the throne, the king was determined to protect his family at all costs. 

He visited the seer, as she lay in her deathbed. And he begged her for one final vision. One last prophecy that would ensure the longevity of his reign, the safety of his family. 

Barely cognizant, the seer used the last of her remaining power to reach through the veil and foretell one final prophecy. 

The king’s son, now just past his fourth birthday, would live a long, prosperous life. He would succeed the throne on his twenty-first birthday with little difficulty. He would enjoy a stable reign with absolute power and adoration from the kingdom at large. 

But there was one condition. He must marry first. His queen would not come from nobility. She would bear no wealth, have no resources that the royal family could possibly benefit from. Instead, she would have a connection to the prince. One born of ancient magic, one that supersedes mortal understanding and wisdom. 

She would be the daughter of a blacksmith, the seer told him. He would find her before the end of a fortnight. With flowers in her hair and the ability to tell him his son’s, the prince’s name without ever hearing it. After all, it was customary to wait until a royal child’s fifth birthday before publicly announcing their name. 

The king begged for more information. The kingdom was vast, and blacksmiths were as abundant as trees. But the seer has used the last of her energy. Her heart had stopped beating. And his pleas fell on unhearing ears. 

Still, it unfolded just as she foretold. 

And your life was swept out from beneath your feet when you were three years old. 

The memories are faint, hazy around the edges. It happened so long ago, and you were so very young. But you do remember playing with Mina near the river. Finding flowers to weave in each other’s hair. A man, scary and strange, approaching you both. 

He asked only one question. 

“What is my son’s name?”

As children, Mina was always the braver between the two of you. There was no fear in her eyes when she looked at the king and whispered.

“Jungwon.”

The king had only wanted her. But your parents, struggling to keep their daughters fed and cared for, begged him to take you as well. In a rare stroke of kindness or perhaps just impatience, he agreed. 

You were raised in the palace, parallel to your sister but never quite touching. After all, she was a miracle. A beacon. A prophecy come to life. 

You were nothing but extra baggage. An unextraordinary and damningly unimportant presence that faded into the castle walls as easily as moonlight on a dying day. 

You didn’t hate the palace. People there didn’t waste their kindness on you, but they weren’t cruel. You had everything you could ever need, and every month, you were allowed to leave the palace walls with your sister and a chaperone to visit home. 

For ten long years, your life proceeded in similar strokes. You studied. You played. You wandered. You felt moments of joy learning to ride a horse for the first time and swim in the lake without sinking. You felt the icy grip of loneliness, of isolation. Of being left in the dust as your sister began to take on more and more of her role as the future queen. 

In the dead of one particularly brutal winter, you learned to knit. Your monthly visit to your parents was approaching soon, and you thought your mother might like a warm pair of mittens. Thought your father might appreciate a new scarf. One without holes and the faint scent of dust and metal that always lingered no matter how many times it was washed. 

When you, your sister, and your chaperone finally set out, snow piling around you as you peered through the carriage window, dread was already gathering in your stomach. You weren’t sure why, but something was wrong. You could feel it, deep in your bones.

The closer you came to your parent’s home, the stronger the feeling became. By the time your feet dragged up to the doorstep, nausea was rolling so hard in your stomach you thought you might actually be sick. 

What greeted you inside was no remedy for illness. 

It was the cold, they told you. Frostbite. Weakened immune systems. While you had been huddling behind blankets and fire hearths inside the palace, your parents froze to death. 

You were thirteen, Mina fourteen. 

You didn’t want to hate the palace, the nobility, the royal family. Even then, you understood how inextricably you were bound to them. How much of your fate rested between the fingers of their iron grip. 

But the strongest thing you felt that day wasn’t sorrow or loss or even despair. 

It was hatred. Burning, deep, fiery hatred. 

You hated the way they told you these kinds of things were common in winter. The way the king didn’t look the slightest bit surprised to hear the news. The way the death of a commoner was as revolutionary as sunset, as predictable as sunrise. 

Jaeyun had lost his parents too, that very same winter. Only he didn’t have a palace to return to. Just the same four walls that the only family he ever had passed away in. 

The mittens meant for your mother were too big on his hands, but they were still warm. And that was enough. Combined with your shared sorrow, shared tragedy, shared hatred, it was enough to build a friendship. A resistance. 

Even now, thinking back, you only remember one person in the palace bothering to check on you. To ask how you were. 

Hidden in the depths of the library, you had been searching for something to distract yourself. Something to numb the pain of losing both parents in a single day. 

The voice that came behind you was careful, quiet. “I heard about what happened.”

Started, you whipped around with wide eyes, book of fables falling from your fingers and landing with a dull thud by your feet. 

Across from you, scant feet away, stood your sister’s betrothed. The prince. Jungwon. 

You gave him no response, brows furrowing. 

“I’m sorry,” he continued. “You must be devastated.” He was only one year your senior, but the gap between you felt larger. You had been educated, yes, but not in the manner of princes. He used words you didn’t fully understand and spoke with the gentle grace of a scholar you’d never be. 

“I…” You trailed off. It was hard for the initial shock to wear off. In the last ten years, you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve been in the same room as the prince. You’re not sure if he’s ever spoken to you directly before. But even in your grief, you remembered some of your propriety. Your curtsey wasn’t nearly deep enough, but the prince was kind enough to let your misstep slide. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

His lips dipped at the edges. “Please, ___. You don’t have to call me that. Just Jungwon is fine.”

But even then, in your adolescent brain, it felt wrong. He was a prince. The future heir to the country. And you were nothing but a blip. One prophecy and a stroke of luck away from dying alone in a freezing house with no one to mourn you. 

You didn’t want there to be any familiarity, any common ground between you and the prince. It was all an illusion, anyway. The two of you would never share anything but a connection through your older sister, a girl he never would have looked at twice under different circumstances. 

“Thank you, Your Highness,” you repeated, voice guarded, “for your condolences.” 

Something had flickered in the crown prince’s eyes then. Disappointment, contempt, you couldn't quite be sure. 

In the end, it didn’t matter. Quiet as the stray cats you sometimes crossed paths with in the stable, he had only turned and left the same way he came.

Now, years later, sitting on a hilltop with Jaeyun, you can only wonder if the prince remembers that short-lived conversation, too. If he revels in his palace comforts or finds them rather stifling. If he’s excited for his upcoming wedding or dreads it with every fiber of his being. 

If he has any idea that the sister of his betrothed who refuses to call him anything but his title, along with several members of the palace staff beneath his nose, engage regularly in treason. 

Pulling Sunghoon’s note, along with a stack of others, from your pocket, you turn to your friend. “Enough about horses. I have a new round of reports.” 

“Anything of note?”

“Not particularly.” You shake your head. “Jay says the kitchen is operating normally, although a few spices have been difficult to come by these days. Potential disruptions to trade routes on the western border, maybe.” 

“That could be.” Jaeyun frowns. “I’ve been hearing about some recent skirmishes up in that area. What about Riki? That old tailor he works for is an awful gossip.”

“Usually, yes,” you agree, “but these days he’s quite consumed with a certain white gown.” The flatness in your voice is difficult to miss. 

Jaeyun pauses, eyes scanning you warily. Finally, he ventures, “How is that going? I mean, it’s pretty soon right, the wedding? How are you feeling about things?”

“It’s proceeding normally,” you tell him, ignoring the last part of his question.

“Right,” he doubles down. “And you?”

“Don’t do that.” You shake your head. “I’m fine. Besides, it doesn’t matter.” 

He looks like he has more to say, but you’re pressing forward before he can question you further. “Sunoo had an interesting report, actually. It looks like crop yields may be down this season. They’re being stingy with the plans for the new fields.”

“That’s odd,” Jake frowns. “The weather’s been pristine. Ideal for cultivation.”

You give him a meaningful glance. “It must not be the weather, then.”

“Skirmishes on the western border, lower crop yields even though the last census still shows significant population growth.” He pauses for a moment, considering. “It’s strange.” 

“It’s suspicious,” you amend. “Everyone’s convinced that a wedding and a new king will make things better, but the royals are doing what they’ve always done. They’re hiding things. Overexaggerating peace reports. Underreporting crimes. They’re building an illusion. Trying to create a population that trusts them blindly.” You shake your head. “It’s not a coincidence.” 

“Maybe,” Jaeyun considers. But he’s always been more optimistic than you. “But border skirmishes are nothing new. And low spice and crop production doesn’t automatically mean anything bad. Maybe they’re planning to relocate some of the fields. There were rumors about more arable land down south, too, remember? And who knows, maybe that old seer was right. Maybe this wedding will lead to a long period of peace.”

There aren’t many people who you’ve shared the truth with. Even now, saying the word prophecy makes you feel like a fool. 

You scoff. “Don’t tell me you believe in magic.”

“Why not? Jaeyun shrugs. “I’ll believe in what I can. People here have suffered. Food shortages. Increased crime.” He pauses for a moment, gaze on the horizon. “Long winters. If believing in magic means better days are coming, then I’ll take it.”

You shake your head. “Believing in something doesn’t make it real.”

“Doesn’t it?” he counters. “Believing in something is the only thing that makes it real.” 

To that, you have nothing to say. You wish you could agree, that blind faith could guide you somewhere worth being. But time and trial and error have taught you to only believe in tangible things. 

Things you can wrap your fingers around. Hold between your own two hands. 

Looking down at the city from the top of the hill, it’s easy to believe that nothing there is real. That this world is made only of you and Jaeyun and his optimistic dreams for a better future. 

The silence extends comfortably before he breaks it, gaze against the side of your face. 

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Jaeyun speaks softly, carefully, as if trying to soften his words. “I don’t mean this in a bad way, but you just look… tired.” 

“Yeah, well, never sleeping will do that to a girl.”

Jaeyun isn’t so easily convinced. “You’re sure that’s all it is? You haven’t been having more of those… visions?”

You sigh. “No, but –”

“But?”

“They’re not visions,” you correct. “Not exactly. I don’t see images, or anything. It’s just… feelings.”

“Feelings?” Jaeyun presses. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “Like intuition, almost. Sometimes it’s this overwhelming urge that I’m in the right place or the idea I have is true even though I don’t have any real evidence. But sometimes, it’s the opposite. Like everything is wrong and my body wants to fight it.”

He frowns. Extends his arm as if he wants to wrap it around your shoulders where he sits next to you. Drops it back to his side as he thinks better of it. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It is. It’s like using an entirely different part of my brain. Overusing it. Until it’s sore and aching and I can’t think straight. And sometimes… never mind.” You trail off, shaking your head. It sounds too ridiculous to say out loud. 

“What?” Jaeyun urges. He won’t let it go so easily. 

You sigh. “Sometimes, I have these thoughts. But they don’t… they don’t feel like mine. I mean, they’re in my brain, in my mind, but they feel like they’re coming from somewhere else. Like it’s someone else’s voice.”

His brow furrows. “Have you told anyone? Seen a healer or anything?”

“And then what?” you scoff. “Have them tell the king that the future queen’s sister has gone insane? Is a liability to the crown and should be locked away for the wellbeing of the kingdom? Yeah, right.”

“Still,” he insists. “It sounds like there could be something else going on.”

You shake your head. “I’m sure I’m just tired. All these nights were bound to catch up to me eventually. I’ll sleep more the next few days, and I’m sure it will all be fine. Everything will go back to normal.”

“Okay,” he finally agrees, even if you can tell he doesn’t want to. Doesn’t quite believe you. “But I want you to tell me if it doesn’t change or if it gets worse. You know you can talk to me about these things too, ___. It doesn’t always have to be border skirmishes and crop yield reports.”

Despite yourself, you can’t help the way your heart swells a bit with fondness. “I know,” you nod. “Thank you, Jaeyun. You know, you’re my only real friend.”

“Well, now that’s just sad.” But his grin is stretching ear to ear. Even when you land a slightly too hard punch right on his solar plexus. 

And a handful of hours later, tucked into a bed that’s never quite felt like yours, sleep begins to tug at the edges of your consciousness. 

Despite your exhaustion, rest doesn’t come easy. Especially when that familiar, unpleasant feeling starts to build in your bones. It starts in the pit of your stomach, a deep discomfort. A distinct feeling of wrongness. Of being misplaced. Not belonging. 

It radiates through your limbs, over your skin, screams in your mind until you feel it everywhere, from the erratic beat of your heart to the very tips of your fingers. 

Until finally, finally, exhaustion outweighs the sensation. 

Still, when you fall asleep, it’s with a singular phrase looping through your mind on repeat. Like the mutterings of someone out of their mind. Like a demented chant you can’t escape from. 

Not her. Not her. Not her. Not her. Not her. Not her. 

Not her. 

…..

One of your favorite perks of being someone of little consequence within the palace walls is that your mornings are mostly undisturbed. Other than the illicit errands of your own making, that is. 

Often, the meager hours of sleep you manage to find are here, extending late into the morning as sunlight streams through your window in increasingly long slants. 

Dawn had nearly broken the horizon by the time Maeum was tucked safely back into his stable. Usually, the sun is allowed to creep across the sky for hours before anyone is in need of you. 

Tucked away in the small but pleasant room you’d been given once you were old enough to require very little supervision, you sleep. It’s a wing of the palace rarely touched by anyone other than an occasional palace maid. 

Your window is small, but the west-facing orientation makes the sun dance beautifully across your few belongings and gives you a rather stunning view of the palace grounds. 

Most mornings, it’s the birds that wake you. Or the general chatter of a day in a motion. 

Increasingly, it’s been a feeling in your gut, the same one you tried explaining to Jaeyun last night. A voice in your head that you’re sure doesn't belong to you. 

Rarely, if ever, is it a knock on your door. Especially not one that thuds heavy and harsh against the quiet stillness of mid-morning. 

Startled from slumber only a handful of hours after finding it, the knock comes again. This time, even louder than before. It pounds in a way that rattles your door and has a deep sense of unease surging through your stomach. 

“One moment,” you call, but your voice is weak as you search for a robe to throw over your night clothes. Your hands are frantic, shaking, as the pounding starts again. 

Finally, you locate your plain, deep burgundy robe. Shrugging it over your shoulders, you wrap it around your body. Hardly daring to draw a breath, you take small, light steps to the door. 

With no peephole, dread gathers deep in your body as you turn the lock, slowly opening your bedroom door. 

Across from you stands a man. Fist raised to land another round of knocks, you’re sure, but his position is also perfect for delivering blows. Despite yourself, you flinch. 

At the sight of you, he drops his arm. The tension in his posture, the tight set of his shoulders, remain. 

“Miss ___.” His voice is as tense as he is. There’s no question in his voice. He knows who you are. 

Dressed in simple, utilitarian garments, you assess him for any hint of his position. Well acquainted with the inner workings of the palace, you know what the people who serve it wear. 

This man puzzles you. There’s no kingdom sigil over his heart to mark him a guard, no silver cuff links to identify him as a healer. Just loosely fitted, nondescript dark clothing. Not entirely dissimilar from what you wear on your nighttime errands. Built for stealth. 

“I am her,” you nod. Your gaze becomes more narrow in its assessment the more dead ends you run into. “May I ask what this inquiry is about?”

He spares little fanfare. “You’ve been summoned, Miss.”

“Summoned?” you echo. Immediately, your mind jumps to terrible conclusions. You’ve been noticed. You’ve been seen. You’ve been caught. 

Forcing a steady breath, you reel in your thoughts. Panic isn’t logical. The most likely reason for your summoning is surely something to do with your sister. Perhaps she’s requested your presence for some flippant reason. Perhaps she’s come down with a head cold and craves the nostalgia of a once familiar presence. 

Still, your heart won’t rest entirely until your question is answered. “May I ask by whom?”

The man just looks at you for a moment, eyes revealing nothing but a faint trace of distrust. “Come with me, Miss.”

His words ring with finality. Brow furrowing, you feel your heart lurch somewhere near your throat. Surely they wouldn’t be so vague if it was merely something concerning your sister. 

But you also know better than to argue with a summoning in the palace. Especially from a man whose uniform likely hides at least a dagger, if not a weapon of more lethal consequence. 

Shifting slightly, you confirm the location of your own small, metal blade. Tucked away between your innermost layer of clothing and the warmth of your inner thigh, it sits snug to your skin. Even clothed in nothing but a nightdress and your rather flimsy dressing gown, even in slumber, it remains. 

Forcing away the waver that threatens your voice, you agree, “I’ll just take a moment to dress and—”

The man shakes his head. “We’ll go now.”

Any last semblance of calm is shaken from your system. You’re barely dressed. Your hair is an unkempt mess around your shoulders. 

It’s improprietous to walk around the castle like this. It’s scandalous. 

You falter for a moment, confusion and fear marring your features. But the man remains stoic, insistent in his unrelenting posture. 

“Very well,” you nod. Your voice is small as you cling to your last threads of composure. 

Your bedroom door closes behind you with a quiet click. You can’t bring yourself to spare a backward glance, nor can you shake the deep growing sense of unease,  as you fall into step just behind the man’s shoulder. 

At the very least, he doesn’t seem interested in parading you in a state of undress around the castle. With the quick, practiced steps of someone well-versed in stealth, he leads you silently through winding corridors and back passages. 

Just who is this man? Only an expert could lead you so wholly undetected through the winding maze of palace passageways. 

Even you, with your wealth of knowledge, are having a hard time keeping up as you try to commit your path to memory. 

Eyes tracing over the man’s back, your mind spins through plausible explanations. Eventually, you land on two. 

Either resistance forces have fully infiltrated the castle or your illicit activities have been discovered. The thought sends a shiver down your spine. 

You’re not sure what they would do, if they discovered your role in the network of resistors actively working against the crown. 

Scenarios have crossed your mind on sleepless nights. Perhaps you’d be brought in front of the king. Made to answer for your crimes and tortured to reveal the names of others doing the same. Perhaps you wouldn’t have to speak at all. Considered an enemy and a traitor to the king, maybe you’d just be executed without trial.

You wonder what would happen. If your sister would still be wed to the prince. Or if your treachery would be dire enough to overrule even something as sacred as prophecy. 

Footsteps never faltering, you suppose it’s not worth mulling over now. You’ll know soon enough. The man who you follow now is either a friend or a foe. 

And in either case, he’s leading you somewhere. To something. Perhaps someone. 

Whatever your fate is, it doesn’t rest on a messenger’s shoulders. 

You reach the end of another impossibly long, dimly lit passage. The man in front of you stops so suddenly you nearly walk straight into his back. 

Startled, your eyes widen as he turns to you. 

He pauses a moment, something almost apologetic in his gaze. “I’m sorry, Miss, but I’m afraid I’ll have to conceal your sight from here.” 

Reaching into his pocket, he reveals a nondescript black scrap of fabric. It’s frayed at the edges, just slightly. A makeshift blindfold. 

“I’m not permitted to see?” This time, you can’t quite contain the tremble in your voice. You work in dying daylight, yes, but the thought of losing your vision frightens you more than you care to admit. 

The man only shakes his head. 

Taking a deep breath, you nod. As if he needs your permission to secure the fabric over your eyes, tying the ends into a firm knot against the crown of your head. 

With a surprisingly gentle grip, he places your hand against the crook of his elbow. And then you’re walking again. 

At first, you try to remember your steps. 

Straight. Approximately seventy paces. A left turn, followed rapidly by a right. 

But the longer minutes continue to pass, the more unsure you become. Was it a right turn followed by a left? Or two right turns in a row? 

Your mind begins to falter, unsure of itself. Unease increases steadily.

Surely if this were the work of the resistance, blindfolding you would be unnecessary. You would need to learn this path, find your way back to their stronghold independently. 

You refuse to panic. You’re alone with nothing but a dagger strapped to your thigh. With every step, it begins to feel more and more like a wooden sword. A table knife. 

You think of your sister. Of Sunghoon and the others. 

Of Jaeyun. 

You never got to say goodbye. 

The arm beneath your hold pauses, steadies the both of you. You hear hinges protesting as a door opens. And then you're going down. 

Down, down, down an endless set of steps. So far that you’re sure you must be walking yourself straight to the deepest castle dungeons. 

Minutes pass, or maybe hours. It’s difficult to tell, in this blanket of darkness. 

Until suddenly, you’re on flat ground again. The man’s voice, still curt, instructs, “You may remove your blindfold.”

Pushing the fabric upwards, it doesn’t take your eyes long to adjust. 

The lighting is dim here, but far warmer than you’d expect so deep beneath the ground. Glancing around, you find yourself in the center of a small chamber. Seats, full of cushions and fine fabrics, line the spaces where you expected to find prison cells. 

There’s a carpet on the ground. One embroidered by expert hands, if the detail work is anything to go by. Paintings on the walls. Landscapes, primarily. Scenes from flowing rivers and dense forests and wide, open fields blossoming in the springtime. 

There are maps, too. Of the kingdom and its neighbors. Some that center the castle and others that extend far beyond it. You could easily locate your childhood home if given a few seconds to concentrate .Several are marked with ink. Scribbles, lines, symbols you don’t recognize but wish you had a chance to study. 

And in front of you, at the head of the room, in a chair that is no throne but bleeds authority all the same, sits the crown prince Yang Jungwon. 

Immediately, you drop into a curtsey. Even under the strangest of circumstances, it would seem that old habits die hard. 

“Your Highness,” you breathe, gaze trained on the floor as your heart hammers against your ribcage. 

When the prince speaks, it’s not to you. “Good heavens, Heeseung, did you drag the girl out of bed?”

Remembering your current state of dress, heat gathers in your cheeks. You’re suddenly grateful for your position that obscures your face from view. Although you rather wish the ground would just swallow you whole. 

“You said it was an urgent matter,” the man, Heeseung, explains. “That no time was to be wasted.”

“I didn’t…” The prince’s words trail to a sigh. “Please, Miss ____,” he addresses you. “Stand.”

Rising to full height, your eyes make slow work of trailing the ground in front of you, flickering over the carpet beneath your feet without really seeing any of it, continuing forwards until your head stands straight on your shoulders, eyes landing square on the kingdom’s only son. Your sister’s betrothed. 

For a moment, he just looks back at you, lips slightly parted. 

You suppose the prince is handsome, in an untouchable sort of way. Your sister has always spoken highly of his looks, and you can’t fault her for it. 

Dark hair kisses his cheekbones, frames delicate, almost feline features. His skin is smooth, unblemished. High angles and sharp lines and the prominent, traceable slope of his nose, his jaw, his neck. 

The prince wears a lithe frame, coiled in muscle won from function, from use. Long afternoons on horseback, refining skills in archery and swordsmanship. 

And his eyes. God, his eyes. Sharp and distinguished. Burdened with the knowledge of a scholar and diplomacy of a politician. Assessing, searching, reflecting the few sources of light in this chamber like they’re made of stolen stars. 

Deep beneath the castle, time holds little meaning. But you know it can’t be much later than noon. Suddenly, you’re struck with the strangest urge to see him in sunlight. Watch it dance over his royal features with favor. 

Across from you, the prince does the same. He assesses you, silent as his eyes find new places to land. You’re not sure what he’s looking for. What he finds. But eventually, you grow tired of the impasse. 

“Forgive me, Your Highness, for speaking out of turn.” The prince takes the slight with nothing more than an arched eyebrow. “But if I may, I would like to know the meaning behind this… visit.”

“You’re bold, Miss ____.” It’s the second time he’s said your name, and it rattles something deep inside you. “First you steal a man’s horse and then you speak out of turn to beg him for answers.”

There’s no trace of malice in his voice, but your blood runs cold all the same. 

“Forgive me,” you repeat, chest tightening, “but I’m not sure I understand—”

“Allow me to be plain, then.” he interrupts. “Let us establish a common truth first. Last night, approximately five bell chimes after the midnight hour, you left the castle grounds.”

Panic claws at your throat. “Your Highness, I—”

The prince won’t hear your excuses. “All I require is a simple true or false.”

There’s no use lying. He knows. He knows. 

Rocks forming in the pit of your stomach, you whisper, “True.”

“Excellent,” he levels, voice betraying nothing. “We’ve established one truth, then. Now, for our second. When you fled, you did so on horseback.”

The white horse. That damn white horse. You want to laugh at the irony, at the terrible absurdity of it all. Jaeyun said it himself: 

“If you told me he was the prince’s horse, I wouldn’t even question it.”

Now, all you can do is stand as dread gathers in your gut. Was this all some sort of elaborate scheme? Was the note from Sunghoon falsely planted? Is Sunghoon a palace spy?

Your mind is whirring. Against every nerve in your body screaming in protest, you whisper, “True.”

“Right. This horse, he’s kept in the eastern stable, near the gardens. Responds to the name Maeum.”

“True, Your Highness.”

“I suppose you may not have known,” the prince pauses, “but Maeum is my horse. He was a gift, actually, for my sixteenth birthday.”

The words are tumbling out before you can stop them, “Forgive me your highness, please.” Dropping to your knees, you plead for your life, “I meant no disrespect to you or your stables. It was foolish, I know, but I was craving a bit of fresh air, and Maeum seemed to be the horse with the best temperament. I had no idea he belonged to Your Highness. If I had, I would have never—”

“Fresh air?” The prince’s voice is controlled, but something simmers beneath it. As if he knows something you don’t. “Is that how it’s referred to these days?”

“I mean no disrespect, Your Highness. The air inside castle grounds is of course excellent, as well—”

“I am not concerned about air quality but rather your excuse itself.” The prince leans forward, eyes narrowing. “Unless fresh air suddenly refers to trading insider secrets about crop production and diplomatic peace reports, then I’m afraid I find your explanation rather lacking.”

No.

No.

No no no no no no.

He knows. The crown prince knows. You’re not sure how much, but it's enough. It’s treason. It’s a death sentence.

This chamber may not look like a prison, but you're suddenly confronted with the reality that you very likely won’t make it out of here alive.

“Please, I—” Begging for your life feels useless. “Please, my sister. She has nothing to do with this, I swear.”

A crease forms between his eyebrows. “I’m not… your sister has no place in this conversation.”

Oh, thank the heavens. If nothing else, at least you can rest knowing your sister won’t be punished for your crimes. “Thank you, Your Grace, for your mercy. I know my life holds little value, but I swear to you that if you spare me, I—”

“You misunderstand. Please, Miss ___. Lift your head.”

You remain on your knees, but you know better than to ignore a prince’s command. Dragging your head up, you lift your eyes until your chin is parallel to the floor.

Looking you directly in the eye, he says, a bit softer, “I’m not going to kill you.”

Confusion, relief have you forgetting propriety. “You’re not?”

The prince shakes his head. “What you’ve done is treason, yes, but I find that things are rarely that simple.”

He takes a slow breath. “You’ve lived in the castle since you were a child. You are no fool. You know the expectations and the rules. And the consequences of breaking them. So it begs the question, Miss ___. Why?”

“Why?” You echo.

“Why you risk your life multiple times a day, gathering intelligence, obtaining secrets, passing along parcels of information. I imagine it’s not for lack of entertainment. From my understanding, most palace ladies of your age enjoy hobbies such as painting, embroidery, and the occasional dance lesson.”

“I’ve never been much of a painter.”

“Regarless,” the prince shakes his head, “your painting skills do little to change the fact that outside the castle walls, food rations continue to shrink. Failing diplomatic policies are leading to unrest with our neighbors. Disruptions in trade that people rely on for their livelihood.”

It takes a good deal of effort to keep your mouth from dropping open in shock. Never once have you heard even the slightest whisper of a royal caring what happens outside the palaCe walls. “I wasn’t aware that the strain had reached all the way to Your Highness.”

“It hasn’t.” He shakes his head. “Not directly. Our tables are full. Our finery well stocked. But a good king looks beyond his castle, does he not?”

Here, you must tread carefully. “I won’t pretend to know the burden of ruling. But goodness is subjective. It seems a king would have many other considerations to make.”

“Perhaps some do,” he agrees. “But only a fool with a crown considers himself before his people.”

Matching his eye, you say, “This kingdom will be lucky, then, to have a ruler who holds them in such high esteem.”

“I hope so,” the prince nods. Pausing for a moment, he continues, “My wedding is to be held at the end of the month. And my coronation shortly thereafter. I know it sounds strange given my position, but there are things, whispers, rumors, that I believe you are far more well versed in than I. I would appreciate any… guidance you could provide me. At least until then.”

“Guidance?” You echo. 

The prince nods. “Which systems are failing, which  people are feeling the strain the most. Which royal decrees have a favorable impact outside the castle grounds and which do not. This sort of thing.”

For a moment, it’s difficult not to doubt your own ears. It’s ridiculous, all things considered. “Are you saying…?”

“That I want your assistance in committing crimes against the crown? Yes, I suppose I am.” Across from you, the prince sighs. “This kingdom has been allowed to run at the mercy and whim of its rulers for too long. People are suffering. Relations are collapsing. My birth, my reign, they’re meant to bring peace. Prosperity. I’ve warred and struggled with myself, and I’ve always come to the same conclusion. Can it really be called treason if done for the betterment of the kingdom? Can it really be called allegiance if done solely for a king?”

For a moment, silence stuns you. And then—

“I wouldn’t dare to speak my thoughts on kings in front of Your Highness.”

“Why not?” He’s looking at you now. Really looking. “Because it’s improprietous? Because it’s treason? I was under the impression that you’re rather well acquainted with both already.”

Your lips remain fully sealed. 

“Very well,” the prince acquiesces. “I won’t push any further. The man who escorted you, his name is Heeseung.” A glance around the chamber reveals that sometime during your conversation, Heeseung has made himself scarce. It’s just you and the prince. Glancing over your state of dress, a faint flush rises on his cheeks. “I apologize for his… imprudence earlier. He works as a scribe in the royal archives. You can pass information along to him. Or to me, of course, although I may at times be a bit more difficult to find.” 

He has it all figured out, your arrangement. But you’re still hung up on one crucial piece of information. One you find thus far to be rather lacking. 

“How do I know I can trust you?”

The prince pauses for a moment, considering. Eventually, he says, “I suppose you don’t. But isn’t trust a bit superfluous? I don’t mean to speak too bluntly, but I don’t believe you’re operating under any illusions. If I truly wished it, you’d be dead.”

You won’t give in so easily. “I trust that you want me alive for the time being. That is not what I inquire. How do I know that our views are aligned, that any information I may pass along will be used in a way I also see fit? How can trust be… superfluous, when it’s what builds empires, what crumbles them?”

For a moment, your prince does nothing but look at you. His expression is guarded as he weighs his words carefully. 

A moment passes. Another. An all too familiar feeling of nausea begins to roll in your gut. 

You try your best not to let the sudden urge to be sick affect you, but you can’t quite suppress the wince that crosses your features.

 And then, as if he’s whispering it directly into your ear, you hear, “A leap of faith, then. It will have to be. And in time, I’ll hope to earn just a fraction of your trust.”

It’s the voice. The one that's been haunting your dreams. Your waking visions. The source of your migraines, the interruptions to your intuition. 

And in front of you, the prince’s lips remain shut.

Still, you ask, “What?”

He sighs, and this time with his own mouth, tells you, “I am your prince. Soon to be your king. Fortune may not be a fair thing, but it has decided for the both of us that your trust belongs to me. I hope to use it well.”

You have a million questions. A thousand unfinished thoughts. But no matter what voices speak in your mind, he is right about at least one thing.

He is your prince. He will be your king. He holds your, your sister’s, and an entire kingdom’s lives in his hands. 

And this, you realize, is an order. 

Ignoring the tremble in your legs, you once again stand to full height. And immediately drop into the deepest curtsey you can manage. “Very well, Your Highness.”

…..

Despite it all, life proceeds with an almost uncanny sense of normalcy. You begin your morning the day after meeting with the prince in the same way you always do. With a visit to the castle kitchens.

Jay is expecting you. An apron tied around his waist, and a small plate of fresh fruits he slides across the counter towards you, he speaks in hushed tones while he dices vegetables for tonight’s supper. 

“Potatoes,” he whispers. To anyone else, it would look like a simple meeting between friends. 

Your brow furrows. “What of them?”

Jay nods to the cutting board currently beneath his hands. “It’s the fourth evening in a row we’re serving them.”

You frown. “Is that strange? They’re a hearty vegetable, and they grow in abundance this time of year.”

“Right,” Jay nods. “But the king grows restless if served the same dish more than once within a fortnight. The last head chef was demoted to kitchen help less than a year ago for a much less egregious repetition.”

“What does that mean? Low crop production?” You speculate. 

“Perhaps,” Jay agrees. “It could also be trade issues. More valuable crops being used to barter for other necessities.”

It’s confusing. Just yesterday, the prince told you that the royal kitchens were still well stocked. The royal family was still eating well. 

“Is this a recent development?” You ask. 

“Fairly.” Without ever pausing his cutting, Jay adds, “The choice of potatoes is also interesting within itself. Nutritionally, they’re quite dense. It’s much easier to create a full, hearty meal, or at least the illusion of one, than it is with other vegetables."

“I’ll speak with Sunoo,” you nod. “He mentioned last time that the plans for new fields are quite conservative this year. I wonder if low overall production, or at least low variety, has anything to do with it.” 

Taking a bite of the apple slices he prepared for you, you add, “Thank you, Jay. Take care of yourself.”

At that, he does pause. Setting the knife down, he looks up at you for a moment. “You too, ___. Be careful.”

You smile, easy and bright. “I always am.”

The straight set to Jay’s lips doesn’t budge. “I mean it, ___. Things are… strange these days. I know how valuable your information is, but you need to look out for yourself too.”

You frown at the sudden urgency in his voice. “I know, Jay. I will. I think people are just on edge with the upcoming wedding and coronation. Transitions in a kingdom are always a bit unnerving. Especially since Mina’s just… well, you know.” You shrug. “We’re certainly not royalty.”

“Could have fooled me.” Jay grins, but the tension in his shoulders doesn’t quite disappear fully. “Look at you, sitting like a lady, eating my apples.” 

You roll your eyes, taking another bite with an exaggerated crunch. 

“Right. Well, this lady has a groundskeeper to visit.”

“I won’t keep you, then.”

“Thank you, Jay,” you tell him, standing up from the counter. “For the apples and the… conversation. I’ll see you again soon.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

Making your way back through the corridors, his words play back in your mind. First, you wrestle with the idea of poor crop production. It’s strange, but you won’t know anything for sure until you have a chance to speak with Sunoo. 

Tucking that away for later, your mind spins through some of Jay’s other claims. 

Lady. Despite the childhood you’ve spent in the castle, you’ve never really considered yourself such. You and Mina were brought here as children, but the distinction was always clear. The separation was always made. 

The only reason you were behind these walls instead of outside of them was because of a prophecy. One you were far too young to understand. 

Even if you had been older, it’s not as if you had the chance to hear it from the seer’s mouth yourself. Instead, it had been divulged to you in the one direct conversation you’ve ever had with your king. 

That night, so many years ago the memory is beginning to blur around the edges, the king of your nation told you and your sister in plain words that the two of you were to come to the castle. To live there. 

That in due time, your sister would marry his son, the prince. Even now, you remember how he spat the words like venom, as if they tasted bitter on his tongue.

The world could never know, he said. Prophecies were a fickle thing, and the less people to know, the better. To the kingdom’s knowledge, you two would be the daughters of his late wife’s dear friend from a distant kingdom. Children whose parents had been lost to senseless violence. 

Not royal, not noble, but at least somewhat respectable members of society instead of the daughters of an impoverished blacksmith. A symbol of the king’s graciousness and goodwill. 

You would be trained, of course, in the manners of court. How to sit, how to speak, how to walk. The bulk of this particular attention had always gone to Mina, the future bride of his son, but you were not exempt entirely.

Looking down at your hands now, you wonder, not for the first time, where the truth begins and ends. Your hands are well versed in embroidery, in poetry, in penmanship. 

But they’re also rough, full of callouses from you illicit nightly errands on horseback. 

Are you a lady? You’re not really sure. It’s never been the identity you’ve pondered when others feel far more pressing. 

Rebel. Traitor. Forgotten sister.

And now, apparently, personal informant for the crown prince.  

Whichever it is, you still have a job to do. And Sunoo’s expecting you. 

By the time you make it to the eastern crop fields, Sunoo is taking fertilizer inventory. Sunlight shining on his dark hair, he startles a bit when you clear your throat behind him. 

“Oh!” He turns in surprise. “How many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on me like that?” But he’s smiling at you like an old friend. 

“Sorry,” you apologize. “I didn’t realize fertilizer could require so much fascination.”

“Fascination, no,” Sunoo corrects. “Concentration, yes. You might find this interesting, actually. We’ve been asked to ration it.”

“Ration fertilizer?” Your nose scrunches. “Isn’t it just made of cow dung?”

Sunoo’s lips flatten. “Among other things, yes. Primarily a nitrogen-rich soil that we’ve been trading with our northern neighbors for decades. I guess it’s becoming a bit more difficult to come by these days.”  

“Or,” you counter, “something is disrupting trade.”

“That’s possible as well,” Sunoo nods.

Pausing for a moment to consider, you press forward, “I actually came here to ask about something. Potatoes. Has there been an increase in potato allocation?”

A mild flicker of shock crosses his features. “Yes, actually. I’d have to check the records to be sure, but some of the other fields, mostly carrots, beets, and radish, were ordered for replanting with potato crops. How did you know?”

“The kitchens,” you explain. “They’re serving potatoes almost nightly. Do you know why they increased potato crops?”

Sunoo shakes his head. “I haven’t heard anything directly, but potatoes have always been fairly abundant. They grow well here. And it is cheaper overall to have less diversity across the fields.” 

“So it’s a way of cutting costs, then.”

Sunoo nods. “Probably.”

“Have any other crops been removed?”

“Nothing’s been taken out entirely, but there have been similar orders, particularly in fruits. They’ve reduced vineyard production, as well as plums, figs, and strawberries. The only place that was expanded was the apple orchard.”

You think of the apples Jay gave you this morning. “Another less expensive crop.”

Again, Sunoo nods. “It is.”

You pause for a moment, considering. “Thank you, Sunoo.”

“Of course.” He hesitates for a moment. “Is there… I know there have been rumors. Increasing unrest. More disrupted trade routes. Is it true?”

“I don’t know,” you tell him truthfully. “But I think it very well could be. You know as well as I do that the people outside these walls are no stranger to struggle. But the king has always gouged himself on grapes and wine and exotic vegetables. For even the royal kitchens to Jace such limits… Something else must be happening.”

Sunoo pauses for a moment, thinking. “I hope what they say is true, about the prince.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just speculation.” Sunoo shrugs. “Likely wishful thinking, but people are ready for change. The fact that the prince selected a bride without a crown—” He pauses, suddenly remembering your relation. “I mean no offense, of course.”

“None taken,” you shake your head. “It’s the truth.” And only a fraction of it. 

“Well, people hope that it’s a sign. That their new king values power and status less than his father. That he’ll consider the needs of his kingdom and not just live out a reign in search of self-serving pleasures.”

You can’t help it, the way your mind immediately goes to the prince. 

“But only a fool with a crown considers himself before his people.”

“It’s unfounded, I know,” Sunoo adds when you remain silent. “Nothing but a fool’s hope.”

“Perhaps,” you nod. “But perhaps not.” Turning to him, there’s a genuine earnestness in your gaze when you say, “Perhaps our prince will surprise us yet.”

Despite yourself, you hope it’s true too.

You’ve nearly made it back to your bedroom when the second summons in the span of days comes. 

This one, at least, is a bit less terrifying. Although it does inspire a similar sense of dread. 

The ladies’ maid waiting outside your door holds only a letter in her hands. One she passes to you with a bow and a customary greeting before hurrying back down the hall. 

Unlocking your bedroom door, you close it tightly shut behind you before sitting at the foot of your bed. Then, you slide your finger under the seal of the envelope, feeling nothing but slight resistance as it opens in your hands. 

Miss ____, the letter reads. 

Your presence is requested at the eighteenth hour of the same day this message is delivered. Please arrive promptly to the royal tailor’s fitting rooms at the requested time. 

You’re not entirely sure what to expect. When Riki has information, he usually goes about summoning you in less formal manners. But it’s difficult to think of any other business you could possibly have with the royal tailor. 

Well, you suppose, looking at the clock, you only have approximately an hour before your summoning time. You’ll find out soon enough.

…..

It’s a shame you aren’t in need of more gowns. The royal tailor is in possession of one of the loveliest rooms you’ve ever seen. 

Surrounded in golden dipped mirrors, the room reflects shiny things like it loves them. Instead of a traditional ceiling, the space above you is lined with windows. Skylights, they’re called. Designed to maximize the amount of natural light inside the room. To show how fabrics will looks and dresses will move beneath the sun.

In the early hours of the evening, candlelight picks up the slack for dying rays of sunlight. Still, the room is beautiful. Sparkling in a way that’s almost alive. 

In the center of the room stands the royal tailor. Hands always full of fabric and pincushions and a measuring tape, he places another pin in Mina’s bodice.

Mina. Your sister. Despite the fact that the two of you technically share a home, this is the first time you’ve seen her in nearly a week. 

A year your elder, age has been nothing but kind to her. She may not be royal yet, but she’s been groomed for queendom since she was a toddler.

Her skin glows with a certain vitality, hair shines from the efforts of custom hairbrushes and rare, expensive serums.

You see some of your own features reflected on her impossibly beautiful face, and you can’t quite explain in words the way it makes you feel like hiding. 

Beauty has never been at the top of your list of concerns, but it would be a lie to say you didn’t care at all. To say that the sight of your older sister positively glowing at her wedding dress fitting doesn’t make you simmer with something akin to jealousy. 

Even if Mina’s beauty weren’t so certain, the gown she wears would certainly pick up the slack. Much like the room around it, it’s less white than it is iridescent. It glows and glimmers and glides across each plane of your sister’s body like a lover’s caress. 

She’s practically dipped in starlight. Ethereal, stunning, painfully beautiful. 

She must know it too.

Still, there’s a hint of uncertainty in her voice when she catches your gaze in the mirror. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful, Mina,” you tell her truthfully. “You’re glowing, truly.”

Still, something in her wavers. “Is it fit for a queen?” 

“How could it not be, when it’s fit for you? And you are to be queen.” In this moment, you almost wish you knew her better. It’s a strange thought, that her ladies’ maid could probably provide her more comfort than you. Abate her woes with a more expert hand. 

“I suppose so. Have you thought more, about what you might wear to the wedding?”

You scoff. “No one cares what I wear.”

“Of course they do,” Mina counters. “Youre the sister of the queen. It would be foolish to think no eyes will be on you.”

“Whatever you think will suit me, then.”

Mina sighs, shaking her head slightly. “You’re hopeless. I’m to try on my coronation gown as well. Come, stand with the tailor and decide on a fabric while I change.”

“Forgive me,” the tailor speaks, “but I’m afraid I must accompany you, my lady. I would like to place a few more pins.”

“Very well,” Mina nods. “Then your assistant can accompany my sister.”

“Indeed,” the tailor agrees. “Riki,” he calls, “would you please assist Miss ___ in finding a suitable fabric?”

Stepping to the center, Riki bows in agreement. “Of course, sir.”

Your sister takes careful, measured steps on the arm of the tailor, and you watch as they exit to the adjoining room, door clicking shut behind them.

“Let me guess,” you mumble wryly, “lemon yellow would be just perfect for my features.” 

Riki just laughs. “I was thinking vomit green might suit you more.”

“Of course you were.” You roll your eyes. 

“Stand up,” he instructs, tone still light. “Come stand here.”

Your feet drag, but you follow his instructions. Stood in the center of the room, you can’t help but find the mirrors rather unforgiving. You understand Jaeyun’s concern from a few nights ago. You really do look like you haven’t slept in ages. 

Even if you were well rested, Mina is a difficult act to follow. Your clothes are plain. Utilitarian. Clean and well-made, yes, but nondescript all the same. Eyes trailing upwards, you can’t help but think the same of your face. 

Everything is duller in comparison. Your hair doesn’t shine the way hers does. Your skin doesn’t glow with radiance. There’s nothing special or royal or extraordinary in your reflection. You’re just… you. 

Still, Riki treats you like a high paying client. 

When he returns to your side, he holds two fabrics. One a rich burgundy and the other a deep violet. 

“What do you think of these?” he asks. In the mirror he holds them up to your chest, eyes narrowing as he tests them against your reflection. 

“They’re pretty,” you nod, suddenly finding it hard to maintain eye contact with your reflection. “Either’s fine.”

Riki drops the fabrics back to his side, exasperation crossing his features. “That is not the reaction I want from someone choosing a gown.”

“How can I?” you ask. Riki turns from you, takes a few steps back towards the dresser. He sets his original choices to the side and begins searching for another fabric. “You of all people know I have other things on my mind.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he says, back still turned. 

“Speaking of which,” you glance over your shoulder, ensuring the door to the adjoining room is still firmly shut. “Anything new to report these days? Any more tidbits from the palace ladies?”

After all, no one has a better penchant for gossip than them. It’s why you’ve learned some of your most valuable secrets from Riki. It’s amazing what people will divulge in the presence of someone they deem lesser than themselves. 

“Nothing much.” He shakes his head. “More of the same, mostly. Complaints about not being able to purchase their favorite tea leaves or jewelry or rouge anymore. A lord’s daughter did request a pair of leather shoes that we had to deny. Our stock has been low for months. Reserved for the royal family only.”

“Low leather supply?” you echo. 

“Yeah,” Riki confirms, still rifling through drawers. “It’s unusual, but not uncommon. Supplies ebb and flow. Some things are hard to come by for a while and then suddenly, they’re available in abundance again. I’m not sure if it’s anything worth noting.”

“Right,” you nod, but you tuck away the information regardless. 

After another moment of searching, Riki stands back up to full height. Turning to face you, he asks, “What about this?”

Your lips press together. “Gold?” you inquire flatly.

“Something shiny for the vision of radiance herself.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not.” He shakes his head. “I really think this would suit you.” Stepping back to your side, he holds the shimmering fabric against your reflection in the mirror. 

You hate to admit it, but he might be right. Immediately, your features look softer. Something about the shimmer brings out your eyes, makes the curve of your lips appear almost more feminine. 

“See,” he urges. “It looks nice.”

“Isn’t gold a bit much for a wedding guest?”

“You’re more than a guest. You may not be queen, but this wedding will make you royal, too, you know. Even if it’s by relation. Eyes are going to be on you. You may as well look the part.”

A moment passes. Another. 

And then, you nod, almost imperceptible. You watch in the mirror as your chin moves. Quietly, you acquiesce, “Okay.”

“Good, then,” he nods. “It’s decided. Now, for silhouette—”

“I’ll leave that to you,” you interrupt. “Really, Riki,” you add when he gives you a look, “I’m sure you know much more about silhouette than I do. Besides, I trust you.”

“Okay,” he agrees, “I’ll send you a summons when it’s time for fitting.” 

“I’ll await it eagerly,” you tell him, trying not to let yourself sound too sarcastic. Glancing again towards the door, you ask, “Do you think I can sneak out before Mina starts her coronation gown fitting?”

Riki smiles, but shakes his head slightly. “Probably not. She values your opinion, you know. Besides, you’re not the only one who will be giving input.”

“What?” you ask. “Who else—?”

A knock sounds sharply against the main door, interrupting your question. 

With an exaggerated sense of urgency, the adjoining room opens, the tailor practically running to the source of the knock. In his wake, your sister trails. This time, the gown she wears is far less ornate. 

It’s a beautiful shade of violet, not dissimilar from the first fabric sample Riki showed you earlier. Fit for royalty. Perfect for a new bride to celebrate the ascension of her husband to the throne. 

To your left, the tailor falls into a deep bow as Riki slowly pulls the door open. 

And in walks the crown prince of the kingdom. 

It’s hardly been a day since you saw him, but still, the sight makes you draw in a sharp breath. 

It feels different. He feels more real, more solid somehow here, above the ground than he did in the chamber in the underbelly of the castle. 

At your side, your sister drops into a curtsey. 

Across the room, the prince’s eyes land on you. He holds eye contact, and you forget yourself for a moment longer. 

The sound of rustling fabric breaks your trance. Remembering yourself, you fall into a curtsey identical to Mina’s. 

“Your Highness,” you whisper beneath your breath, too low for him to possibly hear. 

“Please,” he addresses the room. “Stand.”

“Thank you,” your sister says, voice breathier than you’ve ever heard it, “for joining us, Your Highness.”

“Of course,” he responds. The edge from his voice, the tremor of desperation, is nowhere to be found. He’s every bit the measured prince when he adds, “It is tradition for an incumbent king to approve the coronation gown of his bride.”

Your eyes are still trained on the floor. You can feel his flickering over your features. 

“This is what we’ve decided on, my prince.” Your sister speaks with an even tone. “A violet color to represent the transition to the highest form of royalty. With flowers, lillies, embroidered into the sleeves to represent luck and prosperity for our kingdom.”

“It suits the occasion,” he nods. “Perhaps I too could have lilies embroidered on my sleeve.”

Orchids, you think, still not daring to look up fully. Your sister is a well-trained royal, but you were always a bit better at your studies. Particularly with details requiring memorization. 

Botany was a favorite subject of yours, reinforced by the time you still spend in the gardens. Even now, you remember the text as if it were laid in front of you. 

Lilies for harmony and fortune, peonies for wealth and honor, lotus for inner peace and spiritual growth. 

And orchids. For luck and prosperity. 

You dare not speak to correct her. It is hardly your place. And, you suppose, in the end, it will make little difference. Harmony and fortune are fitting wishes for his reign as well. 

“Of course,” the tailor agrees. “It would be an honor to add a lovely lily motif to your sl—”

“Or perhaps,” The prince interrupts. “We could change the flowers to orchids.”

At that, your gaze does snap up. And it locks right onto his. 

“Forgive me,” the prince continues. “Botany was never my strongest subject, but I believe it’s orchids, not lilies that have historically symbolized luck and prosperity.” 

It’s a terrible offence of propriety, the way you stare at the crown prince as if he’s grown a second head. 

But to hell with propriety. If you didn’t know better, you would think that the prince just read your mind. 

“I apologize,” he says. “I know you must have already dedicated much time and effort to embroidering such lovely lilies, but orchids were practically shouting at me.”

“Please!” the tailor practically exclaims. “It would be an honor to do the embroidery a thousand times over if Your Highness so wished it. And what a great mind you have. I should be embarrassed to have made such an egregious error, but I am rather so very impressed with your knowledge of flowers.”

“Thank you,” he inclines his head. “For your gracious understanding. With the changes, I approve this coronation gown.”

There’s a moment of suspended silence. The prince's mouth closes. Opens again.  

Your head is still spinning, racing a million miles a minute. It could just be a coincidence, but you have that feeling again. Deep in your gut. Something that burns like nausea but begs you to lean in. To embrace the discomfort and discover what lies beneath. 

Then the prince looks at you and asks, “What will you be wearing?”

You must have misheard him. He must be addressing someone else. He must.

“Me, Your Highness?”

But the prince only nods. 

“I…” You trail off, lost for words. “I don’t know. It hasn’t been discussed yet. I—”

“Something light, I think,” he interrupts. Looking directly at you, he tilts his head to the side, considering. “A pale blue, perhaps. Or maybe gold. With orchids too, of course. I’d like to be consulted before you make a final decision.”

Heat rises in your cheeks, your skin flaming as he assesses you. 

The tailor coughs. “Oh, I… of course, Your Highness. You shall be the first to know when we’ve decided on a color for your bride’s sister’s gown.”

“Very well,” he nods. “I’ll take my leave, then. Thank you for your time” Glancing around the room, his eyes land on you once again. Linger for a moment too long before he breaks contact. First, he addresses your sister. “Until next time, my lady.” And then he says to you, “Goodbye, Miss ___.”

And then, just as quickly as he came, he’s gone once again.

A rather uncomfortable silence settles around you as the room reels in his absence. The tailor is the one to break it. 

After another forced cough, he says, “Well, I think we have our work cut out for us, Riki.”

Riki, doesn’t even spare the man a glance. Instead, he looks at you, gaze sharp and all too knowing. “Indeed we do.”

…..

The eastern stables are quiet tonight. Just as they always are. 

No matter how many alarming pieces of information you pick up around the castle and how many ways the prince manages to catch you off guard, at least this is always the same. 

You haven’t had a chance to speak to Sunghoon yet, so you’re praying that Blossom has made a full recovery and will be waiting for you behind the stable doors. If she’s not, you don’t know what you’ll do. Jaeyun’s expecting you tonight. 

But if Blossom is out of commission, you can hardly ride Maeum again. Not after what happened with the prince.

Pushing open the door at the far edge, you avoid the pressure points that make the hinges whine. The last thing you need is a startled horse. Especially one that whinnies. 

Pulling the door closed behind you, the light is too dim to make out much of anything. Counting down to Blossom’s usual stall, you nearly give a shout of joy when you find it occupied. 

“Good girl,” you whisper, pulling a carrot from your bag. “Good job, Blossom. You made a full recovery, didn’t you.” 

But as you reach up to stroke her mane, you realize that something is amiss. You’re at Blossom’s stall, yes, but the horse in front of you is not Blossom. The light is too dim to make out much of anything, but you can tell through touch alone that this horse is taller. By at least several inches. 

Squinting, you try to make out any details. You can tell that the horse’s coat is dark, but that’s about it. Reaching into your bag, you pull out your lantern. Striking a flint, you’re careful to avoid any wood and hay as you light the candle inside. 

Holding it up, you assess the horse in front of you. 

Lips pulling downward, you frown. “You’re not Blossom.”

“No, but she might suit you even better.”

In your surprise, you nearly drop your lantern. A certain disaster in a stable full of hay.

Spinning on your heel, heart hammering against your ribcage, you whip your head around to find none other than the prince of the kingdom. Leaned against the wall of the stable like it was made to do so. Like there’s nothing strange about him being here well past midnight. 

“What,” you hiss, still finding yourself short of breath after the fright he gave you, “are you doing?”

It’s no way to address a prince, but in the cover of midnight, he hardly looks the part. Wearing black head to toe, gone is the regalia, the finery that marks his position. 

His head is bare. Empty of the crown you’ve come to associate so closely with him. It makes him look strange. Younger, maybe. 

And you never realized just how long his hair was. 

In the glow of lanternlight, he doesn’t look like a prince. Just a boy. A young man. One you can’t seem to take your eyes off of. 

“I could ask you the same,” he counters. 

“I…” you trail off, remembering yourself. Your status. Dropping into a curtsey, you say, “Forgive me, Your Highness. I did not realize it was you. You startled me.”

“Please, ___.” Your name sounds strange in his mouth, without the ‘Miss.’ More intimate somehow. “Stand up. You can forget your propriety now. Just Jungwon will suffice.”

Jungwon. Jungwon. 

Distantly, you’re aware that it’s his name. But it’s not as if you’ve ever used it before. Even in your mind, the most private of your thoughts, he’s always been the prince or Your Highness. Nothing more, nothing less. 

“Is it really so strange?” he asks. “To call me by my name?”

Your eyes fly to his. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Speak to me as if you can hear what’s in my head.”

For a moment, he does nothing more than look at you. His expression betrays nothing. 

After another beat of silence, he finally says, “Close your eyes.”

“What?” you balk.

“Please,” he says. “If I need to command it, I will. But I’d rather you just trust me.” His eyes are imploring, begging for a bit of faith. Again, he asks, “Close your eyes, ____. Please.”

You stare at him a moment longer. What you’re searching for, you aren’t entirely sure. And then, despite your better judgement begging you not to, you draw your eyelids closed. 

Losing what little light your lantern provides, the world around you goes dark. Hands clenched into fists, you can only hope your small shreds of trust haven’t been misplaced. 

A beat passes. Another. Nothing happens. The night stands still. 

And then, as if whispered against the shell of your ear, you hear it. Clear as day. 

Hello.

It’s his voice. You're sure of it. Eyes flying open, you expect to find him standing so close you could touch him. But the prince is still motionless, still leaning against the wall of the stable. A good four paces from you. 

“You heard it,” he asks, lips drawing thin as if he’s just confirmed a hypothesis. “Didn’t you?”

“I… I heard you, but it wasn’t real. It was like—”

“Like it was coming from inside your own mind,” he finishes. 

You stare at him, lips parted. 

He laughs humorlessly. “Yeah. For months, I’ve been hearing this… this voice in my mind. It wasn’t mine, but sometimes it felt like it was. It was impossible to tell where my thoughts ended and this voice began. I thought I was losing my sanity. The stress of the upcoming coronation was making me insane.”

He looks up at you, eyes assessing. “But then, that day in my chamber beneath the castle. You spoke to me, and it was familiar. Too familiar. And yesterday. In the tailor’s room. It was you, was it not? With the orchids.”

You nearly gasp. You hadn’t been imagining things. He had read your mind. “I thought of them, yes, but I certainly did not intend to… speak to you.”

“I didn’t either.” He shakes his head. “Just now was the first time I attempted to send my voice to you. But it wasn’t the first time you heard it, was it?”

“I cannot be sure—”

He won’t let up so easily. “If you had to guess, then.”

You’re quiet for a moment, weighing your answer. And then you tell him truthfully, “No. No, I suppose it was not.”

The prince looks at you, considering. “There’s something strange between us. A connection.”

With the way your cheeks flame, you're suddenly grateful for the cover of darkness. 

“I cannot pretend to understand it, Your Highness, but—”

“For heaven’s sake,” he exasperates, pushing himself off the stable wall, “we hear one another in our heads. Please, call me Jungwon.”

“I… I couldn’t possibly—”

“Fine,” he says. “Don’t say it then. At least not out loud. Speak it to me. In my mind.”

“I don’t know how,” you protest. 

“Try.”

You stare at him.

The prince doesn’t give in. Instead, he suggests, “It may help to close your eyes.”

For a moment, you just look at him, everything in you screaming in protest. Then, on a long exhale, you close your eyes. 

First, you let the thought pass through your mind. 

Jungwon. 

Even in the sanctity of your mind, it sounds like treason.

Next, you try again. This time, you imagine shouting it across an open field, sending it as far as the wind will carry it.

Jungwon. 

It’s to no avail. You open your eyes. Across from you, the prince just shakes his head. 

It’s not about volume, then. 

This time, you close your eyes, let your eyelids relax as if you were sleeping. You don’t shout. You don’t whisper. Instead, you search. 

For something, anything that might lead you to him. 

The inside of your mind feels like a chamber. Vast, expansive, but entirely self-contained. 

You think about what it sounds like, what it feels like, when he speaks in your mind. The way it always seems as if he’s whispering against your left ear. 

Opening your eyes slowly, you ask aloud, “When you hear my voice, where does it come from?”

He doesn’t need to ask for clarification. The prince knows what you mean. 

Wordlessly, he draws his hand upward, taps the space just beside his right temple, next to his eyebrow. “Here.”

Nodding, you close your eyes again. This time, you imagine closing the space between you. Your hands tremble, heart racing as you picture this phantom of yourself leaning in, far closer to the prince than you could ever dream of being. 

You imagine leaning forward, lips tracing that spot against his temple, feeling a stray strand of hair rustle beneath your lips. 

It’s like using an untrained muscle, stretching a long forgotten ligament. It strains a little. Burns with effort. But it’s there, and it’s real. At least in the expanse of your mind. 

Jungwon, you whisper. But your lips never move. 

You don’t even need to open your eyes. You know he heard it. 

When you do finally look at him again, he’s already staring at you, lips parted. And those eyes. Those damn unnerving eyes that seem to see right through you. 

Now, he’s looking at you in awe. As if you’ve just performed a miracle for him. 

“Do it again,” he whispers.

“Jungwon…”

“My name,” he nods. “Good. Was that so difficult?”

The look you send him is withering. “I hate to part ways early, but I do have a rather important errand to run.”

“More important than the duty you discussed with me?” He arches an eyebrow. “Do you have anything to report yet?”

You shake your head, trying to be firm while remaining subordinate. “I’d be happy to have this discussion at a later time, but I’m afraid I’m occupied at the moment.”

He won’t let you go so easily. “With what? Where exactly do you sneak off to in the night? And don’t tell me it’s for fresh air.”

“No,” you pause for a moment, deciding how much of the truth you should give him. “I have a meeting.”

“A meeting?” He echoes.

“Yes.” You nod. “A rather important one. Hopefully, I’ll have more information to share with you when I return, so if you’ll excuse me—”

His gaze never strays from your face. “Who are you meeting?”

You frown, suddenly defensive. “I don’t see how that's any of your concern.”

The prince disagrees. “It’s entirely my concern. You're an informant for me now. Highly valuable. If anything were to happen to you, I could lose a very important source of information.”

“I haven’t even told you anything,” you protest. 

“So you understand my problem.”

It takes a great deal of effort not to roll your eyes. “I’m meeting a friend.”

He’s unrelenting. “Who?”

“I hardly see how that information is relevant to you.”

“I should like to know where to look, who to question, if anything were to happen to you. After all, you are planning to leave the safety of the castle.”

It’s infuriating, the way he has an excuse prepared for every rebuttal you make. “Nothing’s going to happen to me. This is a routine meeting. One that I am now going to be late for.”

“Still, I insist.” An edge of command, of order slips into his tone. One you’d have to be a fool to miss. 

The information you’ve divulged thus far already feels like too much. You’re not sure how much more you can bear to give. “He’s part of the resistance,” you sigh. “He’s like me. Someone who talks to people and monitors tensions and skirmishes and other strange patterns.”

“He?” If you didn’t know better, you’d think there was an echo in the stable.

“Yes, he.”

“What’s his name?”

Jungwon’s been begging for your trust, but this is pushing too far. Jaeyun is one of the only people in the world you consider a true friend. Someone you’d protect with your life. It doesn’t matter if Jungwon’s intentions are entirely aligned with your own. You’re not giving up his name. 

“I’m not telling you that.”

“Very well,” he agrees easily. Too easily. “Then I’m coming with you.”

Your lips draw into a thin line. “You most certainly are not.”

For a moment, Jungwon just looks at you. 

“Fine,” you throw your hands in exasperation, still mindful of the lantern in your grasp. “Fine. His name is Sunghoon. Will that information suffice?’

His voice is low now, dangerous. “How lowly you must think of me, to assume that I don’t even know the name of the castle’s own stable hand.”

A burst of surprise flickers through you. In all honesty, you didn’t think he would know Sunghoon’s name. 

Then, the prince gives you an ultimatum. “Either I come with you, or neither of us goes. And I believe you did say something about already being late.”

You sigh. There is no way you can bring the kingdom’s prince to an illicit, treasonous meeting. Jaeyun will just have to forgive you the next time you manage to sneak out. 

“Fine then,” you drop your shoulders. “We’ll stay. The horse I usually ride seems to be missing, anyway.”

“You didn’t hear me earlier?” Jungwon raises an eyebrow. “Her name is Nabi. She’s new to the castle. A young mare with a sweet temperament. She rarely whinnies even when startled. And she’s quite tall. Long legs. She has one of the fastest gallops I’ve ever seen.”

“A horse that impressive is surely valuable.” You shake your head. “People will notice if she’s ever missing. More tired than she should be.”

Jungwon just looks at you for a moment, and you feel you’ve missed something entirely. 

“She’s yours, ___, if you’ll have her. I know Blossom’s a good mare, but her hoof is taking longer to heal than the veterinarian thought. You won’t be able to ride her for a while. Plus, I happen to know her owner.” Jungwon winces. “Not a very pleasant man, despite his excellent taste in horses. Not someone you wouldn’t want to cross.”

But you’re still stuck on his earlier words. “What do you mean, she’s mine?”

“I mean just that. She won’t be ridden by anyone else here. Sunghoon will take her out for general exercise and care, but she’ll be able to rest during the day when she needs. You won’t need to worry about overworking her at night.”

“I…” you trail off, lost for words. “You did this?”

Jungwon’s expression betrays nothing. “An informant needs to be quick, do they not?”

Turning your back to him, you approach the horse, your horse again. 

“What did you say her name was?”

“Nabi,” Jungwon repeats. “It means—”

“Butterfly,” you finish for him. “Yes, I know.” Taking a deep breath, you turn back to face him, “Listen, Jungwon.” His name still feels strange against your tongue, but that sensation of wrongness is fading quickly. “I understand that you want to rule differently than your father.” You’re not sure when you lost your inhibitions, but something about the low light of the stable is making you feel bold. “I admire it, actually. But my friend, this network of resistance, they’re important to me. I know that you’re used to giving orders, but please just… please listen to me while we’re out there. I don’t think anything out of the ordinary will happen, but if it does, I need to know that I can trust you.”

For a moment, Jungwon says nothing. And then you hear it, quiet and familiar as a lover’s caress in your ear. 

I promise. 

The shudder that runs the length of your spine has nothing to do with the nighttime chill. 

And then, a handful of minutes later, dressed in black and trading in secrets like a pair of bandits, the two of you set out from the stables into the inky darkness of the night.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

CONTINUED IN PART TWO

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

[starryjake]

spin the bottle | w.y & b.e

the events that follow after your boyfriend and his best friend kiss during a game of spin the bottle.

pairing: wang nicholas x fem!reader x byun euijoo

warnings: smut MDNI, drinking, threesome, MXM content (don’t read if you don’t like that), masturbation, nichojoo making out, fingering, hickeys, handjobs, blowjobs, nipple play, pussy eating, cum swallowing, unprotected sex, cumming inside (and out?), lmk if i missed anything.

wc: around 5k.

“no. absolutely not,” ej said, grabbing the empty beer bottle from the middle of the circle.

“hey, the spin the bottle gods have spoken,” nicholas responded, raising his hands up in defense. “they want me to kiss your girlfriend.”

you stared down at your lap, refusing to make eye contact with either of them. you’d only been at this party for an hour, and you were already regretting coming.

you’d wanted a nice, quiet evening in with your boyfriend, ej, and typically, he wanted the same. but it was his friend fuma’s birthday, so he had to come to the party, and you went along as well.

how you ended up playing a game of spin the bottle in a circle of only men was beyond you, though. so far, you’d witnessed some of ej’s best friends kiss, which was an interesting sight to the say the least.

but then nicholas spun the bottle, and for the first time that night, it landed on you.

“no one wants you to kiss my girlfriend,” ej argued. “especially not me or her.”

“come on already,” yuma whined. “either kiss or don’t—i’m getting bored.”

nicholas looked over at you. you looked at ej, ej looked back at you, and then you looked back to nicholas.

“oh my god,” ej huffed. “you can kiss her cheek, but that’s the most you’re getting.”

you let out the sigh you’d been holding in, relieved that ej made the decision for you because you weren’t sure what you were supposed to do.

so, nicholas crawled over across the circle to you, tilted your head to the side and planted a warm, soft kiss on your cheek, lingering slightly longer than he should’ve.

ej rolled his eyes, shaking his head in disapproval—not at you, but at his own best friend.

the game carried on, and proved quite entertaining as you got to watch many of ej and your friends share a kiss.

and then it was ej’s turn to spin.

of course, out of all the people it could’ve landed on, it landed on nicholas.

“wow, i’m pretty lucky today,” nicholas said with a glint in his eyes, a smile on his typically serious face. “tell me i get more than just your cheek.”

“you’re such a freak,” ej responded, and then he looked over at you. “it’s not up to me, though. it’s whatever y/n is comfortable with.”

your breath caught in your throat. everyone in the circle was looking at you now. it was all up to you whether or not you were okay with nicholas kissing your boyfriend.

you knew it was just a stupid party game. it wasn’t a big deal, and you knew how ej and nicholas liked to joke around and flirt sometimes. this was nothing. it was just a kiss.

“you can kiss,” you said, leaning back on your palms with a smirk. “just make sure to put on a show.”

“you’re a freak, too,” ej said to you jokingly, before turning back to nicholas.

the circle watched with anticipation as nicholas crawled across the floor yet again, then sank to his knees once he was in front of ej.

you watched carefully as nicholas brought his hands up to cup your boyfriends face, tilting his head up. ej gazed up into nicholas’s eyes, his expression completely serious. in fact, both of them looked far too serious for just a dumb party game.

their faces were getting closer and closer, their lips just an inch away. and then they were pressed together—nicholas cradling ej’s face in his large hands, their lips moving fluidly against each other.

you gulped, feeling your face start to warm. it seemed like they were actually into it, like they’d forgotten where they were and what they were doing, that it was just a game of spin the bottle. they seemed to have forgotten that people were watching them.

they weren’t even kissing anymore, but entirely making out. you swore you even saw a glimpse of one of their tongues for just a second, and it made your breath hitch in your throat.

“jesus, you guys,” yudai spoke up, laughing. “you can quit now.”

nicholas pulled back, lips glistening with your boyfriends saliva. ej stared up at him, a glimmer of something in his eye that you couldn’t make out.

if you weren’t euijoo’s girlfriend, you would’ve thought they were the ones dating. you felt like by just sitting there, you were interrupting something.

the circle fell silent—an awkward silence. nicholas cleared his throat, then shuffled back to his spot in the circle.

“um,” ej spoke, avoiding eye contact with anyone. “i don’t really wanna play anymore.”

you noticed he had his hands awkwardly positioned over his lap, and when he saw you noticed, he pulled his knees into his chest.

“me neither,” nicholas said. “i’ve kissed enough people.”

they met each others eyes from across the circle, then quickly tore their gazes apart.

“let’s go get another drink,” you suggested, trying to intercept and break the tension.

“yes!” ej agreed, hoisting himself up. “that’s a great idea.”

together, you two found your way through other party goers, into the kitchen. ej was quick to pour himself a hefty cup of liquor.

he took a long sip, then placed his cup on the counter and turned to you.

“i’m so sorry,” he said. “i don’t know what happened. i mean—i didn’t think he was gonna kiss me like that, and then it just kept going and we’ve both had too much to drink, and—”

suddenly, ej stopped talking, his gaze falling just past you, and he gulped.

you frowned, turning around to see what it was that had captured his attention. of course, it was nicholas, leaning in the doorway.

“that was hot,” he said, walking over to you two.

“shut up,” ej scolded.

nicholas chuckled, taking a sip from his red cup.

“well, y/n thought it was hot, too,” he said, motioning over to you. your eyes widened. “i saw the way you were watching us.”

ej’s eyebrows furrowed even further together, glancing over at you. both of them, with equally intimidating stares, were facing you, waiting for you to admit it or defend yourself.

what were you supposed to say? would ej get mad if you admitted that you did think it was kind of hot watching him make out with his best friend? would he think you were weird?

“i-i—”

you were sputtering out nonsense, still fighting a battle as to whether you wanted to defend yourself or admit the truth.

luckily, nicholas was there to do it for you.

“look at her,” he said with a laugh. “it’s obvious she liked what she saw. we’ll do it again for you, if you want.”

“no, we won’t,” euijoo interjected with a scoff.

and then, just for a split second, he saw it. on your face, a flash of disappointment. it was unconscious even to you, but it seemed like deep down, you were a bit disappointed that he wasn’t interested in recreating the show you’d seen just a few minutes earlier.

“wait a minute,” he said. “you actually liked it?”

“i-i mean, i don’t know,” you answered, struggling to meet either of their eyes.

“tell me, baby,” ej pried. “just tell me the truth. i won’t be upset.”

your face was pulsating, your cheeks red. it took you a minute to muster up the strength to give him the true answer.

“yeah,” you finally admitted. “i liked it.”

you glanced up at them for just a moment to see them exchanging some kind of look. you didn’t know what it meant. all you knew was that nicholas was smirking at euijoo, a mischievous little grin.

“you know,” nicholas said, setting his cup down, “i think we should get out of here.”

-

the three of you left the party together and ended up back at yours and ej’s apartment.

it was awkward, admittedly, sitting on the couch in between the two men. none of you quite knew what to say, and the silence was deafening.

of course, it was nicholas who eventually broke the silence.

“so, should we get it started?” he asked.

“get what started?” euijoo asked, already annoyed.

“you know,” nicholas replied. “your girl wants a show. let’s give her one. and now that we’re all alone, she can join in on the fun.”

euijoo glanced down at you, scanning your face, looking for the assurance that you wanted to keep going.

“you really wanna do this?” he asked you.

“if you do, i do,” you affirmed.

he took a deep breath, glancing from you over to nicholas.

then, finally, “fine. let’s go to the bedroom.”

although it wasn’t his apartment, nicholas led the way down the hall to the bedroom, practically skipping with excitement.

you and euijoo followed, and within a few seconds, the three of you were on the bed.

you were laying back against the pillows, while euijoo and nicholas sat beside each other down at the end of the bed where your feet were.

“did you like kissing me earlier?” nicholas asked, eyes trailing ej up and down.

“it was…” euijoo trailed off, searching for the right word. “fine.”

nicholas scoffed, offended.

“it was better than fine and you know it,” he replied.

you sat up on your elbows, hardly sparing a blink as you watched their faces get closer and closer to each other.

“i wasn’t thinking straight,” ej said. “it’s hard to remember.”

nicholas hummed.

“then let me remind you.”

he grabbed euijoo’s face in one of his large hands, rings probably cold on euijoo’s skin, and then joined their lips together.

you watched in awe at the way their lips seems to just melt into each other’s, how it seemed so natural the way they kissed, like they’d been doing it for years.

after a moment, ej brought his hand up and wrapped it around the back of nicholas’s neck, pulling him in even closer. at that, nicholas moaned into ej’s mouth.

you caught a sliver of one of their tongues entering the other one’s mouth, unable to figure out who’s was who’s. but then it became a battle of both their tongues, rubbing and intertwining with each other.

you squeezed your legs together, already feeing yourself getting worked up just from the sight of them kissing. all you wanted to do was to somehow get between them, to be in on their messy makeout.

euijoo pulled back a bit, glancing over at you to check on you and gauge how you were taking it so far. your eyes were blown out wide, lips glossy from how many times you’d licked them in the past few minutes.

“still doing okay?” he asked you, his torso pressed against nicholas’s.

“are you kidding?” nicholas said with a laugh. “look at her. she’s better than okay.”

ej noticed it but didn’t want to say anything so he didn’t embarrass you. it was obvious that them making out had made your horny, though. your thighs pressed together and your bright red cheeks were evidence enough.

he smiled a little.

“you can touch yourself if you want,” he offered.

that was all he said before he faced nicholas again and pressed their lips back together. you released a drawn out sigh, watching your boyfriend and his best friend devour each other.

you wanted to touch yourself, you really did, but it was nerve wracking to think about doing so in front of nicholas. he’d never see you in that kind of way, and you weren’t sure what he’d think.

regardless, he was occupied in something—someone—else, so you took the opportunity to slowly slide your hand down your body and into your pants.

straight past your panties, your fingertips brushed over your clit. you gasped, feeling how wet you already were, staring to rub the puffy bud in little circles.

nicholas’s hands trailed down euijoo’s body, desperately rubbing up and down his sides, pushing the fabric of his t-shirt up until it was bunched up around his shoulders. they pulled apart for a moment so ej could lose the shirt entirely.

nicholas’s eyes drank in the sight of ej’s bare torso, his hands gripping and rubbing your boyfriend’s supple skin.

“fuck, look at your little fucking waist,” nicholas practically growled against ej’s mouth. “you’re so sexy, juju.”

ej smiled and leaned back in, pressing his now bare torso against nicho’s as their lips intertwined once again. nicholas held ej’s waist as he slid his tongue back into his mouth, rubbing it against ej’s.

you couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips, your fingers gliding further down your soaked pussy. you dragged them down your folds and back up, spreading your arousal and staring at the two men unashamed, biting your lower lip.

ej pulled back from the kiss to look over at you again.

“why don’t you take some clothes off, baby?” he suggested in that sickeningly sweet voice of his.

you immediately obliged, sliding your hand out of your pants to take your shirt and bra off, all while maintaining deep eye contact with him. you almost didn’t notice nicholas stripping as well, revealing his toned abdomen.

you unbuttoned your pants and got rid of them, left in nothing but your drenched underwear. both of the men eyed you hungrily, but ej was the first to make a move. he detached himself from nicholas and made his way up the bed over to you, finally kissing you instead.

you tangled your fingers in caramel-colored hair, moaning into his mouth. he kissed you slowly, sweetly, carefully, and you wondered if it was the same way he kissed nicholas.

meanwhile, nicholas rid himself of his pants, left in nothing but his boxers. he stared as you and ej kissed, watched the way your legs quivered and spread. there was a patch of wetness on your thin panties, and it had nicholas’s cock twitching.

“do you want him to touch you?” ej asked, briefly pulling back from your lips.

you glanced over at nicholas, feeling a wave of insecurity and intimidation wash over you at the way he was staring with that hard look on his face.

“i-i—”

“he won’t bite,” ej assured you, glancing behind his shoulder at nicholas. “even if it looks like he will.”

nicholas fixed his expression, trying his best to look less threatening for your sake.

“you’re soaked,” he commented, inching his way over to you and euijoo. “let me take these off you, yeah?”

silently, you nodded, gasping when his cold, ringed fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties and slid them down your legs. you tried not to think too hard about it—the fact that you were now completely naked in front of your boyfriend’s best friend, your bare cunt on full display for him.

sensing your horror, ej leaned back in and kissed you, distracting you from your embarrassment.

you gasped into his mouth when you felt nicholas’s fingers swipe up the length of your pussy, gathering your excess of arousal. he spread the wetness around, and his fingers prodded at your entrance. just when you thought he was going to slide them in, he dragged them back up and pressed down on your clit instead.

you whimpered into ej’s mouth, humping your hips up into the air desperately. it made nicholas chuckle, and only aggravated you.

“she’s so sensitive,” he mumbled, slowly circling your clit with his middle and ring fingers. “you’re just as fun to play with as ej.”

ej hummed before he pulled apart from your lips, glancing down at where nicholas’s hand was rubbing you.

“don’t tease her,” he scolded. “she’s been good, you can fuck her with your fingers.”

you gulped, surprised to see your boyfriend take such authority when he was normally more submissive leaning. even nicholas looked surprised for a moment to be told what to do, but nonetheless, he obliged.

slowly and gently, he slid his fingers inside your pussy, getting you nice and stretched out. you cried out, gripping the bedsheet as your walls clamped around his slender fingers.

“fuck,” nicholas mumbled. “she’s so warm ‘n wet.”

ej began peppering kisses down your jawline and to your neck, and you felt like you were in heaven. the soft suction of his lips on your neck and nicholas’s lengthy fingers pumping in and out of you was euphoric. you didn’t think it could get better until you felt another hand on your pussy—euijoo’s.

while nicholas was finger fucking you, ej began to slowly rub your clit in circles, and your eyes rolled back into your head.

“oh my god,” you moaned, not even knowing what to do with yourself because it felt so good.

“is that good, baby?” ej asked you.

“yes, euijoo,” you choked out, clenching around nicho’s fingers. “it’s so fucking good.”

he smiled against your neck, continuing to kiss his way down until he made it to your chest. he wrapped his lips around one of your erect nipples and began suckling softly on the bud, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure and relaxation.

you couldn’t believe this was happening—you had two of the sexiest men you’d ever seen in your life pleasing you at the same exact time. ej rubbing your clit and sucking your nipples, and nicholas fingering you so deep that you were practically wetting the bed with your arousal.

suddenly, taking advantage of the fact that your lips were free now, nicholas brought his face to yours and kissed you—for real this time. his lips on yours and the way he kissed you was nothing like the way ej kissed you. nicholas was rougher, more intense. his tongue found its way into your mouth quickly, and you had to match his pace, so you rubbed your own tongue against his, exchanging saliva.

you moaned into his mouth, your fingers tugging on ej’s hair as he tugged your nipple between his teeth. you were practically riding both their hands, inching yourself closer and closer to your high. you needed it desperately, and you couldn’t hide it from them.

“you gonna cum, baby?” ej asked, gliding his tongue around your nipple.

all you could do was nod into nicholas’s mouth, unable to speak even if you weren’t kissing him. he plunged his fingers as deep as they could go inside of you, and your legs clamped around both their hands.

“fuck!” you yelped, breaking apart from the kiss. “shit, nghhh—i’m cumming!”

you threw your head back, releasing a strained moan as your climax washed over you. you tugged your boyfriends hair, tightening around their fingers as the knot in your stomach undid itself.

“fuck, that’s it,” nicholas cooed, watching the way your legs twitched as you started to come down. “so fucking pretty when you cum.”

he pulled his fingers out of you, and ej detached from your nipple. they were both sat on either side of you, looking down at you. ej carefully caressed your tummy, lulling you back down from the intensity of your orgasm.

“you’re so hard,” nicholas suddenly said, motioning to ej’s cock, straining obviously in his pants.

suddenly, nicholas was reaching over you to plant his palm against ej’s covered length, feeling it pulsate under his hand.

“fuck,” ej hissed, instinctively jutting his hips forward, pressing his cock further into nicho’s grasp.

nicholas smirked at his best friend’s reaction, squeezing ej’s length over the fabric of his sweatpants. he dragged his hand back and forth, but when he decided that wasn’t enough, he tugged on the waistband and tugged them down enough for ej’s length to spring free.

at the sight of your boyfriend’s dick drooling with pre cum, you eagerly sat up on your knees and positioned yourself in front of him. ej looked down at you tenderly, bringing his hand to the back of your head to guide your mouth onto his length.

you took him well like you always did, kitten licking up the precum from his tip before taking the rest of his length into your mouth.

ej sighed in pleasure, dropping his head back. you glanced up, only to find nicholas leaning forward and planting a firm kiss to ej’s neck.

“fuck,” ej groaned, bringing his other hand to the back of nicho’s neck.

it was hard to keep your eyes open with the tip of his long cock gagging you when it hit the back of your throat every few seconds, but you refused to miss what was occurring in front of you. nicholas sucking hickeys into ej’s neck was a beautiful sight, and you could feel yourself getting worked up all over again.

and it only got better when you watched ej’s hand carefully drag down the front of nicho’s torso, stopping at the waistband of his boxers. they made eye contact, seemingly exchanging information telepathically, and then ej was slipping his hand into the other’s boxers.

“oh shit,” nicholas moaned as ej began stroking him slowly. “fuck—that’s good.”

you watched the bump of ej’s hand moving in nicholas’s boxers, so entranced by the sight that you found yourself slacking on the blowjob you were giving.

“mmm, keep going, baby,” ej urged, drawing you back in with that coaxing voice of his.

you turned your attention back to him, pushing him as deep into your throat as you could go. you clenched your eyes shut in discomfort, hollowing out your cheeks.

you deep-throated him for a few minutes before he let you up for a much needed breather. when your eyes reopened, you found that nicholas’s boxers were to his knees and ej’s hand was pumping his thick cock in a rapid motion.

again, you sat back and watched in awe. the chemistry they had, the way they both seemed to know what the other one liked, left you dumbfounded. you truly began to question if this wasn’t the first time they’d done something like this with each other.

“f-fuck, euijoo,” nicholas grunted, grabbing ej’s wrist. “slow down, i’m close.”

“finish him off,” ej suddenly said to you, and your eyes widened.

“what about you?” you asked, glancing over at his long cock, standing straight up against his abs from how hard he was.

“don’t worry about me right now,” he retorted. “wanna see you take nicho, okay? wanna see you swallow everything he gives you. can you do that, pretty girl?”

you gulped with nerves, but nodded nonetheless. it was always hard to say no to ej, not that you wanted to.

you sat yourself on your knees in front of nicholas, face to face with his cock. a long vein ran all the way up from the bottom to the top, and so you traced it with your tongue before wrapping your lips around his bulbous tip.

“holy shit,” nicholas moaned, his hand finding the back of your head—not to push you, but to keep it firmly rested there. “that’s it, that’s a good girl.”

his words practically made you purr, your pussy nearly dripping onto the bed. you were so horny despite having cum all ready, but you needed more.

luckily, your boyfriend sensed that. before you knew it, ej was spreading your legs and positioning himself between them. and then, from the back, he licked a firm, electrifying stripe up from your hole to your clit, a lick so pleasurable that you whimpered around nicholas’s cock, jolting in delight.

“oh, yeah,” nicholas muttered. “fuck—is that good? you like getting your pussy eaten while you’re sucking me off?”

you eagerly nodded your head, your mouth stuffed too full to speak. although, you figured that even if your mouth wasn’t full, you still wouldn’t have been able to say anything. you were so fucked out, already dumb and you hadn’t even gotten fucked yet.

ej drank your arousal and licked your pussy up and down, circling the tip of his tongue against your puffy clit. you didn’t know what to do with your hands, so you opted for planting them on nicholas’s sharp hips, which gave you the leverage to suck him even deeper into your mouth.

your moans vibrated around his length, and he fucked his hips forward, making you gag when he hit the back of your throat.

“‘m fucking close,” he warned, tugging on your strands of hair.

you blinked up at him, your cunt tightening around euijoo’s tongue in excitement. just the thought of nicholas cumming was enough to make you feel like you could cum soon too.

he fucked his cock in and out of your throat a couple of more times before tensing, and then you felt the first string of hot, salty cum, hitting your tongue. you swallowed it and continued to do so with the ropes of it that followed, giving both him and ej what they wanted.

and nicholas looked so good when he came—his face scrunched up, releasing an array of beautiful sounds, abs tight and glistening with sweat—that suddenly, you felt like you were going to release all over euijoo’s face.

“e-ej!” you cried out, pushing your hips back into his face. “oh god, right there!”

his tongue rapidly flicked up and down, and suddenly, you, too, were cumming. you released all over his face, drenching him with your wetness, and he slurped it all up, licking your cunt clean.

you collapsed flat on your back against the bed when you were done cumming, looking up at the two men tiredly.

“wake up,” euijoo said, spreading your legs and making room for himself between them. “i haven’t cum yet, baby.”

your body was pliant from you sleepy you were, making it easy for nicholas to pick you up and place you on his lap, your back pressed to his sweaty chest. you put your feet on the tops of his thighs, spreading your legs and revealing your glistening pussy to ej.

you leaned back against nicho’s chest, steadying your breathing as ej lined himself up and nudged in until just his tip was inside you. with how wet you were, it wasn’t going to be hard for him to get you adjusted to his size.

as he slid inch by inch, nicholas wrapped one hand around your waist and brought it down to rub your clit. he used the other one to slide up your stomach and land on your breast, tweaking your hard nipple.

you felt like you were on another dimension, sandwiched between these two men, both of them stimulating every part of you. you felt so good, you couldn’t even do or say anything except lay there and take what they were giving you.

ej bottomed out and was quick to start thrusting, fucking you at a consistent pace from the start.

“is it good, baby?” nicholas asked in your ear, kissing just below it. “use your words.”

“it’s so f-fucking good,” you cried out, your body rocking back into his chest every time ej thrusted into you.

“you’re so pretty,” ej whispered, leaning forward to peck you on the lips. “such a sweet thing letting us play with you like this.”

you turned your head to the side and met nicholas’s lips, letting him snake his tongue into your mouth. you rubbed your tongues together, moaning pathetically and tiredly as ej fucked you hard and deep, his tip quickly finding your g-spot.

“mmmmph, oh my god,” you mumbled against nicholas’s mouth. “it feels so good.”

“i know,” nicholas cooed, pinching your nipples between his fingers. “i know.”

ej stared down at you in awe, perched on his best friend’s lap, making out with him. it was such an outrageously hot sight that he wanted to take a picture, and that way he’d never forget it.

but he was too close. he couldn’t think about stopping now, not when his orgasm was rapidly approaching. you could tell, too, based on his hips were moving fluidly, his thrusting losing its rhythm.

“cum again for me,” he commanded.

you looked up at him with big, watery eyes.

“can’t,” you whimpered out.

“hey, yes you can,” nicholas cooed, pressing his fingers firmly onto your clit. “you can do it. be good and cum for us, okay?”

you tossed your head back against his shoulder, and ej couldn’t resist. with your neck exposed like that, he felt like a magnet the way his hand immediately reached out to wrap around it. he squeezed just slightly, applying only a touch of pressure, but he knew it was just what you needed to get you to the brink of orgasm.

you clenched around him, legs shaking and threatening to close, but he kept them open. he thrusted, once, twice, three more times and then abruptly stopped, buried to the hilt inside of you.

you came with a silent, choked moan, your entire body twitching in nicholas’s lap. ej stuffed you full with his warm, sticky load, panting like he’d just run a marathon.

he slowly thrusted, riding and milking out both your orgasms, fucking his cum deep inside of you, where it belonged.

you were a mess. all three of you were, but you especially because—and you hadn’t realized it—but nicholas had cum against just from his cock rubbing against your back a few times. you were covered in cum from the inside out.

ej pulled out and helped you off nicholas’s lap. the three of your lay beside each other, practically melting into the sheets.

for a good ten minutes, there was silence. you were dozing off and only awakened when you felt a wetness on your skin.

you opened your eyes and realized the wetness was from ej wiping you off with a damp towel.

“you okay?” he asked, leaning down to kiss you softly on the forehead.

“mmm, yeah,” you answered tiredly.

nicholas was off the bed now, cleaning himself off and redressing. you realized, even in your tired state, that you didn’t want him to go. you didn’t like how neither them were laying beside you anymore.

“wait,” you called out weakly, getting nicholas’s attention. “can you guys just…get back in bed? can we just go to sleep together?”

ej and nicholas exchanged a glance.

“both of us?” nicholas asked.

“yeah,” you said. “if that’s okay.”

nicholas, who’d just put his shirt back on, immediately took it back off and crawled back into bed with you.

“more than okay,” he assured, kissing your cheek.

ej chuckled and climbed back into bed on the other side of you, pulling you into his chest.

“i could get used to this,” you mumbled, closing your eyes.

and you could. you felt safe with both men there on either side of you. you thought that you didn’t want this to be just a one time thing.

“yeah,” ej agreed. “me too.”

the three of you fell asleep then, an end to a night that none of you expected.

[yum-nyang]

NICHOLAS (+ teamies): back to life | inkigayo

[mirisss]

Whispers of Fate

Werewolf! Murata Fuma x female reader

Wordcount ≈ 36.2k

Warnings:  violence, blood/injury, mind-control, hostage situation, emotional distress, trauma mentions, spellwork, body horror (mild), memory erasure, manipulation, fangs/claws, psychic pain, I think that’s all

Featuring Enhypen’s Jay, Sunghoon, Jake, & Heeseung

Alright, everyone, here we go, the next part of this series!! You’re excited, I’m excited, let’s go, and it’s time for our beloved Fuma! I hope you all enjoy this one! 

Taglist: @voucearse, @nadiakittyy, @evemeri, @petunia05, @yumnyangiexx, @somswib, @mrcarrots, @seodami, @reiofsuns2001, @charlie-sk, @lacedwithmsg, @cherry012309, let me know if you want to added to the taglist!

Networks: @k-records

Yudai/Kei 2. Yuma 3. EJ EJ extra 4. Jo 5. Nicholas 6. Special fic 8. Harua 9. Maki

Aya = Kei’s mate  Miyu = Yuma’s mate  Sora = EJ’s mate  Sana = Jo’s mate Rocky = Nicholas’ mate

Miyu, Maki, Lila, and Jay were locking up Koyomi for the night. It was late, later than usual. The kind of late that settled into bone and muscle after hours of nonstop movement. The big after-work party had taken up almost the entire restaurant, loud and rowdy but generous, and though it had left all of them exhausted, the register had never looked happier.

Lila stepped out first, tugging her scarf tighter around her neck as a gust of cold air swept down the street. “See you guys tomorrow,” she called, giving a tired wave before heading off toward her apartment. Her boots clicked against the pavement, the sound fading as she turned the corner. That left Miyu, Maki, and Jay outside the restaurant, breaths puffing into the winter air. Snow hadn’t started falling yet, but the sky carried its promise, heavy, quiet, waiting. Maki hugged his arms around himself, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. “Yuma better hurry. I can’t feel my hands.” “He’s on his way,” Miyu said, checking her phone. She leaned into Maki’s side, using his warmth while Jay locked the last door. “He said traffic’s slow.”

Jay pocketed the keys and stepped back from the entrance. The OPEN sign, now dark, reflected faintly across the windows behind him. “Long night,” he murmured. Miyu groaned in agreement. Maki just exhaled sharply, watching his breath cloud in front of him like smoke. The soft hum of an engine announced Yuma’s arrival. His car rolled to a stop at the curb, headlights washing the sidewalk in pale gold. Maki perked up immediately. “Finally.” Yuma lowered the window, grinning widely. “Your ride has arrived, my lovely people.” Miyu slipped into the front seat after giving Jay a quick wave. “Goodnight! Don’t stay out too long, it’s freezing.” “Get home safe,” Jay said with a small smile. Maki hurried into the backseat, already complaining about the cold as Yuma pulled away from the curb.

And just like that, Jay was alone again. He stayed outside Koyomi for a few minutes, hands shoved into his coat pockets as he tilted his head back to look at the sky. The clouds hung low and heavy, dimly lit by the street lamps. Everything was still. Quiet. Too quiet, maybe. That was when he heard it. A soft rustle in the bushes near the alley.

Jay straightened immediately. At first, he assumed it had to be one of the wolves coming to say hi or check in, Nicholas, maybe, or even Fuma doing a late-night patrol. But the scent wasn’t one he recognized. Not at first. Not until the figure stepped out from between the shadows, the dim light catching the edge of their silhouette, slightly hunched, breathing unevenly, the scent brushing against Jay’s senses like a warning.

~~~

Meanwhile, at the pack village, Fuma and Kei were sparring in the training yard. Snow hadn’t started falling yet, but the bite in the air sharpened every movement, every breath, every shift of muscle. Their boots scuffed over the frosted dirt, each step measured, each strike deliberate. Harua, Jo, Aya, and Sana watched from the edge of the yard, bundled in jackets and scarves as they cheered for both with equal enthusiasm.

Fuma was, as always, the powerhouse, solid, grounded, strong enough to take Kei off his feet if he timed it right. Kei, on the other hand, fought like the wind itself: faster, smoother, and annoyingly light on his feet. Their sparring matches almost always ended in a perfect tie.

But tonight… things looked different. Kei lunged forward, swift and graceful, only for Fuma to pivot, catch his arm, and twist with expertly controlled force. The younger wolves watching let out a chorus of “ooooh,” Sana clutching Jo’s sleeve as Kei tried to regain his footing. “You’ve almost got him!” Harua shouted. “Kei! Use your brain, not just your legs!” Aya yelled back, laughing. Kei grinned, only to be promptly swept off balance when Fuma dropped low and hooked his ankle, taking him to the ground with a thump that kicked up cold dust.

Fuma stepped back, hands on his hips, chest rising with controlled breaths. “I believe that’s a win.” Kei groaned into the dirt. “I slipped,” he muttered weakly. “You didn’t slip,” Jo called. “You got yeeted.” Aya snorted. “Yeeted by Fuma, honestly, could be worse.” Kei rolled onto his back, glaring at the sky. “I hate all of you.” But his smile broke through anyway. As Fuma helped Kei up, the back door to the main house swung open. EJ and Sora stepped out, both wrapped in warm coats. Sora’s cheeks were pink from the cold, her breath fogging in the air.

“Who won this time?” EJ called as they approached. Before Kei could even open his mouth, Fuma lifted an arm in a dramatic display of victory. “Me. Obviously.” Kei smacked his hand away. “Barely.” “But still,” Fuma added with a smug grin. Sora laughed softly. “Congratulations, Fuma.” “Mm, thank you, thank you,” he said with a mock bow, earning an eye roll from Kei and a round of applause from the others. “But,” EJ added, glancing toward the sky, “everyone should head inside. It’s getting colder, and the weather alert said heavy snowfall tonight. We don’t want anyone freezing out here.”

Jo tugged Sana closer. “Come on, let’s warm up before your nose turns into an icicle.” Aya looped her arm through Kei’s. “I want hot chocolate. I deserve it after watching you two almost die for fun.” “It wasn’t,” Kei started. “It absolutely was,” Harua cut in. As the group began heading toward the house, Fuma grabbed Kei’s arm. “We should bring in more firewood. Just in case.” Kei nodded. “Yeah. Don’t want to run out in the middle of the night. Oh, are Miyu and Maki on their way home yet?” EJ paused at the door. “Good idea. And yes, Miyu and Maki should be on their way home. Yuma left about fifteen minutes ago to pick them up.”

“Good,” Fuma said, already rolling up his sleeves. “They’ll be freezing when they get in.” “They always are,” Sora chuckled. Kei grinned. “Alright, come on. Before Harua burns the house down trying to make cocoa.” Harua shouted from inside, “I HEARD THAT!” Fuma just shook his head with a laugh, grabbing the axe and heading toward the woodpile with Kei at his side as the temperature continued to drop… and the first flakes of snow began to fall.

Inside the house, the living room was a burst of noise and light, the kind that chased away the cold creeping in from outside. Taki, Nicholas, and Rocky were crowded around the TV, controllers in hand, faces illuminated by the flashing colors of the game. Taki was hunched forward in fierce concentration, Nicholas leaned back with his usual cool confidence, and Rocky, well, Rocky was losing. Badly.

Jo and Sana plopped down onto the couch behind them, Sana immediately throwing her hands up. “Let’s goooo, Rocky! You’ve got this!” Rocky, in fact, did not have this. Nicholas snorted when her character ran straight off the virtual cliff for the fifth time. “You’re supposed to jump, jump, Rocky, not offer yourself to the void.” Rocky narrowed her eyes, muttering something under her breath. Nicholas opened his mouth to tease again, only for a soft violet shimmer to spark from Rocky’s fingertips. A second later, the wolf’s voice cut out mid-sentence.

His mouth moved. No sound came out. Taki burst out laughing. “OH MY GOD, she muted you!” “Rocky,” Jo said through a grin, “you did NOT just spell him.” Rocky shrugged innocently, twirling her controller. “He was annoying me and being mean.” Nicholas turned his controller sideways, glaring at her in utter betrayal as Sana snorted into her sleeve. “Don’t look at me like that,” Rocky added. “You’ve survived worse.” Jo patted Nicholas’s shoulder sympathetically. “You kind of deserve it.”

From the kitchen doorway, Harua wandered in, cupping a steaming mug of hot cocoa. Aya followed a moment later, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel as she stayed by the doorway, waiting for Kei and Fuma to come in from the cold. Harua flopped onto the armchair beside the couch. “Who’s winning?” Without breaking concentration, Taki raised his hand triumphantly. “ME. Obviously.” Jo groaned as Sana cheered. “Of course it’s you. No one should be that good at this game.”

EJ and Sora entered just as the final match finished, the screen announcing Taki’s victory with an obnoxiously loud fanfare. Taki jumped to his feet, fists in the air. “YES! Bow down to your champion!” Rocky rolled her eyes but smiled, flicking her fingers subtly to undo the spell. Nicholas inhaled sharply as sound returned to him, immediately pointing at Rocky. “NEVER do that again.” “I give it five minutes,” Taki muttered.

EJ leaned against the doorframe, shaking his head with a laugh. “You know… sometimes I wish I could use magic. That spell would’ve worked wonders on this pack. Especially when you all were younger.” Nicholas scoffed. “We weren’t that bad.” Sora snorted. “Didn’t I hear a story about how you tried to set the house on fire because Maki wouldn’t let you win at hide-and-seek?” Taki raised his hand. “That was actually me.” EJ sighed. “It was all of you.” Laughter filled the room again, warm and bright, while the snow outside began to fall heavier and heavier against the windows. 

Fuma and Kei stepped inside, each carrying a heavy stack of freshly cut firewood in their arms. A gust of icy wind followed them in, scattering snowflakes across the floor. Both wolves shook their heads like big dogs, sending flakes flying everywhere. “Close the door, close the door!” Harua yelped from the couch, curling deeper into his blanket. Kei kicked the door shut with his heel, just as Yuma’s car rolled to a stop outside. Seconds later, the front door opened again, this time revealing Yuma, Miyu, and Maki, all three looking like they had walked through a blizzard.

Snow clung to their hair and coats, and Miyu was practically wrapped around Yuma’s arm, her teeth chattering. Yuma immediately pulled her closer, rubbing her arms up and down to warm her. Maki hurried in behind them, slamming the door closed as another burst of wind rattled the windows. “Holy crap,” Maki shivered. “It’s like the North Pole out there.” Fuma raised an eyebrow. “And it’s just getting started.” EJ was already helping carry the firewood the rest of the way, stacking the pieces neatly beside the hearth. He tossed a few extra logs into the fire, the flames crackling louder as warmth began spilling across the room.

“Come on, sit down,” Sora said, ushering the newcomers toward the living room. “You’re freezing.” Taki peered over the back of the couch. “How was work? Looked like you guys had a full house tonight.” Miyu let out a breathy laugh as she dropped onto the couch beside him, curling into Yuma’s side. “Busy. Very busy.” Maki nodded, flopping onto the rug. “We had this huge group booking, almost the entire restaurant.” “And we tried out a new stew tonight,” Miyu added, her voice brightening. “Maki and I made it together.” “It was so good,” Maki said proudly. “The customers kept ordering more.” Jo grinned. “So you’re telling me we get to try some tomorrow?” Maki nodded. “If Jay doesn’t eat it all first.” Sana giggled. “I’m excited already.”

Around them, the storm raged harder, howling winds pressing against the windows, whirling snow blurring the world outside. The lights flickered once, but the fire roared steadily, pushing back the cold. Inside the house, warmth blossomed everywhere, across flushed cheeks, blankets shared between wolves and mates, and laughter weaving through every breath. They were safe. Together. Happy. Unaware of the footsteps moving closer through the storm.

~~~  Meanwhile with Jay  ~~~

The person who stepped out of the bushes collapsed almost instantly, their legs giving out before Jay could even get a proper look at their face. He lunged forward, catching them just before they hit the ground. Their skin was ice-cold, dangerously so, and their breathing shallow. “Hey, hey, stay with me,” Jay muttered, lifting them carefully into his arms. No response. The wind whipped harder, snow kicking up around him. He didn’t waste another second. With the storm growing worse by the minute, Jay carried the unconscious figure all the way back to his apartment, pushing the door open with his shoulder.

Inside, warmth washed over them, but the person in his arms didn’t stir. Jay laid them down gently on his couch, brushing the snow from their hair and clothes. Their skin was freezing. This wasn’t good, not for a human. Jay grabbed the blanket from the side chair, wrapping it around them before pulling out his phone. He hesitated. This wasn’t something he wanted to tell them over the phone… but they needed to know.

He pressed call. The line rang… and rang… and rang.  Until finally, Miyu picked up. “Jay? Hey, sorry, it’s loud, the pack is,” She paused, voice shifting, instinct sharpening. “Jay? What’s wrong?” In the background, Jay could hear chaos, Taki yelling at Nicholas, Sana laughing, Maki shouting something about cheating. The usual warm, living noise of the pack. Jay swallowed. “I… need to talk to everyone.” Miyu’s breath hitched. “What happened?” Yuma must’ve heard her tone, because Jay heard his voice next, closer. “Miyu? Baby, what is it?” Miyu put the call on speaker, raising her voice to cut through the living room noise. “Everyone, quiet a second. Jay needs to talk to us.”

The room fell silent. Jay exhaled shakily. “After Yuma picked you and Maki up,” he began slowly, “someone came out of the bushes near Koyomi.” A murmur rippled through the pack. Jay continued, voice tightening, “An old acquaintance. The mate of one of the vampires from my old coven.” EJ’s tone cut through the speaker, sharp. “Which one?” “I don’t know why she’s here,” Jay admitted. “Or why she’s alone. But I brought her to my apartment, she collapsed. She’s unconscious.” The pack exchanged muted reactions, fear, confusion, instinct. Jay’s next words were even heavier. “But… if she’s here, then her mate won’t be far. He’ll come for her.” A beat of silence followed. “This is a warning,” Jay said quietly. “Prepare yourselves. He’ll surely join her soon.”

Sora was the first to speak again, repeating EJ’s earlier question with more force. “Jay… who was it?” A long, heavy pause followed. Jay’s voice came back strained. “It was… Heeseung’s mate.” Shock rippled through the room. Sora inhaled sharply, her hand flying to her chest. Miyu froze mid-step. The name alone changed the energy in the living room. Fuma’s orange-gold eyes narrowed. Kei and Harua exchanged confused looks. “Who?” Jo asked quietly. Sora swallowed, stepping forward as all eyes turned to her. “You guys… don’t understand. Heeseung isn’t just some vampire.”

Yuma’s arm tightened protectively around Miyu. EJ’s red eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, his instincts rising fast. Sora continued, voice low and serious, “Heeseung is one of the highest-ranking vampires in Jay’s old coven. He’s terrifyingly strong. Nobody knows what his gift is — not even Jay. But you can feel it. He walks into a room and everything gets… colder. He’s quiet, but he doesn’t need to threaten anyone. His presence is enough.”

The younger wolves exchanged uneasy glances. “And the worst part?” Sora added softly. “He’s hyper-protective of his mate. Anyone even looking at her wrong was enough to set him off. If Jay found her alone and hurt…” Her voice trailed off, but everyone understood what she didn’t say. Jay sighed through the speaker. “Yeah. That’s why I wanted to warn you. Whatever happened, his mate is in bad shape. He’ll come for her.” Yuma felt Miyu tense, pulling her against him. EJ placed a steadying hand on Sora’s back, his red eyes glowing brighter with each passing second. After a moment, Jay added, “Just… be ready.” And then the line went dead.

A tense silence settled over the room. Miyu exhaled shakily. “If Heeseung is coming… then Sunghoon won’t be far behind. They’re always together.” A deep, rumbling growl escaped EJ’s chest, a sound that vibrated through the floor. His eyes burned a sharp, dangerous red. “I am not dealing with Sunghoon again.” No one dared disagree. And outside, the storm only grew stronger, carrying with it the threat of two vampires, and the unknown fate of a human girl who had somehow survived long enough for Jay to save her.

The next morning, Jay woke earlier than usual, the weight of last night still sitting heavily in his chest. His apartment was quiet, the only sound was the slow hum of the heater fighting against the winter cold. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and glanced over at the couch. She was still there. Still unconscious. But warmer. He let out a slow breath of relief. Her color had returned slightly, nothing dramatic, but enough to show that she wasn’t freezing anymore. He pulled the blanket up a little higher around her shoulders before heading to the kitchenette.

Snow was piled almost a meter high outside his window, glittering in the morning sun. It looked peaceful… the kind of peace that felt like a lie. Jay cooked quietly, keeping an ear turned toward the couch. By the time the smell of breakfast filled the apartment, he heard a soft sound. A groan. Shifting fabric. A confused inhale. Jay turned. She was stirring, eyes blinking open slowly, unfocused at first. Her brow furrowed, confusion flickering across her face as she sat up slightly, clutching the blanket.

“…Where…?” Her voice was thin, barely above a whisper. Then, suddenly, panic. “Heeseung? Heeseung?” Jay approached quickly but gently. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Her eyes snapped to him. Recognition flashed. “Jay?” she breathed. “Yeah,” he said, offering a small nod. “It’s me. I found you outside my restaurant last night. You collapsed.” She looked down, fingers tightening in the blanket. She seemed frail, physically and emotionally, like a person who had been stretched too thin for too long.

Jay crouched beside the couch. “Why are you here? What happened?” She blinked slowly, eyes distant. “I… don’t know. A few days ago, I had this dream. It felt real. I heard someone’s voice. It told me to come here.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “And then… I don’t remember anything. I woke up here, in your apartment.” Jay swallowed. A dream wasn’t enough to travel through a blizzard alone. Not safely, not sanely. “Does Heeseung know you’re here?” he asked carefully. Her reaction was immediate, eyes widening, shoulders tensing, breath stuttering. “No,” she whispered. “Or… I don’t think so. He, he wouldn’t have let me go.” She swallowed hard, gaze dropping. “So… he probably doesn’t know.”

Something in her voice made Jay pause. Fear. Weariness. And something heartbreakingly dull. It wasn’t how a mate should sound when speaking about the person who loved them. Jay studied her closely. She looked… empty. Like someone who had forgotten what safety felt like. His eyes drifted to her neck, and froze. Two fresh fang marks, bruised around the edges, visible even above the collar of the shirt he had wrapped her in.

Heeseung had fed from her. Recently. Which wasn’t uncommon for vampires with human mates. But the marks looked deep. Too deep. Jay’s jaw tightened. Whatever had happened… it wasn’t right. And whatever had driven her here, dream or not, wasn’t coincidence. Before Jay could ask more, she flinched at a distant sound of wind against the window. Jay softened his voice. “You’re safe here. I promise.” She didn’t look convinced. And somewhere deep in Jay’s chest, a knot of dread twisted tighter.

Jay handed her a warm plate of food, gentle but insistent. “Eat. You’ll feel better.” She hesitated for a moment, like she wasn’t used to being offered anything without strings, but finally took a small bite. Jay watched her shoulders loosen just a little. She was still pale, still shaken, but warmth and food were at least pulling her back from the edge.

He needed answers. And he needed backup. So while she focused on eating, Jay grabbed his coat and stepped out onto the small balcony, closing the sliding door behind him to block out the cold. His breath fogged instantly in the frozen air. He didn’t call Miyu this time. He dialed EJ directly. It rang twice before the alpha picked up, voice thick with sleep.

“…Jay? What’s wrong?” Jay lowered his voice. “Sorry to wake you, Euijoo. I… found something out.” The sleep vanished from EJ’s tone almost instantly. “Go on.” Jay swallowed, glancing back through the glass at the girl on his couch. “I don’t think Heeseung and his mate’s bond is… stable. She shouldn’t have been able to leave him. Not like this. Not on her own.” EJ was silent, listening. “And she’s scared of him,” Jay added quietly. “Really scared. Something’s wrong. I don’t know what happened, but, whatever it is, it drove her here.”

That alone said more than anything else could. Jay continued, “I want to ask… will the pack protect her, while I try to figure this out? I know it’ll bring trouble. I know Heeseung will come. But I can’t just send her back.” EJ let out a slow breath on the other end of the line. Jay could almost picture him rubbing a hand over his face, weighing the danger against the instinct to protect.

Finally, EJ spoke, firm, resolute, alpha. “Jay… this is why we exist. To protect humans from vampires. If she needs us, she stays with us. Bring her to the village as soon as you can.” Relief washed through Jay, loosening something in his chest. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Really.” “Be careful getting here,” EJ added. “The storm’s been worse in the forest. And Jay… don’t let her out of your sight.” “I won’t.” They hung up. Jay stepped back inside, the warmth of his apartment wrapping around him again. She looked up from the couch, half-finished plate in her hands, uncertainty still clouding her expression. Jay closed the door behind him.

Jay sat down beside her, keeping his voice soft, steady, something safe she could hold onto. “There’s a pack of wolves I trust,” he began. “Good people. Their mates, too. You can stay with them for as long as you want. They’ll protect you.” She froze slightly, eyes flicking toward him, uncertainty clouding the fragile calm she’d gained. Jay added gently, “Sora is there.” Her breath hitched. “And she’s the alpha’s mate now.” At that, something shifted in her expression, not relief exactly, but a flicker of comfort. A familiar name. A familiar face. Someone she hadn’t been allowed to see in far, far too long. “…Sora?” she whispered. Jay nodded. That was all it took. She agreed.

Jay helped her put on one of his coats, bundled her in a scarf, and walked her carefully to the car. The roads were thick with snow, the forest even worse, but he drove slowly, carefully, the tires crunching through the icy layers as they made their way up to the pack village. When they finally arrived, two figures stood waiting outside, their breath clouding the air. EJ. And Sora. The moment Jay stepped out of the car and opened the passenger door, Sora spotted the girl.

“(Y/n)!” she called, voice cracking with emotion as she ran forward. The girl, (Y/n), stood shyly behind the car door, eyes downcast. “H…hi,” she murmured, barely audible. Sora’s excited expression softened instantly. She glanced at Jay, concern tightening her brow, then at EJ, who had noticed as well. The last time Sora had seen (Y/n), she had been soft, gentle, bright, quiet, but warm. Now she looked tired. Worn. Fragile. And it hurt Sora to see.

EJ stepped forward, tone calm but warm. “Sora, why don’t you take her to the pond? The snow will make it even prettier; it’ll be beautiful. Peaceful.” Sora blinked, then smiled softly at the idea. “Yeah… that’s perfect.” She ran inside, returning with thick blankets and an extra coat for (Y/n), whom she wrapped up carefully before leading her toward the snowy path. As the two disappeared through the trees, EJ turned back to Jay. The air grew heavier. They had things to discuss, serious things. And whatever answers Jay had brought… EJ knew they mattered more than any of them yet understood.

Jay and EJ stepped inside, shaking the snow from their coats. The house was quieter than usual; most of the pack was out on patrol, training, or working in their usual routines. Only the hum of the heater and the faint crackling of the fireplace filled the space. EJ guided Jay toward the dining table. “Tell me everything,” he said, voice low but steady. Jay nodded, pulling out a chair. “I will.” But first, he glanced toward the window, watching the falling snow swallow the path that Sora and (Y/n) had taken.  EJ followed his gaze, his red eyes reflecting the storm outside.

Meanwhile, down the snowy path, Sora led (Y/n) to the pond. Even in the dead of winter, even in this kind of cold, the pond was steaming, warm enough to melt snow around its edges. A supernatural phenomenon rooted deep in the wolves’ territory. Beautiful. Calming. Safe. (Y/n) stopped in her tracks as the mist curled up from the shimmering surface. “It’s… warm?” she whispered, eyes widening. Sora smiled softly. “Always. We don’t really know why. It’s sort of… our little sanctuary, maybe we could go take a swim someday.” 

(Y/n) stepped closer, letting the gentle heat brush her skin. For a moment, a small flicker of wonder broke through her exhaustion. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured. Sora spread the blankets onto the dry patch of ground, patting the spot beside her. (Y/n) sat. The silence between them was gentle, peaceful. The falling snow muffled the world around them, leaving only the soft hiss of steam rising from the pond. After a few minutes, Sora turned her head, watching (Y/n)’s distant expression. “What happened?” Sora asked quietly. “How did you end up here?” (Y/n)’s breath caught.

She trusted Sora more than Jay, she always had. Sora had been the only warmth she’d known in the coven, the only one who spoke to her like she was human. So (Y/n) looked at her hands, then at the steaming pond, then finally into Sora’s eyes. And for the first time since she arrived… she let her guard drop. “Sora… the truth is…” She inhaled shakily. (Y/n) paused, her eyes drifting around the snowy clearing. For a moment, Sora watched her shoulders tense, her breath hitching like she truly believed someone was lurking behind the trees. But there was no one. Just Sora. Only then did (Y/n) continue.

“…Lately,” she whispered, fingers curling tightly in the blanket, “for maybe two months now… I’ve been having these dreams.” Sora stayed still, giving her space, letting her talk at her own pace. “I can never remember what they’re about,” (Y/n) said softly. “Except for… a voice.” Her eyes lifted toward the mist rising off the pond, as if she could almost hear it now. “It’s warm. Deep. Gentle. It calls my name. Tells me to come closer.” She swallowed hard. “And I don’t know who it belongs to. But… I know it’s not Heeseung.” Sora felt her heart skip. “It’s not Heeseung?” (Y/n) shook her head. “No. I would recognize his voice anywhere. This one… It’s different. And since the dreams started, I’ve been feeling… strange around him.”

Her hands were trembling now. “It’s like I’m in a daze when he’s near. Foggy. Wrong. I used to like him, I think. Or I thought I did. But now…” Her breaths grew uneven. “I’m not even sure I ever did, Sora. It feels like all of it was a dream I was told to believe.” Sora stared at her, completely thrown. “What do you mean? You accepted the mate bond, right?” she asked gently. “You and Heeseung were…mates.” (Y/n) looked up, and for the first time, Sora saw real fear in her eyes. “That’s the thing,” she whispered shakily. “I don’t know if I ever chose it. And I… I don’t know if I was ever truly his to begin with.”

Sora froze. Because mate bonds don’t fade. Mate bonds don’t break. Mate bonds don’t lose feeling. Unless something was wrong. Terribly, impossibly wrong. And suddenly, Sora wasn’t sure if (Y/n) had ever truly been Heeseung’s mate at all.

A sharp twig snapped somewhere in the trees. Sora immediately stood, stepping in front of (Y/n) without hesitation. Her eyes sharpened, posture shifting into something ready to fight. But then a familiar voice called out. “It’s just me! Fuma, don’t worry.” Sora exhaled harshly, shoulders relaxing. “You scared me.” Fuma stepped into view, snow dusting his coat. He’d been patrolling when he spotted the two girls by the pond; EJ’s mindlink had alerted the entire pack about a new human visitor.

At first, he didn’t smell anything unusual. Her scent was faint. Gentle. Hidden under layers of cold and exhaustion. But the moment he reached the edge of the pond, everything inside him exploded. Mate. The word slammed into his skull, a visceral roar shaking him to the core. His wolf surged forward violently, forcing its way to the surface. Fuma staggered. His fangs pushed out. His claws grew. His eyes flared, molten golden, flickering with threads of red, that near-alpha power buzzing like electricity under his skin.

And there she was. A timid girl hiding behind Sora. His mate. But before he could even process that, something else struck him, a cold, slicing rage. Those marks on her neck. Two deep, bruised punctures. Vampire bite marks. Recent. Angry. His snarl tore out uncontrollably. For one terrifying heartbeat, he thought, Sora did this. You let a vampire feed on her… But logic slammed back into him. There was no fresh blood. The scent was at least a day old. Sora had nothing to do with it. He forced himself to stay put, claws half-extended from the strain.

“Fuma? What’s going on?” Sora asked, voice tight with concern. She had never seen him like this. The steady one. The calm one. The wolf who never lost control. (Y/n) clung to her, trembling. Her eyes darted across the snowy clearing, trying to find him, but missing every time. “What’s going on? W-what’s happening?” she whispered. Fuma froze. She wasn’t looking at him. Not once. His wolf stumbled in confusion. Was his mate… blind? She didn’t track his movements. She didn’t react to his eyes, or fangs, or posture, only the sounds he made.

He took a slow step forward. Sora squeezed (Y/n)’s arm gently. “It’s okay, (Y/n). He’s a friend. He’s just very protective.” (Y/n) swallowed hard. “I… is he a vampire?” “No,” Sora said quickly. “He’s a werewolf. His name is Fuma.” (Y/n) nodded, trusting Sora’s reassurance, but kept herself pressed close to the one vampire she knew. Fuma inhaled shakily, eyes softening despite the tension in his muscles. Something was wrong. Her scent was muted. Her fear too constant. Her confusion too deep. And the connection, the mate bond, pulled at him so fiercely it almost hurt. His wolf whispered, desperate and worried: Mate is hurt. Mate is scared. Protect her.

Fuma stepped forward slowly, each movement controlled, careful. He stopped just a few steps away, close enough to see her properly, far enough not to overwhelm her. Sora watched him closely. When she saw the tension melt from his shoulders, the golden-red flicker in his eyes settling to their usual warm orange-gold, she relaxed and nodded. He was himself again. “Is this (Y/n) then?”

His voice had returned to its usual velvety gentleness, deep, steady, the kind of tone that wrapped around the ears like a warm blanket. Sora nodded. “Yes. This is (Y/n). She’s the mate of one of the vampires from the coven Jay and I used to belong to.” The word mate hit Fuma like a blade. His heart stuttered. Then it broke. She already had a mate. Someone else. A vampire. It didn’t make sense. It didn’t fit. The bond he felt, the pull, the instinct, the soul-deep recognition, none of that could be wrong. Mate bonds were absolute. Unmistakable. Unbreakable. Fate didn’t make mistakes.

So why…? “Oh,” was all he managed. Just one small, hollow sound. He had dozens of questions spinning violently in his head. What do you mean she has a mate? How? Why does she smell like mine? Why is my wolf reaching for her? Why does looking at her hurt and feel right all at once? but none of them escaped his lips. (Y/n) perked up slightly at the sound of his voice. It was subtle, barely a shift, but she tilted her head, as if trying to place him. The tone stirred something faint, like a memory or a dream she couldn’t quite grab.

But she didn’t turn toward him. Not fully. “Let’s go back to the house, yeah?” Sora said gently, sensing the tension building again. “It might help to have more people around.” Fuma took a small step forward to help. (Y/n)’s eyes flickered toward him…but didn’t land. Didn’t focus. Didn’t see him. They drifted past him, unfocused, trapped behind something he couldn’t decipher. Her pupils didn’t tighten at movement. Her gaze didn’t track sound accurately. Her expression was distant, foggy.

Her eyes looked wrong. Dazed. Glossy. Clouded over, like a thin veil, separated her from the world. A chill crawled up Fuma’s spine. Was this the mark of a witch’s curse? A stolen memory? A bond tampered with? Or worse… Was it the effect of the vampire who claimed to be her mate? His hands curled into fists, claws threatening to break skin. Because whatever had been done to her… Whatever had clouded her mind, blinded her, muted her scent, and broken her spirit. His wolf knew one thing with absolute certainty: She didn’t belong to that vampire.

Back at the house, the warmth hit them immediately, melting the cold from their clothes and skin. Sora gently guided (Y/n) inside, keeping her steps steady. “Come on, sit by the fire. It’ll help,” she said softly. Sana and Jo were curled up on the floor watching a movie. They both turned when they heard footsteps. “Oh! Hi,” Sana chirped. Jo gave a small smile. “Hey. Nice to meet you.” (Y/n) offered a quiet, timid, “Hi,” before folding herself down onto a cushion near the fire. Her hands found the edge of the blanket Sora had given her, gripping it like an anchor.

Fuma lingered in the doorway, watching. (Y/n)’s eyes tracked Sana’s movement. Then Jo’s. Then Sora’s. They weren’t perfect, still dazed, but she could see them. Yet when his foot shifted, when the floor creaked beneath him… Nothing. Her eyes didn’t flick toward him. Didn’t acknowledge him. Didn’t react at all. As if he wasn’t there. His wolf snarled inside him, furious and confused. Not at her, at whatever had been done to her. Whatever had taken her sight from him. He hated being angry. It unsettled him. Made his skin itch. His wolf pacing, restless, clawing at his ribs.

He took a step forward, Sora immediately grabbed his arm. She didn’t ask. She didn’t warn him. She just used her vampire strength and dragged him with her, despite the fact that he was larger and usually immovable as stone. He resisted, not wanting to leave the living room, not wanting to be away from the girl who made his wolf ache, but Sora wasn’t giving him a choice. “Come with me,” she hissed under her breath.

She pulled him toward the dining table where EJ and Jay sat, deep in conversation. Papers and maps were spread out, notes about Heeseung, about the coven, about any possible sign of movement during the storm. EJ looked up immediately when he heard Sora’s footsteps. One glance at her face and he straightened, red eyes sharpening with concern. Sora was serious. Fuma looked tense. Something had clearly happened. EJ’s gaze flicked between them. “Alright,” he said calmly but firmly. “What’s going on?” And by the way, Sora didn’t let go of Fuma’s arm, practically anchoring him in place. EJ knew exactly one thing: Whatever was wrong… Fuma was involved.

Sora released Fuma’s arm only when they reached the table, but she didn’t move far. She stood close, arms folded, eyes fixed on him with an expression that said well? Fuma hesitated. His throat felt tight. His wolf paced restlessly, urging him on, demanding he claim what was his, but he had no idea what speaking the truth would cause. What it would change. What it would break. Sora nudged him gently. “Tell them.” He inhaled slowly, steadying himself, then finally looked at EJ. “(Y/n)… is my mate.” Silence. EJ’s brows lowered slightly, his red eyes narrowing as he tried to process the impossible. Jay sat forward, lips parting in visible surprise.

“That’s…” Jay began carefully, “complicated.” Fuma bristled. “It’s the truth.” “I’m not saying it isn’t,” Jay reassured quickly. “There are… stories. Old ones. About cases where a mate bond forms on one side, but not the other.” He scratched his temple, searching his memory. “Where person A recognizes person B as their mate, but person B doesn’t feel the bond back.” Fuma stiffened. “That happens?” “Rarely,” Jay said. “Almost never with wolves. Your species usually has the strongest mate-bond instincts.” His eyes flicked toward the living room, where (Y/n) sat quietly by the fire. “But for vampires… It’s more common. Still rare. But not unheard of.”

EJ leaned back, fingers steepled under his chin. “But she identified Heeseung as her mate.” Jay nodded grimly. “Which is why I said… complicated.” Sora shook her head sharply. “No. I don’t think Heeseung is her mate at all.” Both EJ and Fuma looked at her instantly. Sora continued, voice low, eyes intense. “She told me she’s been having dreams for two months. A voice calling her. Warm. Deep. Familiar in a way she can’t explain.” She crossed her arms. “She says she’s been feeling… wrong around Heeseung. Like her feelings aren’t hers. Like she was in a fog.” Jay frowned. EJ glanced toward the blankets by the fire. Fuma’s wolf growled quietly inside him, protective, furious, validated.

EJ sucked in a breath. “That’s not natural.” “No,” Sora agreed. “It’s not.” Jay tapped a finger against the table, thinking. “There’s only one explanation if her senses are being selectively altered,” “A spell,” Sora finished quietly. “Or something worse.” The three of them shared a look. And they all knew the same witch who might understand what was happening. “When Rocky and Nicholas get home,” Sora said firmly, “we need Rocky to take a look. If this is magic… she’ll know.”

Fuma’s jaw tightened. Because it wasn’t just curiosity anymore. It was fear. Fear of what had been done to his mate. Fear of what Heeseung had pulled her into. Fear of what the fog in her eyes meant. And underneath all of it, something else: Hope. Fragile, trembling hope… that maybe she was his after all.

Sora gave EJ a quick kiss, soft, grounding, before heading back toward the living room. She slipped down beside (Y/n), offering warmth and company without overwhelming her. (Y/n) leaned slightly into her presence, comforted by the only familiar voice she had left. Jo, still lounging near the fire, had overheard enough of the earlier conversation to understand something serious was unfolding. But he didn’t say a word. If (Y/n) wasn’t aware of the full truth yet, there was a reason for it. And protecting her meant protecting what she didn’t know, at least for now.

Fuma remained by the doorway for a bit longer, silently watching. His eyes traced the faint fog in (Y/n)’s gaze… but he said nothing. Not yet. His wolf paced uneasily, confused and angry, but he forced himself to breathe, to wait, to think.

About an hour later, the front door swung open. Nicholas, Rocky, Miyu, and Yuma tumbled inside, all laughing loudly about a joke Nicholas had made. Snow clung to their coats, their cheeks flushed from the cold, and their energy filled the house instantly.

But the mood shifted the second EJ stood up. “Nicholas. Rocky,” he called, his tone leaving no room for delay. Nicholas’ laughter faded, replaced with concern as he squeezed Rocky’s hand. She looked between the alpha and Jay, then at the unfamiliar human girl by the fire. Something was wrong. EJ wasted no time. He quickly explained: the storm, Jay finding (Y/n) alone, the bite marks, her connection to Heeseung, the strange dreams, and the possibility that her bond and her mind had been tampered with.

Rocky’s face paled slightly. She understood right away why she had been called. “You want me to look into her,” she whispered, eyes flickering to (Y/n). Jay nodded. “We don’t know what’s been done to her. We need answers.” Rocky hesitated, biting her lip. “My witch magic… might not be enough. This doesn’t feel like regular spellwork.” Her voice trembled. “If I try, I might need to use my oracle side, and,” She shook her head, fear flickering in her eyes. “That’s different. It’s deeper. Harder. And I haven’t done a full read in months.”

Nicholas immediately pulled her close, arms wrapping around her protectively. “I’ll be right beside you,” he murmured. “If you need help, we can even call Jake, even if I would prefer to keep him away.” Rocky grimaced at the idea.

“I’ve never done it without Jake, but I know it’s going to be more complicated to have him here, because of you,” Nicholas snorted. “Yeah, I’d rather avoid him, too.” “That’s not what I said, but whatever,” Rocky looked back toward (Y/n), who sat quietly beside Sora, unaware of the worried glances and hushed tones. “I’ll try,” Rocky said softly. “I’ll do my best.” She swallowed hard. “But I can’t promise I’ll succeed.”

Rocky explained what she needed: certain herbs for clarity, candles that could hold magical focus, and a few heavier ritual tools she only used for oracle readings. The house scattered into motion immediately. Just then, the front door opened again, letting in a gust of cold air and three more voices. Maki, Taki, and Kei returned from training, snow in their hair and adrenaline still buzzing through their steps.

Rocky waved them over. “I need help gathering supplies. We’re doing an Oracle read.” Taki blinked. “Oohhhh, one of the big ones.” “Unfortunately,” Rocky muttered. Everyone split up. Taki and Kei went to gather herbs from the greenhouse. Rocky stayed behind with Nicholas, sorting candles and bowls. Maki was paired with Fuma to fetch the heavier materials from the storage shed behind the house. They walked through the fresh snow, boots crunching softly. Fuma was silent, too silent, and Maki noticed immediately. He always did.

Fuma had raised him, taught him, guided him. Maki could read every shift in his tone, every change in his breathing, every flicker of hesitation. So after a few steps, he glanced at the older wolf. “…What’s going on with you?” he asked gently. Fuma didn’t answer right away. His breath fogged the air, eyes fixed forward. Only when they reached the shed door did he exhale shakily.

“She can’t see me.” Maki blinked. “(Y/n)?” Fuma nodded, jaw tightening. “At first, I thought she might be blind. And that wouldn’t bother me, not at all.” His voice softened. “But it’s not that. She sees everyone else. Sora. Sana. Jo. Jay.” Maki’s brows furrowed. “Just not you?” “Just me.” Fuma’s throat bobbed. “Her eyes… don’t react. It’s like there’s a fog there. A barrier. Something is keeping her from looking at me.” He swallowed hard. “And that’s worse. It feels like something’s preventing her from seeing what she’s meant to.”

Maki shifted closer, lowering his voice. “Fuma… maybe Rocky can remove the block. If that’s what it is.” Fuma huffed a bitter, tired laugh. “Maybe.” He lifted one of the heavy boxes from the shelf. “But I don’t want to get my hopes up. Not until we know what’s been done to her. Not until we know who she was meant for.” Maki put a hand on his arm. “You’re the calm one,” Maki said softly. “The steady one. If anyone deserves their mate to see them, to know them… it’s you.” Fuma looked away, eyes clouded. “I just hope fate agrees.”

Once everything was gathered, Sora took (Y/n) aside and explained what was going to happen, gently, carefully, making sure not to overwhelm her. (Y/n) listened quietly, nodding even though fear lingered in her expression. She wasn’t used to this many people. Wasn’t used to being somewhere safe. And she definitely wasn’t used to anyone going out of their way to help her.

When the room was ready, Rocky sat cross-legged on the floor, directly across from (Y/n). Nicholas hovered nearby, close enough to ground her, far enough not to interfere. The others had spread out into the adjacent room, seated on couches, steps, or the floor, silently waiting. Fuma stood near the doorway, arms folded tightly, trying to steady the storm in his chest.

Rocky exhaled slowly. This was an oracle reading, a real one. The kind she had avoided doing unless absolutely necessary. She remembered the last real oracle vision she’d had. And that vision… That body she saw on the ground… Was it connected to this girl? This situation? This vampire? Her stomach twisted. Was it Fuma she’d seen lying there? Or Nicholas? Or this Heeseung person Jay warned them about? She wasn’t sure. And that uncertainty terrified her.

She placed her palms on her knees, grounding herself. Nicholas squeezed her shoulder once, silently reassuring her that he was there. Across from her, (Y/n) waited patiently, hands resting in her lap. She was nervous. Anyone could see it. But she was trying. She wanted answers, too. “Are you ready?” Rocky asked softly. (Y/n) inhaled, then nodded. Rocky reached out her hands. (Y/n) hesitated only briefly before placing her own in Rocky’s palms, her fingers trembling.

Rocky shut her eyes. Her breathing slowed. Her magic shifted. Her oracle side stirred. A soft glow began to pulse beneath her eyelids, a bright, unnatural violet. The air around them tingled, pressure building as the energy thickened. Then it happened. A swirling fog appeared between them, violet with streaks of gold, twisting, spinning like smoke caught in a slow whirlpool. It crackled faintly, sending ripples of charged air through the room.

The other wolves felt it even from the next room. A few gasped quietly. Kei’s hair stood on end. EJ’s red eyes brightened instinctively. Fuma’s breath caught in his chest. Rocky’s grip tightened around (Y/n)’s hands. The fog thickened, swirling faster, wrapping the two of them in a strange, shimmering cocoon of violet-gold light. Rocky’s head suddenly snapped backward. A sharp gasp tore from her throat, her entire body arching like an electric shock had hit her spine.

“Rocky!” Nicholas surged forward, panic in his voice. He stopped himself just in time from touching her, pulling him back just enough. “Not yet. Give her space.” He whispered. But the fear in Nicholas’ eyes was unmistakable. Across from Rocky, (Y/n) mirrored the movement, her head tilting back, breath catching, fingers tightening around Rocky’s hands. Her lips parted in a silent gasp. Then both girls went still, their bodies locked in the vision.

~~~ In the vision ~~~ 

Rocky blinked into the darkness. It wasn’t empty, it was thick, suffocating, like walking through a maze carved out of shadows. Every direction looked the same. Every step felt unsure. She could barely see her hands in front of her face. Where am I? Then a voice drifted through the darkness. A low whisper. A warm one. Familiar in a way that made the hair on her arms stand up. “Hey… come closer. I’m here.” Rocky spun toward the sound, but the voice echoed strangely, like it was bouncing off unseen walls. Too far away. Too soft to grasp.

She moved anyway, feet hitting ground that felt unreal, like walking on mist. As she moved deeper, the darkness thinned just enough for something to form. A hazy image emerged, fog curling around the edges. Rocky stepped closer. It was (Y/n). Four or five years younger. Sitting in a café, fingers wrapped around a mug of coffee or tea. She was smiling, softly, shyly, at someone across the table.

A man. Rocky didn’t know him. But his eyes… They glazed red when he blinked. Vampire. Rocky’s stomach twisted. She kept walking. The voice returned, closer this time, but still distorted. “Come on… this way. You’re almost there.” She shivered. It tugged at her memory, like a name on the tip of her tongue, but she still couldn’t place it. More images flickered to life along the maze walls. (Y/n) and the vampire, the one she assumed was Heeseung, walking together. Sitting together. His hand on her wrist. His mouth on her neck. Feeding. Too much feeding.

Rocky’s breath tightened as she passed image after image of him drinking from (Y/n), her body limp in his arms, head tilted, eyes half-closed. This isn’t how mates behave. She knew that much. The maze twisted. Another image flickered into view, and Rocky stopped.

It was Sora. Not as she was now. Not a vampire. Human Sora. Sick. Pale. Hooked up to hospital machines. Rocky’s chest ached. She saw (Y/n) sitting beside her bed, holding her hand. Rocky exhaled shakily. EJ never had to see Sora like that. She was grateful for that. And grateful (Y/n) had been there when no one else was. Rocky took a step closer. The voice called out again. But this time… it was distorted. More so than the other times.  Broken. Like someone had grabbed the familiar sound and twisted it through static. “Come… closer… hurry…” The urgency hit her like a shove to the chest.

Then a second voice echoed through the maze. Clearer. Sharper. Cold. Rocky froze. She didn’t recognize it. It slithered around her like smoke, curling in her ears. Don’t listen to the other one. Listen to me. Come to me instead… Her stomach dropped. Two voices. Two forces. And one of them was trying to confuse her. The fog thickened, choking, burning as it wrapped around her ankles. That meant she was closer. Closer to the truth. Closer to the center of whatever bound (Y/n)’s mind.

She pushed forward. Pain shot through her toes, sharp, electric. It crawled upward, slow but relentless. Her breath hitched. She’d never felt this type of pain inside a vision before. Whatever was inside (Y/n)’s head… Whatever was done to her… It was strong. Dangerously strong. Rocky gritted her teeth, forcing one foot in front of the other. The familiar voice, the warm one, the one she wanted to trust, called her deeper into the maze.

Another image flickered alive. Heeseung. Alone this time. But the times were different; this was far in the past, perhaps even so far back that not even Jay was a vampire yet. His eyes glowed red… but not just red. Black. A ring of deep, inky darkness bled through the iris. Rocky’s breath ran cold. Before him lay bodies. Dozens of them. Werewolves. Slaughtered. The air tasted of ash and blood. The vision pulsed with an old rage, something ancient and terrifying simmering in Heeseung’s stance.

Rocky’s heart plummeted. Heeseung wasn’t just powerful. He wasn’t just dangerous. He was something worse. A threat. Maybe something the pack wasn’t ready for. She pushed on, pain now chewing its way up her calves, to her knees, to her hips. Every step felt like dragging her body through fire. But then, the fog around her thinned. Just slightly. Just enough. The warm voice called again, clearer now, clearer than it had ever been. And suddenly… She placed it.

Fuma. But not grown Fuma. Not the calm, tall, steady wolf she knew. A young Fuma. A child. Maybe a teenager at most. Rocky’s heart thudded hard. Why was (Y/n) hearing young Fuma’s voice in her dreams? How deep did their bond go? How long had fate been trying to pull them together? This wasn’t a recent connection. This wasn’t new. This was old.

She sucked in a breath, then a scream ripped through the maze. (Y/n)’s scream. Agonized. Raw. Breaking. And Rocky felt it. She felt every shard of pain. She felt (Y/n)’s terror like a knife in her ribs. Rocky’s own scream tore from her throat. She doubled over inside the vision, pain searing through her chest, her lungs squeezing shut.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. The vision shattered. A violent force tore her backward, ripping her out of the fog, out of the maze, out of (Y/n)’s mind completely. She was thrown back into her body, and everything went white.

.~~~ End of the vision ~~~ 

Nicholas moved faster than anyone else. The moment Rocky’s body snapped backward, he lunged, catching her before she hit the floor. All around them, every candle flickered violently. Then blew out all at once. A rush of cold swept through the room. Rocky’s head lolled back against Nicholas’ arm, and his heart stopped when he saw it. Blood. A thin, dark line ran from her nose down to her upper lip. “Rocky? Rocky!” His voice cracked, raw with fear. “Baby, hey, stay with me!” But she was completely unconscious. Across from her, (Y/n) collapsed backward as well. Not as violently, but still limp, still out cold. Her breathing was shallow but steady.

Fuma didn’t even think. He dropped to his knees at her side, but hesitated before touching her. His hands hovered a few inches above her arms, unsure. Afraid to hurt her. Afraid to do something wrong. He settled for sitting beside her, close enough to guard her, far enough not to cross a line she wasn’t aware of. His wolf howled, desperate to hold her, to tuck her against his chest the way Nicholas held Rocky. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Nicholas was pale, eyes wide with panic.

“She’s never, she’s never bled before,” he whispered, voice shaking as he brushed Rocky’s hair from her face. “Pain, yes. Passing out, yes. But, blood? Never.” EJ and Jay were already kneeling beside them. Jay placed a hand over Rocky’s forehead, closing his eyes as healing magic rippled faintly under his palm. Sora mirrored him with (Y/n), her cool vampire touch easing the strain on the girl’s heartbeat.

Their powers weren’t strong enough to wake either of them; the damage was deeper than that, but they stopped the bleeding and eased the worst of the internal pain. Nicholas exhaled shakily when the blood flow stopped. He pulled Rocky closer, pressing a kiss to her temple, whispering something soft and trembling. “I’ve got you… You’re okay… just come back to me.” Fuma watched quietly, eyes drifting to (Y/n). His expression was unreadable, except to the wolves who knew him.

He was terrified. Not of the vision. Not of Heeseung. Not of the danger. He was terrified of losing her before he even truly had her. Sora placed a gentle hand on Fuma’s shoulder. “She’s stable. Just unconscious.” Fuma nodded stiffly. “Good.” But inwardly, he was begging the universe, fate, whoever would listen: Please wake her. Please let Rocky have answers. Please don’t let her be lost to me. Nicholas held Rocky as if she were made of glass. And Fuma sat, silent and unmoving, as the girl who was his mate breathed softly beside him. Waiting. Hoping. Praying that Rocky would wake… and tell them the truth.

About thirty minutes passed before Rocky stirred. Nicholas had refused to move from the floor; he held her curled against his chest, one arm supporting her back, the other wrapped protectively around her shoulders. When she suddenly gasped awake, he nearly jolted. “Rocky?” Her eyes snapped open, glowing faintly violet, the remnants of the oracle magic burning beneath the surface. The glow flickered, then slowly dimmed, fading back into her normal eye color.

She blinked, dazed. Disoriented. Trying to remember where she was. Nicholas cupped her cheeks gently. “Hey, hey… I’m right here.” Rocky exhaled shakily, leaning into the touch. Harua immediately rushed over from the kitchen, a glass of water in hand. “Here, drink this,” he said, voice soft but worried. Rocky took it with trembling hands. “Thanks,” she whispered, taking small sips. The cool water grounded her, easing the tight, burning feeling in her chest.

Across the room, (Y/n) was still unconscious on the cushions, her breathing steady but shallow. Fuma remained beside her, sitting cross-legged, his posture protective even in stillness. He hadn’t moved once, as if any shift might disturb her. Maki sat next to him, shoulder touching Fuma’s own, offering quiet support the way only a younger brother could. He didn’t speak, didn’t need to. He was just there, steadying the weight Fuma carried.

Rocky’s gaze drifted toward them. Fuma looked like he was trying not to breathe too loudly. Trying not to show the panic in his chest. Trying to hold himself together as he waited for answers. Rocky swallowed. She didn’t have all of them. Not yet. But she had some, enough to start unraveling the truth. Slowly, she placed the empty glass down on the floor and took Nicholas’ hand, squeezing it for strength before she spoke.

“Okay,” she whispered, voice hoarse from the vision. “I… I saw enough to know what’s happening.” Every head in the room turned toward her. The pack went silent. Fuma’s eyes lifted, golden and tense, the air around him buzzing with dread and hope tangled together. Rocky inhaled deeply. And prepared to tell them. 

Rocky took a slow, steady breath before speaking. “(Y/n)’s mind…” she began quietly, “…isn’t just foggy. It’s clouded. Heavily. More than anything I’ve ever seen.” Fuma’s jaw clenched. EJ leaned forward, red eyes narrowing. Rocky continued, her voice tight with worry. “That level of fog… that level of confusion… it doesn’t happen naturally. It’s a sign of tampering.” She swallowed. “Mind control, even.”

A ripple of shock went around the room. Sora’s fangs pressed against her bottom lip. Jay cursed under his breath. Rocky glanced at (Y/n), unconscious beside Fuma. “She’s not choosing to forget things. She’s not choosing not to see. Someone is forcing it.” Fuma looked down at (Y/n), eyes softening with a mixture of fear and sorrow. Maki’s hand tightened on his arm. Rocky exhaled shakily.

“And based on what I saw, on the bond I felt beneath the fog, Fuma is her mate.” Fuma’s breath caught. Barely audible, but noticeable to every wolf in the room. “But whatever is clouding her mind,” Rocky continued, “is trying to keep the two of you apart. I don’t know why. I don’t know how long it’s been going on. But I do know this…” She met Fuma’s eyes. “…it’s powerful. Very powerful.” EJ’s expression darkened. “Can you remove it?” Rocky slowly shook her head, eyes full of regret.

“No. Not this. Not alone. It’s too strong. If I tried to force it, I could hurt her, or myself.” She rubbed her arms, suddenly cold. “Whatever spell she’s under… it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.” Nicholas took her hand, grounding her again. He asked softly, “Rocky… do you know why you bled?” Rocky hesitated. “I… don’t know,” she admitted. “It could’ve been exhaustion. Oracle visions take a toll, and this one was worse than anything I’ve done before.” She swallowed. “Or… it might have been a defense. A backlash from whoever placed the spell on (Y/n).” Nicholas stiffened. “Like the spell pushed back against you?” Rocky nodded. “Yes. Exactly that.”

The pack exchanged uneasy looks. Then Rocky added, her voice a degree colder: “And one more thing. This Heeseung guy? He’s a problem. A serious one.” She didn’t mention the battlefield. She didn’t mention the bodies. She didn’t mention the way his eyes had bled black. She didn’t need to. Her tone said everything. The pack went still. EJ’s fingers curled into fists. Jay’s aura flared with silent fear. Sora’s eyes darkened with ancient vampire instinct. Maki leaned closer to Fuma. And Fuma… He looked at (Y/n) like she was the most fragile thing in the world. His voice came out low, barely above a whisper. “What do we do now?” Rocky exhaled. Rocky rested her head against Nicholas’ shoulder, still pale but steady enough to speak. “I’ll have to try again,” she said quietly. “Later today or tomorrow. I need time to recover, and pushing myself too soon could be dangerous. But… I’m hoping I’ll see more next time.”

The pack nodded, understanding but visibly tense. Rocky looked toward Fuma and (Y/n). “But from what I did see,” she continued, “there are only two possible ways to break the spell.” Fuma’s head lifted immediately. Rocky raised one finger. “First option: Fuma awakens the true mate bond between them. A natural bond breaking an artificial one.” A murmur moved through the room. EJ leaned forward. “Is that possible with how blocked she is?” Rocky nodded slowly. “Yes. But… it won’t be easy.” Fuma’s voice was low, almost careful. “What’s the second option?” Rocky’s expression darkened.

“We get whoever spelled her, whoever clouded her mind, to remove it.” Silence. Cold, heavy silence. No one needed her to say the name aloud. Everyone knew who the prime suspect was. Fuma’s hands tightened into fists. Finally, he asked the question that had been digging into him since the moment he realized his mate couldn’t see him: “How am I supposed to awaken the bond… if she can’t even look at me?” Rocky gave him a sympathetic look. “She might not be able to see you,” she said gently, “but I’m fairly certain she can hear you.” Fuma froze. “She responded in the vision,” Rocky continued. “Her soul reacted to your voice, your voice as a child, even. That connection is still there, buried under the fog.”

She offered a small, apologetic smile. “So you’ll have to try reaching her through talking. Through your presence. Through the bond itself.” She exhaled. “She needs to hear you. Feel you. Recognize you.” Fuma’s breath shuddered out of him. Talking. He could talk. But how did you talk someone into feeling something they’d never been allowed to feel? He wasn’t giving up, he couldn’t, but his eyes flickered with unease. “I don’t… I don’t know what to say to her,” he admitted quietly. “I don’t know how to get through when she’s this scared. When she doesn’t even know I’m here.”

Maki nudged him lightly with his shoulder. “You’ll figure it out,” he said softly. “You always do.” But Fuma didn’t feel like someone strong and capable right now. He felt lost. Completely, utterly lost. And yet, when he looked at (Y/n), unconscious and fragile on the cushions… He knew he’d try anyway. Because she was his mate. And he would find a way to reach her.

~~~

Slowly, one by one, the pack began to move. Nicholas gently scooped Rocky into his arms, her head resting against his shoulder. She was still shaking faintly, exhausted from the vision, and he didn’t want her lifting a finger until she’d had time to recover. He whispered soft reassurances as he carried her toward their room, closing the door behind them with a quiet click.

Miyu exchanged a worried look with Jay before picking up her coat. “We’ll check in later,” she told EJ softly. Jay added, “Koyomi still needs someone to open up. We’ll handle the lunch rush.” EJ nodded, giving them a brief, appreciative smile as they slipped out into the snow. Miyu gave Yuma a quick kiss before walking out.  Maki took a step toward the hallway, then stopped. He looked at Fuma, really looked, and made his choice immediately. “I’m staying,” he said simply. Fuma didn’t answer out loud. He didn’t need to.

Jo and Sana retreated to their shared room, books already under their arms. They had exams coming up, and Sana muttered something about wanting to get the studying done before things “inevitably went to shit again.” Jo chuckled weakly and shut the door behind them. Aya and Harua stood off to the side, quietly discussing the upcoming interviews they had scheduled for the sanctuary in town. Harua made notes on his phone; Aya kept brushing his hair out of his face while she listed names and dates.

Kei gathered his gear with a calm efficiency that contrasted the tension in the house. “Patrol?” he asked EJ. EJ nodded. “You, me, Taki, and Yuma. We’ll sweep the borders.” Taki grabbed his jacket, eager to get moving. The three wolves stepped out into the cold, their scents fading quickly into the snowy air as they shifted and disappeared into the woods. That left only three people in the living room: Sora. Fuma. Maki. And, of course, the fourth, (Y/n), unconscious and fragile on the cushions. Sora pulled up a chair, sitting close enough to keep an eye on her but giving Fuma enough space to breathe. She wasn’t hovering; she was supporting. Quietly. Steadily.

Maki sat beside his older brother on the floor, leaning against the couch, offering silent companionship. Fuma barely moved. He just… watched. Every rise and fall of (Y/n)’s chest. Every twitch of her fingers. Every quiet breath. The house had gone soft and still. Like the world was holding its breath with him. Sora sat quietly for a moment, watching Fuma’s shoulders rise and fall with every anxious breath. The room felt too still, too fragile, like one wrong sound would shatter something inside him. So she began talking.

“Back at the coven,” Sora said softly, “(Y/n) was one of my closest friends, before I became a vampire, even after, before I came here.” Fuma’s eyes flickered toward her, just slightly. Listening. “She’s a quiet girl,” Sora continued. “Calm. A bit like Jo, actually. Introverted in her own way. But… so incredibly kind.” Her gaze softened at the memory. “When my sickness got worse, when I was at my lowest… (Y/n) was the only one who visited me in the hospital. Every day, if she could.” Sora smiled faintly. “She’d bring me books. Gossip from the coven. Stupid stories about the trainees and their dramas. Anything that might distract me.”

Fuma’s throat tightened at the image, this gentle, caring girl bringing life back to Sora’s darkest days. He hoped, desperately, to meet that version of her. Not the fogged-over version lying in front of him now. Not the shell forced into being by someone else’s will. But her. Her real self. The one fate intended for him. Maki remained quiet, leaning against the couch, watching his brother more closely than anyone else.

These last two years had been hell for the pack. Almost losing Yuma. Sora and EJ nearly falling apart. Jay arriving with more terror than trust. All the pieces that felt too fragile, too breakable. But they survived. They had become stronger. And now, watching Fuma, the most steady, most unshakable wolf he knew, sit beside his unconscious mate with worry tightening every muscle in his body… Maki felt something inside him twist.

He wanted this to work. For Fuma. For (Y/n). For everything they’d all fought for. Sora reached out and rested a gentle hand on Fuma’s knee. “She’s a good person,” she said quietly. “A strong one. That hasn’t changed… even if she can’t show it right now.” Fuma lowered his gaze to (Y/n), his voice barely a whisper. “I just want her to be herself again.” Sora smiled sadly. “Then we’ll help her get there.”

~~~

(Y/n) didn’t wake for quite some time. Her body rested, but her mind… fought. Fought the fog. Fought the voices that weren’t hers. Fought the pull of memories she didn’t remember living. She heard things, voices around her, but they sounded warped, underwater. She couldn’t make out words, only tones. Warm. Concerned. Familiar in ways she couldn’t name. Flashes pushed through the darkness: Heeseung smiling. Heeseung holding her hand. Heeseung drinking from her neck. Then, other flashes. Sharper. Wrong. Memories she didn’t think belonged to her at all. Like someone else’s life had been shoved into her skull. Like her head was full of echoes that didn’t line up.

Eventually, she gasped and woke up. The room was dim, the fire crackling softly. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was. Then she noticed Sora sitting on the couch. Relief washed over her chest. Beside Sora sat one of the wolves, the one she assumed was the alpha. He had that sort of presence. Strong. Steady. Protective without trying to be. On the floor, leaning against the couch, another wolf slept. Younger, relaxed, peaceful. She didn’t know his name either. Everything felt blurry still. The moment she stirred, Fuma moved back slightly, giving her space, trying not to overwhelm her. His heart hammered in his chest, but he forced himself to breathe.

Sora noticed instantly. She leaned forward, offering a kind smile. “You’re awake.” (Y/n) blinked slowly, trying to clear her head. “Yeah… I think so.” “How are you feeling?” Sora asked softly. “Tired.” Her voice was thin, as if her words were balancing on cracked glass. Sora nodded. “That makes sense. Oracle readings tire out both people involved, not just Rocky.” (Y/n) rested back against the cushions, lids heavy. She didn’t understand what had been done to her. Why her head felt split in half? Why couldn’t she remember why she’d come here? Why could she hear fear in her own breathing? But the one thing she didn’t notice was the tall wolf sitting silently beside her. Watching her with soft eyes. Wishing she could see him.

“(Y/n), this is EJ,” she said, gesturing to the wolf beside her on the couch. “He’s the alpha here, and my mate.” EJ offered a small, reassuring nod. “And over there,” Sora pointed to the younger wolf sleeping on the floor, head tilted at an awkward angle, “that’s Maki. Youngest of the pack.” Maki snored softly in response, making Sora smile. Then she turned her hand toward Fuma. “And this is Fuma,”

But (Y/n)’s brows knit together before she even finished. “Who?” she asked softly. Her eyes followed Sora’s gesture… but landed on empty air. She saw the chair. The rug. The fire. The blanket someone had folded neatly at the edge of the couch. Just not the person sitting beside her. “There’s no one there.” The innocence in her voice made the words hit even harder. EJ felt it. Felt the quiet agony ripple off Fuma like a shockwave. His golden-orange eyes dimmed, shoulders tightening. He didn’t make a sound, wolves rarely did when hurt, but EJ could sense the pain like a crack across the room.

Sora’s breath hitched. She looked quickly at Fuma, searching his face, apologizing silently with her eyes. Then she turned back to (Y/n), forcing a gentle smile. “Oh, sorry,” she said, adapting on the spot. “I meant that Fuma is… outside. On patrol, sort of. He’s around the village somewhere.” A harmless lie. A necessary one. (Y/n) blinked slowly, trying to process it through the fog. “…Oh,” she murmured. “That makes sense, I guess.” She didn’t question it further. Her mind wasn’t clear enough to. She simply leaned back, accepting the explanation as truth.

Fuma looked at his hands. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe for a moment. He just sat there, invisible to the one person who mattered most. Maki stirred, waking slightly, and glanced at his older brother, and his expression softened with quiet worry. Sora reached over and gave Fuma’s arm the smallest squeeze. A silent message: We’ll fix this. She’ll see you. She’ll know you. Fuma nodded once, barely, eyes flickering toward (Y/n) with something fragile, hope, fractured but still alive.

Once Maki blinked himself fully awake, he stretched his arms high above his head with a dramatic groan. “Ugh… okay, I’m starving,” he announced. Then he turned to (Y/n) with an easy grin. “Are you hungry too? Because I definitely am. And trust me, everyone else will be soon.” EJ perked up immediately, leaning back against the couch with a smirk. “Oh, finally,” he said, relieved. “We’ll be eating gourmet tonight and not the half-burned disaster the others call dinner.”

Maki snorted. Sora laughed. And (Y/n) blinked, curious. “Gourmet?” she repeated softly. “What does that mean?” Sora smiled warmly at her. “Maki usually works evenings at Koyomi, the restaurant Jay and Miyu own. So when neither of our master chefs are home, we have to cook for ourselves.” She shrugged playfully. “And compared to what Miyu and Maki can make, the rest of us… aren’t that impressive.” (Y/n) gave a small, shy smile, her first real one since waking. It was small. Tentative. Fleeting. But a smile.

Fuma saw it, even if she didn’t turn her face toward him. And gods, it hurt. Not in a bad way, but in that deep, aching, overwhelming way that made his wolf turn over in his chest. He wanted to protect that smile, keep it safe, make sure nothing ever took it away again. He looked away, swallowing hard. Maki pushed himself to his feet, stretching again with a satisfied sigh. (Y/n)’s eyes widened slightly as she looked up, she hadn’t realized how tall he was when he wasn’t curled up on the floor.

Maki caught the glance and grinned. “Surprised?” he chuckled. “Yeah, I know. I was raised well. Grew up big and strong.” (Y/n) let out a small laugh, soft, breathy, almost accidental. And that second smile, Fuma felt it like a hit straight to his heart. Sora watched him out of the corner of her eye, gently nudging his leg with her foot in silent support. Maki gave (Y/n) a playful wink.

“Alright, let me see what ingredients we’ve got. You’ll eat well tonight, promise.” He headed to the pantry while EJ went to the kitchen. Maki called out over his shoulder, “EJ! Don’t touch anything until I get there!” EJ scoffed. “I wasn’t gonna! …Probably.” (Y/n) laughed again… and this time, even Fuma couldn’t stop the small, quiet smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. A little bit of warmth had returned to the room. A little bit of normal. And for Fuma… it was enough. For now. 

~~~ 

As the smell of food drifted through the halls, warm, rich, comforting, the pack naturally gravitated toward the living room. Sana and Jo were the first to join Sora and (Y/n). They sat cross-legged on the floor, chatting about the movie they’d watched earlier, letting (Y/n) join at her own pace. She stayed quiet at first, fingers curled around her cup, listening more than she spoke. She didn’t mind it. It felt… safe. Soon, Aya and Harua came in as well, each with soft smiles. Aya sat beside Jo, and Harua settled near Sora, checking to make sure (Y/n) was comfortable with more people around. She nodded shyly, appreciating the careful respect they all showed her.

It was strange; the coven never did this. There, strangers were threats. Here, strangers were welcomed as if they’d always belonged. She understood, suddenly, why Jay had left the coven entirely when he met Miyu. And why Sora hadn’t once regretted coming here. The pack laughed softly among themselves, but always left space for her to speak if she wanted to. No pressure. No expectations. Just warmth.

Then the front door opened, letting in a cold breeze, followed by Kei, Yuma, and Taki returning from training after patrol. Kei’s eyes found the group instantly. Then he saw Aya. Without hesitation, he walked straight to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her into a warm embrace. Aya melted into him, tilting her head as he pressed a tender kiss to her hair. A soft, loving, everyday gesture. Natural. Effortless. True. “Gonna change real quick,” Kei said quietly, brushing Aya’s cheek with his thumb. He slipped away toward the hallway, leaving her smiling to herself.

(Y/n) stared. She tried to look away politely, not wanting to intrude on such a private moment, but… She couldn’t help it. That kind of love, gentle and unconditional, rooted in soul and instinct, was foreign to her. She had never seen Heeseung look at her that way. Never felt cherished simply because she existed. Never been held as she mattered more than anything else. Her chest tightened. She didn’t know if it was jealousy or grief, or the first quiet cracks in a bond that had never felt entirely real to begin with. Sora noticed her expression and gently bumped her knee with her own. “You okay?” she whispered. (Y/n) nodded. But the truth lingered in her eyes: She had never known love like this.

Dinner passed quickly, wrapped in laughter and warmth that filled every corner of the house. Maki had outdone himself, again, and (Y/n) found herself genuinely enjoying the meal. When she shyly complimented him, cheeks warming, the young wolf threw a dramatic hand over his heart. “Finally!” he exclaimed. “Someone here appreciates my talents! I knew I was destined for greatness!” The entire table burst into laughter, including (Y/n), a soft giggle escaping before she could help it. For a split second, everyone paused, as if hearing something rare and precious. Fuma felt it hit him like a spark in the chest.

Soon after, Nicholas and Rocky joined them, appearing at the doorway after EJ called out for them to come eat. Rocky settled down gently across from (Y/n), looking tired, her magic clearly still draining her. (Y/n) noticed immediately. Rocky’s eyes held a faint exhaustion, her movements slightly slower than everyone else’s. But beside her, Nicholas was attentive in a way that made (Y/n)’s chest ache. Without asking, he filled her glass every time the waterline dipped. Scooped a second serving of food onto her plate the moment her fork paused. Leaned close whenever she swayed, speaking to her in quiet whispers meant only for her ears.

His gaze on her was full of something soft. Steady. Overflowing with love, she could practically feel it from across the table. (Y/n) swallowed thickly. Because it wasn’t just them. EJ’s hand never left Sora’s. Kei’s thigh rested against Aya’s, their shoulders brushing subtly with every movement. Jo tucked Sana under his arm, her head on his shoulder, while she snacked on dessert. And the others, Yuma, Maki, Harua, and Taki, moved with the easy, warm closeness of siblings.

It was everywhere. Love that wasn’t possessive. Love that wasn’t sharp or painful. Love that wasn’t taken, but given. She had never seen so much love in one room before. Not with Heeseung. Not with the coven. Not… ever. And she didn’t know whether to smile through the warmth blooming in her chest, or cry for the years she’d gone without it.

After dinner, when everyone was full and relaxed and drifting into smaller conversations, Sora touched (Y/n)’s elbow gently. “Hey,” she whispered. “Can I talk to you for a moment?” (Y/n) nodded, following her into a quieter hallway. “What’s going on?” Sora hesitated, choosing her words carefully. She wasn’t going to lie, but Rocky had strongly warned her not to reveal the full truth yet. Not until (Y/n)’s mind was clearer. Not until they knew the spell wouldn’t backfire.

So Sora did the next best thing. “We… think the fog in your mind is blocking you from seeing one of the wolves in the pack,” Sora said softly. “We don’t know why yet. Rocky’s still working on figuring it out.” (Y/n)’s brows knit with confusion. “Blocking me from seeing?” “Yes,” Sora said, voice gentle. “You saw everyone else today. Except one.” She touched (Y/n)’s hand. “And if you’re okay with it… We want to see what happens if you talk to him. See if the fog reacts. If anything changes.” (Y/n) took a breath, nervous but trusting Sora more than anyone. “…Okay. I can try.” Sora smiled warmly. “Thank you.”

Which was how (Y/n) now found herself sitting on a small cushion in Fuma’s room. The space was neat, cozy, and warm. A soft yellow lamp lit the space. A blanket lay folded on the bed. A small carved wooden wolf sat on the dresser. Across from her sat Fuma. Except, she still couldn’t see him. Her eyes slid over where he sat, her mind refusing to form his outline. It made her uneasy, like sensing a person but not being allowed to look at them.

Fuma’s heart pounded painfully. His hands lay on his knees, steady despite the storm inside him. He had spent hours imagining this moment, the moment he could finally speak to her. But now that it was here… He didn’t know what to say. Sora sat slightly off to the side, giving them space but remaining close enough for comfort. “Just… talk,” she said softly. “Anything. Introduce yourselves. Let the bond try.” (Y/n) licked her lips nervously. “I… I don’t know where to start,” she admitted quietly. Fuma swallowed hard, voice low, gentle, and warm enough to make Sora blink in surprise at how soft he could be. “…Me neither.”

(Y/n) felt something twist in her chest at the sound of his voice, like a distant tug, an echo of recognition she couldn’t place. She tilted her head, trying to listen more closely. Sora watched them both, heart aching for them. For the wolf who could see his mate but couldn’t be seen. And for the girl whose entire life had been rewritten in fog and lies. After a long moment, (Y/n) whispered: “Can you… tell me your name again?” Fuma inhaled shakily. “It’s Fuma,” he said quietly. “I’m… one of the older wolves in the pack.” (Y/n) nodded. She felt something stir. Warmth. Safety. Something she didn’t have words for. But when she tried to look toward his voice, the fog blocked her again. She sighed, frustrated.

“I want to see you,” she admitted softly. “But I can’t.” Fuma’s breath caught. His voice wavered. “…I know. I’m here anyway.” And for the first time, (Y/n)’s chest fluttered, a soft, faint pull toward the man she couldn’t see. (Y/n) hesitated, then asked softly: “…Can you tell me something about you? Anything.”

Fuma froze. Talking about himself wasn’t something he normally did. And talking about himself to her felt like his lungs had turned to stone. But he inhaled slowly, grounding himself, and tried. “Well…” he began, voice low, “I work as a personal trainer at a gym in town.” (Y/n)’s head tilted slightly, listening closer. “I also handle most of the patrols around the village,” he continued. “Making sure everything’s safe. Making sure everyone else can sleep without worry.”

He shifted, fingers curling on his knee. “And I’m the second oldest in the group. After Kei.” Then he faltered. “…I don’t really know what else to say.” (Y/n) didn’t reply right away. She was listening too hard, to every tone, every shift in his voice, leaning subtly toward where she thought he was sitting. Trying to see him. Trying to feel where he was. But every time her gaze moved toward him, the fog yanked her attention away. Her eyes skated right past him again, landing on the wall or the dresser or Sora instead. Her brows knit in deep frustration.

She wanted to see him. He wanted to be seen. And neither of them knew how to bridge the gap. Sora watched the struggle, then gently stepped in. “(Y/n)… how do you feel? Hearing him talk?” (Y/n) blinked, surprised by the question. “I… I feel normal,” she said honestly. “Like usual. Nothing different really.” Sora smiled softly. “Good. That means talking isn’t triggering anything bad. No backlash. You two can keep going at your own pace.” Fuma exhaled, quietly, but with clear relief. She didn’t feel pain. She didn’t feel overwhelmed. She didn’t recoil. He could speak to her. He could reach her. Piece by piece. A small, warm spark in the dark fog between them. And Fuma felt hope flicker alive in his chest.

That was enough for the night. They didn’t want to overwhelm (Y/n), not when her mind was still fighting through fog thick enough to choke her senses. So they gently ended the conversation there. Sora helped her to her feet, keeping one hand lightly on her back as they walked down the hall to EJ and Sora’s cabin. They had already prepared a guest room, freshly made bed, soft pillows, extra blankets. Sora lent her clothes too, comfortable ones, warm enough for the cold night. (Y/n) thanked her in a small voice before curling up beneath the blankets. Sleep pulled her under almost immediately. Her mind needed it. Her heart needed it even more.

Meanwhile, the main house lights were still on. By the time Miyu and Jay returned to the village, brushing snow off their coats, a group was waiting inside: Sora. Rocky. Fuma. EJ. Nicholas. Jake, who had arrived just moments before. And Yuma, who paced near the door like an anxious puppy. Though, in his defense, he was mostly waiting for Miyu. The moment she stepped inside, he wrapped her in his arms, burying his face in her hair with a relieved sigh. She melted into him, whispering a soft “I missed you too.”

Once they settled, Jay took a seat among the others, pulling off his gloves. “So,” he started, eyes sweeping over the tense faces, “did you find out anything new?” The room fell silent. Rocky stared at her hands. Fuma looked at the floor. EJ exchanged a glance with Sora, who exhaled quietly. One by one, they shook their heads. No breakthroughs. No solutions yet. Only more questions and more concern. And the knowledge that Heeseung’s shadow was lingering somewhere beyond the trees. Jay leaned back, rubbing his temples.

Rocky rubbed her palms against her knees, grounding herself before she spoke. “I still need to do another oracle reading,” she said quietly. “There’s more there. I could feel it. Something deeper I couldn’t reach the first time.” Jay nodded, urging her to continue. Rocky looked around at the group, eyes landing on Fuma for a moment before drifting away again. “One thing still confuses me,” she admitted. “She’s hearing young Fuma’s voice in her mind. Not current him. Not adult him. Young.” Rocky hesitated. “If it had been adult Fuma, I wouldn’t have thought twice. The bond can echo like that. But… seeing it was him as a kid, I’m almost sure it means their paths crossed back then.”

Fuma’s head shot up. His eyes widened, an extremely rare expression for him. “Crossed?” he repeated. “You mean… we met before?” Rocky nodded slowly. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. The mind doesn’t conjure a mate’s childhood voice unless it’s been heard. Experienced. Connected to.” A silence fell over them. Finally, Fuma swallowed, voice low. “Do you… have any idea how old I looked? In the vision?” Rocky closed her eyes, recalling the fog, the echo of the voice, the vague shape of the boy she’d heard. “Not exactly,” she murmured. “But maybe… thirteen or fourteen? At most sixteen.”

Fuma leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “If I were sixteen,” he said quietly, “I should’ve recognized her. At that age, my wolf was fully present. If she had been nearby, we would’ve known.” Sora nodded. “Then that means you were younger, right?” Fuma shook his head, conflicted. “If I were younger… eleven? Twelve? Thirteen?” He sighed. “Sometimes the mate bond doesn’t manifest clearly at that age. Wolves don’t always sense their mates until later.” “Exactly,” Rocky said. “Which brings me to the part that confuses me.”

Her eyes locked onto Fuma again, worried, searching. “If you already met her, and she remembers your voice enough for it to echo through her dreams…” She took a breath. “Why didn’t your wolf recognize her when she arrived? Why didn’t you know until her scent hit you today?” Fuma stared at the floor, jaw tightening. He didn’t have an answer. And the silence that followed told everyone one thing: Something had happened in the past. Something forgotten. Something buried. Something important enough to bind (Y/n) to him long before either of them realized it. Rocky leaned forward, voice barely above a whisper. “I think your past with her… is the key to everything.”

Fuma’s voice was barely steady when he finally asked, “Why don’t I remember her? Only her mind was tampered with. Not mine. So why can’t I recall ever meeting her?” Rocky winced, sympathy crossing her face. “I… don’t know for sure. But I have a theory.” The room leaned in. Even Jake, who normally wore his confidence like armor, looked unusually serious. Rocky clasped her hands together. “Whatever spell was placed on (Y/n)… it’s powerful. More powerful than anything I’ve ever sensed.” She swallowed. “And because you two are mates, truly mates, the bond between you is deeper than either of you realized.”

Fuma’s throat tightened. “So you’re saying… the spell affected me too?” “Not directly,” Rocky said quickly. “I don’t think anyone cast a spell on you. But if her memories of you were buried or rewritten, then the bond’s resonance with you might have been muffled. Blurred. Like a ripple reaching you through fog.” Jay frowned. “So a spell strong enough to cloud her mind… echoed into his?” Rocky nodded. “Exactly. If the mate bond was already forming when they first met, any tampering with her mind could distort his perception, too.”

Fuma didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Because Rocky’s words explained everything. The lack of memory. The sudden surge of recognition today. The way his wolf reacted like it had been asleep and was just now waking. Jake cleared his throat, pulling a thick old book from his bag. Its pages were covered in scribbled notes and bookmarks. “I went through everything Rocky has on mate bonds and mind manipulation,” he said, voice tight. “Old texts, forbidden texts, mythology, case studies, if it’s written down, I read it.”

“And?” EJ asked. Jake exhaled, shaking his head. “She’s right. The only two methods to break a bond-clouding spell are the ones she already mentioned.” He held up two fingers. “One: awaken the mate bond. Naturally. Which means Fuma has to break through the fog himself.” Fuma’s jaw tightened. “And two,” Jake continued, “get the person who cast the spell to remove it.” Silence. Cold. Heavy. Terrifying. Because they all knew who the most likely culprit was. Heeseung. Jay’s expression darkened. Sora’s eyes narrowed dangerously. EJ’s red gaze burned with quiet fury. Rocky glanced at Fuma softly. “We still have time,” she whispered. “We’re not out of options.” Fuma nodded slowly. But deep down, a single truth settled into his bones: If he couldn’t awaken the bond himself… He would have to face the vampire who tried to take his mate from him. And Fuma was ready.

~~~

The next morning, (Y/n) wanted to explore the village grounds. Sora had very conveniently declared, “Everyone else is busy, and honestly, no one knows this land better than Fuma!” Which… wasn’t wrong. But it definitely wasn’t the whole truth. Still, (Y/n) agreed, even though the idea of walking around with a wolf she couldn’t see made her nervous.

So now here they were, wandering along snowy paths, the winter sun glittering against the frost. Fuma tried his best. Really, he did. “And over there is,” he paused, realizing for the seventeenth time that morning he was pointing. “Uh, on your left, there’s the training field. Big area. Very… big.” He winced. (Y/n) giggled softly, hugging her borrowed coat around herself. “I thought wolves had better spatial awareness.” Fuma groaned quietly. “We… do. I swear. I’m just… forgetful today.” “You’ve said that every time,” she teased.

He smiled despite himself. Her laugh did that, chipped away the tension in his chest piece by piece. They continued walking, Fuma narrating the scenery like a tour guide who kept forgetting his own lines. “That building to your right is the forge. Taki and Harua fix weapons and tools there sometimes, though we haven’t used it for a few years now. It’s loud. Smells like metal. And probably smoke.” “…Probably?” she echoed. “I mean, it definitely smells like smoke,” he corrected quickly. “I just,” Caught himself. Again.

(Y/n)’s eyes were trained forward in the wrong direction, her gaze always missing where he actually stood. It wasn’t her fault, but each time she blindly searched for him, his chest tightened painfully. At one point he tried again to gesture, and again remembered too late. He froze mid-movement, groaning into his hands. (Y/n) laughed, covering her smile shyly. “You really like pointing at things, don’t you?” “It’s a curse,” he muttered. “My mortal enemy. My downfall. Out of all my skills, speed, strength, combat training, I am defeated by my own arm.”

This time she laughed louder, unable to hold it back. Fuma’s wolf purred at the sound. “Okay, okay,” she said gently. “How about… instead of pointing, you describe the place? What does it look like to you?” That stopped him. Fuma cleared his throat, turning slightly toward her even though she couldn’t tell. “Well… the training field has this big oak tree at the edge. It’s old. Really old. Probably older than Kei.” She snorted. “Is that possible?” “Barely,” Fuma joked softly. She smiled again, and he soaked in every second of it. “And the center of the field,” he continued, “is always covered in footprints. Wolf prints. It looks like… movement frozen in time. Like you can see everything the pack did the day before.”

(Y/n)’s expression softened. “That sounds beautiful,” she said. “Yeah,” Fuma replied quietly. “It is.” They walked a little farther. The snow crunched under their feet, the forest surrounding them in serene silence. She brushed her hand along the wooden fence they passed, using touch to orient herself. Fuma watched her closely, ready to grab her if she slipped. Ready to catch her. Always.

When she stumbled slightly on a buried rock, he reached out instinctively, then stopped his hand mid-air, afraid physical contact might overwhelm her. (Y/n) steadied herself and whispered, “This place… it feels safe.” Fuma swallowed hard. “I’m glad,” he murmured. “It’s meant to.” A small smile tugged at her lips. “Thank you for showing me around… even if you and pointing don’t get along.” He laughed under his breath. “If it means spending time with you,” he said before he could stop himself, “I’d fight every pointing instinct I have.”

He immediately froze. (Y/n) blinked at the sincerity in his words, though she still couldn’t meet his eyes. She looked flustered. And he felt it, the faintest, tiniest spark across the mate bond. Barely there. Soft as a breath. But real. The first crack in the fog. And Fuma’s heart thudded in his chest. They were getting closer. Slowly. But surely.

Suddenly, as they reached the pond, the same place where Fuma had first scented her, something cracked in the woods. A branch. Heavy footsteps. Too heavy to be a deer. Fuma’s entire body tensed. This pond sat right at the edge of pack territory. Too close to the border. Too close to where the last rougaru had appeared. His instincts flared violently. He stepped in front of (Y/n), posture rigid, muscles coiled. A low growl ripped through his chest, warning whatever was out there not to take even one step closer. (Y/n) froze behind him, her hands gripping the sleeves of her coat.

“F-Fuma?” she called, voice trembling as the fear seeped through. She couldn’t see him, couldn’t see the danger, only hear the growls and the woods shifting. Panic rose in her chest. “Fuma, where are you?” He could smell it, the sharp sting of her fear flooding the air. His wolf reacted instantly. He didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. Bones shifted. Muscles reshaped. Fur burst across his skin. In a breath, Fuma dropped into his wolf form, massive, powerful, fur a deep mix of charcoal and warm chestnut, a faint glow to his eyes even in the shade of the trees. He planted himself in front of her, a wall of fur and fangs, snarling savagely toward the unknown presence.

The creature or person, whatever it was, heard the warning. Felt the threat. Branches rustled. The weight of the intruder retreated, steps fading farther and farther until the forest returned to its quiet. Only then did Fuma slowly stop growling. When he turned around, he froze. (Y/n) was looking straight at him. Not at the trees. Not toward the path back to the house. Her eyes, still fogged, still unfocused, were locked directly onto him. Her breath hitched softly. “…Fuma?” she whispered, voice small, fragile, disbelieving. As if she could finally see something. Or someone. And in that instant, the mate bond pulsed faintly between them, a spark pushing against the fog.

“Is that… you?” she whispered, voice unsteady. Fuma couldn’t speak like this, not with words, but he dipped his massive head in a clear nod. (Y/n) gasped softly, a shaky breath leaving her lips. Then, to his shock, she lowered herself to her knees right there in the snow. Fuma instinctively sat as well; even seated, he towered over her, broad shoulders casting a protective shadow. But she wasn’t afraid. Not anymore.

Her hands trembled as she hesitantly reached forward. She stopped right before touching him, hovering inches from his fur. “Can I…?” she asked quietly. He nodded again, slower this time, careful, reassuring. Her hand finally touched him. A soft drag of her fingers along the thick fur of his neck… Down toward his broad chest… Finally, brushing over one of his large paws. Fuma felt it immediately. Sparks. Small but unmistakable, little bursts of warmth traveling through his fur, under his skin, straight to the bond buried deep inside him.

She didn’t react to them, didn’t seem to feel the sparks the way he did, but she saw him. She was looking directly into his wolf eyes, unfazed, searching, almost relieved. Fuma’s wolf leaned ever so slightly into her touch, unable to help himself. Why? Why could she see this form? Why only the wolf, not the man? Her cursed fog should’ve blocked both. It made no sense. And yet, here she was. Touching him. Seeing him. Her fingers curled into the fur at his neck. “You’re… beautiful,” she breathed, barely audible. Fuma’s heart slammed against his ribs.

He didn’t understand it, couldn’t understand it, but his wolf did. Somehow, in this form, he could break through the fog. Somehow, his wolf reached her where his human self could not. And for the first time since he’d scented her… She wasn’t hidden from him. She wasn’t lost. She was looking at him. Seeing him. His mate.

When Fuma had shifted, his wolf form had torn straight through his clothes. Which left him with a new, very urgent problem: He absolutely could not shift back. Not unless he wanted to return to the village completely naked, and that was not how he planned to introduce himself properly to his mate. So he had to communicate another way. He stood, shook out the snow from his fur, then turned his head toward the path leading home. He tilted it meaningfully. (Y/n) blinked at him, confused. He tried again, this time more deliberately, stepping toward the trail and giving another pointed nod.

Nothing. Just her tilted head and a puzzled frown. Finally, Fuma huffed, marched right up to her, then looked from her to the path, then back at her, letting out a quiet, firm “woof.” Her eyes widened with realization. “Oh, you want me to follow you?” she asked. He nodded so hard his ears flopped. “Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s… go back, then.” She stepped closer, hesitating for a brief moment before walking beside him. The snow crunched softly under her boots as they moved together.

Every so often, her hand drifted to his fur, brushing along his shoulder or the side of his neck, just enough for her to confirm he was still there. Fuma felt her touch like lightning each time. Warm. Trusting. Natural. As if her hand belonged there. His wolf walked slightly slower than usual, adjusting his pace to hers, refusing to let her slip or stumble. Each time her fingers reached for him, he leaned just a fraction into her palm.

And each time she found him, she relaxed, just a little, her shoulders dropping as her breath evened out. She couldn’t see his human form. But she could see this one. She could touch him. Walk with him. Trust him. The bond pulsed faintly again, soft, subtle, but real. And as they made their slow walk back toward the village, Fuma’s wolf made a promise in silence: He would keep her safe. He would guide her through the fog. He would earn her trust, one step at a time, even if he had to stay in wolf form forever.

Once they reached the house, they found Aya, Rocky, and Sana sitting out on the porch, bundled in blankets, steaming mugs of tea in their hands. Aya and Rocky were quizzing Sana on her upcoming exam, holding notes and laughing every time Sana answered with something only vaguely related to the actual topic. All three girls looked up when they spotted (Y/n) and Fuma’s wolf approaching down the path. “Hey!” Sana waved excitedly. Aya smiled warmly, Rocky offered a gentle nod, but her eyes narrowed slightly, curious. Because (Y/n) was looking at the wolf. Not past him. Not around him. At him.

Rocky’s breath caught. Something had definitely happened. And it looked like something good. Fuma nudged (Y/n) with his shoulder, a careful, protective pressure, before turning toward the back of the house. She blinked in confusion as he trotted away. Aya chuckled. “He’ll be back in a minute,” she assured her. “He just needs to go shift.” (Y/n) tilted her head. “Why… can’t he do that here?” The three girls burst into laughter immediately. Rocky actually snorted into her tea, nearly spilling it. Sana leaned closer, whispering dramatically, “Because shifting back means he’d be naked, honey.” (Y/n)’s entire face flushed a deep scarlet. “Oh… oh! I… right… I’m…” she stammered helplessly. Aya patted her shoulder kindly. “Don’t worry. First-timer question. We all asked it once.” Rocky grinned into her cup. “Some of us, after seeing the consequences.” Sana choked on her tea. “ROCKY!” (Y/n) buried her face in her hands, mortified, but despite her embarrassment, she felt… safe. Warm. Included. 

(Y/n) settled onto the porch with them, and Aya immediately scooted over to make space. Rocky grabbed another blanket from the back of her chair and wrapped it carefully around (Y/n)’s shoulders. “There,” Aya said, tucking the corner around her arm. “Now you’re one of us.” Rocky muttered something under her breath, soft, fluid syllables, and then waved her hand lightly. A cup of steaming tea appeared on the little wooden table in front of (Y/n), the scent of honey and herbs drifting up in the cold air. (Y/n)’s eyes widened. “That’s… amazing.” Rocky giggled, looking pleased with herself. “That’s the nice part about being a witch. Tea on demand. Snacks too, unless one of the wolves is hovering. Because they have big appetites, they steal all the snacks,”  Sana snorted. 

They let (Y/n) get a few sips in before Rocky leaned closer, voice lowering just a little. “So… you could see Fuma? In his wolf form?” (Y/n) nodded slowly. “Yeah… when we were out by the pond. I heard something in the woods, and then he was just… there. Or, the wolf was. Big. Really big.” She hesitated, fingers tightening around the warm mug. “I could see him perfectly.” Aya exchanged a quick look with Rocky. Rocky hummed thoughtfully, tapping her fingers against the porch railing. “That’s… interesting.” (Y/n)’s brows furrowed. “Is it… bad?” “No,” Rocky said quickly. “Not bad. Just… curious.” She added gently, “Most mind-blocking spells don’t pick and choose forms. If you can’t see someone, you can’t see them at all.” Sana nodded. “And Fuma’s wolf form is still him. The same soul. Same presence. Just… fluffier.” Rocky shot Sana a look, then turned back to (Y/n).

“The fact that you can see his wolf form might mean something’s already cracking in the spell. Or…” She paused, thinking deeply. “…Or the bond between you two pushed through for a moment.” “The… bond?” (Y/n) repeated quietly. Rocky softened her expression. “We don’t know for sure yet. But something is shifting. Something let you see him, even if just in that form.” (Y/n) stared into her tea, letting the knowledge settle. Something was changing. Something was waking. And she had no idea what it meant, or what it would bring.

Nicholas arrived a few minutes later, parking his car beside the porch. He looked tired but relaxed, having just finished a short meeting in town. The moment he spotted Rocky, he headed straight for her. “Hey, angel,” he murmured as he bent down, kissing her gently before pulling her into a tight hug. Rocky leaned into him easily, right up until he reached over and swiped her cup of tea for a sip. She smacked his shoulder lightly. “Hey! That’s my tea.” Nicholas smirked. “And you love me.”

She raised a brow. “Sit, boy. Be a good dog.” Nicholas froze for a split second, then let out a low, offended growl from his chest. Sana snorted so hard that tea almost came out of her nose. Rocky smirked. “Oh, bite me then, wolfie.” That did it. All four girls, and even (Y/n), despite trying to hide her laughter behind her cup, burst out laughing. Nicholas groaned dramatically, burying his face in Rocky’s shoulder. “Why is every woman in this village a menace?” he mumbled. Rocky patted his hair lovingly. “We keep you humble.”

Just then, the porch door swung open and Taki poked his head out. “Nico! Come play basketball with us! Or literally anything,” he complained. “We’re bored and Jo’s being boring studying.” Yuma appeared right behind him. “Kei’s working. And EJ’s being boring too. Alpha stuff.” He made air quotes around the last part. Nicholas laughed, resigned to his fate. “Alright, alright. Let me go change my shoes, and I’ll come out. But,” he pointed at Taki and Yuma, “go get Maki. He’s not doing anything productive, anyway.” Taki saluted him dramatically. “Yes, Captain Nico.” Yuma rolled his eyes. “He’s been waiting for an excuse to ditch chores anyway.” Both ran off inside yelling, “MAKIIIIII COME PLAY” as if the boy were on the other side of the planet. Nicholas sighed fondly. “Two demons. Absolute demons.” Rocky reached up, kissed his cheek, and grinned. “And you love them.” Nicholas exhaled, defeated. “…Yeah. Unfortunately.” He gave Rocky one last squeeze before heading inside to change, the porch still filled with quiet laughter. 

(Y/n) watched the scene with wide eyes, unfamiliar, but warm. This pack… was different. Chaotic. Loud. Loving. And watching them, she felt something unfamiliar settle in her chest. Safety. Belonging. Hope.

~~~

While some of the boys played loudly in the distance, the rhythmic thump of a basketball echoing between their laughter, Rocky gathered supplies once more. The living room lights dimmed. Candles circled the floor again, their flames flickering gold and violet. The air felt heavier this time, charged with anticipation… and fear. (Y/n) sat on the rug, hands folded tightly in her lap. She tried to steady her breathing, but her fingers trembled. Her heart raced.

She had hoped, desperately, that after seeing Fuma’s wolf form, the fog might loosen its grip entirely. That she would turn and find him clearly waiting for her. But she still couldn’t see his human form. Only his voice reached her. “(Y/n)… It’s okay,” Fuma said softly from her left. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” His words were gentle, warm, but she could hear the strain underneath. The worry. The fear of losing her to whatever force was clouding her mind. “I want to,” she whispered. “I need to know why my head feels wrong. Why can’t I…” She hesitated. “…why can’t I see you?” Fuma swallowed. She couldn’t see it, but Rocky caught it, glancing briefly his way.

Jake sat across from Rocky, hands resting on his knees, grounding her quietly. His presence was a steady anchor, calm, strong, unwavering. Nicholas played hard out on the court, a way to ease his worry. He’d tried to argue, but ultimately agreed to give Rocky space, only because Jake promised to watch over her. Rocky took a breath, then another. She looked at (Y/n), eyes softening. “You’re brave,” she whispered. “Really brave.” (Y/n) shook her head. “I’m scared.” “That’s usually how bravery works.” Rocky extended her hands toward (Y/n), palms up. “You ready?” A pause. (Y/n) inhaled shakily… then placed her hands in Rocky’s.

Fuma stepped closer, watchful, every muscle tight. He didn’t speak again, didn’t trust his voice not to break, but his presence lingered near her, solid as a wall. Outside, the boys shouted something triumphant, probably Maki scoring on Nicholas, but in here, the world shrank to candlelight and cold fear. Rocky let her magic rise slowly, carefully. Violet shimmered along her fingers. The air thickened. The bond between them tightened. (Y/n) squeezed Rocky’s hands. “Whatever happens,” she whispered, “don’t… let go.” Rocky nodded once. “I won’t.” And then, she began the second reading.

The vision snapped into existence violently this time, the darkness and thick fog swallowing Rocky whole. She didn’t waste a second. The pain would come, she knew it would, but she ran anyway, boots slamming against the phantom ground of (Y/n)’s mindscape, pushing through the heavy mist. Images flickered by on either side like half-remembered dreams: Heeseung feeding… (Y/n) smiling dimly at something… A coven hallway… Blood dripping onto stone… She didn’t stop. Not until the haze shifted and she found the point she’d seen before, the blurred outline of a young Fuma, no older than fourteen maybe, standing in the woods with searching eyes.

This time, Rocky stayed silent. Watching. Studying. Fuma turned in a small circle, voice calling out into the trees: “Hey, come on now. Where are you? We have to go!” His voice was young, lighter, higher, but undeniably his. Movement caught Rocky’s eye. A small figure stumbled out from behind a tree, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. A very tiny Maki, maybe 5 or 6 years old. “Do we really have to go?” he whined, dragging his feet. Fuma sighed like a teenager far too old for his age. “Unfortunately, yes. We need to keep looking for a pack. Come on.” Maki took Fuma’s hand instinctively, the way a little brother would. They started walking again, young Fuma determined, young Maki trusting. A shout echoed through the forest. High. Sharp. Frightened.

Both boys froze. They ran. Rocky followed as they broke through the trees into a small clearing, and there she was. (Y/n). A young version, maybe twelve or thirteen, curled on the ground, clutching her ankle. She’d slipped on a tree root, leaves, and dirt clinging to her clothes. Fuma was at her side in an instant, dropping to his knees. “Are you okay?” he asked, worry thick in his voice. She blinked up at him, wiping at her eyes. “Y-yeah… just slipped. Thank you.” He helped her stand, steadying her until she found her balance. She smiled shyly. He smiled back. And then, as quickly as it had happened, she turned and hurried off through the trees, limping lightly but determined.

Maki tugged Fuma’s sleeve. “Who was that?” Fuma stared after the girl for a long moment, expression unreadable. “…Don’t know,” he finally said. And that was it. They went one way. (Y/n) went another. Separate paths. Rocky’s chest tightened. It had been such a small meeting, a fleeting moment. Barely anything. But the mate bond could form young. And if a spell hit (Y/n) later… It might have covered that early imprint. Buried it. Twisted it.

Rocky stepped forward, and pain shot up her legs, fiery and suffocating, reaching to her knees. She winced but didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. There had to be more. Answers deeper in. Something, or someone, was fighting her. But Rocky gritted her teeth and continued on, limping into the thickening fog. “Show me,” she whispered through clenched teeth. And the maze trembled in response. Rocky pushed forward. Her legs burned, really burned, every step feeling like molten iron creeping up her calves. But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Not when she’d finally found something real. Not when (Y/n) and Fuma needed answers. 

The fog thickened, fighting her, pulling at her like hands dragging her backward. Rocky gritted her teeth. “No,” she hissed. “Not this time.” Her feet pounded against the shifting ground, half running, half stumbling. Pain climbed to her thighs, but she kept going. Then, that scream. The shrill, terrified scream of (Y/n). But this time… it didn’t throw her out. It opened the fog. The haze parted like curtains being ripped away, revealing a room.

Dark. Damp. Claustrophobic. A single lantern flickered weakly beside a bed. And on that bed, (Y/n). Rocky froze.

(Y/n) was curled in on herself, clutching the sheets, her body spasming with pain. Tears streamed down her face, and her breathing hitched in ragged gasps. Her neck, fresh wounds. Not healed. Deep vampiric punctures, still irritated and red. Heeseung’s feeding marks. Rocky’s stomach twisted. Before she could take another step, he appeared. Heeseung emerged from the shadows like smoke given form, tall, composed, elegant in a horrifying way. His movements were too smooth, too deliberate.

He knelt beside (Y/n), his expression unreadable. Then he gently, almost lovingly, took her chin and forced her gaze up to his. “Look at me,” he whispered. The moment their eyes met, (Y/n)’s scream cut off like someone had flipped a switch. Her expression smoothed. Her body relaxed. Her breathing steadied. Rocky staggered, horrified. He hadn’t removed her pain. He had blocked her from feeling it. The suffering was still there, written in every tense line of her muscles, but her mind could no longer perceive it. She was trapped, muted from her own body.

Heeseung stroked her cheek. “Good girl,” he murmured. “Quiet now.” Rocky felt bile rise in her throat. Then he leaned closer, lips brushing (Y/n)’s ear, and whispered something that made Rocky’s heart stop. “Say you love me.” (Y/n)’s empty, glazed eyes stared forward as she whispered back, obediently, “I love you.” Rocky’s breath punched out of her chest. “No… no no no” The fog surged around her, thick and choking, as if trying to hide what came next. But she pushed forward one last step.

Heeseung stilled. Slowly… deliberately… he lifted his head. And looked directly at Rocky. His lips curled into a slow, wicked smile. Eyes glowing red and black. A voice like velvet and venom slid through the air. “Found you.” Rocky gasped. The entire world convulsed violently, and she was torn out of the vision like a rag doll, thrown back into her body with a force that nearly broke her. The candles blew out. Her breath tore from her lungs. Pain exploded up her spine. She collapsed forward into Jake’s arms, screaming.

The scream ripped through the house like a blade. Every wolf stiffened. Every head snapped toward the living room. Nicholas was inside before anyone else could blink, faster than Fuma had ever seen him move, a feral growl tearing from his throat as he bolted straight toward Rocky. He nearly collided with Jake, who was already kneeling on the floor, cradling Rocky’s limp body. Blood dripped from her nose. And, God, from her ears. Her skin was shockingly pale, frighteningly cold.

Nicholas’s snarl was raw, primal. “Give her to me,” Jake didn’t argue. He carefully shifted Rocky into her mate’s arms. Nicholas clutched her to his chest, voice shaking. “Rocky… Rock, come on, breathe for me, please,” But she didn’t stir. Across the room, (Y/n) lay crumpled on the floor where the vision had thrown her. Fuma held her gently against him, her head supported in his arm as blood slipped down her upper lip. She was unconscious, breathing shallowly, her face drained of color.

Sora hurried to her side, falling to her knees and pressing glowing hands over (Y/n)’s temples. Her powers shimmered faintly, blue, pure, focused, but even she could only stop the bleeding. She couldn’t wake her. None of them could. Jake leaned over Rocky’s form, still in Nicholas’s arms, trying desperately to heal what he could. His hands glowed with the warm, golden light of familiar magic, stabilizing her pulse, easing the worst of the shock, but she didn’t open her eyes. He looked guilty. Terrified. Like he’d failed her. Nicholas didn’t wait. He rose to his feet, holding Rocky carefully, protectively, carrying her bridal-style toward the hallway. “I’m taking her to our room,” he rasped, voice raw. “She needs to be warm, she needs to rest, I can’t, I can’t lose her.” His voice broke on the last word. Fuma had never seen him look so destroyed. The others didn’t stop him. They trusted Nicholas to care for his mate.

As Nicholas disappeared down the hall, EJ moved quickly to Sora’s side. She’d gone pale, wobbling slightly after pouring so much magic into healing. “Sora,” he murmured, dropping to his knees beside her and wrapping his arms around her shoulders. “Enough. That’s enough.” She leaned into him, exhausted. “I stopped the bleeding, but she won’t wake up… I don’t know why she won’t wake up…” EJ pressed a kiss into her hair, grounding her. He turned his attention to Jake, the only one with experience handling Rocky’s powers, the only one who understood the cost of an oracle vision on this scale.

“Jake,” EJ said quietly, firmly, “tell me what’s happening.” Jake kneaded tension out of his hands, still trembling slightly from the backlash. “It’s… the combination,” he said finally, voice low. “Rocky’s oracle powers already tear pieces out of her every time she uses them. You know that.” EJ nodded grimly. “But this spell on (Y/n)?” Jake continued, glancing toward the unconscious girl held protectively in Fuma’s lap. “It’s not normal mind magic. It’s old. Ancient. Powerful in a way I haven’t seen outside of covens with dark histories.”

Sora flinched at that. Jake swallowed hard. “And she’s bonded to Heeseung, not by fate, but by force. His control is suffocating her mind. The spell is fighting back. It doesn’t want to be seen.” EJ’s jaw clenched. “So the vision hit Rocky twice as hard,” Jake finished. “The backlash from the spell and the backlash from her oracle sight, combined.” He shook his head slowly. “She pushed too far this time… and Heeseung pushed back.” Fuma tightened his arms around (Y/n), pulling her gently against his chest, protectively curling over her unconscious form. His eyes burned. If Heeseung ever stepped foot near his territory,  If he ever touched her again, Fuma’s wolf would tear him apart. And every wolf in the room felt the same.

~~~

Rocky woke with a violent gasp nearly three hours later. Nicholas was already hovering above her, hands braced on either side of the bed, dark circles under his eyes. He hadn’t moved. Not even once. He’d sat there the entire time, staring at her unconscious form as if he blinked, she might disappear. When she woke, he exhaled, a shaky, relieved sound, and cupped her cheeks gently. “Rocky… baby… hey, I’m right here,” he whispered. But instead of relaxing, Rocky broke. Tears streamed down her face as she curled into herself, trembling hard enough to shake the mattress.

“He’s coming… he’s coming, he’s coming, he’s coming,” she kept repeating, voice cracking with panic. Nicholas’s stomach dropped. Her scent was sharp, acidic with fear, terror he’d never smelled on her before. “Hey, look at me, angel.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m right here. You’re safe. Nothing’s going to happen to you.” But she didn’t calm. Her breaths were short, shallow, and almost hyperventilating. Her hands trembled violently. Nicholas couldn’t take it, couldn’t see his mate hurting like this. He gently grabbed her face and kissed her. Soft. Slow. Grounding. Rocky gasped, then inhaled sharply, and finally, her breathing began to steady. Her trembling eased enough for her to speak.

She clung to Nicholas’s shirt, voice barely above a whisper. “He knows… where (Y/n) is. He, he saw me in the vision. He looked right at me, Nicholas. He smiled. And he said he found me.” Nicholas froze. Rocky swallowed hard, still crying but able to speak now. “He’s coming here. To the village. And, and he won’t stop. Not until he gets her back.” Nicholas’s arms wrapped around her instantly, holding her so tightly she could barely move, but she didn’t want to. She buried her face into his chest, soaking his shirt with tears. Nicholas whispered into her hair, voice low and deadly. “He’ll go through me first. Through all of us.”

When Rocky was stable enough to move, Nicholas lifted her into his arms, bridal-style, protective, refusing to let her feet touch the cold floor. He carried her out of the room, down the hallway, and into the main house. The moment they entered, the entire pack tensed. Maki and Miyu had been cooking dinner, but both froze mid-movement. The wolves with stronger senses all stiffened at once. Even Sora flinched at the overwhelming scent of fear radiating off Rocky. Jake immediately stepped forward, his expression pulled tight with worry. But Rocky hid her face against Nicholas’s neck, still shaking.

Fuma didn’t look up; he was seated on the floor by the couch, cradling (Y/n) carefully in his arms. She hadn’t woken yet. Her head rested against his chest, his jacket wrapped around her small frame for warmth. Her breathing was steady but shallow. He held her like she was the most fragile thing in the world. Like he was terrified that letting go might break her. Nicholas’s voice cut through the silence. “Heeseung is coming.” Every wolf in the room turned rigid. Nicholas continued, louder this time, almost shouting so no one could misunderstand: “He knows where (Y/n) is. He saw Rocky in her vision. And he’s on his way here, now.”

A wave of cold dread rippled through the house. Yuma stepped closer to Miyu, instinctively shielding her. Kei pulled Aya against his chest, jaw clenched. Taki cursed under his breath. Jo took Sana’s hand tightly. EJ’s eyes flashed red, Alpha red, glowing like a warning. Fuma held (Y/n) tighter. His head bowed over her unconscious form, his voice barely a whisper but heavy with promise: “I won’t let him take her.”

Rocky’s breathing gradually steadied, her trembling easing bit by bit. She stayed curled in Nicholas’ arms, refusing to let go, and he didn’t ask her to. His hold was firm, grounding, one hand moving soothingly along her back, the other cupped protectively around her head. He pressed soft kisses to her temple every few seconds, like he was reassuring himself she was really there. When she finally spoke, it was quiet. “I… saw the memory, this time the full one. The one from before. With young Fuma. And Maki was there too.”  Fuma looked up sharply. He still held (Y/n) in his lap, protective, eyes shadowed with worry. “I don’t… remember it,” he admitted softly. “Not clearly.” But Maki blinked, frowning slightly as he thought. “I kinda remember,” he said. “We were playing hide and seek. I hid behind a tree, and Fuma,” he looked over at his older brother, “you were calling for me because the sun was going down.” Fuma’s brows knit together as a faint flicker of memory teased the back of his mind. Maki continued: “And after that, right when we were gonna leave, we heard someone shout. A girl. And then… yeah. We found her.”

He looked over at the unconscious (Y/n), expression softening. “It was her. I’m pretty sure it was her, she was obviously younger, but some of her features are the same.”  Rocky nodded from Nicholas’s arms. “That part… that memory… it was real. The bond must have formed then, faintly, subtly, but real. And whatever spell hit (Y/n) later… it buried it. Covered it. And since the bond wasn’t fully awakened yet, it dragged Fuma into the fog by association.”

Fuma’s jaw clenched. His wolf snarled inside him. She’d been his all along. He’d met her as a child. Their bond had flickered to life even then. And Heeseung had smothered it. Before Rocky could continue, her voice broke again, cracking under the weight of what she’d seen next. “The last part of the vision…” she whispered. Nicholas tightened his hold instinctively. Rocky swallowed, forcing the words out. “Heeseung was feeding on her. A lot. More than is safe. She was screaming, not because of the bite, but because her mind was fighting him. Fighting the spell.” (Y/n)’s unconscious body shifted slightly in Fuma’s arms, as if some part of her heard it. Rocky continued, voice shaking: “He grabbed her. Held her face. And he used a command to block her pain. Then…” Her breath hitched, tears welling again. “Then he told her to say she loved him.”

Miyu covered her mouth, horrified. Sora’s eyes burned with anger. Kei’s hands curled into fists. Yuma leaned closer to Miyu protectively. Even Taki and Jo looked sick. Rocky shut her eyes tight. “And she said it. Blank. Empty. Because he forced her.” Fuma’s entire body trembled, barely restrained fury shaking through him. The air around him felt charged, dangerous. Heeseung had taken her voice. Her will. Her freedom. And now he was coming for her again. Rocky sniffed, wiping her face against Nicholas’ shirt. “That was when he turned. He saw me.” Her voice grew small. “He smiled at me. Like he had been waiting.” Nicholas growled softly, low and lethal. Rocky pulled in a shaky breath.

“When (Y/n) wakes up… she needs to know. All of it. The truth about the spell, the mind-fog, the manipulation, Heeseung’s control…” She hesitated, eyes flickering toward Fuma. “…and you.” Fuma stiffened. Rocky continued, gentle but certain: “She deserves to know everything before he gets here. Because if we don’t tell her… Heeseung will. And he’ll twist it. He’ll use it. He always has.” The room fell quiet. EJ stood slowly, expression grim, eyes glowing faintly red, the Alpha readying for war. “We tell her,” he said. “Everything. As soon as she wakes.”

Fuma looked down at (Y/n), brushing a trembling hand along her hair. He whispered, low, aching, full of fear and determination: “I’ll be here. When she opens her eyes. I won’t let her face this alone.” And with the storm gathering outside the village… He knew she would need him more than ever.

Once Maki announced that dinner was ready, Rocky wiped her face, steadying her breath. She still looked pale and fragile in Nicholas’ arms, but her voice held a quiet strength when she said: “Let’s wake her. She needs food more than sleep right now. The vision drained her.” Sora moved first. She walked over to where Fuma sat on the floor, leaning back against the couch, (Y/n) still tucked carefully against his chest. His arms wrapped around her protectively, holding her small form like something precious. As if letting go would hurt him.

Sora knelt beside them, her voice soft. “(Y/n)… sweetheart… wake up for me.” She brushed her fingers gently over (Y/n)’s arm. Once. Twice. Finally, (Y/n) stirred. A soft sound left her as she blinked groggily, disoriented. Her vision was blurry at first, then clearer, but still empty of Fuma’s presence. She couldn’t see him. Not like this. But she felt him. The warmth. The steady heartbeat behind her. The strong arms around her, holding her like she mattered. And she just knew. “…Fuma?” she whispered, turning her head slightly toward where she sensed him. He hummed in response, low and gentle, letting her know he was there. “Hey,” he murmured. “You’re safe.”

Her body relaxed a little at his voice. Maki hurried over with a bowl of warm stew. Steam rose from it as he held it out to her with a soft smile. “Here. You need this more than any of us,” he said. He handed another bowl to Fuma as well, because of course he did. Even now, Maki wasn’t going to let his big brother skip a meal. The room stilled. Everyone exchanged uncertain looks. Someone had to start the conversation. Someone had to tell her. Rocky inhaled shakily and pushed herself out of Nicholas’ arms. He stayed close, hand on her back, but she moved to sit near (Y/n), close enough to take her hands if needed.

“(Y/n)… before you panic, please know you’re safe here. All of us are here to help you,” she began gently. (Y/n) stiffened slightly, fingers curling into the bowl. Rocky continued, slow and careful: “There’s a spell on your mind. A powerful one. It’s… keeping you from seeing someone in this pack.” (Y/n)’s voice trembled. “Fuma.” “Yes,” Rocky confirmed softly. “Heeseung, he used a very old form of mind control. He blocked out Fuma from your awareness so you wouldn’t sense something important.”

(Y/n)’s breath quickened. She swallowed hard. “What… what important thing?” Rocky looked at Fuma, who held his breath, then back at (Y/n). “Because Fuma is your real mate.” Silence rippled through the room. (Y/n)’s eyes widened, confusion flashing across her features. “That, that can’t be right. I, Heeseung, he,” “He isn’t your mate,” Rocky said firmly but gently, squeezing her hand. “He never was. He forced a bond onto you. A false one. He used mind magic to make you believe it.”

(Y/n)’s lips parted, trembling. She blinked hard, tears forming. “Then… why could I see Fuma as a wolf?” she asked, voice barely audible. Rocky exhaled. “We don’t know yet. Maybe because Heeseung didn’t know Fuma was a werewolf, so he only blocked out his human form. Or maybe…” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “…maybe your real bond slipped through for a moment.” (Y/n)’s breath hitched. She wiped her eyes, overwhelmed. “And… there’s something else,” Rocky whispered. Every wolf in the room went still. Rocky’s fingers trembled in Nicholas’ hold, but she didn’t back down. “Heeseung knows where you are now,” she said quietly. “He saw me in the vision. And he’s coming. Soon.” (Y/n) went pale. Her hands shook. And Fuma… Fuma pulled her protectively against his chest, wrapping his arms fully around her, shielding her with his own body. The message was clear. Silent but absolute. He would die before letting Heeseung take her. The pack understood it instantly.

Dinner was unusually quiet. No jokes. No teasing. No chaotic shouting from the younger wolves. Everybody ate slowly, lost in their own thoughts. Even Maki, normally a ball of energy, barely pushed his stew around his plate. Miyu had stepped outside earlier to call Jay, her voice trembling as she explained everything. When she returned, she leaned against Yuma and relayed the message: “Jay says he’ll stay at Koyomi. He wants us to stay here with the pack. And… if Heeseung comes for a fight…” She swallowed. “…Jay said he’ll stand with us.” Sora nodded, unsurprised. Jay was loyal to those he loved, fiercely so.

Harua sat rigidly beside Aya, his shoulders tense, his hands shaking under the table. He finally spoke in a frightened whisper. “The rougaru was one thing. You all fought. You knew what to do. But a vampire,” His voice cracked, fear leaking through. “If a vampire comes here to fight, we all have to fight, don’t we?” Taki, chewing on his lip, nodded miserably. “I can’t even control my shift. I, I don’t know how I’m supposed to help anyone.” Beside him, Jo reached out and squeezed his hand. But even Jo looked frightened. 

Aya exhaled slowly, her human scent soft and reassuring. “Listen,” she said gently, looking at each of them with unwavering warmth. “Every single one of you has a role here. Fighting isn’t always about pure strength. Some of you protect. Some of you heal. Some of you strategize. Some of you hold the line.” Kei tightened his arm around her shoulders, pressing a grateful kiss to the top of her head. “We only win things like this together,” she added softly. “Nobody is alone here.” Those words helped. Even if just a little.

Across the table, (Y/n) sat quietly between Fuma and Sora, staring down at her bowl. Her hands were shaking faintly, guilt splintering her expression. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “This is happening because of me. You’re all in danger because,” She didn’t finish the sentence. Fuma didn’t let her. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her gently against his chest. His voice came low and steady, right by her ear, the protective rumble of a wolf calming its mate. “Don’t apologize.” (Y/n)’s breath hitched.

Fuma continued, softer: “Werewolves exist to protect humans from vampires. It’s what we were made for.” She tilted her head slightly, staring into the empty space she thought he occupied. Fuma angled closer, his breath brushing her temple. “And when the human in danger is a mate…” His voice dropped, rough with emotion. “…then there is nothing, nothing, we won’t do to keep them safe.” The room fell silent.

~~~

Far from the warmth of the pack, the coven hall was silent. Cold stone. Candlelight flickering like dying fireflies. The smell of old blood soaked into the walls. Heeseung walked through the corridor without a sound, a shadow slipping between shadows. His expression was calm, composed, almost elegant… yet beneath the surface simmered something venomous. Possessive. Unhinged.

He stopped before a set of tall doors, pushing them open without knocking. Inside, Sunghoon stood with his back turned, sharpening a silvered blade with slow, meticulous strokes. His eyes lifted when Heeseung entered, dark and hungry with long-harbored resentment. “Heard you returned,” Heeseung said, voice smooth as silk over broken glass. Sunghoon smirked. “Only to find that my dear coven is still led by fools too afraid to act.” Heeseung stepped closer. “I’m not one of them.” Sunghoon tilted his head, curious, feline, dangerous.

“What do you want, Heeseung?” Heeseung’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “A visit. To some wolves.” Sunghoon stopped sharpening the blade. Heeseung continued, tone now dipped in ice: “They’ve taken something that belongs to me. My property. And I’m going to reclaim her.” Sunghoon’s jaw clenched, not at the cruelty of the word, but at the opportunity hidden behind it. “And why,” Sunghoon asked slowly, “should that interest me?” Heeseung met his gaze with a look that promised blood. “Because the wolves who took her… also shelter your little traitor.” He paused, savoring the shift in Sunghoon’s expression. “Sora.” A thin crack of anger flickered across Sunghoon’s face. “And her precious mate,” Heeseung added in a whisper, venomous. “EJ.”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut. Sunghoon finally sheathed the blade. “You should’ve said that from the beginning,” he murmured, eyes glowing faintly red. “I’ve been waiting for a chance to finish what I started.” Heeseung extended a hand. “So,” he said, a cruel smile curling on his lips, “shall we pay them a visit?” Sunghoon took his hand without hesitation. “Let’s end the wolves,” he breathed, “and take back what’s ours.” Together, the two vampires left the coven, shadows slipping into the night, heading straight for the quiet town the wolves called home. And neither of them planned to return empty-handed.

~~~

The cold evening settled over the pack house, the sky already darkening, and the snow reflecting the warm glow from the windows. After dinner, once everyone drifted off to different corners of the house, (Y/n) called out quietly for Fuma. “Can I… talk to you?” Her voice was small, but steady. Fuma nodded before he remembered he had to speak, so he said yes. Sora noticed, giving him an encouraging smile as she placed a thick coat over (Y/n)’s shoulders.

They stepped outside together, the air biting cold, but clean and calming. Fuma made sure she had not only the coat but an extra blanket wrapped around her before guiding her to the small wooden couch on the porch. At first, he moved to sit across from her, giving her space, but her hand gently brushed his sleeve, not letting him leave. “Could you… sit here? Next to me?” she asked quietly. “So I know you’re close?” Fuma swallowed hard and sat beside her, careful, his body angled slightly toward her but not too close. Her shoulder brushed his arm, warm, light, and it nearly knocked the breath from him.

They sat in silence for a moment, breath visible in the cold, before (Y/n) gathered the courage to speak. “How long have you known?” she asked. “About the mate thing.” Fuma hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to answer, but because his heart tightened just thinking about that moment. “Since yesterday,” he admitted. “When I found you and Sora at the pond.” (Y/n) turned her head slightly toward the sound of his voice, though her eyes couldn’t quite land on him.

“Because of… the growling?” she asked softly. “Yeah,” he breathed. “When I saw the… the marks on your neck, my wolf reacted before I could think. He knew immediately.” Her hand lifted instinctively, brushing her fingers against her neck. The healing punctures were still tender beneath her touch. She hesitated, voice wobbling just slightly. “Based on how many times he fed from me… I’ll probably have these forever.” A beat. “I guess I’ll never get rid of them.” Fuma’s jaw tightened, but he forced his voice to stay soft.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, voice low. “Maybe. Maybe not. Rocky or Sora might be able to fade them with time.” A pause. “But even if they stay… they don’t define you.” (Y/n) swallowed, eyes dropping to her lap. “It feels like they do.” His chest tightened. He wanted to reach for her, wanted to hold her and erase every trace of what Heeseung had done, but he didn’t push. Instead, he spoke softly. “Scars mean you survived something you shouldn’t have had to.” Another breath. “And the fact that you’re sitting here… talking… fighting to understand all this? That’s stronger than anything he ever did to you.”

(Y/n) blinked hard, eyes glassy but not falling into tears. She leaned a little closer, instinctively, as though drawn by something her mind still couldn’t fully name. She hesitated before speaking again.

“I don’t know what to feel, I don’t know what is actually me and what is Heeseung,” He turned his head slightly toward her, the faintest ache in his chest. “I know,” he murmured. “And you don’t have to pretend you understand everything. I’m not expecting you to feel anything you’re not ready for.” She looked up at him even if her eyes didn’t quite land on his. “But you’re not upset? Or disappointed?” “Of course not.” His answer came immediately. “I’m just… relieved you’re here. Alive. Safe. That’s all that matters right now.”

A soft, almost disbelieving laugh left her, breath misting in the cold air. “You’re… really kind.” Fuma’s lips tugged upward, a small, shy smile she couldn’t see. “Not always,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ask Maki.” That made her laugh again, quiet and sweet, a sound that made Fuma’s entire wolf settle in an instant. Another silence settled, softer now. (Y/n) hesitated, shifting slightly so her shoulder brushed his arm. Fuma stiffened, then exhaled honestly.

They stayed like that for a long while, the cold air biting at their skin while the soft glow from inside the house spilled across the porch. (Y/n)’s head rested carefully against Fuma’s shoulder, or where she knew his shoulder should be. It was strange, feeling warmth and solid strength beneath her cheek, yet seeing nothing but empty space when she lifted her eyes. She wished she could see him. Not just his wolf, him. The man with the voice that felt steady, warm, grounding.

A small idea formed in her mind. She’d seen it in movies, or maybe read it in books. When someone couldn’t see, they would touch the other person’s face to imagine what they looked like. Maybe… maybe that could help her too. So she asked, voice hesitant, “Fuma… can I… try something? Can I touch your face? To… know what you look like?” Fuma stilled, surprise flickering across his features before softening into something gentler. Shy, but open. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Of course you can.”

He reached for her hands, guiding them gently until her palms hovered near his cheeks. When she made contact, he closed his eyes. Her fingertips were soft, curious, careful, as if she feared she might break him somehow. She explored slowly, mapping him out. His hair first, brushing through the strands. Then his ears. Her fingers traced the line of his brows, the curve of his nose. When she brushed over his lips, just barely, Fuma felt his breath catch, but he stayed still, letting her learn him.

Her touch moved along his jawline, following the sharp angle, then down to his neck and shoulders. She paused, surprised at the firm muscle beneath her hands. “Wow…” she whispered, almost to herself. “You’re really well built.” Fuma, shy to his core but trying desperately to play it cool, let out a soft laugh. “Well… I am a personal trainer,” he joked lightly. It earned him a small smile, one he felt more than saw. Her hands drifted back up, cupping his cheeks. Slowly, carefully, she leaned forward until her forehead touched his. A soft exhale left both of them at the same time.

They stayed like that, foreheads pressed together, warm breath mingling in the cold air, both wishing things were simpler. Wishing this wasn’t the only way she could know him. Wishing the bond between them wasn’t buried beneath a fog he couldn’t break. But for now, they just breathed together. For now, this was enough.

Fuma stayed perfectly still when she pulled back just slightly, her hands still resting against his cheeks. Her breath shook, her voice trembling as she tried to speak, and he could hear the fear lining every syllable. “I… I don’t want to go back,” she whispered. “Me, without all this fog, without whatever Heeseung did, I don’t want to go back.” She swallowed, the next words breaking apart as they left her. “But I can’t promise I’ll say the same when he’s here. I don’t know what he can make me do. I don’t know if I can fight it.” Her voice cracked, and Fuma’s heart nearly broke in his chest. He didn’t hesitate.

He reached out, gently but firmly, and pulled her into his arms. “Listen to me,” he murmured against her temple, voice low and steady, a promise wrapped in warmth. His arms closed around her, holding her as if the world might try to tear her away. “No matter what he tries, I won’t let him take you. Not unless you want to go.” His embrace tightened, protective and impossibly gentle at the same time. “But if you say you don’t want him, if you even whisper it, I’ll stand between you and him until my last breath. I swear it.”

(Y/n)’s fingers clutched the fabric of his shirt, knuckles turning white. She pressed her face into his chest, trying to hide the tears she couldn’t hold back anymore. Her breaths hitched, soft and shaky, but she didn’t pull away. Fuma wrapped himself around her a little more, one hand resting at the back of her head, the other around her waist, as if shielding her from everything, even the memories she couldn’t yet escape.

And despite all the fear twisting in her stomach, despite the storm she knew was coming… For the first time in years, she felt safe. Safe in his arms. Safe in his warmth. Safe in the steady heartbeat against her ear that grounded her more than any spell ever could. Right there, held tightly in Fuma’s embrace, (Y/n) felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time: Hope.

(Y/n) fell asleep in his arms after sitting there for some time. Fuma carried her to EJ and Sora's cabin, making sure she was tucked in tightly in bed, before reluctantly returning to his room in the main house. They didn't know how soon Heeseung would arrive, but whenever he came, they would fight, because Fuma would have to die before allowing him to touch (Y/n) ever again. To even breathe the same air as her. Morning soon came, everyone gathered in the dining room, Taki joked that they had to get a bigger table soon, with everyone finding their mates and all, Jake was there too, laughing at the joke. 

Jay’s call came in so suddenly that EJ didn’t even have time to brace himself. He answered on instinct, and Jay’s voice hit like a punch. Tight. Urgent. And terrified. “He’s here,” Jay said. “Heeseung. And he isn’t alone.” EJ’s stomach dropped. Jay exhaled shakily before continuing. “Unless you want Lila hurt… you need to bring (Y/n) to Koyomi.” For a beat, no one breathed. Miyu gasped, hand flying to her mouth. Maki’s growl tore through the room, sharp and feral. Lila, a sweet, human girl who knew nothing about supernatural politics, had somehow gotten tangled in the middle of this. She didn’t deserve this. None of this.

EJ closed his eyes, jaw tight, and forced himself to speak even though every instinct screamed against it. “We’ll be there soon.” The moment he hung up, the room erupted. Fuma surged to his feet so fast the chair scraped loudly across the floor. His eyes glowed that molten orange-red mix, fury radiating off him in waves. “How could you say that?!” he snapped, voice shaking. “We are not handing her over!” EJ held up a hand, his own red alpha eyes blazing in warning. “Calm down,” “No!” Fuma snarled. “He’ll take her, you know he will!” “Fuma!” EJ said firmly, stepping closer, “we’re not giving her up. We’re not sacrificing anyone. But we cannot let him hurt Lila. Jay called for help, he’s outnumbered. We’re going, but we’re going prepared.”

Fuma’s chest heaved, breath unsteady as he struggled to rein in the rage. He didn’t care about Heeseung’s threats. He didn’t care about Sunghoon. All he cared about was (Y/n). Losing her was not an option. Behind him, trembling softly, (Y/n) whispered: “F-Fuma…?”Her voice cracked, fear woven through every syllable. And that one quiet call shattered every piece of anger inside him, leaving only instinct. He turned instantly, moving to her side so fast it almost wasn’t human.

Before she could even reach for him, he took her hand, gently, carefully, letting her know exactly where he was. She threw her arms around him, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in a world collapsing beneath her feet. He wrapped his arms around her without hesitation, pulling her into his chest. He inhaled her scent, grounding himself, letting that one breath bleed the fury out of him just enough to think straight. “I’m right here,” he whispered against her hair. “I’m not letting anything happen to you. Not now. Not ever.” (Y/n)’s trembling eased, only slightly, but enough.

EJ looked at them, then at the rest of the pack, his voice firm: “We go together. We protect everyone, Jay, Lila… and especially (Y/n). No one goes alone. No one dies tonight.” The pack nodded. War was coming. And they would meet it head-on.

~~~

Lila had never been this scared in her life. One moment, she was unlocking the doors like any other morning, and the next, a hand clamped over her mouth, another over her eyes, and she was yanked inside before she even had time to scream. Now she sat tied to a chair in the back room, wrists bound, ankles tight against the legs of the seat. Tears streamed down her face, soaking into the collar of her shirt. Her breaths were sharp, rapid, the kind that made her chest ache. Behind her, the man who grabbed her kept one hand on the ropes and the other pressed a cold, unfamiliar blade against her neck. Not a kitchen knife. Something older. Sharper. Lila whimpered, trying not to move.

Across the room, Jay was shouting, angrier than she had ever heard him, voice ragged with desperation. “The human has NOTHING to do with this!” he yelled. “She’s not part of your world, Heeseung!” World? What world? Lila blinked through fresh tears, trying to make sense of the words echoing in her head. Human. As if… they weren’t? Her shaking eyes lifted, and that’s when she saw him. The other man. The one Jay was arguing with. Tall, unnervingly still, expression carved from stone. And his eyes, they weren’t normal. They weren’t even close. A deep, unnatural red glowed beneath the dim lights of the restaurant. Too bright. Too dead. Too wrong.

Lila’s blood ran cold. “That girl,” Heeseung said, voice smooth like glass and just as cutting, “was taken from me. I will have her returned.” “You don’t own her,” Jay spat. Heeseung tilted his head slightly, not offended, not angry, almost amused. “Don’t I?” Lila’s stomach twisted. She didn’t understand any of this. Who was this man? Why were his eyes like that? What did he mean by ‘taken’? What did he want? Why was Jay talking about worlds? Her breath hitched painfully. Jay took a step forward, only for the blade behind her neck to press harder. She cried out. “MOVE AGAIN AND I SLICE HER,” Sunghoon, the man holding her, hissed. Jay froze instantly.

“Let her go, Sunghoon,” Jay said, voice low, trembling with fury. “This isn’t between you and her.” Sunghoon’s smirk sharpened. “It is now. The wolves always claimed to protect their little humans, right? Let’s see how well they protect this one.” Lila choked on a sob. Jay’s expression broke, terrified, helpless. But then Heeseung spoke again, lazy, confident, already certain of victory. “Bring me (Y/n), Jay. Bring her to me.” His eyes glowed brighter. “Or the human dies.”

~~~

They didn’t want to do it. Every wolf in the pack hated the idea of stepping into Heeseung’s reach, of putting (Y/n) anywhere near the vampire who had controlled her, hurt her, stolen pieces of her mind and heart. But Lila’s life was on the line. And they didn’t sacrifice innocents. Not ever. So they brought (Y/n) with them to Koyomi. It felt wrong. Dangerous. Every instinct in their bodies screamed against it, especially Fuma’s, whose wolf clawed at his ribs the entire drive.

(Y/n) held onto him desperately, fingers fisting into his jacket, her breath trembling against his shoulder. He kept one arm wrapped firmly around her, the other resting protectively over her hand. As the car slowed in front of the darkened restaurant, Fuma leaned in, voice low, warm, and fierce. “I made you a promise,” he whispered. “I will not let him take you. Not while I breathe.” (Y/n) swallowed hard, nodding even though she still couldn’t see him. His voice, his scent, that was enough.

Soon, EJ’s car rolled in beside them. Then Kei’s. Then two more behind those. Sixteen people total. The whole pack. Even Jake, standing at Rocky’s side, worry flickering behind his eyes. They stepped out into the cold night air, breath fogging, hearts pounding. EJ looked over them, eyes glowing a deep, steady red. He spoke through a growl. “Whatever waits inside, we stick to the plan. Harua, Taki, Maki, Jo, protect our mates. That includes (Y/n).” The four youngest straightened instantly. Harua inhaled sharply but nodded. Taki swallowed his fear and stepped closer to Jo. Maki rolled his shoulders back, tension twitching under his skin. Jo tightened his jaw, one hand finding Sana’s. Then EJ turned to Yuma.

“Yuma,” he said softly, seriously, “this time… we’re going to need you to fight. Can you do that?” Yuma’s eyes flickered, golden, then brighter. Fear trembled under his skin… but determination settled over it. He glanced at Miyu, whose hand found his. Her small squeeze steadied him. “I’ll do my best,” he answered. The pack nodded, proud, grateful. Then they moved. The younger wolves shifted subtly into a loose shield around the women, Aya, Sora, Rocky, Miyu, Sana, and (Y/n). Not touching, not crowding, but present, solid, a living barrier.

Nicholas and Kei flanked EJ. Yuma and Fuma stood closest to (Y/n). Jake lingered by the door, listening. Sixteen hearts. Sixteen lungs. Sixteen bodies ready to fight a monster. EJ exhaled once, steadying himself. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s go get Lila.” And with that, they pushed open the door to Koyomi. The moment the pack stepped inside, the entire restaurant seemed to inhale. Silence. Cold. Tension so thick it almost hummed.

Then, clap… clap… clap… Slow. Mocking. Dripping poison. Heeseung stood in the center of the café, hands coming together in an exaggerated applause, his smile stretched too wide to be human. “Well,” he purred, “welcome.” Every wolf bristled. Every vampire tensed. Every heartbeat sharpened into a weapon. Fuma didn’t speak. He growled. Deep and feral, a sound born from instincts older than words. It vibrated through the tables, rattled the glasses behind the counter, and sent dust drifting from the ceiling.

Heeseung’s eyes flashed, momentarily surprised. Powerful. More powerful than he had expected. But not enough to worry him. Not yet. EJ stepped forward, voice low and firm enough to shake the floorboards. “Where are Lila and Jay?” Heeseung didn’t answer. He chuckled, a dark, cold sound that sliced through the air like a blade. “You’ll see them soon enough,” he said lazily, waving his hand as if bored. EJ’s lips peeled back in a snarl. “Where?” he demanded again, louder this time, teeth visible, his power rising like a storm. Heeseung tilted his head, pretending to think. “My, my. Feisty doggy,” he mocked.

Sora hissed. Nicholas growled. Kei shifted his stance, ready to fight. Heeseung sighed dramatically, as if inconvenienced. “Fine,” he said, raising his voice just slightly. “Bring them out.” A moment later, footsteps echoed from the hallway. Sunghoon emerged first. One hand gripping Jay’s shirt, shoving him forward with effortless ease, the kind that made the wolves growl again. And in his other hand? He carried Lila. Still tied to the chair. Lifted as if she weighed nothing. Her eyes were wide with terror, cheeks wet with tears. When she saw the pack, a sob broke free, equal parts relief and fear.

Sunghoon’s lips curled into a cold, delighted smile. “Miss us?” he asked cruelly. EJ’s eyes blazed red. Kei and Nicholas took a step forward in unison. Fuma’s entire body trembled with the effort not to tear Sunghoon apart where he stood. (Y/n), grasping blindly for Fuma, flinched when she heard Lila’s cry, guilt, fear, and panic ripping through her. Maki whispered under his breath, “They’re gonna pay for this…” Sunghoon pushed Jay again, harder this time.

Heeseung spread his arms, smiling at the pack like a host presenting a feast. “Well then,” he said softly. “Shall we begin?” Heeseung didn’t need a clear view of (Y/n). He could feel her. Even hidden behind wolves and witches and humans, surrounded by bodies shielding her like a fortress, her presence tugged at him like a thread wrapped around his ribs. His eyes slid lazily over the pack, searching, sensing, savoring the tension. Then he found Rocky. “Hello,” Heeseung said with a cold, polite tone that made Rocky’s blood freeze. “We meet again.” Rocky flinched violently. Before Heeseung could take a single step toward her, Maki and Taki were in front of her, two young wolves, yet absolutely ready to die for her. Nicholas didn’t just growl. He roared. His claws extended, fangs flashing, muscles pulled tight like a bow ready to snap. Jake grabbed his arm to keep him from launching forward uncontrolled. “No one touches my mate,” Nicholas snarled, voice shaking with fury.

EJ stepped forward, positioning himself at the center of the room, between his pack and the threat, Alpha instincts burning red in his eyes. “Heeseung,” EJ growled, “your business is with me. I’m the alpha here.” Heeseung tilted his head, unimpressed. “Are you?” he said lightly. “I must say… not much of one. But if it makes you feel important…” He waved a hand dismissively. “Fine. I’ll negotiate with you.” Sora hissed at the insult, but EJ held up a hand, eyes locked on the vampire. Heeseung’s smirk sharpened. “One human for another,” he said smoothly. “Return what is mine, and you can have yours back.” (Y/n) trembled.

Fuma wanted to scream. To shift. To tear Heeseung limb from limb and rip apart anyone who dared call (Y/n) his property. His claws slid out, digging into his palms. His wolf thrashed under his skin, howling. MATE. MINE. PROTECT. But Fuma stayed silent. If he snapped now, if he lunged,  Heeseung would kill Lila. Or (Y/n). Or Sora. Or Rocky. Or any of the humans or wolves in front of him. So he swallowed the rage burning a hole in his chest. 

Jay’s voice cut through the charged air like a blade. He kept close to Lila, shielding her with his own body, but his eyes were locked on Heeseung. “Why?” Jay demanded. “Why are you so hell-bent on dragging her back when she isn’t even your mate?” Heeseung rolled his eyes with exaggerated boredom. But then, they darkened. Red bled into black, creeping like ink through water, turning his irises into pits of pure hunger. He turned his head, slowly, deliberately, toward (Y/n), still surrounded by wolves and Sora’s protective grip. “(Y/n),” he called smoothly, “are you my mate?” And before anyone could stop her, “Yes.”

The single word slipped out of her mouth, hollow and lifeless, as if pulled from the deepest corner of her mind. Her voice wasn’t her own, stripped of warmth, of fear, of personality. The pack froze. Sora’s eyes widened in horror. Kei cursed under his breath. Rocky clutched Nicholas’s sleeve. EJ’s claws dug into his palms. Fuma went still. Absolutely still. Heeseung’s lips curled into a victorious smirk. “Good girl,” he murmured, then asked, “and do you love me?” “Yes,” she breathed. Another step forward. Sora tried to hold her back, but couldn’t be forceful with her, couldn’t risk hurting her. She tightened her grip softly, voice trembling.

“(Y/n)… sweetheart, stop. Don’t move.” But (Y/n) kept walking, eyes glassy, movements mechanical. Fuma’s breath hitched. Something inside his chest cracked, loudly. His mate. His soulmate. His other half. Declaring love for someone else. Even knowing it wasn’t truly her, even knowing her mind was twisted and fogged and shackled, it still broke him. He shook, violently, fighting the urge to tear the world apart just to free her voice from Heeseung’s control. Jay tried again, voice sharp, desperate. “Heeseung! Why her? You and I both know she isn’t your mate. Why her?” The vampire turned. Slowly. Calmly. With the look of a predator annoyed by a buzzing insect.

His glare sliced straight through Jay. “Why her?” Heeseung repeated with a scoff. Then he stepped closer, shadows stretching behind him like claws. “If you had tasted her blood, Jay, even once, you would know.” Lila whimpered behind Jay. Rocky flinched. Nicholas snarled. Fuma stopped breathing. Heeseung’s smile widened grotesquely. “Her blood is special. Sweeter. Stronger. Addictive.” His eyes glowed violently red-black. “I don’t intend to go another day without it.” And that was the moment Fuma almost lost control. His bones quivered.

His wolf howled, pacing beneath his skin, demanding release, demanding blood, demanding Heeseung’s throat. He wasn’t reacting to jealousy. He was reacting to the truth, Heeseung didn’t want (Y/n). He wanted to consume her. To drain her dry. To keep her as livestock. As a vessel. As property. Fuma’s vision tinted gold and red as his control frayed, claws threatening to rip through his fingers, Sora hissed a warning. Kei tensed. EJ subtly stepped toward him, ready to restrain him if needed. But Fuma didn’t move. Not because he wasn’t furious, but because (Y/n) needed him steady. She needed him alive. And Heeseung had just given every wolf in that room something far more dangerous than rage: A reason to kill him.

No one expected Kei to be the one to snap. Not calm, steady, gentle Kei. But the second Heeseung spoke about (Y/n) like she was a food source, something inside Kei, something ancient, buried under years of discipline, broke. Before anyone registered movement, Kei was already across the room. And his fist connected with Heeseung’s jaw with a sickening crack. The vampire’s head snapped to the side. His body rocked back three full steps. Pure shock flashed across his features. He had not seen that coming. But Kei had.

For a heartbeat, all Kei saw was black. His parents’ blood. The ruins of his first pack. The long, lonely years wandering with no one at his side. Then, finding the others, one by one, rebuilding what was taken from him. All destroyed originally because of vampires like Heeseung. Because they got too greedy. Too cruel. Too drunk on power. A growl ripped out of Kei, deeper than any of them had ever heard from him, and the room exploded into motion.

Sunghoon sprang forward instantly, eyes darting to Jay for a split-second. Jay braced himself, shielding Lila with his whole body. Sunghoon considered attacking him, truly considered it, but then he saw the wolves rushing in, golden eyes blazing, claws fully out. He pivoted. Straight toward them. And chaos erupted. Wolves lunged. Vampires blurred. Furniture shattered. The fight was vicious, immediate, overwhelming. Even with the entire pack joining in, it quickly became clear the vampires were stronger, impossibly fast, unnervingly durable.

Sora, Rocky, and Jake pulled the humans behind them, Aya, Sana, Miyu, and (Y/n), forming a protective barrier. Heeseung backhanded Harua with enough force to send the young wolf flying across the room, smashing into a wall so hard the plaster cracked. “Harua!” Jo yelled, but before he could reach his brother, Sunghoon grabbed Jo by the collar and flung him aside like he weighed nothing. Taki tried to transform, pain contorting his face, but nothing happened. Again. And the disappointment in his eyes was heartbreaking. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, stumbling back as Sunghoon approached with a predatory grin.

Heeseung ducked another blow from EJ, snarling. He was growing frustrated. Hungry. Greedy. He wanted (Y/n). He wanted her now. “Where is she?” he hissed, scanning for her. Nicholas cut him off, slashing across his chest with his claws, leaving deep marks that oozed thick, dark blood. On the other side of the room, Maki and Yuma launched an attack together, pure instinct and brotherly rhythm. Yuma grabbed Sunghoon by the arm while Maki slashed across his cheek, drawing blood. Sunghoon froze, hand flying to his face in disbelief. He had been marked. By pups. “You’re dead,” he snarled. He launched at them, fast, too fast, but Kei slammed into him mid-sprint, saving the younger wolves by centimeters.

EJ, Fuma, Kei, and Nicholas were the ones holding the line. They moved with impossible coordination, training kicking in, instincts aligning, reading each other’s movements without even needing a mindlink. EJ and Fuma took Heeseung. Kei and Nicholas cut Sunghoon off again and again. It wasn’t enough to win. But it was enough to survive. And somewhere behind them, (Y/n) trembled violently, gripping the edge of a counter, feeling Fuma’s emotions rippling through the chaos like sparks.

He was fighting. He was hurting. And he was doing it for her. But Heeseung was getting closer. Step by step. Slash by slash. He was coming straight for her. The fight raged on, relentless and brutal. Even with only two vampires against them, the wolves struggled, all nine of them pushing their limits, bruises forming, bones aching, lungs heaving.

They weren’t trained for this. Not for vampires. Not for monsters like these two. Sunghoon was deadly, fast, precise, cruel. But Heeseung… Heeseung was something else entirely. He moved like a shadow. A blur. A nightmare given form. He slipped into the darkness between the hanging lights, disappearing completely, “ROCKY!” Sora shouted. “I SEE HIM!” Rocky yelled back. Her eyes flashed violet, and she thrust her palm forward. A wave of shimmering force slammed into the shadows, ripping Heeseung out of them and hurling him across the room. He landed in a crouch, snarling, eyes glowing a murderous black-red. “I’m going to kill you,” Heeseung hissed. Nicholas let out a feral snarl. “Over my dead body.” He lunged, claws out, rage fueling every movement, catching Heeseung off-guard. The distraction was all he needed.

Nicholas’ claws tore into Heeseung’s side, ripping open a long, deep wound. Dark vampire blood splattered across the floor. The pack surged with hope. Until (Y/n) screamed. A sharp, gut-wrenching cry. Everyone froze. She collapsed to her knees, clutching her side, the exact same spot Nicholas had struck Heeseung, her face twisted in agony. “(Y/N)!” Fuma raced toward her, sliding on his knees beside her, panic exploding through him. “No, no, please, sweetheart, breathe.” Her fingers trembled, gripping his wrist blindly, but her vision still refused to show him. 

Across the room, Heeseung laughed. A cold, triumphant sound. “Did you really,” he drawled, “think I’d go down that easily?” His wound was already closing. And (Y/n)’s wasn’t. Rocky’s breath hitched. “It’s a sympathetic bind,” she whispered, horrified. “He tied her life to his. If he dies,” “She dies,” Jake finished grimly. Fuma’s world tilted. There was no way to win. Not like this. Heeseung stepped forward, wiping blood from his mouth. “Come now,” he purred. “Stop fighting. Give her back, and this all ends.” Fuma’s vision blurred red. His mate was in pain because of that monster, and he could do nothing but hold her as she struggled to breathe. He cupped her face, voice breaking. “I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I won’t let him take you. I swear it.”

But as Heeseung approached, smiling like victory was already his, Fuma realized something terrifying. They couldn’t kill Heeseung. They couldn’t overpower him. They couldn’t win this fight. Not unless they broke the spell. Not unless they awakened the bond. Not unless (Y/n) chose him instead. And right now? She didn’t even know what he looked like. 

Rocky’s pulse hammered in her ears. She was exhausted, completely depleted from the vision, the backlash, the healing, the fear, but she couldn’t stand there and watch (Y/n) collapse in agony while Heeseung walked toward her like he already owned her. She refused. Rocky lifted her hands, though they trembled, her fingers twitching with the strain. Jake grabbed her arm. “Rocky, you can’t,” he whispered urgently. “You’re drained. One more heavy spell and,” “I know,” she breathed, voice shaking. “But I can’t do nothing.”

She remembered the book she’d read late last night, the chapter about separation spells. Complicated. Volatile. Nearly impossible without full strength. If she attempted one now… she might not survive the backlash. So she didn’t. She chose something else. A spell she should have thought of earlier, simpler, but still dangerous in her state. A spell meant to clear actual fog. It was created by witches who used to sail the sea, a way to navigate more easily. A final push. Rocky inhaled sharply, then whispered: “Via aperta… visum verum… let her see.” Her eyes flared violet.

A spark of golden-violet magic swirled from her fingertips and shot across the room, weaving around wolves, dodging splintered furniture, slipping past Heeseung’s outstretched hand. It struck (Y/n) in the center of her forehead. She gasped. Her eyes fluttered open wide, and for the first time, the fog pulled back. Only for a moment. But in that moment? Her gaze landed directly on the man kneeling in front of her. On Fuma. His amber-orange eyes blown wide with fear. His hair messy from battle. His chest heaving. His hand cupped around her cheek. Her breath broke. “Fuma…?” His name escaped her lips like a prayer.

A sob followed, choked, desperate, full of longing. He leaned closer, voice cracking, “I’m right here, (Y/n). I’m here,” And then, he vanished. Not physically. Only from her sight. The fog slammed back into place like a door slamming shut, violently. (Y/n) cried out in frustration, reaching blindly for him again. “No, no, please, I saw you, I saw you!” Fuma caught her hand, holding it tight, his heart shattering at her panic. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Across the room, Heeseung staggered. Actually staggered. His hand gripped his side, eyes going wide in shock and fury. The spell had worked. Not fully, not enough to break the bond. But enough to damage it. Enough to hurt him. Enough to weaken his hold. Rocky collapsed to her knees, breathing hard, vision swimming. Jake caught her before she hit the floor. Heeseung snarled, voice shaking with rage. “What did you do?!” Rocky managed a weak, bloody smile. “Gave her… a clearer view,” she whispered. EJ’s eyes snapped toward her. Nicholas moved in front of her again, protective fury rekindling.

Heeseung’s lip curled, black leaking into his eyes again. The spell had done something, something powerful, something that broke through the fog and struck the vampire right at the source. But they didn’t yet know what it meant. Or how much time they had before Heeseung attacked again. And Fuma… Fuma stared at the spot where her eyes had met his, at the tears still clinging to her lashes. She had seen him. For the first time. And he’d be damned before he let that be the last.

(Y/n)’s body went slack. Her eyes rolled shut. The moment the fog snapped back over her sight, her mind shut down entirely, and she collapsed into Fuma’s arms. “(Y/n)!” he choked. At the same moment, Rocky swayed, her breaths thin and shallow. “Th–this is your… your chance,” she gasped, voice barely audible. “The spell, it… severed something… she won’t feel… your hits,” And then she, too, dropped. Jake caught her mid-fall, lowering her gently. Harua, Taki, and Jo rushed forward, forming a tight protective circle around the unconscious girls. Sora slid to (Y/n)’s side, hands glowing faint gold as she tried to soothe whatever pain lingered in the human’s body. “Stay with me,” Sora whispered, voice trembling. Yuma stumbled over next, limping, blood on his lip and sleeve, clearly hurt, but still conscious. He threw himself beside the others, growling low, ready to defend them. The younger wolves shielded the girls. The protectors protecting those who needed them most.

Meanwhile, Maki, Fuma, Kei, EJ, and Nicholas rose to their feet. The room trembled. Five wolves. Two vampires. And every surviving instinct in their bodies sharpened into a final standoff. Heeseung wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes burning with fury. Sunghoon cracked his neck, annoyed and amused all at once. “It’s been a while,” Sunghoon drawled, “since anyone made us bleed.” He and Heeseung stood shoulder to shoulder now, the strongest united.

Fuma’s growl shook the floorboards. Maki stepped up beside him, amber-eyed and furious. Kei cracked his knuckles, the calmest of them and somehow the most dangerous. EJ and Nicholas positioned themselves opposite Sunghoon, claws extended, eyes blazing. Then, Sunghoon’s gaze slid lazily toward Sora behind the younger wolves. His smirk twisted into something cruel. “You know, EJ…” he taunted, voice dripping venom, “you should have killed me when you had the chance.” EJ’s jaw tightened. Sunghoon stepped forward, sneering. “And I should have killed Sora when I had the chance. That little traitor never deserved her life in the first place.”

Sora froze. Nicholas snarled. Kei’s breath caught. Jake’s fur bristled. But EJ? EJ saw red. His whole body trembled, rage exploding through him like wildfire. A vicious growl tore from his chest, loud, raw, violent. “You,” EJ hissed, stepping forward, “will never touch her again.” Sunghoon laughed. “Oh, but I will,” “No,” EJ growled, voice deepening as his eyes glowed brighter, shifting hue, becoming something far older, far more primal than simple anger. “You won’t.” Sunghoon felt fear like he never had before. Not from claws. Not from fangs. Not from death. But from the words that fell from EJ’s mouth: “If you dare threaten my mate and my family… then perhaps I should bare my fangs at your mate.” A ripple of shock tore through the room.

Sunghoon’s mask cracked, just for a heartbeat. His eyes flickered. Toward Jay. It lasted less than a millisecond. But every wolf noticed. Every vampire noticed. Even Heeseung froze, shock slicing through his expression. Jay felt it. Like a cold hand wrapping around his spine. He understood that look, he had seen it in others, had once felt it for someone else. But he had never expected… Sunghoon?

Memories snapped together in Jay’s mind: The possessiveness. The hatred mixed with something softer. The conflicting moods. The strange tension. The way Sunghoon always looked at him too long, then looked away too fast. It all made sense now. The room seemed to tilt. Jay whispered, “No… no, that can’t,” But it could. Because he had been mated before. He had loved before. And he had lost before. That pain was his. But Sunghoon, Sunghoon had found his mate a century ago. And lived with the crushing truth ever since: Jay was Sunghoon’s mate. But Sunghoon was not Jay’s. Never had been.

Never would be. A one-sided bond. A curse. Sunghoon’s breath hitched. His smirk fell away entirely. He took a step back, one slow, pained step. His fingers trembled at his sides. “I… didn’t want you to find out like this,” he said, voice cracking for the first time anyone had ever heard. “I never wanted you to know. I knew we could never be anything more than… friends.” He laughed, a broken, fragile sound. “But instincts…” His voice dropped, raw. “…instincts drive you insane. You know that, Jay. I know you do.”

A hundred years of pain sat in his eyes. A century of hiding. Of pretending. Of loving someone he could never have. Jay opened his mouth, something halfway between sympathy and shock on his face. But before a single word came out, Sunghoon ran. One blur of motion. Straight out the shattered restaurant door. Gone with the wind. No one followed. No one even knew if he’d ever return. And behind the silence he left behind, the battle’s stakes shifted.

Heeseung, now truly alone, stumbled back from a blow that sent splintered wood and glass skittering across the floor. His wounds weren’t healing fast enough. Panic flickered in his darkening eyes, not rage, not hunger, but the first taste of real fear. Jay stepped forward at last. No more holding back. No more second-guessing. Sunghoon was gone. The threat to Lila was fading. And the pack needed him. He dropped into a fighting stance beside EJ and Kei, glaring at Heeseung with a fury even the wolves hadn’t seen before.

Lila, still tied to the chair, trembled violently. She didn’t understand the glowing eyes, the shifting forms, the fangs, any of it. Her terror bled into the air like a sharp scent. Jake picked it up immediately. He broke from his guard around the unconscious mates, moving to her side with soft, careful steps. He crouched beside her, offering gentle words, grounding breaths, a protective presence between her and the chaos. “You’re safe,” he murmured, voice steady. “We won’t let anything happen to you.” She didn’t fully believe it, but she clung to the sound of his voice anyway.

The wolves, now fully unleashed, surrounded Heeseung. Maki struck first, swift, brutal, fueled by the pain everyone had gone through because of Heeseung. EJ was calculated, strong, every punch deliberate. Nicholas moved like a storm, rage sharpened into precision. Kei was silent, deadly, years of old trauma blazing through his eyes. And Fuma… Fuma fought like a man with everything to lose. Every swipe of his claws was for (Y/n). Every punch was for the years she had been controlled. Every growl was for the mate bond Heeseung tried to corrupt. They drove Heeseung back, hit after hit. He tried to counter, landing a few blows, enough to scratch, enough to bruise—but nothing more.

His movements slowed. His stance faltered. Fear crept into his expression as he realized: He was losing. Heeseung swung wildly, desperate, trying to shadow-step, but the spell Rocky cast earlier flickered across his body like static, disrupting him. He blinked forward a few feet, off-balance, only to be slammed into a table by Kei. Maki’s claws tore across his arm. Nicholas drove a punch into his ribs. Jay kicked him across the floor. Fuma pounced before he could rise, claws pressed to the vampire’s throat.

Heeseung choked on his own breath, trembling. The wolves towered over him, united, furious, unmovable. For the first time since the fight began, Heeseung understood: He wasn’t getting out of this undefeated. He wasn’t getting (Y/n) back. He wasn’t winning. Not this time. Not against them. Not against her mate. Fuma stalked toward Heeseung like a beast barely restrained. His eyes, usually warm, usually steady, had gone fully crimson, glowing with a lethal, ancient fury. His voice rumbled through the room like thunder. “Release her from the spell.”

Heeseung opened his mouth, defiant even now.

“N-” He never finished. Fuma pressed down, claws digging into the vampire’s throat, cutting off breath, sound, everything. Heeseung clawed at Fuma’s wrist, eyes widening as panic flooded him. For a moment, he actually believed this was where he’d die, beneath the claws of the wolf whose mate he had taken. Fuma leaned closer, his voice a low, feral snarl. “Release. Her.” The pressure increased. Bones creaked. Heeseung gasped silently, vision blurring. His pride faltered. His arrogance shattered. Survival instincts kicked in with vicious clarity. He gave up. He had to.

With a shaking breath, Fuma eased his grip just enough for him to speak, but not enough for him to move. Heeseung’s eyes locked on (Y/n), still unconscious on the ground, Sora’s hands glowing faintly as she tried to keep her stable. Hunger and obsession flickered in the vampire’s gaze, but this time, for the first time, he knew he could not take her. Would not survive trying. His eyes bled black, shadows curling at the edges of his irises as he summoned the spell that had chained her mind for years. “I…” A tremor. He swallowed hard. “I release you.”

A soft, rippling glow appeared around (Y/n), like silver mist rising from her skin. It swirled, lifted, then sank down into the shadows beneath her, disappearing as if swallowed by the earth. The room held its breath. Then Heeseung exhaled, defeated. “It is done.” No one moved. Not until Fuma did. He seized Heeseung by the collar and threw him with a roar, the vampire’s body slamming into the far wall hard enough to crack the plaster. He crumpled, dazed, weakened, and no longer a threat.

The pack didn’t look at him. Their attention was on Fuma. He stood there, chest heaving, eyes shifting slowly, painfully, from blood-red back to their unique, molten golden-orange. He turned toward (Y/n), who still lay trembling in Sora’s arms. He took one step. Then another. The fury melted from his face, replaced with something raw, terrified, and heart-shatteringly gentle. His voice, hoarse and broken, trembled out her name. “(Y/n)…?”

Jay stepped toward Heeseung with a grim calm that didn’t match the adrenaline still thundering through the room. His expression was tight, jaw clenched, but his voice was steady. “Why?” Jay’s eyes flicked to (Y/n), to the girl who had nearly lost everything. “To her. To us. Why did you do all of this?” Heeseung sat slumped against the wall, blood running down his jawline, staining his shirt, dripping onto the floor in slow, steady drops. He was exhausted, defeated… but not repentant.

He laughed. A dry, bitter, mocking sound that echoed off the walls. “Why?” He shrugged, as if the whole thing were trivial. “Because I could, I guess.” Fuma’s growl cut through the room like a blade, low, murderous, shaking the air. He held (Y/n) against his chest, his body curled protectively around her unconscious form, golden-orange eyes fixed on Heeseung with nothing but hatred. But Heeseung continued anyway, lifting his head with bloody arrogance. “I’ve been alive for five hundred years.” He tapped a crimson-stained finger against his temple. “Five centuries of doing whatever I damn well pleased. And for the record?”

Another breathless, sarcastic chuckle. “Brainwashing people is incredibly convenient. Humans, vampires, witches, doesn’t matter. Everyone breaks eventually.” Jo snarled. Kei stepped forward. Nicholas’ claws twitched like he was fighting himself not to pounce. But Heeseung wasn’t finished. He let his head fall back against the cracked wall behind him, eyes drifting over the pack with a mix of disgust and resignation. “Then I met you idiots.” His voice dripped sarcasm. “Nine stubborn wolves. Nine annoyingly loyal, loud, irritating wolves.” He breathed out sharply, a mixture of pain and disbelief. “I tried using my power on you, all of you, just now. Tried to snap your minds like twigs.”

He gestured weakly with his hand. “But nothing. Not even a flicker. So either…” His eyes slid back to them, narrowing. “…either the moon blessed you with a shield,” Fuma stiffened. “or I finally met my match,” Heeseung smirked bitterly. “Met someone I can’t overpower. Can’t control. Can’t compete with.” His gaze briefly flicked toward (Y/n), a glimpse of what almost looked like frustration, but never remorse. “Enjoy your victory,” he murmured, wiping a streak of blood from his lip. 

All eyes had turned to (Y/n), who was beginning to stir in Fuma’s arms. Yet it was Rocky that twitched first. A soft gasp left her lips as her eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, confused, then horrified by the destruction around her. Tables shattered. Glass everywhere. Walls cracked from the force of bodies thrown into them. Koyomi, the place Miyu and Jay had poured their hearts into, looked like a battlefield. Miyu’s breath hitched at the sight. Jay clenched his fists. Rocky’s stomach twisted with guilt.

Nicholas was beside her in an instant, dropping to his knees, slipping an arm behind her back to help her sit up slowly. “Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice shaking with fear he didn’t bother hiding. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.” Rocky winced, bringing a hand to her temple. Her fingers came away faintly stained with blood. “I, did it work…?” Before Nicholas could answer, a slow, cruel chuckle cut through the air.

Heeseung. Still slumped against the wall, still bleeding, but wearing a smile that made everyone bristle. “Well, well,” he drawled, tilting his head. “The little half-witch, half-oracle wakes up.” Rocky froze. Nicholas growled, stepping instinctively closer to her, shielding her with his body. Heeseung continued, amusement dripping from every word: “You know that combination will kill you, right? I could sense it when you were poking around in (Y/n)’s mind.” He smirked. “I bet you woke up bleeding. Everywhere.” Rocky’s expression tightened, but not in denial.

Nicholas’ heartbeat stuttered. He felt it. He’d felt it ever since the oracle readings started, the weakening aura, the exhaustion no healing could fully touch. But hearing it confirmed broke something in him. He snarled, low and feral. Heeseung only looked more entertained. “Oh, don’t act surprised, wolfie.” He nodded toward Rocky. “Can’t you feel it? She’s dying.” Nicholas’ entire body went rigid. His breathing stopped. His claws slid out involuntarily. He turned his head slowly, as if afraid to look, but he already knew.

Her heartbeat was weaker. Her warmth was fading. Her scent… thin. Rocky, ever stubborn, tried to sit straighter. “Don’t listen to him…” But Nicholas shook his head, voice cracking. “Rocky… why didn’t you tell me?” Her lip trembled. “I didn’t want you to worry.” Heeseung snorted. “Touching.” EJ stepped forward, eyes narrowed. “What are you getting at, Heeseung?” Heeseung’s smirk sharpened. “I know how to stop it.”

Silence cracked across the room like thunder. Every wolf stiffened. Jake bared his teeth. Sora hissed. Nicholas’ grip on Rocky tightened, desperation flooding him. Heeseung lifted his chin, eyes gleaming with dark triumph. “I’ll tell you how to save her,” He paused, letting the tension strangle the room. “if you let me leave. Alive.” Growls erupted from every direction. Jo took a step forward. Kei bristled. Maki looked ready to tear him apart. But Nicholas… Nicholas looked broken. He searched EJ’s eyes, silently begging for permission, or for someone to tell him what to do. EJ exhaled shakily, then turned his gaze to the only wolf whose voice mattered in this moment.

Fuma. Because this wasn’t just a matter of justice anymore. This was about life. About mates. About choosing who to save. Fuma’s jaw clenched. His hands shook with rage. He wanted to tear Heeseung limb from limb, after everything he did to (Y/n), after the pain, the fear, the control. He wanted him dead. But then he looked at Rocky, pale, trembling, leaning against Nicholas like her strength was draining by the second. He looked at Nicholas, eyes filled with a terror no alpha could ignore.

And finally, he looked at (Y/n), unconscious but breathing easier now, freed at last. Fuma inhaled deeply, pain crushing him from both sides. Heeseung watched him with a knowing smile. Everyone waited. And Fuma gave his answer. “…Let him leave.” No one breathed. Not even Heeseung. Heeseung dragged himself upright, one hand pressed to the wounded side Fuma and Kei had carved into him. His steps were uneven, limping, but there was still arrogance in the tilt of his chin, the way he dared to turn his back on nine wolves ready to end him on the spot.

Every pair of eyes followed him, bodies coiled, ready to strike if he so much as twitched in the wrong direction. He reached the broken front doors… Paused… And then looked over his shoulder. His gaze found Nicholas first, then drifted to Rocky, pale, weak, holding onto consciousness only because Nicholas was holding onto her. Heeseung spoke carefully, almost conversationally. “The answer is simple, wolf.” Nicholas stiffened. Heeseung’s lips curled faintly. “Bite her.”

A ripple of shock went through the pack. Rocky blinked. Nicholas froze. Heeseung went on, savoring every word. “It’s an ancient rite. Not something wolves bother with anymore… but in the old days, your kind would bite your mate to seal the bond completely. A bite made with love, intention, devotion. A bite that binds souls.” Nicholas swallowed hard, understanding slowly dawning. Heeseung nodded. “Do that… and her oracle side will be shut out. It cannot coexist with a full, true mate bond. The magic collapses.” He paused before adding, almost casually: “It might shut out her witch side too. Turn her fully human.” Nicholas’ heart stopped. Rocky inhaled sharply. “But,” Heeseung finished, “she will live.”

Silence. The restaurant seemed to exhale around them. Heeseung turned again, ready to leave, but something made him pause once more. His gaze drifted to the other side of the room. To Fuma. To the girl weakly stirring in his arms. (Y/n)’s eyes fluttered open. And the instant she saw Heeseung. She saw him. Her body went rigid, terror shooting through her like lightning. She clutched Fuma’s shirt, burying herself in him. Fuma growled softly, eyes burning gold. Heeseung swallowed. For the first time, he looked… not powerful. Not smug. But regretful. He spoke quietly, voice lacking its usual poison. “…I’m sorry.” Everyone froze. He took a breath. “For everything.”

(Y/n)’s tremble softened, but her fear remained. Heeseung continued: “I swear it. I vow to never return here. To never harm your pack again.” Jay’s eyes widened. Sora pressed a hand to her mouth. Because a vampire vow was not symbolic. Not emotional. Not poetic. It was binding. Absolute. Unbreakable. If Heeseung ever stepped foot on their territory again… He would die. Instantly. The weight of that truth settled over the room like a heavy snow. And without another word… Heeseung opened the doors. Cold air swept inside. He stepped out. And for the first time in five hundred years, he was alone. Leaving their territory. Leaving (Y/n). Leaving the end of a story that had dragged on far too long. And this time, he was never coming back.

(Y/n) turned in Fuma’s arms so suddenly he almost lost his breath. Her eyes, clear, focused, seeing, locked directly onto his. Not passing through him. Not sliding past him. Not clouded. Seeing him. She gasped, her hands flying up to her mouth. Then she blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. Hard. He didn’t disappear. Her knees went weak. A sob tore out of her before she could stop it, and Fuma, Fuma, who had held himself together through battles and blood and fear, felt his eyes sting too. He tightened his arms around her, pulling her impossibly close, as if afraid she’d vanish the second he loosened his grip.

She cupped his cheeks with shaking hands, her thumbs brushing along his skin as though memorizing every inch. “Hi,” she whispered, voice trembling with disbelief and awe. Fuma’s breath hitched. She could finally see him. Really see him. The realization shattered something inside him, something heavy he hadn’t even known he carried. He leaned into her touch, forehead nearly touching hers. His voice cracked as he whispered back: “Hi.” (Y/n) let out a half-sob, half-laugh. “It’s really you…” Fuma smiled, soft, overwhelmed, relieved in a way that made his chest ache. “Mm. It’s me.”

Neither of them knew who moved first. Maybe it was her. Maybe it was him. Or maybe the bond simply pulled them the last inch together. Their lips met. A tiny kiss. Tentative. Fragile. Like touching something sacred. Fuma’s hands rose to cradle the back of her head, gentle, reverent. (Y/n)’s fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt, holding him as though terrified he would fade like a dream. But when they pulled apart. He was still there. Golden-orange eyes. Warm breath. Steady heartbeat. Fuma. Her mate. Her real mate.

They all turned toward Lila. She was shaking so hard the chair rattled against the floor. Her wide, terrified eyes darted between all of them, wolves, witches, vampires, none of it making sense, all of it too much. Jake had stayed by her side, speaking gently, hands open, posture soft. The only one she didn’t recoil from. The only one she seemed to trust even a little, because he looked human enough, kind enough. Safe enough.

But when Miyu stepped closer, voice trembling, “Lila, it’s okay, you’re safe now,” Lila screamed. “Stay away! Stay away from me, you… You monsters!” Miyu froze mid-step. The word hit her harder than any physical blow. Her breath caught, her entire body stiffened. Yuma quickly wrapped his arms around her from behind, hesitant at first, unsure if he should, then holding her a little tighter when she sagged against him. “It’s not your fault,” he whispered into her hair. “She’s scared. That’s all.” But even Maki, gentle, smiling, harmless Maki, who Lila had always joked was ‘too cute to be real’, couldn’t get close. She shrank back, trembling violently.

Miyu’s voice cracked. “We… we have to do something. We can’t let her live with this.” Rocky, pale and exhausted but conscious, used Nicholas’ arm to push herself half upright. “I… I can cast a spell,” she muttered weakly. “One final one. It’ll… remove Lila from this life.” Nicholas immediately shook his head. “No. Rocky, absolutely not. You’re drained, you’re injured, your oracle side,” Rocky cut him off with a tired, stubborn glare. “It’s the only option. She doesn’t understand our world. She’s terrified of it. She won’t survive like this, and she won’t ever look at any of us the same again.”

Lila heard every word. Her voice was small, cracking: “W-what does that mean? Remove me… from this life?” Rocky looked at her with an honesty that was almost gentle. “It means I can send you back to the version of your life where you never met Miyu or Jay… where you never came here… where you never learned about any of this.” Lila swallowed hard, tears streaming again, this time slower, quieter. She thought about it. Really thought about it. And then she nodded. “I… I want that. Please. I don’t ever want to remember this.” She sobbed into her knees. “I don’t want any of this.”

Rocky gathered what little strength she had left. Her hands trembled as she arranged the candles, three points, a triangle, the safest formation she could manage in her state. The air felt thin around her, as if her body could barely hold onto the magic she needed to summon. Jake walked toward her slowly, step by step, as if his body didn’t quite want to move. His eyes shimmered, not with fear, but with something far heavier. When Rocky looked up at him, she knew.

He wasn’t going to stay. His voice cracked. “Rocky… can I go with her?” The room went still. Rocky’s breath hitched. She reached out with both arms, pulling him into a tight hug. He felt warm, always warm, with that comforting, familiar presence that had steadied her through a thousand visions and twice as many nightmares. “Thank you,” she whispered into his shoulder. “For all the years you’ve stayed by my side. For everything you’ve carried for me. Take care of her… okay?”

Jake swallowed hard, hugging her closer for a moment longer, then pulled away to face Nicholas. The wolf met the familiar’s eyes, understanding instantly. “Take care of her,” Jake said again, but this time to Nico. Nicholas nodded, jaw tight, eyes burning. “I will. I promise.” Jake gave him a small smile, sad, resigned, but sure, before walking back to Lila. She was still bound to the chair, shaking, but the moment Jake touched her hand she froze… then slowly relaxed, letting him entwine his fingers with hers. “I’m right here,” he murmured to her. “I’m not letting you do this alone.”

Rocky inhaled sharply, placing her hands on the floor. Her violet magic lit up in thin cracks beneath her palms. The candles flickered violently. The air pulsed. A small whirlwind of violet smoke rose around Jake and Lila. Once. Twice. Three times the smoke sparked gold, so bright it illuminated the wrecked restaurant like lightning. And then. Silence. The whirlwind burst outward in a soft rush of air… and the space where Jake and Lila had been standing was empty. Completely, utterly empty.

Rocky’s body crumpled in the same instant. Nicholas lunged forward and caught her before she hit the ground. Her head lolled against his shoulder, blood already trailing from her nose and from her ears. “Rocky! Rocky, hey, stay with me,” Nico’s voice cracked with panic. Her breathing was shallow, her skin cold. The cost of the spell… had been far worse than any of them expected. 

Nicholas didn’t hesitate. There was no fear. No second-guessing. Only instinct, raw, ancient, older than language, surging up and taking control. He shifted Rocky gently in his arms, tilting her head to expose the soft place where her neck met her shoulder. His fangs dropped fully, glowing faint gold at the tips. His eyes blazed with an alpha intensity no one in the room had ever witnessed before, bright, molten gold, shimmering with threads of white. The room held its breath. Then… He bit down.

Rocky’s body arched instinctively, her eyes flying open for a split second, glowing violently, brilliantly violet, like her oracle fire had sparked one last time. Her breath caught in her throat… and then released in a long, shuddering exhale as her body softened, melting into Nicholas’ hold. When Nico pulled his fangs free, everyone leaned in, expecting to see puncture wounds. Blood. Something violent. But instead, there was a mark. A delicate, ink-like violet printed into her skin, shaped unmistakably like the flower. At its base, wrapping around it in a looping spiral, a single thread of glowing gold. It shimmered once. Twice. Then settled, warm and alive.

Nicholas gasped softly, not from pain, but from the flood that hit him. Her energy. Her life. It was returning. That terrifying emptiness he had felt inside her since the fight, gone… replaced with a gentle thrum, like a second heartbeat syncing with his own. Rocky’s oracle side fell quiet. Dormant. Silent at last. Safe. She wasn’t dying anymore. Across the room, (Y/n) broke. She clung to Fuma, sobbing into his chest, the guilt pouring off her in waves so thick even the younger wolves flinched with how sharp it felt.

“I caused this,” she choked, voice cracking. “Everything, Lila, the fight, the restaurant, Rocky almost died because of me,” Fuma didn’t say a word at first. He simply wrapped both arms around her, pulling her fully into his lap, letting her bury herself against him as the last of the fog, physical and emotional, finally shattered. He could feel everything she felt. The guilt. The horror. The exhaustion. The relief. And beneath all that, the fragile, flickering beginning of something impossibly important.

He rested his chin on her head, tightening his hold, his voice deep and steady, even though his own emotions were all over the place. Not yet. Not now. For now, he just held her. They would talk later. They would unravel the pain in her eyes later. Right now, she was safe. Rocky was alive. And for the first time since meeting her, Fuma felt like he could finally breathe.

Sora and Jay worked until their hands shook. Jay moved quickly from wolf to wolf, pressing glowing palms to bruised ribs, torn skin, fractured bones. Sora knelt beside him every time he faltered, lending her own energy, cool, soothing, precise, until the two of them were visibly trembling with exhaustion. Even so, neither stopped until the worst of the wounds were mended. Only when the remaining injuries were the kind that would heal naturally overnight did Sora slump forward, breathless. Jay caught her elbow with the last of his strength, steadying her. “We’re okay,” Kei said softly, helping them ease onto a bench. “You’ve done enough.”

The pack stood silently in the ruins of Koyomi. Tables shattered. Chairs splintered. Walls cracked. Glass everywhere. The scent of blood mixed with dust and burnt wood. Miyu looked around her restaurant, her pride, her dream, eyes shining not with anger, but grief. Jay stepped beside her, slipping his hand into hers. Their shoulders touched, exhausted and united. Before either of them could apologize for the destruction, EJ stepped forward. “We’ll rebuild it,” he said simply. Sora nodded, voice tired but firm. “Every piece. Every board.” Kei added, “It wasn’t just your fight. It was ours.” “We protect our own,” Nicholas said, still holding Rocky protectively against him. “And we fix what we break,” Maki said, biting his lip, guilt written all over his face.

Jo, Harua, and Taki nodded vigorously, even with their clothes torn and faces bruised. Aya squeezed Kei’s hand. Yuma rested his head briefly against Miyu’s shoulder. Sana whispered that they’d repaint the walls together. Even (Y/n), still curled into Fuma’s arms, lifted her head and whispered, “Please… let me help too. I owe you all so much.” Fuma shook his head softly at her guilt, brushing his thumb delicately against her arm. “No,” he murmured. “You don’t owe us anything. But you can help if you want to.”

Jay looked around at all of them, his mismatched, chaotic family, and felt his throat close. They weren’t blaming him. They weren’t blaming (Y/n). They all simply belonged to each other. And together, they would rebuild every inch of Koyomi. Brick by brick. Board by board. As a pack.

~~~

The pack returned home under a quiet sky, moon hanging pale over the village, snow muted beneath their boots. It should have felt victorious. They had won. They had survived. Everyone was safe. But the night felt strangely hollow. Yuma wrapped his arms around Miyu the moment they stepped inside the main cabin. The loss of Lila weighed heavily on her, her coworker, her friend, the girl who always brought coffee to early shifts and joked about Maki’s terrible apron fashion. Jay lingered a step behind them, unsure if he should give them space or comfort her too. Miyu reached out, catching his sleeve, pulling him in. The three of them sat together, Miyu crying softly, Yuma rubbing soothing circles on her back, Jay lowered his head in both apology and mourning. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. Grief sat between them like a candle burning low.

Harua found Maki and Taki sitting on the steps outside their cabin, wrapped in blankets the girls had forced on them. Snowflakes collected in Taki’s hair, melting slowly. “I was useless,” Taki muttered. Maki stared at his hands. “I couldn’t do anything about Lila…” Harua didn’t argue. He simply sat down between them, pressing his shoulders against theirs, sharing warmth and silence. After a moment he nudged them gently. “You two kept all of alive, all of were needed, or we wouldn’t have won this fight, we might have lost Lila and Jake, but we’re all alive, we have to look at this as a victory, I’m sure Lila is happy wherever she is now.” Maki sniffed. Taki nodded. And slowly, the shame loosened its grip.

EJ nearly carried Sora inside. She protested weakly, “I’m fine, I’m fine” but her trembling hands said otherwise. He sat with her on their bed, brushing damp strands of hair from her forehead, whispering praise and comfort against her temple. She healed half the pack. She saved lives. And even exhausted, she still kept asking if everyone else was okay. “I’m proud of you,” EJ murmured into her hair. Sora finally let herself melt.

Nicholas carried Rocky straight to their cabin, refusing to let her walk even though she insisted she could. Her fingers were still cold. Her pulse shaky. But the mark on her shoulder, a delicate violet flower wrapped in a thread of gold, glowed faintly under the moonlight. Ancient magic. Ancient bond. “You scared me,” Nicholas whispered, brushing his thumb over the mark. Rocky looked up at him, tired but alive. “You saved me.” He kissed her forehead, then her cheeks, then finally her lips, long, trembling, grateful.

Jo and Sana stayed curled together on the couch in their own little cabin, Sana’s head on Jo’s chest. Jo held her tighter than ever, terrified at how close he’d come to losing her. But Sana whispered that she’d never been prouder of him, her sweet, quiet mate who had stood between a vampire and the girl he loved.

Kei and Aya remained at Koyomi. The restaurant was nearly destroyed. Aya walked the perimeter with a notebook, scribbling measurements. Kei lifted broken beams as if they weighed nothing. Between calculations, Aya reached for Kei’s hand. “We’ll rebuild it,” she said. Kei squeezed her fingers. “Together.”

And back in the main house, Fuma sat with (Y/n). Fuma had made her tea earlier, he handed it to her, carefully, as though the mug might burn her. She sat curled up on the couch, one leg tucked under her, blanket slipping from her shoulders. Fuma settled beside her with enough space not to overwhelm her, but close enough that she could lean on him if she wanted. She didn’t speak. She just looked at him. Her eyes traced every feature as though memorizing him: The color of his unique gold-orange eyes. The shape of his lips. The curl of hair near his ear he forgot to push back. The broadness of his shoulders. The way his hands relaxed when she stared at them too long.

Fuma shifted, clearing his throat. “Is… everything okay?” he asked softly. (Y/n) nodded, clutching the warm mug. “I just…” she whispered, voice fragile but real. “I spent so long only hearing you. Only sensing you. I’m scared that if I look away now… you’ll disappear again.” His breath caught. He reached out slowly, painfully slowly, so she had time to pull back if she wanted. She didn’t. Fuma brushed his hand against her cheek, grounding her. “I’m not going anywhere.” Her eyes shimmered, and she leaned forward just slightly, resting her forehead against his once again, this time fully seeing him. “This is real,” she whispered. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It’s real.” And for the first time since the spell broke, peace settled over both of them.

~~~

It took a week, one long, exhausting, strangely healing week, for the pack to rebuild Koyomi. Everyone helped, just as they’d promised. Some more than others, of course. Kei and Fuma took the lead, as expected. Both had helped build most of the cabins in the village; they worked with a natural rhythm, swinging hammers, replacing beams, reinforcing walls. Kei’s strength and Fuma’s precision made quick work of the heavy repairs. Aya and Harua handled logistics, keeping track of materials and schedules, while Yuma and Jo lifted anything that needed lifting. EJ and Nicholas repaired the structural damage from the fight, though Nicholas kept drifting away from the work site, always checking on Rocky.

Rocky had insisted she could help. She wanted to try, wanted to know if her magic still answered her, to see whether anything remained of the witch she had been. But Nicholas wouldn’t let her. Not yet. He watched her too closely, worried every flicker of effort would drain her. Every time she hinted at trying a spell, just a small one, Nicholas shut it down immediately, his fear still too fresh from nearly losing her. Rocky understood. She didn’t push.

Her oracle side was gone; she could feel the emptiness where the visions once lurked. No more nightmares. No ringing headaches. No violet-glowing eyes. She wasn’t sure if her witch magic still existed beneath the surface… but she’d wait until Nicholas wasn’t looking at her like she was made of glass. Instead, she painted. And joked. And cheered the others on while pretending her hands didn’t tremble whenever she thought too hard about what she’d lost.

(Y/n) painted too. It turned out to be the safest way for her to help without Fuma worrying she’d fall off a ladder or get hit by a plank someone swung too wide. Aya handed her a brush, smiling warmly, and soon the wall-painting team formed: Aya, Sana, Miyu, Rocky, Sora, and (Y/n). (Y/n) tried her best. She really did. But she was still shy, around everyone except Sora and Fuma. Conversations overwhelmed her. Too many voices, too much movement, too many new names and faces. Sometimes she zoned out halfway through Sana’s rambles about university or Miyu’s jokes about Yuma dropping things.

And whenever the world felt too loud, too bright, too full, she found him. Fuma always seemed to sense it. Even if he was across the room, hammer in hand, sweat on his forehead, he’d glance up the moment she faltered, his eyes locking onto hers as if pulled by an invisible thread. (Y/n) would walk over quietly, tapping his arm or tugging his sleeve. Without fail, he stopped whatever he was doing. Sometimes she just needed to stand beside him for a minute. Sometimes she tucked herself under his arm, hiding her face in his chest. And Fuma… He never turned her away. Not once. He’d wrap his arm around her waist, pull her close, press a soft kiss to her hair if no one was watching too closely. He’d whisper something warm against her temple, small comforts like: “You’re okay. I’m right here.” “Take your time.” “Do you want to stay with me for a bit?”

And she always nodded. Always. The others noticed, of course. How quickly she relaxed in Fuma’s arms. How he softened the moment she touched him. How he worked one-handed if she didn’t want to let go. But they didn’t tease. Not yet. The bond was still fragile, newly revealed, newly freed. And even though there was no more fog clouding her mind, (Y/n) still clung to him as if afraid the world might shift again and take him away. Fuma held her every time. Because her arms around him felt like fate finally righting itself. And he wasn’t about to let that be taken from him ever again.

Once the week was over, Koyomi stood proud again, warm lights glowing through polished windows, fresh paint gleaming on the walls, wood newly varnished and smelling of cedar. It looked almost new, though those who rebuilt it could still sense the history in the floorboards beneath their feet. The townspeople were eager for the reopening. Miyu and Jay had explained the sudden closure with a believable cover story, structural issues, unexpected repairs, safety concerns. People were disappointed but supportive, excited for opening day. No one remembered Lila. Not a trace remained of her existence, except within the pack. Maki kept her alive in his own way. He quietly slid a tray of familiar pastries into the oven, one of her recipes, whispering under his breath that he hoped he got the measurements right. He wouldn’t let her memory disappear completely. Not if he could help it.

The night before the reopening, the entire pack, and Jay, gathered in the dining area of the newly restored restaurant. They sat around a long table, plates of snacks spread out, soft chatter filling the room as they admired the work they’d all poured into rebuilding the place. Miyu stood first, looking around at each of them with warm, grateful eyes. “Thank you,” she said, voice soft but full. “For helping us rebuild. For not letting Koyomi die.” Jay stood beside her, squeezing her hand. “We couldn’t have done this without you. Every single one of you.” The pack smiled, murmured reassurances, raised their drinks. “And,” Miyu continued, cheeks warming with excitement, “we have an announcement to make.”

Everyone perked up. Even Sana straightened in her seat, and Jo paused mid-sip of his soda. Jay smirked and walked toward the back door. “Give me one second.” He disappeared into the storage room, leaving the pack buzzing with speculation. “What do you think it is?” Harua whispered to Taki. “Maybe new menu items,” Taki guessed. Sora leaned into EJ, eyes narrowed playfully. “You know what it is, don’t you?” EJ only grinned, smug but refusing to answer. Kei sat on Aya’s left, and she nudged him. “You know too?” Another secretive smile. “Maybe.” Rocky raised a brow at Nicholas. “Do you know?” Nicholas shrugged. “No, but EJ’s bad at hiding things.” Rocky smacked his arm lightly, laughing.

Maki, meanwhile, puffed his cheeks. “Why is everyone being cryptic? Am I the only one who doesn’t know what’s going on in my own workplace?” Fuma smirked at his younger brother. “Yes.” Maki threw a napkin at him. (Y/n) sat beside Fuma, leaning lightly against him, her curiosity growing. She wasn’t used to giving in to excitement, not in her old life, but the energy in the room was infectious.

Jay finally returned. He wasn’t carrying food. He wasn’t carrying decorations. He wasn’t even carrying supplies. He was carrying a sign. A large, freshly painted, wooden sign. Everyone leaned forward. Maki froze. “Wait,” he whispered. “What is?” Jay and Miyu exchanged one last look. And then, they flipped the sign around. Maki stared at the sign as if it were written in another language. Welcome to Koyomi, in bold, elegant lettering. And beneath it, smaller but unmistakable: Warm wishes from the owners, Miyu, Jay, Maki. His breath hitched.“W–What…?” he whispered, blinking rapidly. “No way. No. You’re kidding. You’re actually kidding!” Miyu shook her head, eyes sparkling. “Not kidding.”

Jay grinned, nudging Maki’s shoulder. “You’ve basically been running the kitchen half the time already. Once you finish your studies, you deserve your name on the door just as much as we do.” For a moment, Maki didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Then the pack erupted. Cheers. Clapping. Whistles. Taki lifted him halfway off the floor while Harua shouted, “OWNER MAKI!!” like a proud mom. Jo hugged him so tightly Maki squeaked. Sana cried dramatically about “finally recognizing his greatness.” Rocky actually whistled. Nicholas laughed loudly. Aya clapped her hands so hard they stung. Kei grinned with the warm steadiness of an older brother.

And Fuma… Fuma looked like a proud father. His chest puffed. His jaw trembled. His eyes shone, not sad, but full, overflowing with pride. They had survived so much together that Fuma could hardly remember a world without Maki in it. Seeing the boy he had raised, protected, loved, carried through storms—now being recognized as a co-owner of something he helped build… It broke something soft and warm inside him. (Y/n) noticed. Of course she did. She watched Fuma’s expression melt, hard edges softening, emotion rising behind his golden-orange eyes. She felt her own throat tighten at the sight; she’d seen many emotions in her life, but nothing as pure as the pride radiating off him now.

She clapped with the others, smiling shyly, her heart swelling at the joy surrounding her. Fuma wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her gently against him as the celebration swirled around them. He lowered his head, voice soft enough for only her. “Are you happy here?” he asked. “With us? With… me?” (Y/n) looked around the room, at Maki crying while Yuma spun him around, at Sora laughing into EJ’s chest, at Rocky resting against Nicholas, at everyone she had met in the strangest, scariest, and most beautiful week of her life. And then she looked at Fuma. Her mate. Her home. “I’m happy,” she whispered. “More than I ever thought I could be.”

Fuma exhaled, relief washing over him so strongly she could feel it. He pressed his forehead briefly to her temple, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “You belong here,” he murmured. “With all of us… and with me.” She leaned into him, resting her head against his chest as laughter echoed around the newly rebuilt restaurant. For the first time in years, (Y/n) felt safe. Felt wanted. Felt like she was exactly where she was meant to be. And Fuma held her just a little tighter, as if silently promising, she would never face the world alone again.

As the night stretched on and the energy mellowed into warm chatter, Harua let out a dramatic sigh and slumped over the table. Aya nudged him. “You okay?” He gave her a look of pure despair. “No. I’m not okay. I’m not ready for the sanctuary project. We’re going to be gone for two nights, Aya. Two. Nights.” “Harua,” she laughed softly, “we’ve been preparing for this for weeks.” “That’s not the point,” he groaned. “It’s the first time I’ll be away from the pack overnight. What if something happens while we’re gone? What if something happens to us? What if,” “Harua,” Kei cut in with a sigh, “you literally fought a vampire last week.”

“That’s different!” Harua protested. “That was at home! When I’m home, I have backup! When we’re away, what if a bear shows up? Or a cougar? Or a…” “Harua,” EJ interrupted from across the room, rubbing his temples, “the sanctuary staff will be there. And Aya will be there. And you’re a werewolf.” Harua pointed at himself, offended. “A very soft werewolf!” Aya giggled but squeezed his arm reassuringly. “I’ll keep an eye on him. I promise.” EJ nodded firmly. “Good. Make sure he actually sleeps. And eats. And doesn’t wander off trying to pet anything with teeth.” Harua opened his mouth to protest, but… well… that was something he would do, as long as it was cute.

Taki, leaning back with a bowl of leftover dessert, snorted. “Why does Harua get to go on a trip? I’ve been stuck here doing training every day.” EJ raised a brow. “Taki, number one: you’ve never asked to go on a trip.” Taki blinked. “Oh.” “And,” EJ continued, “number two: you still need to finish learning how to control your shift.” Taki groaned loudly, throwing his head back. “I knew you were going to say that.” “But,” EJ added, hiding a smile as Taki perked up, “maybe one day. Once you’re fully in control, you can go on a trip too.” “Really?” Taki asked, eyes wide, tail practically wagging behind his human form. “Really,” EJ confirmed.

Taki looked delighted, and immediately turned to Jo. “Hear that? One day, I get to go on a trip!” Jo nodded, sipping his drink. “Yeah, and hopefully you won’t destroy someone’s cabin when you shift in your sleep.” Taki frowned. “That was one time.” “It was last month,” Harua reminded him, deadpan. Maki chimed in, “I still don’t know how you bit through an entire mattress.” Taki crossed his arms stubbornly. “I was dreaming about steak, okay?”

Laughter filled the room again, soft, warm, healing. And as Aya leaned against Kei, as Rocky rested peacefully in Nicholas’ arms, as Miyu and Jay whispered about the reopening, as (Y/n) stayed curled in Fuma’s embrace, EJ finally allowed himself to relax, holding Sora close to himself. Maybe the world was messy. Maybe danger would always find them. But tonight? They were safe. Together. Laughing. A pack. They had proved once more that they could fight even destiny itself, as long as they faced the threat together as a pack, as a family. 

~~~ The End ~~~

Alright, that was the end of this part. Fuma finally got his mate, though with some struggles. How do we feel? Anyone mourning the loss of Lila and Jake? Originally, I planned to have Lila die, but I figured this was a better route to take. 

And sorry to everyone, just to clarify, I do not think Heesueng and Sunghoon are assholes like they are in the story. This was purely for the plot. Also, how do we feel about the sudden reveal of Sunghoon’s mate? 

Tell me your thoughts, about any detail, I want to hear everything! And who do you think will find his mate next? 

[mirisss]

Violet Thread

Wang Yixiang/Nicholas x female reader

Wordcount ≈ 32k

Warnings: Jealousy, possessivness, flirting, teasing (not sexually), blood, bullying, insecurities, something similar to a panic attack (kinda), I think that’s everything but do let me know if I’ve missed anything, 

Taglist: @voucearse, @nadiakittyy, @evemeri, @seodami, @charlie-sk, @somswib, @yumnyangiexx, @petunia05. Let me know if you want to be added for future parts of the series!

Please reblog and/or comment if you enjoyed this! 

Network: @k-records,

Finally, the next part in this AU! You asked for it, I wrote it, it’s time for Nicholas!!!! 

Featuring Enhypen’s Jay and Jake. 

Aya = K’s, Miyu = Yuma’s, Sora = EJ’s, Sana = Jo’s mate

Yudai/K.  2. Yuma.  3. EJ. EJ special part.  4. Jo.  6. OT9 Special fic 7. Fuma 8. Harua 9. Maki 10.

A little note, while writing this one, I realized that I have kind of messed up the timeline, like from Kei meeting Aya, about 2 years have passed, yet Maki has remained 19 throughout everything… at least in my head but I don’t know how clearly I’ve stated that… So we’re just not gonna think about time, it is what it is lol, I don’t know if anyone else has thought of this, but I realized while writing this one that it doesn’t really work, but anyway we’re just gonna keep going and dismiss the concept of time.

Sana fit in just as well as all the other girls. Within weeks, it was like she had always been there, her laughter echoing through the house, her warmth blending seamlessly with Aya’s charm, Miyu’s calm energy, and Sora’s quiet grace. The four of them had grown close, often teasing their mates by declaring, “We need a girls’ night without you guys.” Of course, their playful rebellion never lasted more than a few seconds before they’d turn around and hug their wolves, promising they were only kidding.

The pack loved seeing them like that, happy, united, vibrant. But among the joy, there was also something quieter. The mate-less wolves Nicholas, Harua, Fuma, Maki and Taki, would sometimes glance toward the girls, smiles soft but eyes distant. It wasn’t jealousy, not really, but a longing, a wish for what their brothers had found. That fated bond, that unshakable connection. Still, they were genuinely happy for the others. This was their family, after all. Love for one meant love for all.

Nicholas, especially, seemed content to sit back and watch. Yet, even he couldn’t deny that sometimes, when the night was quiet and the laughter had faded, he wondered what it would feel like to have someone look at him the way Miyu looked at Yuma… or the way Jo looked at Sana. 

And maybe that was why, out of all the mates, Sana had become the one he grew closest to. Not romantically, no, never that. But there was a certain gentleness to her, something in the way she approached him that reminded Nicholas that there was still light in the world. After all, Jo and Nicholas were close. Always had been.

And Sana, being Jo’s mate, naturally found herself around Nicholas often, asking him for advice, chatting during quiet afternoons, or seeking help when she wanted to surprise Jo with something special. Sometimes it was about gifts. Sometimes about movie nights. And sometimes, she just needed someone who could listen with patience.

Nicholas was gruff at first, a little awkward when faced with her boundless energy and kindness, but soon enough, he found himself softening around her. Her presence didn’t irritate him like most people’s did. In fact, it was almost calming. He’d never admit it aloud, of course, but Jo noticed. The pack noticed.

~~~

A few days later, Yuma came home from work with a storm cloud practically hanging over his head. Everyone noticed. The normally composed wolf dropped his bag by the door, muttered something under his breath, and sighed so heavily that even Jo’s wolf stirred in concern. By the time the pack gathered around the dinner table, it was clear something was off.

It was one of those rare evenings when Miyu and Maki weren’t working at Koyomi, and Miyu, ever perceptive, immediately leaned forward. “Alright,” she said, resting her chin on her palm. “What’s wrong?” Yuma hesitated for a moment before groaning. “It’s work.” The table went quiet, only the sound of plates being passed around and the faint clink of silverware filled the space.

He exhaled again, rubbing his temples. “Our studio’s been chosen for this huge collaboration with a bunch of famous designers.” Miyu’s eyes widened. “That’s amazing, Yuma! Why do you sound like it’s a bad thing?” “Because,” Yuma said dramatically, “the whole thing is chaos.” Sora chuckled under her breath. “That’s new.”

He ignored her teasing, continuing his rant. “They’re pairing designers up for joint projects, but the pairs are still secret. No one knows who they’ll be working with yet. I just…” He slumped a little. “What if our aesthetics clash? What if I get stuck with someone who thinks neon feathers and fishnet are couture?”

Kei coughed into his hand. “You… did put me in a full-feather outfit last time I modeled for you,” The table erupted in laughter. Yuma’s face turned pink. “That was avant-garde,” he argued, pointing a spoon at his older brother. “Avant-whatever,” Kei muttered, trying not to laugh himself.

Yuma huffed, then brightened slightly as an idea struck him. “Well, since you mentioned feathers, actually…” Kei’s expression immediately shifted into one of suspicion. “No.” Yuma pouted. “Kei.” “No.” “Come on. I need models for the collab! They said every pair needs at least two, and the organizers couldn’t provide enough. You’re tall, symmetrical, and your face photographs well; you are a model.”

Kei held up a hand. “You’re not selling me on this, Yuma.” But the younger wolf was already giving him that hopeful, puppy-like look, the one Miyu swore could melt mountains. After a long moment of silent resistance, Kei sighed heavily. “Fine. I’ll do it. But if you bring out feathers again…” “I won’t! Promise!” Yuma said quickly, grinning. “That’s one down!”

Jo laughed softly, leaning into Sana’s shoulder. “You’re really going to make him model again?” “Art requires sacrifice,” Yuma said dramatically. Then his eyes slid to Nicholas. “No,” Nicholas said immediately. Yuma didn’t even blink. “You didn’t even let me ask yet.” “You were going to ask me to model,” Nicholas deadpanned. Yuma crossed his arms, locking eyes with him. “Yes, and I still am.” “I’m saying no.”

They stared at each other, one with stubborn intensity, the other with calm defiance. Maki leaned over from the other side to whisper to Sana, “Five seconds.” “Five seconds until what?” Nicholas groaned. “Fine. I’ll do it.” Maki grinned. “Called it.” The table broke into laughter again. Yuma smirked triumphantly. “See? You do love me.”

“Don’t push it,” Nicholas warned, though there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips. As the laughter settled, the conversation drifted to other things, but none of them knew that Yuma’s upcoming collaboration would soon be more than just another project. Because sometimes fate doesn’t announce itself with a bang. Sometimes, it starts with a simple “yes” you never planned to say. And Nicholas had just taken his first step toward meeting her. 

Sana looked across the table at Nicholas, her eyes wide with surprise. “Wait,” she said, tilting her head. “You’re a model too?”

For a moment, the table went silent. And then… The entire pack burst out laughing. Taki was the first to recover, grinning from ear to ear. “I know, right? Unbelievable, isn’t it? I mean, look at him, he’s barely passable!” Nicholas shot him a sharp glare, a low growl rumbling from his chest. The sound made Taki flinch and immediately hide behind Harua, who was already laughing so hard he almost dropped his fork.

“Hey, hey, I was kidding!” Taki said, peeking out. Sana giggled softly behind her hand. “Don’t be mean to him.” Jo glanced at his mate with amusement, murmuring, “You just met him and already you’re defending him?” She elbowed him playfully. “Of course. I like Nicholas, he’s nice to me.”

Nicholas, who had gone back to his food, looked up then, giving a small, almost reluctant smile. “Yes,” he said simply, his tone steady and calm again. “I’m a model. Though, unlike Kei, I do it full time.” Sora leaned forward curiously. “Really? Like magazines and runway shows?” Nicholas nodded. “Mostly. I’ve done a few campaigns, and I travel sometimes for shoots. Kei mostly does sports brands and events, but I’m usually in the studio or fashion work.”

Sana blinked in surprise, glancing at Kei. “Oh, I didn’t realize there was such a difference between what you do.” Kei shrugged. “He likes standing around in fancy coats. I like moving.” “I like getting paid,” Nicholas countered dryly, earning a fresh wave of laughter from around the table. Sana smiled, her eyes softening. “That’s actually really cool,” she said sincerely. “You always seemed like the composed type. I guess that fits the whole model thing.” Taki snorted. “Yeah, composed. He’s all broody and mysterious. People eat that up.”

Nicholas didn’t even deny it, he just leaned back slightly in his chair, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Well, apparently it works.” “Of course it does,” Miyu said, sipping her drink. “You and Kei are basically the pack’s poster boys.” Kei groaned. “Please don’t start that again.” Jo laughed quietly beside Sana. “It’s true, though,” he said. “You can’t walk into a store without seeing one of them on a billboard.”

Sana looked impressed, then teased lightly, “Wow, so I’m surrounded by celebrities, huh?” Nicholas shook his head. “Hardly. Just wolves who got roped into the human fashion industry.” Still, her smile lingered, soft, genuine. And as the conversation moved on to other things, Nicholas caught her looking at him once or twice, thoughtful but friendly. There was something warm in her gaze. Something that told him, even before he realized it himself, that she saw him for more than just his intimidating exterior. Maybe that’s why he didn’t mind when she smiled at him again across the table. Maybe that’s why he smiled back.

Another week passed, and Yuma was still no closer to getting the update he so desperately wanted. Every morning started the same: pacing near his phone, checking for emails, muttering under his breath about how “these people are killing me” while Miyu tried to coax him into eating breakfast before he drove himself insane.

The pack did their best to help him relax, though “relaxing” Yuma before a major project was about as likely as convincing Fuma to take a day off training. Fuma had even tried once, clapping him on the shoulder and saying, “You’ll do fine.” To which Yuma had dramatically responded, “Fine isn’t good enough, Fuma! This could define my career!” At that point, everyone decided to just let him stress in peace. It was part of his process, nervousness first, brilliance later.

While Yuma’s anxiety took over the kitchen table, Nicholas had been away for a few days, working a quick runway show in the nearby town. He came back the next evening, exhausted but visibly relieved to be home. Sana greeted him first, waving from the couch where she sat sketching something for Jo. “Welcome back!” she said cheerfully. “How was the show?”

Nicholas gave a small shrug, setting his bag down by the door. “Same as always. Lights, cameras, and too many people trying to touch my hair.” That made the whole room laugh. Jo grinned from where he was sketching beside her. “At least it’s over now.” “Thankfully,” Nicholas said, rubbing the back of his neck. “A night away feels like a week when you’re used to a full house.”

“EJ didn’t like it either,” Kei remarked from across the room. “He’s been twitchy all day.” “I’m not twitchy,” EJ said from the kitchen, clearly eavesdropping. “I just don’t like the pack being spread out. We do better together.” “Yeah,” Yuma muttered, pacing again. “Tell that to my studio, which still hasn’t emailed me back about the collaboration from hell.”

Miyu groaned softly. “Yuma, sit down. You’re making me nervous.” EJ sighed, running a hand through his hair. “We’ll survive one stressful project, a runway show, and a week of chaos,” he said. “We always do.” He wasn’t wrong. For all their differences, for all their quirks, teasing, and occasional arguments, the pack always found its rhythm again.

But even with the laughter and the warmth of home, there was a steady undercurrent running through them all: responsibility. Between work, school, and everything else, the truth was simple: they needed money. With the younger wolves still in university and high school, and their appetites being… what they were, the cost of feeding a full pack was enormous. So, even though EJ preferred everyone close and safe, they all understood that being apart was sometimes necessary. That was life, even for a pack of werewolves.

And for Nicholas, who’d just returned home, the thought of another trip or job didn’t exactly thrill him. He wanted rest. He wanted quiet. He wanted normal, at least for a while. But fate had other plans. And its timing? As always… impeccable.

~~~

The sun hung low over the trees, the afternoon light casting long golden shadows across the clearing where Nicholas and Taki trained. The sound of fists hitting pads had faded into a tired rhythm, each strike slower than the one before.

Nicholas could feel it, the frustration radiating off his younger brother in waves. Taki’s movements were sharp, desperate, his breathing ragged. It wasn’t just training anymore; it was him fighting himself. “Alright,” Nicholas finally said, catching Taki’s wrist before he could throw another punch. “That’s enough for now.”

Taki pulled his hand back, his chest rising and falling quickly, eyes fixed on the grass beneath his feet. Nicholas watched him for a long moment before sitting down on the ground, motioning for Taki to do the same. “Sit,” he said, voice calm but firm. “And breathe.”

For a minute, there was only the sound of wind through the leaves and their heavy breaths. Then Nicholas leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Alright, kid. Talk to me. What’s going on up there?” He tapped the side of his own head. “And don’t say ‘nothing,’ because I can feel it.” Taki stayed quiet for a few seconds, his jaw tightening, before everything came pouring out.

“It’s just,” he began, his voice breaking slightly. “University’s… hard. Harder than I thought. Everyone seems to know what they’re doing, and I’m just stuck. I can’t shift, I can’t keep up, and I just…” He pressed his palms against his face, exhaling shakily. “I feel like I don’t belong anywhere. Not with them, not even here sometimes. Everyone’s so strong and… I can’t even get this one thing right.”

Nicholas felt that ache deep in his chest; he’d seen this coming. Slowly, he reached out and pulled Taki into a hug. The younger wolf tensed at first, then sank into it, like the weight he carried had become too heavy to hold. “Hey,” Nicholas said softly. “Listen to me. Whether you can shift or not, that doesn’t change who you are, or what you mean to us.”

Taki’s breathing hitched. “You’re pack,” Nicholas continued, tightening his hold. “You’re my little brother. You always will be. That’s not something you earn by shifting; it’s something you just are. Understand?” Taki nodded weakly against his shoulder, a quiet sniffle escaping before he muttered, “Yeah… thanks, Nico.”

Nicholas gave a small chuckle, ruffling his hair. “That’s what I’m here for. And don’t forget, you’re not alone in this. We’ve all struggled. Even me.” Taki pulled back, wiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. “You?” Nicholas nodded. “Shifting seemed easy at first for me, I managed to shift perfectly into my wolf form, but shifting back? A whole other story, I nearly broke my ribs the first few times. Ask EJ, he still teases me about it.” 

That earned a small laugh from Taki, the tension in his shoulders finally easing. “You’ll get there, in your own time,” Nicholas said, patting his back. “But for now, it’s okay to be tired. It’s okay to rest.” The two of them sat there for a while longer, the training forgotten, the quiet between them peaceful this time. The scent of pine and soil filled the air, familiar, grounding. For Nicholas, it was simple. No matter what happened, no matter how long it took, Taki would always have a place here. Because that’s what family was.

Just as Nicholas and Taki began brushing the grass off their clothes, preparing to head back, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the clearing. Yuma came barreling toward them, his hair slightly disheveled and his eyes wide with excitement, and maybe a bit of panic.

Nicholas straightened, instincts on alert. “What happened? Is someone hurt?” Yuma stopped right in front of him, gripping his shoulders as he bent over, panting. “N-no, no, not that,” he wheezed between breaths, “it’s, it’s about the project!” Nicholas frowned, less alarmed now but still confused. “You scared me half to death for that?”

“I just… I needed to tell someone…” Yuma took a dramatic breath, straightening as his eyes practically sparkled. “They finally revealed the pairing list!” Taki raised an eyebrow. “And?” Yuma’s grin was so wide it looked painful. “My partner is her! (Y/n)! The (Y/n)!” Nicholas blinked. “The designer?” Yuma nodded so fast it was a blur. “Yes! The one who does all those conceptual alt-urban pieces! The woman’s a genius! Her color theory, her structure, her eye for form, it’s like she gets how fabric breathes!”

Nicholas couldn’t help the amused huff that escaped him. But as Yuma kept rambling, something strange happened: a quiet pulse in his chest, a spark. The name (Y/n) replayed in his mind like an echo he couldn’t shake. He didn’t know why, but his heart skipped a beat.

Taki, ever the chaos bringer, leaned against a nearby tree with a grin. “You look more excited about this collab than you were about finding your mate, Yuma!” Yuma froze, mid-sentence, before glaring daggers at him. “What did you just say?” Before Taki could reply, Yuma lunged, shouting, “Take that back, you little menace!” The clearing filled with the sound of laughter and mock outrage as the two of them chased each other between the trees.

Nicholas stood watching them, shaking his head with a quiet chuckle. He could already tell that Yuma would spend the next week bouncing off the walls in excitement, and Miyu would have her hands full calming him down. Still, as Nicholas turned toward the path back home, the faintest smile lingered on his lips. (Y/n). Something about the name stayed with him, a gentle tug, deep in his chest. He didn’t understand it yet, but his wolf stirred, curious.

~~~

Four days later, the day finally came. (Y/n) arrived in the small town just before noon, her assistant trailing behind her with two large suitcases and a garment bag. The studio had sent everyone the other’s contact information a few days earlier, and after a few cheerful emails, she had insisted she’d be the one to travel. “I need a change of scenery anyway,” she’d written. “Besides, small towns always inspire me.”

Yuma couldn’t believe his luck; he got to stay home with Miyu, the pack, and still work on this massive collaboration. EJ was relieved, too; the thought of one of his wolves being gone for two weeks, especially one as excitable as Yuma, had nearly given him a headache.

The night before her arrival, the pack had gathered at Koyomi. Miyu had decided they deserved a small celebration, “for Yuma’s career and for my sanity,” she joked, and everyone joined in. The restaurant buzzed with chatter and laughter, plates clinking and music humming softly in the background.

Yuma was, of course, talking non-stop about how excited he was, describing every possible design idea he had in mind. Kei teased him that he should take a breath before he passed out. Nicholas sat at the end of the table, quietly listening, occasionally smirking when Yuma’s enthusiasm hit dramatic new heights.

At one point, Jay, who had come over to check on their table, tilted his head. “(Y/n), you said?” Yuma nodded eagerly. “Yes! You know her?” Jay frowned slightly, thoughtful. “The name sounds familiar… but not from the fashion world. Maybe I’ve heard it somewhere else. Don’t mind me.” He brushed it off with a small wave of his hand, though his crimson eyes lingered on the table a second longer than usual before he returned to the bar.

Nicholas noticed that brief moment, the flicker of curiosity in Jay’s expression, but didn’t think much of it. He leaned back in his seat, watching as Yuma’s excitement reached new levels. The younger wolf’s hands were practically flying through the air as he spoke. Sana giggled softly beside Jo. “It’s so sweet seeing him this happy.” “It is,” Jo agreed, smiling, “but I don’t think he’ll sleep tonight.”

Nicholas chuckled under his breath. He didn’t say it aloud, but something in his chest tugged when Yuma said her name again. (Y/n). The sound resonated strangely in his head, familiar yet unknown. His wolf stirred faintly, a ripple of energy that made him shift slightly in his seat. He brushed it off. It was probably nothing.

~~~

Yuma stood outside the studio, practically bouncing on his heels, the crisp afternoon air doing nothing to calm his nerves. His wolf was restless, a jittery mix of excitement and curiosity that made his tail twitch invisibly beneath his skin. When a sleek black car pulled up by the curb, he straightened his jacket and tried to look composed.

The first to step out was a man, carrying two suitcases and a garment bag that looked way too heavy for one hand. His scent hit Yuma before anything else, faintly earthy, with a trace of something wild underneath. His nose wrinkled slightly. Weird, he thought. He smells almost like… a dog?

Yuma blinked a few times, trying to clear his head. No, that can’t be right. His wolf stirred, sniffing the air again, confused but intrigued. Before he could think too much about it, the other door opened, and out stepped (Y/n).

Her presence hit him like a gust of wind. Confident, steady, and graceful, she adjusted her sunglasses and scanned her surroundings before spotting him. Her hair caught the light, and her outfit was as sharp and artful as the designs she was known for, effortlessly stylish without feeling forced. She looked like someone who belonged on the cover of a magazine rather than the streets of their small town. For a second, Yuma froze. Okay, he thought. Yeah, I’m definitely underdressed.

“Yuma, right?” she asked, her voice calm but with a polite warmth to it. “Ah, yeah! Yes, that’s me!” He nearly tripped over his own words but quickly recovered, flashing a grin. “Welcome! It’s so nice to finally meet you, (Y/n)!”She smiled faintly, tilting her head as if assessing him. “Likewise. You seem… energetic.” “Guilty,” he said with a laugh. Jake, her assistant, came around the car, placing the luggage down beside them. “We’ve got the essentials,” he said.

Yuma nodded, though he couldn’t stop himself from sniffing the air again. That weirdly canine scent was definitely coming from Jake. Maybe he’s one of those guys with a lot of dogs at home, he reasoned, mentally brushing it off.

Once the introductions were done, (Y/n) seemed to relax more. The initial intimidating aura she carried, that quiet confidence that reminded him a little too much of Nicholas, softened. She even laughed a few times as Yuma animatedly told her about the small-town charm, the local café, and the chaos of living with his pack.

She listened with genuine curiosity, and Yuma found himself thinking that maybe working together wouldn’t be so nerve-racking after all. When she smiled again, really smiled this time, he thought she’s not scary at all. Just sharp, self-assured, and… kind.

Still, his wolf stirred again when she reached out to shake his hand one last time before heading inside. There was something familiar about her energy, something warm that made the air feel charged. He shook the thought away. “You’ll love it here,” he said brightly. “It’s not as fancy as the city, but it has heart.” She smiled again, a little more genuine this time. “I think I will.”

Once inside the studio, Yuma’s excitement only grew. He moved around the space like it was his second home, pointing out every little thing as if it were the most fascinating object on earth. “This is where we’ll be working!” he said, motioning toward a large open room filled with natural light, mood boards, and bolts of fabric. “It’s not as big as the city studios, but the lighting here is amazing and the energy is so much better.”

(Y/n) smiled as she took it all in. The space had a certain charm to it, lived-in, creative, filled with a quiet hum of inspiration. “I like it,” she admitted, running her fingers over one of the fabric rolls. “It feels… genuine.” Jake followed behind them, his energy matching Yuma’s. He seemed like the kind of assistant who doubled as a best friend, bright, enthusiastic, and always ready to help. He was about the same height as Yuma, with the same animated way of talking, though Yuma noticed something oddly familiar in his scent again. Not important, he told himself. Focus.

Yuma led them down a short hallway and pushed open another door. “ If you need anything, while staying in the town, just ask, we’re basically all family around here.” “That’s very kind of you,” (Y/n) said, smiling as she set her bag down. She didn’t seem used to being treated so casually, but she didn’t seem to mind it either. “And there’s a shared workspace across the hall,” Yuma continued, pointing. “It’s big enough for both of us to spread out, brainstorm, and… hopefully not destroy everything.”

Once they’d settled in a bit, Yuma checked the time before looking back at (Y/n). “By the way, I already arranged our models for the project,” he said proudly. “Oh?” she asked, interested. “Who are they?” Yuma leaned against the table, grinning like a child with a secret. “Two of my brothers. Kei and Nicholas. They’re both models, Kei mostly for sports and lifestyle brands, Nicholas for magazines and high-end shows. They should be here in about an hour to meet you.”

(Y/n)’s brows raised slightly. “That’s impressive. Family models? You’re lucky.” “Yeah,” Yuma said with a laugh. “They’re used to me dragging them into my projects at this point.” She smiled at that, though her gaze flicked briefly toward Jake. There was a silent exchange between them, just a look, quick but knowing. Jake’s grin softened, and he gave the smallest nod, like they had some unspoken understanding. Yuma caught it, though he couldn’t make sense of it. He tilted his head but decided not to comment. Artists were always weirdly in sync, he reasoned. 

~~~

When Kei and Nicholas arrived at the studio, the air changed the second they stepped through the door. It was subtle at first, the faint hum of sewing machines in the distance, the light scent of fabric dye and coffee. But underneath all that, there were two new scents, ones that didn’t belong to Yuma or anyone else from the pack.

Kei slowed his pace, exchanging a glance with Nicholas. “You smell that?” he asked quietly. Nicholas gave a short nod, his expression sharpening. “Yeah.” The first scent was unmistakable, canine, but not wolf. It carried that domestic, tamer note that came from something more human than feral. A dog shifter, maybe? That would explain the doglike undertone that clashed faintly with the wolves’ own scent.

But the other one… that one made Nicholas stop in his tracks. It was soft and complex, layers of florals, old parchment, and something darker beneath. It smelled like moonlit forests, candle smoke, and midnight air after a storm. There was a pulse to it, something ancient and steady. A witch, perhaps. But there was more.

Something within that scent resonated deep inside him, not the raw hunger or possessive pull most wolves felt when meeting their mate, but a low, steady awareness that made his wolf go still. Listening. Waiting.

Kei noticed the shift immediately. “You okay?” Nicholas’s jaw tightened slightly. “Yeah… just…” He inhaled again, quieter this time. “Something’s different about one of them.” Kei studied his younger brother for a moment, then shrugged, though his tone was gentle. “Maybe you’re just catching the witch energy. It’s strong. One of them’s a designer, maybe she’s got some kind of charm or protection spell on her.”

“Maybe,” Nicholas murmured, though he wasn’t convinced. His wolf wasn’t uneasy; it was focused. The difference mattered. They started walking again, their footsteps echoing softly down the polished hallway toward the workroom. As they neared the door, Nicholas felt his heartbeat pick up, just a little. He didn’t know why. He wasn’t nervous, not exactly. But something inside him whispered that after today, things wouldn’t be the same. He rolled his shoulders back, steadying himself, and pushed open the door.

The two wolves followed their brother’s scent through the hallways, their footsteps steady but unhurried. The closer they got, the stronger the unfamiliar aromas became, the faint spice of witchcraft, warm fabric, and that strange underlying note of canine musk. They stopped outside the studio door just as Yuma’s voice floated through from inside, animated and bright as always. Kei shot Nicholas a quick look before pushing the door open.

The moment Nicholas stepped in, his entire world seemed to still. His eyes locked with hers, the woman standing beside Yuma, papers and fabric swatches in her hands, and everything else fell away. His wolf howled instantly, the sound echoing deep inside his mind. Mate.

Her scent hit him like a wave, the same floral and midnight aroma that had lingered in the hallway, only now it was intoxicatingly close. His chest tightened, his heartbeat heavy but steady. He wasn’t surprised; a part of him had already known the second Yuma had spoken her name days ago. Still, having her there, in front of him, made it real.

But then his gaze shifted, and landed on the man standing next to her. That same dog-like scent clung to him, tangled with hers. It was everywhere, in the air, on her clothes, her skin. The sight, the smell, stirred something primal in Nicholas. His wolf bristled, a growl threatening to rise from deep in his chest. Kei’s hand clamped down on his shoulder before the sound could escape. “Stop it,” he hissed under his breath, his voice low enough that only Nicholas could hear.

Nicholas took a slow breath, forcing his wolf to settle. His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing briefly before he managed to compose himself. He wasn’t going to make a scene, not here, not in front of Yuma or their new guests.

Yuma, oblivious to the tension, beamed as he turned toward his brothers. “Oh, there you guys are! Perfect timing!” He gestured toward the pair in front of him. “Nicholas, Kei, meet (Y/n), my partner for the collab, and her assistant, Jake!” Nicholas’s gaze flicked back to her, softer now but still intense. Mate, his wolf whispered again, quieter this time, reverent. He gave a curt nod, his voice calm when he finally spoke. “It’s a pleasure.” Inside, though, every instinct in him was already in motion.

(Y/n)’s eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint as she looked between the three wolves, their expressions frozen in collective shock. “Nice to meet you guys,” she began smoothly, her tone playful yet composed. “I really see the wolf influence in your stance and build, you’ll do fine as our models.” The words hung in the air for a moment. Yuma blinked, confused, while Kei and Nicholas both stiffened. “You… know?” Kei finally managed to ask, his voice careful.

(Y/n) laughed, a warm, melodic sound that filled the room. It hit Nicholas like a physical touch, his wolf giving a single sharp thump in his chest that he had to suppress by tightening his jaw. He’d never heard something sound so alive. “Yes, I know,” she said easily, resting a hand on her hip. “And so does Jakey.” She glanced toward her assistant, who was grinning ear to ear. “I should probably introduce us properly,” she continued. “I’m (Y/n), and I’m a witch. And this,” she gestured to Jake, “is my golden retriever familiar, who poses as my assistant when we’re around humans.”

With a small flick of her wrist, the air shimmered faintly. Suddenly, the faintest golden glow surrounded Jake, and a pair of soft, fluffy golden retriever ears appeared atop his head, matched by a wagging tail that seemed to have a life of its own. Yuma nearly choked on his own breath. “You, what, that’s, oh, that’s so cool!” he blurted out, eyes wide as he circled Jake like a fascinated child. Jake laughed, wagging his tail a little harder. “Thanks, man! You’d be surprised how often humans think it’s cosplay.”

Kei, on the other hand, looked more amused than shocked now. He crossed his arms, exhaling with a soft chuckle. “Well, that explains a lot. The dog scent, and the witch aura.” (Y/n) smirked, clearly pleased that they’d pieced it together so quickly. “Good noses. You wolves always do have a way with scents.”

Nicholas hadn’t said a word. He stood quietly, observing her. Every word she spoke pulled at him, the cadence of her voice, the self-assured way she carried herself, even the faint flicker of power that glowed beneath her skin. His wolf pressed forward, alert but calm, recognizing her now without question. Mate.

(Y/n) finally turned her attention to him, perhaps noticing his silence. “You must be Nicholas,” she said, smiling gently. His voice came out low, steady. “That’s me.” She met his gaze, and for the briefest second, her smile faltered, her pupils dilated slightly, her breath catching. Whatever she saw in his eyes made her pause. Jake glanced between them, his tail giving one uncertain flick. “Uh… everything good?” “Yeah,” (Y/n) said softly, her gaze still locked with Nicholas’s. “Perfect.”

(Y/n) broke their gaze first, her composure snapping back into place with practiced ease. She turned toward Yuma, voice steady again. “Alright then,” she said, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Let’s get started, shall we?” “Right!” Yuma said, clapping his hands together, eager to return to familiar ground.

Jake, already on the same wavelength, darted over to one of (Y/n)’s sleek black bags and unzipped it with a dramatic flourish. From inside, he produced a measuring tape and a small leather-bound notebook, handing both to her with a grin. “Thank you, Jake,” she said warmly.

Then she turned back to the two wolves still standing by the door, gesturing for them to step further inside. “Kei, Nicholas,” her tone was brisk, professional, “why don’t you both come in so I can take a look at your proportions.” Kei stepped forward first, ever the calm and collected one, offering a polite smile. Nicholas followed a heartbeat later, his movements smooth but deliberate, every step feeling heavier than usual.

(Y/n)’s gaze swept over both of them, a designer’s eye mixed with something else, sharper, more instinctive. “Hmmm,” she murmured, almost to herself, circling slowly. “Both of you have good posture and balanced frames…” Her eyes lingered on Nicholas a little longer. “But I’ll take Nicholas as my model, if you don’t mind,” she said, turning to Yuma. Yuma waved his hand casually. “No problem! Kei, you’re stuck with me then.” Kei chuckled. “Guess so.”

(Y/n) gave a small nod before focusing on Nicholas again, stepping closer. “Stand straight for me.” He obeyed, though his muscles tightened automatically when she came within arm’s reach. Her presence was… distracting, to say the least. She began working methodically, moving around him in slow, measured circles, scribbling down notes, occasionally murmuring small numbers to herself.

The brush of the measuring tape against his skin felt like a jolt each time, his heightened senses catching everything: the scent of her magic, the rhythm of her heartbeat, even the soft hum she made under her breath while she worked. “Shoulders… broad,” she muttered softly, as if confirming it to herself, “arm length… symmetrical…”

Nicholas wasn’t used to being observed like this. Being studied. Normally, when people looked at him, they looked away just as quickly, intimidated by his quiet intensity or the barely leashed strength that came with being one of the older wolves. But (Y/n) wasn’t intimidated.

If anything, she seemed intrigued. Her eyes lingered, thoughtful, and it made something deep in him stir, both a spark of pride and an unfamiliar unease. Because for once, he didn’t feel like the predator. He felt like the prey.

(Y/n)’s focus shifted upward as she circled him one more time, her gaze catching on his hair. It was longer than most of the men she’d met, thick, black, and falling in soft layers that brushed against his neck. The ends had the faintest natural wave, a shape that framed his face in that sharp, effortlessly rugged way that matched his quiet demeanor.

Without thinking too much about it, she reached up and lightly ran her fingers through it, lifting a strand between her fingers. The unexpected touch made Nicholas tense for half a second, not because he disliked it, but because the contact sent a spark through his nerves that his wolf didn’t quite know how to process.

“You’ve got really nice hair,” she said casually, still inspecting the strand. “The texture’s great. But…” she tilted her head, her lips quirking into a thoughtful little smile, “I think blonde would suit you better.” Nicholas blinked, caught between amusement and disbelief. “Blonde?” “Mm-hm,” she hummed, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Just a second.”

She flicked her wrist, whispering something under her breath, a soft chant that hummed in the air like static. The faint scent of magic, herbs, smoke, and rain, surrounded them for a heartbeat. Then, right before his eyes, the black turned to a rich golden blonde. Yuma gasped dramatically from across the room. “No way! That’s awesome!” Kei just smirked. “You look like you belong in a K-pop group now.”

Nicholas turned to the nearby mirror, his usually stoic expression faltering. The reflection staring back at him was… strange. Unfamiliar, yet oddly fitting. The blonde lightened his features in a way he hadn’t expected, softening the sharpness of his gaze, bringing warmth to his complexion. He wasn’t vain by any means, but he couldn’t deny it, she was right. He looked good.

Before he could say anything, though, the golden color shimmered and vanished, fading back into its natural black. He frowned slightly. “Why’d it disappear?” (Y/n) smiled, stepping back. “Because I can’t actually change your hair permanently with magic. I can only project the illusion for a minute or so. It’s more of a visual trick than a real transformation.” “A shame,” she added softly, brushing her fingers lightly against the ends before lowering her hand. “It suited you.”

Nicholas didn’t answer right away. His mind was already turning, an idea forming, quiet and deliberate, though he wasn’t sure how he’d pull it off just yet. But he would. If she liked the blonde, then he’d make it happen, not through magic, but his own way. For her.

~~~

Nicholas’s patience was being tested in ways he hadn’t experienced in years. He stood there, trying to keep his expression neutral, his arms crossed as (Y/n) moved across the room toward Jake. She laughed softly as she reached out, ruffling the familiar’s golden hair and scratching lightly behind one of his ears. The retriever’s tail was wagging so hard that it nearly knocked over a nearby stool. Nicholas clenched his jaw.

The sound of her laughter filled the room again, sweet and unguarded, the kind of sound that made something primal in him respond. His wolf stirred restlessly, growling low inside his chest. Every scratch, every affectionate gesture directed at that damn dog made his instincts flare.

He told himself to breathe. To relax. To not give in to the ridiculous possessiveness curling in his gut. She’s just being kind. She doesn’t know yet. She doesn’t know she’s yours. Or does she? Still, sharing her attention was going to be a challenge, more than he cared to admit, because Nicholas wasn’t used to sharing. Especially not when it came to his mate.

An hour passed. Yuma and (Y/n) had finished their measurements and were sorting through fabric samples, comparing textures and shades. The mood in the room had lightened; even Nicholas had managed to calm his wolf enough to stand quietly by, observing. Then it happened.

(Y/n) reached for two pieces of fabric, intending to hold them together with a pin, when the needle slipped. “Ah! Ow!” she hissed, jerking her hand back.

The small sound, that single note of pain, nearly sent Nicholas into overdrive. His wolf surged forward instantly, panic and protectiveness clashing in his chest. He was already halfway across the room before reason caught up. But Jake moved faster.

The familiar darted to her side, worry written all over his face. “You okay, (Y/n)?” he asked, taking her hand gently to look at the tiny drop of blood forming on her fingertip. “I’m fine, Jakey,” she reassured him with a soft smile. “Just a small prick.”

Nicholas stopped in his tracks, every muscle in his body locked tight. He could feel his claws threatening to break through his skin as he watched Jake lean closer. Then (Y/n), ever the affectionate one, scratched behind the retriever’s ear again.

Nicholas inhaled sharply through his nose and turned away, trying, and failing, to hide the twitch in his jaw. He took one deep breath. Then another. Murder is illegal. Everyone would definitely scold me. Fuma would give a lecture. Taki would be disappointed. 

He exhaled slowly, muttering under his breath, “You’re lucky you’re a dog, Jake.” Jake’s ear twitched, but he only grinned, oblivious to the internal war raging inside the older wolf. Nicholas ran a hand down his face and silently promised his wolf that they would get through this. Somehow.

~~~

The studio had finally begun to quiet down for the night. The sewing machines were silent, the scattered notes tucked neatly away, and the last streaks of evening light painted the windows gold. Yuma stretched his arms, yawning loudly. “That’s a wrap for today, folks! Kei, Nicholas, thanks for helping out. We’ll pick up again tomorrow.”

Kei nodded, already halfway to the door. Nicholas followed behind, slower, his senses tuned in to every flicker of movement and sound in the room. His wolf was calm now, though the sight of Jake and (Y/n) chatting earlier had done little to help that state. Just as he reached for the doorknob, he heard her voice. “Nicholas!”

He stopped instantly. Turning, he saw her walking toward him, confident, steady, a small smile playing on her lips. Jake had already bounded over to Yuma and Kei, chatting cheerfully about dinner plans, leaving the two of them alone in the fading light. Nicholas waited, his usual stoic mask slipping into place, though his pulse had picked up again.

(Y/n) stopped in front of him, close enough for her scent, that intoxicating mix of wildflowers and midnight, to settle around him. Then, without hesitation, she reached up and ran her fingers lightly through his hair again, just as she’d done earlier. Her touch was deliberate this time. “You’re cute when you’re jealous,” she said softly, amusement glinting in her eyes. “Did you know that?”

Nicholas blinked, caught completely off guard. He cleared his throat, trying to summon his usual composure. “What do you mean?” Her smile deepened. “That you’re jealous of Jake,” she teased, tilting her head. “You want me all to yourself.” Her tone dropped a little, playful but sure. “I’m your mate, aren’t I?” For a split second, Nicholas’s carefully built calm cracked. His wolf stirred, not with aggression this time, but with surprise and a deep, bone-deep recognition that rumbled quietly in his chest.

He couldn’t help but laugh, low and quiet, shaking his head. “Of course you know,” he murmured. She grinned, stepping back just slightly, her eyes bright. “I am a witch, after all,” she said lightly. “And besides… It’s kind of obvious.” Nicholas raised a brow. “Is it?” “Painfully,” she said, her grin turning mischievous. “You’re going to have to work hard if you want me to fall, though.” She turned on her heel, her voice trailing as she walked away. “Good luck, wolf boy.” Nicholas stood there for a moment, staring after her, a quiet, involuntary smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His wolf huffed in satisfaction. Challenge accepted.

~~~

The ride home was quiet at first, or at least, it tried to be. Kei’s car hummed down the road, the last traces of sunset painting the sky in pale orange streaks. The faint sound of music played through the speakers, some old playlist of Kei’s, but it couldn’t drown out the restless energy radiating from the passenger seat.

Nicholas sat there, arms crossed, staring out the window with a scowl that wasn’t entirely anger, more like frustration he didn’t want to admit out loud. Yuma, sitting in the back seat, kept glancing between his two brothers. He could tell something was off, but he wasn’t sure what. Kei, on the other hand, looked far too amused.

“So,” Kei said after a moment, smirking slightly, “the witch is your mate, huh?” Nicholas grunted. That was confirmation enough. Yuma leaned forward, gripping the headrest of Nicholas’s seat. “Wait, what?! How do you know that?” Kei laughed, glancing at him through the rearview mirror. “Because I wasn’t blind or deaf, Yuma. You didn’t notice Nicholas growling half the time we were in that studio?”

“I, he was growling?” Yuma blinked, genuinely surprised. “I thought that was just his stomach!” Nicholas gave a sharp exhale, turning his glare from the window to the dashboard. “Very funny.” Kei chuckled under his breath, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “You’re usually the calm one, Nico. I’ve never seen you so… what’s the word, possessive?”

Nicholas’s grip on his arms tightened slightly. He felt ridiculous, and worse, he knew he was being ridiculous. But the words came out anyway, low and rough. “None of your mates,” he muttered, “had someone else that close to them. Not like her and… Jake.” He said the name like it was poison, bitter and burning on his tongue, something he needed to spit out before it made him sick.

Kei started laughing, and even Yuma joined in, trying and failing to hide it behind his hand. “Oh, this is rich,” Kei said between laughs. “The big, scary Nicholas brought down by a witch and her golden retriever.” “Shut up,” Nicholas grumbled, sinking further into his seat.

Yuma was still giggling. “I didn’t think you could even get jealous.” Kei nodded in agreement. “Yeah, this is a new side of you. I like it.” Nicholas didn’t respond. He just muttered something under his breath that sounded vaguely like a threat, though the faint pink tint creeping up his ears betrayed him.

The other two wolves just laughed harder, the sound filling the car as they drove the rest of the way home, teasing, lighthearted, but underneath it all, genuinely happy. Because for the first time in a long while, Nicholas looked like he’d finally found someone who could truly get under his skin.

~~~

The pack house was alive with its usual evening buzz when the three wolves walked through the door, laughter from the kitchen, the faint hum of a record playing somewhere, and the smell of dinner still lingering in the air. Nicholas barely hesitated before calling out, “Girls! Can I talk to you all for a second?”

The sudden announcement earned several raised eyebrows. It wasn’t often Nicholas initiated group conversations, much less with all the girls at once. Aya peeked out from the kitchen, a wooden spoon in her hand, while Miyu appeared beside her, curious. Sana tilted her head, wiping her hands on a towel as she came from the living room.

“What’s up?” Aya asked, glancing between the brothers. Nicholas hesitated for a second, something that never happened, before gesturing toward the door. “Can we talk outside? Privately.” That got everyone’s attention. Even Sora, who had been comfortably seated in EJ’s lap, looked surprised. EJ’s arms tightened instinctively around her waist. “Why do you need to talk to her privately?” he asked, frowning. Sora gave him a look, though her smile softened as she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Relax, it’s Nicholas. I’ll be right back.” EJ sighed but didn’t argue further, at least not aloud.

Outside, the evening air was cool and calm, stars beginning to flicker faintly across the darkening sky. Nicholas stood awkwardly for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck as the girls gathered around him in a small circle. Aya crossed her arms. “Okay, spill it. What’s going on?” Nicholas took a deep breath. “I found my mate.”

The reaction was immediate, a mix of gasps and excited squeals. Sana clasped her hands together, her eyes wide. “Really? That’s amazing, Nicholas!” “About time,” Sora teased with a grin. “So, who’s the lucky one?” “She’s a witch,” Nicholas said simply, his tone calm, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Her name’s (Y/n), she’s the designer Yuma was paired with for the collab.”

The girls exchanged intrigued looks. Witches weren’t exactly an everyday occurrence around the pack. “And,” Nicholas added, almost sheepishly, “she… uh… said I’d look good blonde.” There was a short pause, then Miyu burst out laughing. “That’s why you called us out here?” Nicholas exhaled sharply, trying to keep a straight face. “She liked me with blonde hair. I need to dye it.” Aya smirked. “A witch complimented your hair, and you’re already planning a makeover? Wow, she’s got you good.” Sana chuckled softly. “It’s cute, though.”

The girls started discussing possible methods, box dye, salon appointments, and temporary bleach, while Nicholas stood there, hands in his pockets, quietly enduring the chaos. Finally, Sora raised her hand slightly, her tone practical. “I’ve dyed hair before, like twice. I can help you, but we don’t have any bleach or color here.” Nicholas nodded. “Tomorrow then?” “Tomorrow,” she confirmed, smiling. “We’ll make you look good for your witch.”

He exhaled in relief, muttering a quiet “Thanks” before turning toward the house again. Aya nudged Sana as they walked behind him, whispering just loud enough for the others to hear, “He’s totally whipped already.” Sana giggled. “Absolutely.” Nicholas pretended not to hear them, but the small, reluctant smile on his face said otherwise.

~~~

The hotel room was quiet, soft light filtering in through the gauzy curtains as the city outside settled into the rhythm of night. (Y/n) sat cross-legged on the bed, her notebook open beside her, sketches and fabric swatches scattered across the duvet. Jake sat at the small table near the window, legs swinging lightly, a mug of cocoa between his hands.

He looked up at her, tail flicking lazily behind him. “So,” he started, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, “are we going to talk about the wolf in the room?” (Y/n) glanced up, pretending not to understand. “What do you mean?” Jake raised an eyebrow. “Nicholas. The tall, quiet one who looked at you like you hung the moon.” She sighed, though the faint smile on her lips betrayed her. “Of course you’d bring that up.”

“Well,” Jake said, leaning back in his chair, “I’m curious. You told me before we came here that you had a premonition about a pack of wolves and one name, Nicholas. So did you know he was your mate before today?”

(Y/n) paused, the air between them stilling for a second. “Not exactly,” she admitted. “The vision wasn’t clear, just flashes, wolves, moonlight, a name whispered over and over. I didn’t even know what he looked like. But when we met…” She trailed off, her voice softening. “It just clicked. My magic didn’t even have to tell me.” Jake tilted his head, watching her closely. “So how do you feel about that?” Her cheeks flushed instantly. “You sound like a gossiping aunt, Jake.” “Maybe,” he said with a teasing grin, “but I’m your familiar, I get to pry.”

(Y/n) groaned, grabbing a pillow and tossing it at him. He caught it easily, laughing. “Fine,” she relented, her tone turning quieter. “He’s… different. I find him really attractive, obviously, but it’s more than that. There’s something about the way he moves, how he looks at people, like he’s always thinking five steps ahead but never says a word. It’s intimidating, but…” She hesitated, a shy smile forming. “I kind of like teasing him. He gets all stiff and serious, it’s cute.”

Jake’s grin softened into something more genuine. “You like him.” (Y/n) rolled her eyes, though she didn’t deny it. “I might.” “Well,” Jake said, taking a sip of his cocoa, “for what it’s worth, I think you two are a good match. You’re going to drive him absolutely insane, and he’ll love every second of it.” She laughed, tossing another pillow his way. “You’re impossible.” “Maybe,” Jake said, still smiling, “but I’m right.” (Y/n) leaned back against the headboard, her blush lingering, her thoughts already wandering back to the quiet wolf with the storm-gray eyes and the look that made her pulse skip. Jake was right. She could already tell this was going to be interesting.

The hotel room had gone still. The last of the city lights shimmered through the curtains, and Jake had already curled up on the couch, his breathing slow and steady. (Y/n), however, couldn’t sleep. Not after everything that had happened today, meeting Nicholas, feeling that magnetic pull, the quiet intensity of his gaze that lingered even now in her thoughts. Her chest felt tight with a strange mix of excitement and unease.

She sat up, brushing her hair back from her face, and whispered, “Just a glimpse. I only need to see if this path is safe.” Jake stirred slightly, but didn’t wake as she reached for the small pouch of herbs she always carried, mugwort for clarity, lavender for calm, and a few drops of moonwater she’d gathered weeks ago. She lit a single candle on the nightstand, murmuring softly as she passed her hand over the flame.

The air shimmered faintly. Her eyes clouded over. And then, a flash. Not of peace, or light, or the gentle warmth she hoped for. But of blood. It was everywhere, a dark puddle spreading across a cold floor, growing larger with each passing breath. The smell of iron filled her senses. She couldn’t tell where it was coming from, or who it belonged to, but her heart pounded in her chest as dread clawed up her throat.

She tried to pull away from the vision, but it wouldn’t let her go. The scene pulsed, closer, louder, a low growl in the distance, a hand outstretched toward her through the red. Then it all went black. (Y/n) gasped, sitting upright in bed, the candle flickering violently before going out. Her chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath. Sweat dampened her hairline.

“(Y/n)?” Jake’s voice was instantly beside her. He’d jumped up the second he’d heard her gasp. His ears flicked forward, tail stiff with alarm. “What happened?” She didn’t answer right away. Her hands trembled as she pressed them to her chest, trying to calm her racing heart. “I…I just… I wanted to see what would happen,” she whispered. “With Nicholas.” Jake knelt beside the bed, his golden eyes wide and worried. “And what did you see?” She shook her head, tears welling despite herself. “Blood. So much blood, Jake. It felt like it was far away, but also… close. Like it could happen anytime.” Jake’s expression softened. He didn’t ask more. He just climbed up beside her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her close.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “We’ll figure it out. Premonitions don’t always mean what they look like.” “I know,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “But it didn’t feel wrong. It felt real.” Jake held her tighter, his warmth steady against her trembling form. Whatever she had seen, whatever fate was weaving, it wasn’t just some distant nightmare. It was coming.

~~~

The morning sunlight spilled softly through the kitchen windows as laughter filled the pack house. Sora hummed cheerfully while preparing everything she needed: bleach, toner, gloves, and an old towel she didn’t mind ruining. She had gone out early that morning, Euijoo tagging along, of course, to buy all the supplies. Now the alpha sat nearby, chin resting on his hand, watching her with the lovesick expression he always wore when she was busy doing anything. “I still don’t get why you have to do this,” EJ mumbled, though the faint smirk on his face gave him away.

“Because,” Sora said sweetly, squeezing a line of bleach onto the brush, “our grumpy wolf wants to impress his witch. And I, being the generous vampire that I am, am here to help him.” Nicholas rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “Let’s just get it over with.” “Relax,” Sora teased, tugging on her gloves. “You’ll thank me later. Or well she will.”

Three hours later, the whole house smelled faintly of chemicals, and Sora finally leaned back with a proud smile. “Done!” Nicholas blinked at his reflection in the mirror. His normally dark hair was now a striking blonde, soft, almost golden in the light. It looked… surprisingly good. Even he had to admit it.

“You actually did it,” Kei said as he walked in, arms crossed, trying to hold back a laugh. “Didn’t think you’d go through with it.” “Yeah, well,” Nicholas muttered, running a hand through his hair. “She liked it.” That was all the reason he needed.

The rest of the pack slowly gathered around, unable to hold back their laughter, not mocking, but warm and full of teasing affection. “I give it two days before it’s back to black,” Taki said between snickers. Miyu covered her mouth to hide a giggle. “No, no, it suits him! Right, Sana?” Sana smiled brightly from her seat beside Jo. “It actually does! I can’t believe you bleached your hair for her, though, Nico. That’s so cute.”

Nicholas grumbled something under his breath, tugging his hood up to hide the color. But the tips of his ears were red, a dead giveaway. EJ clapped him on the back, still chuckling. “You look good, man. The witch won’t know what hit her.” Sora grinned, handing him a small bottle of conditioner. “And remember, this is for keeping it soft and shiny. You’re welcome.”

Nicholas sighed, pocketed the bottle, and stood. “Alright, laugh all you want. We have to get to the studio now.” As he walked toward the door, the sound of their laughter followed him, warm, familiar, and filled with love. The blonde wolf couldn’t help but smile to himself. If (Y/n) liked it, then maybe, just maybe, it was worth every teasing comment.

Kei and Nicholas made their way out to the car, the morning air still cool as they walked across the gravel. Kei glanced over at his brother, smirking at the hood still pulled tightly over his head. “You really think she won’t notice the smell?” he teased, unlocking the car. Nicholas shot him a look. “It’s part of the surprise.” “Yeah, a surprise that reeks of peroxide.”

Nicholas just grunted in response, climbing into the passenger seat. Despite his calm expression, his heart was beating faster than usual. He didn’t even know why he cared so much, it was just hair. But the thought of (Y/n)’s reaction made his stomach twist in anticipation.

When they arrived at the studio, Yuma and Jake were already there, chatting about fabric textures and potential color palettes. The moment Nicholas stepped inside, both turned their heads, noses twitching slightly. Jake blinked. “Did someone bleach a rug or something?” Yuma sniffed the air and squinted toward the door. “Nope… that’s definitely Nicholas.”

Nicholas ignored them, leaning against the wall, waiting. Kei rolled his eyes and went to greet Yuma, muttering something about “dramatic wolves.” (Y/n) was focused on her sketchbook, her hair falling forward as she made a quick note in the margin. “Oh, you’re here,” she said without looking up, her voice smooth and distracted. Nicholas grinned. Perfect timing.

He stepped forward just as she turned to face them, and with one simple motion, he pulled his hood down. The room seemed to pause. (Y/n) froze mid-step, her pen slipping from her hand as she stared at him. Her mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. For once, the confident witch looked completely speechless. Jake burst out laughing, clapping his hands together. “Oh my god, you did it?! You actually dyed your hair for her!”

Yuma’s grin stretched wide. “No way, so you weren’t kidding yesterday!” Nicholas smirked, his golden hair catching the light.  (Y/n) blinked a few times before she finally found her voice again. “You… you actually…” she stammered, her cheeks warming. “I didn’t think you’d do it!” “Do you like it?” Nicholas asked, his tone calm but his eyes glinting with something softer. (Y/n) stepped closer, almost unconsciously reaching up to touch a strand of his hair. “It looks… really good,” she admitted quietly. “Better than I imagined.”

Jake snickered. “You two are ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.” Yuma just smiled knowingly, nudging Kei. “Wolves and their mates, never a dull moment.” “You have no right to speak, remember how you were acting prior to Miyu accepting you?” Kei countered. Nicholas didn’t respond, not to the teasing, not to the laughter, because all he could focus on was (Y/n)’s hand still brushing lightly through his hair. If his wolf could purr, it would.

(Y/n) shook her head quickly, snapping herself out of whatever daze Nicholas’ new look had put her in. Her heart was still beating a little too fast for comfort, and she turned around under the pretense of searching for something on the counter, really, she just couldn’t face him while her cheeks were still burning.

“Alright,” she said, trying to sound composed. “Before we move on with the fabrics, we need to test some makeup looks for both of you. I want to make sure the tones match the pieces I’m designing, and that the overall aesthetic feels balanced.” Kei nodded, already familiar with the process. “Got it. Just tell me where you want me.”

Nicholas leaned back against the wall, arms crossed casually, though his eyes followed (Y/n) wherever she moved. “Guess that means I’m your canvas again,” he said with a hint of teasing in his tone. (Y/n) didn’t look at him. “That’s right, model. Try to sit still this time, hmm?”

Kei chuckled under his breath, glancing between them, already sensing the tension. “I’ll take this chair,” he said, motioning toward the one closer to the worktable, leaving the other, slightly tucked-away seat for Nicholas. Nicholas didn’t hesitate, taking the spot further from the center of the room. The small distance gave him what he wanted, a chance to watch (Y/n) work without the constant interruptions from Jake or Yuma.

As she began setting out brushes and palettes, Nicholas rested his chin in his hand, quietly observing. Every small movement she made, the flick of her wrist, the way her hair fell forward when she leaned over her kit, fascinated him.

She glanced back at him once, catching the soft, steady gaze directed her way. “Don’t look at me like that,” she said, trying to sound stern but failing to hide her smile. “Like what?” he asked, voice low, knowing exactly what he was doing. “Like you’re planning something,” she muttered, turning back to her brushes. Nicholas’ lips curved into a half-smile. “Maybe I am.”

Kei coughed loudly from the other chair. “I’m still here, just so you know.” (Y/n) laughed quietly, grateful for the distraction. “Good,” she said. “Then you can go first.” Kei groaned dramatically, and Nicholas leaned back in his chair, satisfied. For now, he’d let her focus on someone else, but as soon as it was his turn, she’d have to come closer again. And that, his wolf was already looking forward to.

(Y/n) exhaled slowly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she turned toward Nicholas. Okay, she thought, I survived Kei, I can survive this. Nicholas leaned back in his chair, watching her through half-lidded eyes. There was something about the way she always squared her shoulders before focusing on a task, like she was preparing for battle. And if he was being honest, the way she looked at him made his pulse quicken.

“All right, your turn,” she said, trying to sound professional. “Finally,” Nicholas muttered, sitting up straight. His voice was smooth, teasing, that same deep tone that always seemed to vibrate through her chest. Before she could even start, Yuma spoke up. “Actually, while you two work, we’ll head out for a bit. There’s a café next door, I’ll grab something for everyone.” “I’ll tag along as well,” Kei added. Jake nodded. “I’ll pick up her drink. I know what she likes.”  The moment the words left his mouth, a low growl rumbled from Nicholas’ chest. It wasn’t loud, but it was definitely there. Kei turned, giving him a sharp look, Don’t you dare. (Y/n) raised an eyebrow. “Nicholas.” He cleared his throat and looked away, suddenly very interested in the floor. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Good,” she said softly, though the corners of her lips twitched upward. He was so easy to read, his jealousy almost adorable if it wasn’t paired with that lethal stare.

Once the others left, the studio grew quiet except for the faint hum of the lights. (Y/n) gathered her palette and brushes, walking over to him. The closer she got, the more Nicholas’ wolf stirred. Her scent, jasmine and something faintly metallic, like magic it kept switching just slightly in tone, it wrapped around him, soothing and intoxicating all at once.

She placed a hand under his chin, gently tilting his head upward. “Stay still,” she said. “I’ll try,” he replied, that same hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. (Y/n) dipped a brush into the powder and began dusting color along his cheekbones. Nicholas closed his eyes, letting out a quiet hum. Her touch was featherlight, her concentration absolute, until she realized just how closely she was standing. Her breath brushed against his skin as she leaned in to blend the color near his jaw. Nicholas opened his eyes, and their faces were inches apart. “You’re staring,” he murmured. “I’m working,” she shot back, though her cheeks flushed instantly. “Uh-huh.” She huffed, reaching for another brush. “You’re worse than Jake when he’s restless.”

Nicholas grinned at that, and she quickly moved to the next step, his lips. “Don’t move,” she instructed, picking up a small applicator. She applied a soft neutral shade, one that complimented the golden tone of his new hair and made his sharp features stand out even more. He held still at first, obedient, quiet, until she pulled back to admire her work. Then, just as she reached for another brush, he licked his lips slowly.

“…Nicholas,” she said warningly. He blinked innocently. “What?” “You just ruined it.” “Did I?” His grin widened. “Guess you’ll have to do it again.” She narrowed her eyes. “You did that on purpose.” “Maybe.” (Y/n) sighed, dipping the applicator again and stepping closer. “Stop moving, or I’ll glue your mouth shut.” “I’d like to see you try.” “Don’t tempt me, remember I can spell you.”

She reapplied the color, this time keeping one hand lightly pressed under his chin, steadying him. He didn’t move, not until her thumb brushed the corner of his mouth to wipe a stray bit of pigment. His breath hitched, and his wolf rumbled quietly again, but this time, it wasn’t a growl.

(Y/n) froze for a second, her pulse quickening. The sound was deep, low, and undeniably intimate. Her hand lingered for a heartbeat too long before she stepped back. “There,” she said, voice softer now. “Done.” Nicholas looked up at her through his lashes, lips curling into a small smile. “You sure you don’t want to fix anything else?” “Positive,” she said quickly, turning away before he could see her blush.

He chuckled under his breath. “You know,” he murmured, getting up from the chair, leaning closer until his mouth was at her ear, “you’re cute when you’re flustered.” Her entire body shivered at the whispered words, she quickly handed him a make up wipe that he could use once she had taken a picture. “You’re impossible.” He took it, laughing quietly. “You love it.” (Y/n) didn’t answer, but the small smile tugging at her lips said enough.

(Y/n) circled around the worktable, gathering the last of her brushes and palettes, but she could feel him, that looming warmth that followed her like a shadow. Every time she stopped, Nicholas was a step behind, quiet but undeniably present. “Do you ever not hover?” she muttered, not bothering to look back. “Maybe I just like the view,” he answered smoothly. She rolled her eyes and bent down to put something away. “You’re impossible.” “And yet you haven’t sent me away,” he said, voice lower now, closer than before. She could hear the grin in it.

When she turned, her breath caught, he was right there again, arms loosely crossed, golden hair catching the light, that infuriatingly confident smirk on his lips. Those lips. And then she noticed it. The faint shimmer of the product she’d so carefully applied was gone. “Nicholas,” she said slowly, narrowing her eyes. He tilted his head innocently. “Hmm?” “You licked it off again.” He had the audacity to grin. “Maybe it’s just a habit.”

(Y/n) groaned, setting the brush down with a soft clack. “You are the most…” She stopped herself, exhaled, and stepped toward him, eyes sharp. “Sit,” she ordered. He obeyed, sitting on the edge of the counter, watching her approach with that calm, predatory ease that made her heart beat faster no matter how hard she tried to ignore it.

She leaned in, one hand coming up to grab his chin, fingers warm against his skin. Nicholas stilled instantly, his breath caught, his wolf thrummed beneath his skin, barely contained. She was so close, her scent wrapping around him, sweet and heady and dangerous. (Y/n)’s eyes flicked down to his lips, barely a few centimeters away. “Keep your tongue in your mouth,” she said quietly, her tone somewhere between warning and a whisper.

Nicholas smirked, that slow, lazy smirk that always promised trouble, and deliberately dragged his tongue across his lower lip. Her hand tightened on his chin. “Nicholas.” “Yes, my witch?” His voice was soft, teasing, threaded with heat. “You seem awfully focused on my mouth. You sure it’s just about the makeup?”

(Y/n) froze. Her heartbeat betrayed her, thump, thump, thump, loud enough for his sharp hearing to catch. He grinned wider. She let go of his chin like it burned her, stepping back quickly. “You’re insufferable,” she muttered, turning away, pretending to fix her brushes just so she didn’t have to meet his eyes. Nicholas leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, watching her with that same amused softness. “If I didn’t know better,” he murmured, “I’d say I’m getting to you.” “You’re not,” she said too quickly. He chuckled lowly. “Sure.”

(Y/n) refused to turn around, if she did, he’d see the faint blush on her cheeks, and she wasn’t about to give him that satisfaction. Still, the air between them was thick, charged, and when their eyes met again a few seconds later, neither of them looked away. It was going to be very hard to keep things professional.

When the door opened and the others stepped back into the studio, the air hit them like a solid wall. It was thick, charged with something unspoken but obvious to anyone with even half a sense.

Jake slowed first, his golden retriever instincts picking up on the shift immediately. His eyes darted to (Y/n), whose posture was far too stiff for her usual calm composure. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her palette, eyes flicking between the wall, the floor, and, inevitably, Nicholas. Every few seconds, her gaze betrayed her, drawn back to him like a magnet before she caught herself and looked away again, cheeks just a touch too pink. Jake had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. Oh, something definitely happened while they were gone.

Kei and Yuma noticed it next. Nicholas was seated, leaning back in his chair with infuriating ease, one leg crossed over the other, arms resting lazily on the armrests. He wasn’t even pretending to hide the smugness on his face. His eyes, usually cold and sharp, held a dangerous glint of amusement, locked entirely on (Y/n) like a hunter who already knew his prey would come closer on her own. Kei’s shoulders tensed. He’d seen that look before; it was the same one Nicholas wore before a sparring match he knew he would win. Except this wasn’t a fight in the training field. This was something far messier.

Yuma looked between them, confusion flashing in his golden eyes, until even he realized what was happening. The silence in the room was heavy; the kind of silence that carried heat and tension instead of peace. (Y/n) pretended to check her notes, but the slight tremor in her hand betrayed her. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, the faint shimmer of the gloss she’d reapplied not long ago still catching the light, proof that something had flustered her before they arrived.

Nicholas didn’t move, didn’t say a word. He just watched her, that faint smirk curving his lips, patient, knowing. The kind of look that said: I’m not done with you yet. Jake coughed softly, trying to diffuse the moment, but Kei caught his eye and gave a subtle shake of his head. There was no breaking this tension. Whatever was going on between the wolf and the witch, it was only just beginning, and everyone in that room could feel it.

~~~

Yuma had just finished explaining a new fabric choice when her hand brushed his. It was so small, so unimportant a gesture, until the world fell away. (Y/n)’s body stiffened. The pen she’d been holding hit the floor with a sharp click. Her lips parted, but her voice was gone, trapped somewhere deep in her chest. “(Y/n)?” Yuma said softly. No answer.

Then came the sound, a low, strangled gasp as if the air itself had turned against her. Jake shot up from his chair instantly, his pupils flashing gold. “She’s having a vision!” But something was wrong. Magic shimmered around her like static, crackling and twisting in the air, snapping against her skin. Nicholas could smell it, wild, panicked, burning. His instincts screamed at him. Before Jake could even reach her, Nicholas was there, catching her as her body lurched sideways. He lowered her to the ground, his heart thundering, her pulse fluttering weakly under his hand. “(Y/n)! Look at me!” His voice came out half-growl, half-plea. Her eyes were wide open, glowing faintly violet, but she wasn’t seeing him.

(Y/n) couldn’t hear them, her entire mind stuck in the vision. She was standing in a dim room. The air smelled of iron and smoke. It was quiet, too quiet. Then, the sound. Drip… drip… drip. She looked down. A pool of blood was spreading beneath her feet, thick and dark, soaking into the cracks of the floor. Her breath hitched. It was the same vision from last night. She turned, searching for the source, and froze.

There was someone lying on the ground. The figure’s body was half in shadow, but she saw the outline, broad shoulders, familiar hands streaked with crimson. “Nicholas?” she whispered, voice trembling. The moment she said his name, everything lurched. The blood surged outward as if alive, crawling across the floor toward her. The air filled with screams, deep, agonized, inhuman. She covered her ears, falling to her knees, her heart pounding as the world shattered into fragments, fire, the scent of rain, the echo of a howl that sounded like grief. Then she saw eyes. Golden. Dimmed. And a voice desperately calling her name. “(Y/n)!”

Nicholas didn’t realize he’d shouted until the others turned to look. He could feel her trembling, her heart racing out of control. Her magic flared, the scent of ozone filling the studio. Jake crouched beside him, panic lacing his voice. “This, this isn’t normal, she’s drowning in the vision!”

Nicholas’s wolf roared within him, the sound almost spilling into reality. Without thinking, he pulled her close, pressing her against his chest, his voice dropping low, a grounding rumble that vibrated through both of them. “Come back to me,” he whispered. “You’re safe. You’re here. Come back.” Her trembling began to ease. The static hum of magic faded, dissolving into soft sparks of light. She let out a shaky breath and then went still, slumping in his arms, unconscious but breathing evenly.

Nicholas didn’t move. He just held her, one hand still stroking her hair as if trying to soothe the ghost of whatever nightmare she’d seen. Jake’s voice broke the silence, quieter now. “That wasn’t a normal vision,” he said. “Whatever she saw… it was bad. Really bad.” Nicholas’s jaw tightened, his eyes glowing faintly gold. “Then I’ll find out what it was,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. He looked down at her face again, brushing a strand of hair away from her cheek with trembling fingers.

Nicholas stayed where he was, knees pressed against the studio floor, (Y/n)’s limp body still cradled against his chest. Her head rested in the crook of his neck, her breathing shallow but steady now. His thumb brushed against her temple in slow, grounding circles, more for his sake than hers. His wolf still paced beneath his skin, restless, protective, refusing to let go.

Kei crouched down beside them, his usual composed demeanor wavering slightly as his sharp eyes flicked between the unconscious witch and her familiar. “Jake,” he began, his voice calm but edged with curiosity, “what exactly just happened to her? I’ve heard of witches losing control of their magic, but this…” he gestured vaguely toward the faint shimmer of magic that still lingered in the air, “this felt different.” Jake hesitated. His golden eyes darted from Kei to Nicholas, then back to (Y/n). He bit his lip, ears twitching nervously. “It’s… complicated,” he admitted, voice lower now. “And not exactly something she likes people to know.”

Nicholas looked up sharply, his expression unreadable. “We just watched her collapse,” he said, his voice quieter but heavy with restrained urgency. “I think we deserve to know what’s going on.” Jake sighed, his usual playful energy dimming. “Alright,” he said finally. “But you have to understand, she hides this for a reason.” He glanced down at (Y/n), as if silently asking for permission she couldn’t give. “(Y/n) isn’t just a witch.”

Kei frowned. “Then what is she?” “She’s… half-oracle,” Jake said. The silence that followed was thick. Even Yuma, who had been frozen a few feet away, seemed to forget how to breathe. “A half–witch, half–oracle?” Kei repeated, disbelief threading through his tone. “That’s not, I mean, those two bloodlines aren’t supposed to…”

“They’re not,” Jake finished for him. “They don’t mix well. Ever. It’s… rare. Dangerous, even. Her mother was a witch, her father an oracle. That kind of union usually tears the child apart before they even reach adulthood. But somehow, she made it.” He ran a hand through his blond hair, exhaling shakily. “Her witch side is steady; it’s what lets her live like a human, blend in, create, and control her magic. But her oracle side…” He trailed off, his tail flicking anxiously. “That’s different. It’s wild. Uncontrolled. The visions come when they want, not when she calls for them. And when they hit, they hit hard.”

Nicholas tightened his grip on her slightly, jaw flexing. “And she goes through that alone?” Jake nodded, guilt flickering across his face. “She doesn’t like people knowing about it. You saw how powerful it is, it scares people. Even witches don’t trust oracles. They think they bring misfortune, that they’re cursed.” Kei’s brows furrowed, his tone softening. “So she hides that part of herself to survive.” Jake nodded again. “Pretty much. The visions don’t happen often, maybe once every few months. But when they do, they always mean something. Something big. And if she reacted like that…”

He stopped himself, glancing at Nicholas, whose golden eyes burned brighter, fierce and terrified all at once. “If she reacted like that,” Jake said finally, quieter now, “then whatever she saw… it’s something she’d give anything to stop.” Nicholas didn’t answer. He looked down at her face, brushing a strand of hair away with trembling fingers. She looked peaceful now, fragile even, but the scent of fear still clung to her skin.

His wolf growled softly, low and possessive. Whatever she saw, he thought, whatever’s coming… it won’t touch her. Not while I’m still breathing. Kei exhaled quietly, rising to his feet. “We need to get her somewhere safe to rest. Yuma, grab some water. Jake, help me clear that table.” Jake nodded, moving fast, but his worried gaze never left her. And Nicholas… he just stayed where he was, holding his mate, every part of him silently vowing that he’d never let her face her nightmares alone again.

While they waited for (Y/n) to wake up, the tension in the studio remained heavy, unrelenting. She now rested on one of the large worktables, a folded jacket beneath her head and another draped across her body. It wasn’t ideal, not even close, but no one wanted to risk moving her until she came to. The rhythmic sound of her breathing was the only thing keeping Nicholas grounded, though his eyes never left her face, not even for a second.

Jake hovered nearby, his tail low, guilt and worry clear in every motion. Yuma had fetched water and set it beside her, but his hands still fidgeted, unsure what else to do. Kei, however, stood a few steps back, expression unreadable, though his eyes flicked between each person in the room, assessing, thinking. Then he exhaled and quietly said, “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I need to make a call.”

Nicholas didn’t even look up, just gave a faint nod, his hand still tracing idle circles against (Y/n)’s arm. Kei slipped outside, closing the door behind him, letting the cool evening air hit his face. He walked a few steps away from the entrance before pulling out his phone. It rang twice before a smooth voice answered, playful as always. “Kei! To what do I owe the pleasure? You miss me already?”

“Jay,” Kei said, tone sharp enough that the vampire’s teasing stopped instantly. “This isn’t a social call. I need to ask you something, and it’s important.” Jay went silent for a beat. “…Alright. What’s wrong?” “The designer working with Yuma, her name’s (Y/n), the other night, you seemed to recognize her name, have you figured out why?”

There was a pause on the other end. Then a slow inhale. “Ah, yes, he name felt familiar the other night.” His voice had dropped now, the warmth replaced with something colder, heavier. “I didn’t think it could be the same one, but…” “But what?” Kei pressed. Jay hesitated before continuing. “Back at the coven, years ago, I used to hear stories. Whispers, really. About a witch, young, powerful, but… different. They said she wasn’t just a witch. That she was half-oracle, you can imagine how that went over with the other witches.”

Kei’s expression darkened. “They shunned her.” Jay’s sigh was soft but full of weight. “Yes. They said her visions brought nothing but pain. That everyone she grew close to met a terrible fate. The coven called her ill-starred, cursed by the moon itself. Most avoided her. Others… well, you know how witches handle things they don’t understand.”

Kei stared out at the trees beyond the road, jaw tight. “And you think that’s her?” “I can’t be sure,” Jay said. “But if it is, then she’s been carrying that burden for a long time. It’s not that she brings misfortune, Kei. It’s that misfortune seems to find her. That’s a very different thing.” Kei nodded slowly, his grip tightening around his phone. “That’s all I needed to know. Thanks, Jay.” “Kei!” Jay’s voice softened again, almost hesitant. “Be careful with her. If she’s anything like the stories said, then she’s suffered enough already.”

“I know,” Kei said quietly. “I don’t believe she’s cursed. I think bad luck just doesn’t know how to let go of her.” And with that, he ended the call, pocketing his phone before looking up at the dimming sky. The first stars were just beginning to appear, their light faint but steady. He exhaled, running a hand through his hair, the faintest hint of resolve settling into his features. Then he turned back toward the studio, toward the witch lying unconscious on a table, and the wolf who wouldn’t let go of her hand. Because whatever kind of fate she carried, the pack wouldn’t let her face it alone.

Just as Kei pushed the door open and stepped back into the studio, a soft sound broke through the silence, a faint groan, the rustle of fabric, and then (Y/n)’s fingers twitched against the jacket draped over her. Nicholas was at her side again in an instant, his chair scraping against the floor as he moved. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice low but laced with unmistakable relief. “You’re alright. Easy now.”

Her eyelids fluttered open, the violet of her irises dimmed but still faintly glowing. Her gaze found his first, as if her soul recognized him before her mind caught up, and then drifted to the others gathered around her. Her throat felt dry, her body weak. Nicholas lifted the bottle of water from the nearby table and gently pressed it into her hands. “Drink,” he said, tone soft but firm. She obeyed, sipping slowly, the cool liquid easing the burn in her chest.

Kei stepped forward, his usually steady voice calm but carrying a weight that filled the room. “(Y/n),” he began, “I think it’s best if you and Jake come with us. Stay at the village for a while.” Her eyes flickered up to him, reading the serious tone, the looks of concern shared between the wolves. There was something else there too, pity, maybe fear. Her shoulders tensed as she turned her gaze toward Jake, who stood a few feet away, tail low, avoiding her eyes.

“Jake,” she said quietly, “you told them, didn’t you?” Jake flinched, his ears drooping instantly. “I…” He swallowed hard. “Yes. I did. I had to, (Y/n). You passed out, and none of them knew what was happening, I couldn’t just…” She lifted a weak hand, stopping him. “It’s alright,” she said, voice gentle despite the exhaustion threading through it. “I’m not upset. You did what you thought was right.” Jake blinked rapidly, relief and guilt mixing in his expression.

Nicholas helped her sit up properly, one arm braced behind her back as she swung her legs over the edge of the table. His hand lingered at her waist, steadying her as she tried to find her balance. The contact, the quiet steadiness of him, made her feel grounded again. Then she turned to Kei. “You really want someone like me around your pack?” she asked, her tone calm but heavy. “Someone who brings death?”

Nicholas’s entire body went rigid, a low growl rising in his throat before he could stop it. “Don’t say that,” he snapped quietly, his wolf close to the surface. But Kei raised a hand, motioning him to wait. “No,” he said evenly. “I don’t.” The words hit like a cold wind. Even Jake stiffened, his tail stilling behind him. Nicholas bared his teeth, his voice a dangerous snarl. “Kei,” But Kei continued, his tone unwavering. “I don’t want someone who brings death, (Y/n). But I don’t believe that’s what you are.”

Her eyes widened slightly, confusion flickering across her face. Kei stepped closer, his calm, alpha-like presence radiating quiet assurance. “I made a call while you were unconscious. I heard the stories. I know what people say about you, that you’re cursed, that your visions bring misfortune.” She lowered her gaze, her fingers tightening around the bottle.

“But I don’t believe that,” Kei said. “I don’t think you bring death. I think death has been chasing you, clinging to you, trying to convince you it’s your fault when it’s not.” His voice softened. “You don’t scare us. You won’t be alone with this anymore.” (Y/n)’s breath trembled. She looked at him, then at Nicholas, the wolf who hadn’t moved an inch from her side. His expression had softened, but his golden eyes still burned with fierce protectiveness.

Nicholas reached out, his hand brushing against hers. “You’re not a curse,” he said, his tone low, intimate. “You’re my mate.” For the first time since waking, she let out a shaky breath that almost resembled a laugh, fragile, disbelieving. “You really think you can fight fate?”

Kei gave a small smile. “If fate wants a fight,” he said, “she’s picked the wrong pack to mess with. Besides, we’ve already had a twist or two.” The room was silent for a long moment, the tension melting into something steadier, fragile hope, maybe even acceptance. (Y/n) exhaled and nodded slowly. “Alright,” she said softly. “We’ll come with you.” Jake smiled faintly from where he stood. Nicholas looked down at her, thumb brushing over her knuckles, and for the first time since she collapsed, his chest didn’t feel so tight. Because maybe Kei was right. Maybe fate had picked the wrong pack.

Kei’s voice echoed through the mind link, calm but firm, reaching every wolf in the pack. We’re bringing Nicholas’ mate and her familiar back with us. Two rooms need to be prepared, one for each of them. Instantly, the link erupted with questions. Nicholas’ mate? Finally! Wait, her familiar? But then came Ej’s voice, steady and authoritative even in the shared space. Did something happen? Kei sighed quietly before answering. I’ll explain everything once we’re home. Just make sure the rooms are ready. There was a moment of silence, then Ej’s reply came through, calm and trusting. Alright. We’ll be ready. Drive safe.

With that, the link faded, leaving Kei to exhale and focus on the situation in front of him, and the pair currently bickering by the studio door. Nicholas stood with his arms crossed, his expression sharp with irritation. (Y/n) mirrored his stance, though the stubborn set of her jaw was slightly undermined by how pale she still looked. “I can walk,” she insisted for the fourth time, glaring up at him. “You can barely stand,” Nicholas countered, his voice low but firm. “You nearly passed out again just now.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, muttering something about “overprotective wolves.” Jake stood a few feet away, tail twitching nervously as he tried to decide if he should intervene. Kei, however, stayed quiet, watching with the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes, this was so Nicholas. “Nicholas,” (Y/n) began again, her tone laced with exasperation, “if you try to” But she didn’t get to finish. With one smooth motion, the wolf simply scooped her up, one arm under her knees, the other around her back, holding her securely against his chest.

She let out a startled yelp, gripping the fabric of his jacket. “Nicholas!” “I warned you,” he said, unfazed, already heading for the door. “You had your chance to agree.” Her cheeks flushed, whether from the warmth of his body or pure embarrassment, even she didn’t know. “You’re impossible,” she mumbled under her breath. “Glad you’re catching on,” he muttered back, lips twitching in a faint smirk.

Jake followed close behind, carrying (Y/n)’s bag. When they reached Kei’s car, he opened the back door, clearly intending to sit beside her, but the second he took a step closer, a deep, unmistakable growl rolled out from Nicholas’ chest. Jake froze mid-step, blinking. “Seriously?” Nicholas didn’t even bother answering, his golden eyes narrowing slightly, possessive and unamused. “Nicholas,” Kei said sharply, tone brooking no argument. “Enough. Jake’s not your competition.” The wolf shot his brother a look that clearly said, He’s still too close.

Kei sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Jake, front passenger seat. Yuma, you sit in the back with our overly territorial wolf.” Jake smirked as he moved around to the front. “Guess I’ll leave you two lovebirds to bond.” (Y/n) snorted softly, but Nicholas didn’t respond, though his glare did make Jake hurry a little faster. Once everyone was settled, Kei started the car. The engine hummed to life, headlights cutting through the dim light as they began the drive toward the village.

In the backseat, Nicholas adjusted his grip on (Y/n), who had relaxed slightly against him, exhaustion pulling at her again. Yuma sat quietly beside them, shooting Nico a teasing look but choosing, wisely, to stay silent. As they drove, (Y/n)’s head slowly dropped against Nicholas’ shoulder, her breathing steady. He looked down at her, his thumb brushing gently over her arm, his earlier irritation melting into quiet protectiveness.

Kei caught the look in the rearview mirror, the kind of look that said Nicholas wasn’t going to let anything hurt her. Not ever. And with that, the pack was one step closer to bringing home the witch who saw death in her dreams and the wolf who refused to let fate take her.

~~~

When the car pulled into the village, the air was already alive with quiet anticipation. The entire pack had gathered outside, the front porch lights from the main house spilling golden light across the gravel road. Shadows moved between the cabins, curious eyes, familiar faces.

Kei had barely turned off the engine when every pair of eyes locked onto the car. The first door to open was the passenger side, Jake stepped out, tail flicking once, ears twitching under the porch light. A collective gasp rippled through the group. “Whoa,” Taki blurted out, eyes wide. “He’s got ears. And a tail!” Aya elbowed him sharply. “Don’t be rude.” But it wasn’t Jake who kept their attention for long.

The second the back door opened, Nicholas stepped out his expression unreadable. In his arms, cradled close to his chest, was a girl. Her hair fell across her face, her head resting against him, completely still. The pack went silent. Even Fuma, gasped.

EJ stepped forward slowly, his alpha aura faint but steady, scanning the two new arrivals. His gaze swept over Jake, noting the canine features with faint curiosity, and then landed on Nicholas, who was holding the unconscious witch as if she were made of glass. EJ didn’t speak. He just looked over at Kei, silently demanding an explanation. The eldest wolf’s eyes met his, steady and calm, silently promising later.

Sora, who had been standing just behind EJ, slipped forward, her hand lightly gripping his arm as if to steady herself. Her eyes were fixed on the girl in Nicholas’ arms. “May I?” she asked softly. Nicholas hesitated but then gave a small nod, adjusting his hold so that Sora could reach out. The vampire extended her free hand, placing it gently against (Y/n)’s arm. Her eyes glowed faintly red for a split second, the telltale sign of her healing power activating. And then she gasped. “Sora?” EJ’s tone sharpened instantly.

Her eyes darted to him, wide with disbelief. “Her body…” She drew in a quick breath, her fingers trembling slightly. “It’s reacting like she’s actively bleeding, not on the surface, but from within. Like every nerve, every vein is screaming.” A chill swept through the wolves. Nicholas’s grip tightened protectively around (Y/n), his wolf snarling just under the surface. “What does that mean?” he demanded, voice low. “I don’t know,” Sora said truthfully, pulling her hand back slowly, her expression troubled. “It’s not something I’ve ever felt before. It’s like her life force is drained, constantly fighting itself.”

Jake stepped closer, ears flicking back. “It’s her oracle side,” he said quietly. “It takes a toll on her, sometimes worse after a vision. It’s like her magic rips itself open from the inside.” EJ’s expression softened just slightly as he looked between the three of them. The situation was strange, even by their standards. But he wasn’t going to ask questions now, not while Nicholas was clearly on edge and the girl in his arms looked barely conscious.

“We’ve got two rooms ready in the third cabin,” EJ said finally, his voice calm, authoritative.  Nicholas didn’t wait for permission. The second the words left his alpha’s mouth, he adjusted his hold on (Y/n) and started walking toward the cabin, his long strides purposeful. Sora watched him go, her hand still faintly glowing with residual energy. “She’s strong,” she murmured, “but whatever she’s carrying… it’s heavy.” Kei nodded quietly. “That’s why she’s here. We’ll figure it out.” As Nicholas disappeared into the shadows between the cabins, the pack exchanged uneasy glances, curiosity, concern, and something else, something they hadn’t felt in a while.

As Nicholas disappeared into the cabin, the screen door closing softly behind him, the rest of the pack stood in uneasy silence for a few moments. Jake lingered just outside, glancing back once before following his witch’s scent inside.

The tension broke when Miyu suddenly clapped her hands together, her expression determined. “Alright,” she said, turning toward Maki, “we’re not just going to stand here and stare. That girl’s been through hell, she needs a real meal. Come on, let’s cook something warm, something with actual substance.” Maki nodded instantly, his usual easygoing smile replaced by genuine concern. “Yeah, I’ll grab what we have left in the pantry. Maybe make some soup and rice too,  something gentle on the stomach.” Miyu smiled softly, patting his arm. “Good thinking. Let’s get started.”

As they disappeared toward the kitchen, Sana turned to Jo, her brow creased. “Do you think we should go check on Nicholas? He looked… worried. More than usual.” Jo glanced toward the direction of the cabin, his expression thoughtful but calm. “I think it’s better to give him space for now,” he said quietly. “He’s already on edge, and if she’s still unconscious, he won’t want anyone hovering around.” Sana sighed but nodded, trusting his instinct. “You’re right. Still, poor girl.”

Meanwhile, on the far side of the yard, Fuma and EJ had approached Kei, their faces serious. Even Sora stayed close, her hand brushing against EJ’s arm again, her crimson eyes still troubled from what she’d felt earlier. Kei exhaled, running a hand through his hair. He’d known this was coming. “Alright,” EJ said first, folding his arms. “You said you’d explain. Now’s the time.”

Kei nodded, his voice calm but weighted with the gravity of what he was about to share. “Her name’s (Y/n),” he began. “She’s Nicholas’s mate. And she’s not just a witch, she’s half-oracle.” Fuma’s eyes widened slightly, but it was EJ who reacted first, his jaw tightening. “An oracle,” he repeated, the word sharp. “You’re sure?” Kei nodded once. “Her familiar confirmed it, the one with the ears and tail, Jake. Said she’s half-witch, half-oracle. It’s a volatile mix. He said her visions come without warning, and when they do, they… hurt her.”

Sora frowned, arms crossing loosely over her chest. “That explains what I felt earlier,” she murmured. “It wasn’t just pain, it was her magic tearing through her own body. That kind of imbalance can destroy a person from the inside out.” Fuma looked between them, disbelief flickering in his usually steady eyes. “Oracles aren’t trusted for a reason,” he said quietly. “You all know that. They bring warnings, but never good ones. Every story ends in loss.”

EJ nodded slowly, his voice lower now. “They’re seen as omens. Witches don’t trust them. Vampires avoid them. Even other wolves…” he trailed off, glancing toward the cabin where Nicholas had gone. “They’re unpredictable. Dangerous.” Kei met their eyes, his expression calm but resolute. “I know the stories. Jay told me as much. But he also said something else, that it’s not her who brings the misfortune. It’s that misfortune seems to find her.”

Sora tilted her head slightly, her voice quiet. “Cursed by fate itself.” “Maybe,” Kei said. “But if that’s true, then we’ll just have to be stronger than whatever fate throws at us.” Fuma let out a slow sigh, his expression softening. “Nicholas won’t leave her side. You know that, right?” Kei’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Yeah. He’s already made that pretty clear.”

EJ nodded, his earlier tension easing slightly, though the concern in his eyes remained. “Then we protect her, like any one of our own. Until we know what that vision meant.” Sora reached out, brushing her fingers lightly against his hand. “I’ll keep an eye on her magic when I can,” she offered softly. “Just in case something changes.” “Thank you,” Kei said, his voice sincere.

The group fell quiet for a moment, each of them lost in thought. The sound of pots clinking came faintly from the cabin kitchen where Miyu and Maki worked, laughter breaking through the heaviness of the moment. Kei looked toward the cabin where Nicholas and (Y/n) were, his gaze steady. “We’ve dealt with curses, vampires, and monsters before,” he said finally. “A witch with a haunted gift isn’t going to scare us off.” Sora smiled faintly. “Let’s just hope fate knows that too.”

~~~

Nicholas sat in silence, his chair drawn close to the side of the bed where (Y/n) lay sleeping. The only sounds in the small cabin were her slow, steady breaths and the occasional creak of the wood as the evening wind brushed against the walls. His eyes didn’t leave her, the soft rise and fall of her chest, the faint color returning to her cheeks.

A few feet away, Jake sat cross-legged on the floor, hands resting loosely on his knees. He hadn’t said much since they arrived. The familiar could sense the tension radiating from the older wolf, not hostility, not exactly, but a deep, territorial protectiveness. Jake respected it. He wasn’t her mate, and though he’d protect (Y/n) with his life, he understood the way Nicholas’ instincts worked. So he stayed where he was, silent and patient.

For a long time, no one moved. Then a gentle knock broke the quiet. Nicholas’ head snapped toward the door, his posture instantly alert, but Jake was already standing, padding softly over to answer. The door opened to reveal Maki, balancing a tray overflowing with food. The smell of rice, soup, roasted meat, and something sweet immediately filled the room. “Hey,” Maki said with a small smile, stepping inside. “Figured you guys might be hungry.”

Nicholas’ eyes followed his every movement, his wolf bristling slightly at anyone getting too close to his sleeping mate, but his growl was low, almost restrained. Maki didn’t flinch, he knew Nicholas well enough to understand it wasn’t a threat, just instinct.

The moment the tray hit the bedside table, (Y/n)’s lashes fluttered. She stirred, her hand twitching before she blinked her eyes open. For a second, she looked disoriented, until the scent of food reached her, and her stomach betrayed her with a loud rumble. Jake laughed softly. “Guess that woke her up.” Nicholas’ entire demeanor softened, his hand twitching as if he wanted to reach out but didn’t want to startle her. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice quieter than usual. “You’re awake.”

(Y/n) rubbed her eyes, still groggy. “Barely,” she mumbled, then her gaze landed on Maki, and something flickered behind her eyes. “Eat,” Maki said kindly, his usual gentle smile still in place. “There’s plenty more in the main house if you want seconds.” “Thank you,” (Y/n) said softly, her voice carrying a strange undertone, distant, almost distracted.

Just as he was about to turn to leave, her gaze went glassy for a brief second. A vision, quick, like a flash of lightning. She saw a young boy, maybe eight or nine years old, sitting on the steps of an empty cabin. Alone. The air smelled of rain and pine, and though his eyes were downcast, he didn’t seem lost, just waiting. Then, another image followed: the same boy, now laughing as a taller, older wolf ruffled his hair. A bond, brotherly and deep, something core to who he was.

(Y/n) blinked rapidly, the image fading as quickly as it had come. Maki was still standing there, smiling kindly, unaware of what she’d seen. “Thank you,” she repeated, her voice softer now, tinged with something almost knowing. Maki nodded, still smiling. “Get some rest after you eat, okay?” He turned and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Jake sat back down on the floor, letting out a small sigh. “He seems nice,” he said. Nicholas didn’t answer right away. He was still watching (Y/n), his golden eyes gentler now. “Yeah,” he said at last. “They all are.” (Y/n) picked up a spoon, the smell of warm broth curling around her. “It smells amazing,” she murmured, glancing up at Nicholas. “Did he really cook all this just for us?” Nicholas nodded once. “He and Miyu, they’re out signature chefs,”  

As she began to eat, slow but steady, the tension in the room eased a little. Jake finally stood and grabbed one of the rolls from the tray, sitting cross-legged beside the bed, while Nicholas stayed where he was, unmoving, watchful, his wolf calmer now that she was awake, safe, and eating. For the first time since that terrifying moment in the studio, the three of them sat together in a fragile peace, the air thick with the scent of food, comfort, and something new blooming quietly between them.

Soon enough, the tray was empty, only a few smudges of sauce and half-drunk tea left behind. (Y/n) let out a quiet sigh, sitting back against the pillows, but her eyes betrayed her. They lingered on the empty plates a little too long, tracing the edge of the bowl as if she were debating whether to admit she was still hungry. Jake caught the look instantly, a small smile tugging at his lips. He knew her better than anyone, knew that despite her magic, her pride was still very human. But before he could say anything, Nicholas’ low, steady voice broke the silence.

“You’re still hungry.” It wasn’t a question. (Y/n)’s eyes snapped up to him, cheeks warming. “I, no, it’s okay, I’m fine.” Nicholas tilted his head slightly, his golden eyes narrowing just a touch. “You want more.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Do you want to go to the main house, or do you want me to bring you something?” She blinked, startled by his matter-of-fact tone, and then gave a small, shy laugh. “I can walk, you know. I’m feeling better now.” “Good.” His lips curved, not quite a smile, but something close. “Then let’s go.”

Jake trailed after them, hands stuffed into his pockets, his tail flicking behind him as he glanced around the quiet village. The air was cool and smelled faintly of pine and smoke from the kitchen. When they stepped into the main house, the shift in atmosphere was immediate. Warmth hit (Y/n) first, not just from the hearth fire burning in the corner, but from the way everyone inside seemed to radiate a kind of easy, familiar comfort.

Laughter rolled through the space, soft and genuine. The smell of cooked meat and spices hung heavy in the air. Someone, probably Sana, was humming in the kitchen, while Sora and Aya sat at the long table, their hands intertwined with their mates’. The second they saw (Y/n), the chatter dimmed, then flared right back up, this time directed at her. “Oh, she’s awake!” Miyu exclaimed, rushing over with a bright smile. “Are you feeling better? You gave us quite the scare.”

(Y/n) nodded, caught off guard by the immediate attention but warmed by it nonetheless. “I am. Thank you, the food was amazing.” “That was mostly Maki,” Fuma called from the far end of the room, flashing a small, proud grin. (Y/n) smiled softly, recognizing the warmth from earlier and the faint flicker of the boy she’d seen in her vision. As she spoke, her gaze drifted around the room, to the wolves, their easy camaraderie, the tenderness between the mates, the faint pulse of something ancient yet familial in the air. Then her eyes caught on the pale-skinned woman leaning lightly into a tall wolf’s side.

Sora. (Y/n) froze for half a heartbeat, her magical senses sparking instinctively. She could feel it, the stillness in the air around her, the cool undertone beneath her scent. “You’re… a vampire,” (Y/n) said before she could stop herself. The room fell briefly quiet, everyone’s eyes flicking between them, unsure how the witch would react. But to everyone’s surprise, (Y/n)’s lips curved into a small, awed smile. “That’s incredible,” she said softly. “I’ve never seen a vampire in a pack before.” Sora chuckled, her fingers brushing EJ’s arm. “It’s not the most traditional arrangement,” she admitted. “But we make it work.” He continued. 

(Y/n) nodded, still absorbing the sight, the gentle affection between species that, by all logic, should’ve hated one another. Yet here, it felt natural. For the first time in a long while, she felt something inside her loosen, that constant quiet dread that her presence would bring nothing but misfortune. Here, surrounded by wolves, a vampire, and warmth that felt like home, she allowed herself to breathe.

Nicholas stayed close beside her, his hand brushing the small of her back as if grounding her. She glanced up at him, and for once, he wasn’t the intimidating, brooding wolf she’d first met. He looked… calm. Safe. Home.

Nicholas leaned down slightly, his voice low, the kind of rumble that vibrated more in his chest than in the air. “Go on,” he said, tilting his head toward the kitchen. “You’ll find Maki in there. He’s the one who made the food.” (Y/n) looked up at him, hesitant for a moment. The air between them still buzzed with something unspoken, something electric. She didn’t want to step away from him, not yet, but she gave a small nod anyway. “Alright,” she said softly.

As she started toward the kitchen, Jake made a move to follow her, his tail flicking once in reflex. He didn’t even make it two steps before a low growl rolled through the room. Nicholas’ hand shot out, grabbing the collar of Jake’s shirt, yanking him backward with effortless strength. Jake froze mid-step, arms slightly raised in surrender, his tail drooping. “Really, man?” he muttered, half a whine in his tone.

The room went dead silent for half a beat, until Sana stepped out of the kitchen, holding a plate of fruit. The sight that greeted her was so unexpected she nearly dropped it. Nicholas, towering as always, had poor Jake caught like a misbehaving puppy, his fingers fisted in the fabric of the familiar’s collar. She blinked once… and then burst out laughing. “Oh my god, Nico!” she gasped between laughs, trying to steady the plate in her hands. “You look like you’re scolding a child who stole your food!”

That broke whatever composure anyone else had left. The pack erupted into laughter, Yuma leaned against the counter to keep from falling, Sora hid her grin behind EJ’s arm, and even Fuma’s usually serious face cracked into a rare smirk. Jake looked completely betrayed. “I didn’t even do anything!” Sana walked over, still laughing, trying to pry Nicholas’ hand off Jake’s collar. “Come on, wolf boy, let the poor dog go. He’s just being protective.”

Nicholas’ only response was a low, grumbling noise, halfway between annoyance and territorial instinct. He still hadn’t moved, though his grip loosened slightly. “Nich-o-las.” The way Sana said his name had that older-sister lilt to it, firm but teasing. Finally, two sets of heavier footsteps approached. Kei and Fuma, both wearing identical looks of amused exasperation, stopped in front of Nicholas. “Let him go,” Fuma said simply, arms crossed. Kei’s tone was less serious but just as commanding. “Now.” Nicholas met both their gazes, sighed deeply, and finally released Jake’s shirt, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “shouldn’t have tried to follow her anyway.”

Jake straightened his clothes, glaring at the wolf before glancing toward Sana for moral support. “See? This is why I prefer witches. They don’t grab you like you’re a chew toy.” That sent another round of laughter through the room. Sana smiled sweetly at Nicholas, patting his arm as she passed. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re jealous, Nico,” she teased. Nicholas growled softly but didn’t argue, his eyes flicking briefly toward the kitchen where (Y/n) had disappeared. Fuma sighed, shaking his head with a faint smirk. “We’re going to have our hands full with this one,” he muttered. Kei chuckled lowly, clapping a hand on Nicholas’ shoulder. “You think?”

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, (Y/n) stepped quietly through the doorway, following the sound of soft clattering and humming. She found two wolves inside, one familiar, Maki, the one who’d brought food to the cabin, and another she hadn’t met yet. The unfamiliar one turned at the sound of her footsteps, his expression lighting up instantly. “Oh, hi!” he said with the kind of cheerful warmth that filled a room. “You must be (Y/n)! I’m Taki.”

He had his hands halfway submerged in a sink full of soap and bubbles, sleeves rolled up, the faint scent of lemon and something distinctly wolfish clinging to him. Maki glanced up from where he was covering a tray of leftovers. “Hey, you’re up,” he said, his usual calm tone paired with a smile that reached his eyes. “Feeling better?” “A lot better, thanks to you,” (Y/n) replied softly.

The youngest wolf’s tail (if it had been visible) would have wagged with excitement. “That’s good! Do you want more food? There’s still plenty left, Miyu and I cooked enough to feed a small army.” (Y/n) couldn’t help but smile at his energy. “I’d love some,” she said, Taki and Maki both grinned wide, Maki grabbing a clean plate and handing it to her with the kind of enthusiasm only the youngest sibling type could muster. “Dig in! We’re all about making sure everyone eats too much around here,” he said proudly.

She thanked him and took a seat at the counter, serving herself a bit of stew and rice. Taki leaned his elbows on the counter beside her, curious eyes watching. “So,” he began, “how do you like the town so far? It’s small, but it grows on you, I’d say.” “It’s beautiful,” (Y/n) admitted between bites. “Cozy. It feels like… home, in a strange way.” Maki looked up from the counter, giving her a faint nod of agreement. “That’s what most of us thought when we first came here,” he said quietly. Taki smirked, nudging her playfully with his elbow. “And how’s Nico? He’s not driving you crazy already, right? Because, trust me, he’s usually worse when he’s not trying to impress someone.”

(Y/n) laughed, a genuine, warm sound that filled the kitchen. “No, he’s… actually been really sweet. Overprotective, maybe, but sweet.” Maki chuckled under his breath. “That sounds like him.” The witch couldn’t help but feel her chest warm at how natural it all felt, the laughter, the teasing, the lack of judgment in their voices. Not even a flicker of hesitation in their gazes.

It was strange and comforting all at once. For most of her life, people had treated her visions and her oracle side like a curse, something to fear. But these two, no, all these wolves, they just treated her like her. Like someone they’d known forever. Only Jake had ever made her feel that way before. She glanced between them as the conversation continued, her heart swelling with something she hadn’t felt in a long time, belonging.

(Y/n) stayed in the kitchen with the two youngest wolves for a while, the scent of herbs and warmth still lingering in the air. As she ate, she mostly listened, smiling as the two boys bounced off each other with the easy rhythm of brothers.

Taki had taken to pacing back and forth, waving his hands dramatically as he ranted about his university workload. “I swear, my professor is out to get me. Like, who assigns a twenty-page essay and expects us to show up to class with a full presentation the same week? It’s criminal!” Maki laughed quietly, shaking his head while stacking some bowls. “Maybe if you stopped procrastinating until the night before, it wouldn’t feel that bad.” Taki gasped, clutching his chest like he’d been struck. “Et tu, Maki?”

(Y/n) hid her laugh behind her hand, her shoulders shaking a little. It was comforting, the normalcy, the humor, the domestic feel of the whole scene. Maki then began talking about his work, his voice lifting with pride. “Last night was wild. I think almost everyone ordered my new dish. Miyu said a couple even asked if it was going to be a permanent item on the menu.” “That’s amazing,” (Y/n) said sincerely. “You must be really proud.” “I am,” Maki admitted, scratching the back of his neck, a shy grin spreading on his face. “It’s kind of weird, actually… seeing people enjoy something I made.” “You deserve it,” she said simply. And she meant it.

Before either of the wolves could respond, the kitchen door opened, letting in a faint chill and the softest trace of a familiar, cold scent. An elegant woman stepped in, her presence both serene and commanding, (Y/n) recognized her. The vampire. She crossed the kitchen gracefully, offering (Y/n) a warm smile that softened her sharp features. she spoke in a gentle tone that carried quiet strength. “I’m Sora. It’s really nice to finally meet you.” (Y/n) blinked, momentarily taken aback by the calm kindness in her eyes, not the kind of look she’d ever expected to receive from a vampire. “It’s nice to meet you too,” she said, her voice soft.

Sora stepped a little closer, her smile turning reassuring. “I know it’s probably overwhelming, all of this. Being here, being surrounded by wolves, all the new faces…” She paused, her gaze flicking briefly toward Maki and Taki, who both nodded in encouragement. “But I want you to know, this pack does everything it can to make you feel like you belong. I’m proof of that.” (Y/n) tilted her head slightly, her curiosity piqued. “You mean…?”

Sora chuckled softly. “I wasn’t exactly welcomed with open arms when I first came here. I was an outsider, a vampire living among wolves. But they didn’t just accept me; they made me part of their family.” Her expression softened even further. “You’ll see. This place has a way of healing people who never thought they’d find home.” The warmth in her words settled deep into (Y/n)’s chest, quieting that ever-present hum of unease inside her. For once, maybe, fate wasn’t cruel. She smiled faintly, nodding. “Thank you, Sora. That… actually means more than you think.”

Once (Y/n) finished the last bite on her plate, Taki was quick to snatch it from her hands, grinning. “I got it! You’re a guest,” he said, already turning toward the sink. “But I can…” she started, half rising from her seat. “Nope!” Maki cut in with a laugh, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Trust me, if you don’t walk back out there right now, Nicholas is going to lose it. Fuma’s practically wrestling him to keep him from storming in here.”

(Y/n) blinked, then let out a quiet, amused chuckle. “He’s that impatient?” Taki snorted. “He’s a wolf in love. Patience doesn’t exist.” That made her cheeks warm, and she shook her head, murmuring a soft “thank you” before turning toward the door. Sora fell into step beside her, the vampire’s cool presence balancing the lingering heat of the kitchen.

The moment they stepped back into the main room, the noise softened, laughter, the hum of conversation, the crackle from the fireplace. The home smelled of cedar and warmth, of family. Sora gave her a little nudge, smiling knowingly. “Go on,” she whispered. Then the vampire crossed the room toward Euijoo, who immediately wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close with a tenderness that made the scene almost glow. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, murmuring something only she could hear, and Sora’s soft laugh filled the air.

(Y/n) couldn’t help but smile, that kind of love, that quiet devotion, it was beautiful. And then her eyes drifted. Nicholas was standing by the entryway, his arms crossed, his expression caught somewhere between irritation and relief. Fuma was beside him, looking more than ready to let go of the metaphorical leash.

When Nicholas’ gaze found hers, everything else seemed to fall away. His sharp posture eased instantly, shoulders relaxing as that familiar warmth bled into his eyes. That same look, the one she had seen in Euijoo’s, the one filled with fierce affection and something deeper, rawer, and far older than words.

Her heartbeat quickened, but it wasn’t fear. It was the strange, inevitable pull of fate, two souls drawn toward each other, caught in that silent recognition of mine. Nicholas didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His gaze said it all. And for the first time since her vision, (Y/n) felt something new settle into her chest. Not dread, not uncertainty, but safety.

Nicholas could barely contain the restless energy in his chest. Every instinct screamed for him to pull her into his arms, to hold her against him and breathe her in, reassure himself she was real, safe, his. But he fought it back, muscles tense beneath his skin. He didn’t want to scare her, not when everything that had happened today was already so much.

When she stepped closer, her eyes soft, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at her lips, Nicholas thought his heart might actually stop. And then, she reached for him. Her fingers brushed his, then intertwined, warm and small in his calloused hand. The world narrowed down to that single point of contact. He followed her wordlessly as she led him out of the main house, his chest tight with quiet joy. She was holding his hand. Her heartbeat was calm, trusting, and every step she took beside him soothed something deep inside his wolf.

She called over her shoulder, “Come on, Jake!” Nicholas’ jaw clenched. He almost groaned aloud. Of course the mutt was coming. His grip on her hand tightened slightly before he caught himself, forcing a deep breath through his nose. She’s holding your hand, idiot. Don’t ruin it.

When they reached the cabin, the soft light spilling through the windows felt almost too intimate. (Y/n) immediately moved toward the bed, sitting down with an ease that told him she was finally regaining her strength. She patted the space at the other end, looking up at him expectantly. “Sit,” she said simply. Nicholas hesitated for half a second, his heart tripping over itself at the casual command. Then he obeyed, lowering himself onto the edge of the bed, careful to keep a respectful distance, even though every cell in his body screamed to close it.

Jake, ever the convenient nuisance, poked his head in from the doorway. “I’m gonna crash in the other room, yeah? Don’t burn the place down,” he teased lightly before disappearing, his tail flicking once behind him. The click of the door shutting was the sweetest sound Nicholas had ever heard. Finally, finally, they were alone. He turned his head, studying her in the quiet. Her eyes were half-lidded with exhaustion but still shone with that strange, unbreakable spark. He wanted to reach out, to trace his thumb along her jaw, to memorize every inch of the woman fate had given him. Instead, he just smiled, small, almost shy, and murmured, “You should rest. I’ll stay right here.” Because for the first time in his life, Nicholas didn’t need to be anywhere else.

(Y/n) shook her head, saying that first she needed to tell him about her vision. She wasn’t entirely sure of what she had seen, she just knew there was blood, so much of it, and a body lying unconscious on the floor. It might have been Nicholas, but she wasn’t too sure of it. Nicholas listened carefully, every word she spoke tightening something in his chest. Once she seemed finished, he asked quietly if she knew what it meant.

She shook her head again, running a hand through her hair. “Blood sometimes means addition,” she explained softly, her voice trembling. “Like something new is coming, something that changes the path of fate. Other times it means literal blood, that someone will be seriously hurt, or even die.” She looked down, her shoulders sinking slightly. “The visions have been intense, but I can’t exactly say I know if this one was good or bad.”

Nicholas leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, his golden eyes fixed on her. “You saw blood,” he repeated quietly. “And a body. Maybe me?” (Y/n) hesitated, biting her lip. “I, I’m not sure. It felt like you, but sometimes visions blur things. I can’t always tell what’s real and what’s symbolic.” Nicholas nodded slowly, though his jaw tightened. “And you don’t know if it means something bad?”

She shook her head again. “Blood isn’t always death,” she murmured. “Sometimes it means change. Or a new bond. Sometimes it’s just pain, not an ending, but a beginning. But I don’t know. It felt… heavy. It felt real.” The silence that followed was thick, the kind that pressed on their lungs. Then Nicholas spoke, his voice low but steady. “Then we’ll figure it out,” he said, tone firm and unwavering. “I don’t care what it means, good or bad. We’ll deal with it together.”

(Y/n) looked up at him, surprised by the conviction in his words. “Together?” she asked, almost whispering. He nodded once, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You think I’m gonna let some vision scare me away? Not a chance.” He reached out, hesitating for a moment before taking her hand in his. His palm was warm, steady, and something about the touch grounded her. “You’re my mate,” he said simply. “Whatever’s coming, I’m not going anywhere.”

Her eyes softened, but the worry didn’t vanish entirely. “I just… don’t want you to get hurt, Nicholas. If it’s you I saw…” He gave a small, quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I’ve had worse than a little blood. But if fate wants to take a swing at me, it’s gonna have to go through both of us first.” Something inside her eased at that, not because the fear was gone, but because she suddenly knew she didn’t have to carry it alone.

(Y/n) looked down, her fingers twisting in the hem of her shirt as she bit her lip softly. She suddenly realized something she hadn’t thought of before, she didn’t have any other clothes. Not even pajamas. She and Jake hadn’t exactly planned on staying in the village, so she’d only packed what she needed for work.

Her eyes flicked up to Nicholas, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Um… I just realized,” she started, her voice small, “I don’t actually have anything else to wear. Do you think maybe one of the girls would let me borrow something?” Nicholas blinked, and then a small, knowing smile spread across his lips as understanding dawned on him. “They probably would,” he said, leaning back a little, that familiar teasing glint sparking in his golden eyes. “Or…” He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk. “You could borrow something of mine.”

(Y/n) let out a soft, scandalized laugh, reaching out to lightly smack his hand as he pretended to stretch it toward her. “Behave,” she said, trying to sound stern but failing to hide the smile tugging at her lips. “But… maybe a warm shirt wouldn’t hurt.” Nicholas chuckled quietly, the sound low and rich. “A warm shirt, huh? I think I can manage that.” He stood, straightening his hoodie before walking toward the door. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” (Y/n) watched him leave, shaking her head fondly. She didn’t know why, but her heart was racing faster than it should have.

Once Nicholas reached the main house, he pushed open the door, instantly met by the comforting hum of chatter and laughter from the pack inside. Aya, Sora, and Sana were sitting on the couch, chatting about something, while Kei, Jo and EJ were talking quietly near the stairs. The second the girls saw him, all three pairs of eyes turned his way, Aya the first to speak, her tone curious. “You look like a man on a mission, Nico. What’s up?”

Nicholas rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, (Y/n) didn’t pack clothes. She didn’t think she’d be staying here, so… I came to grab her something to wear. I was gonna lend her one of my hoodies, but she probably needs, uh, pants too.” The way the girls looked at each other made him instantly regret his wording. Sora and Sana both tried to suppress smiles, while Aya snorted into her sleeve. “Oh, so she’s already borrowing your clothes?” Sora teased, her tone sing-song and mischievous. Nicholas gave her a deadpan look. “She needs something to sleep in,” he muttered.

Aya laughed softly, getting up from her spot and walking over to him. “Relax, lover boy. I’ve got a pair of sweatpants that might fit her.” She disappeared into one of the side rooms, returning a minute later with a pair of soft grey pants in hand. “They’re loose and comfy, should work, might be a bit too long though.” Nicholas nodded, grateful. “Thanks, Aya. Appreciate it.” She handed him the pants with a smile. “Tell her she’s welcome to raid our closet anytime she wants. It’s nice having another girl around.”

Nicholas smiled faintly, taking the sweatpants and heading upstairs to grab one of his hoodies, black with a faint wolf emblem stitched on the sleeve. He gave it a quick sniff to make sure it was clean before hurrying back toward the cabin. Aya called out after him, laughing. “Good luck, lover boy!”

Nicholas didn’t even turn around, though his ears were burning red. He muttered something under his breath about meddling packmates as he jogged back through the cool night air, clutching the hoodie and sweatpants like they were precious cargo.

When he stepped back into the cabin, (Y/n) looked up from where she sat on the bed, a small smile spreading across her face. “That was fast,” she teased. Nicholas held up the clothes proudly. “Told you I’d find something.” She accepted them with a warm smile. “Thank you, Nicholas.” “Anytime,” he said softly, watching her with a look that was equal parts fondness and awe. He didn’t say it, but in that moment, he’d have brought her the entire wardrobe of the pack if it meant seeing that smile again.

(Y/n) walked over to the small bathroom connected to the room, closing the door behind her. She took a moment to breathe, her hands brushing over the fabric of the clothes Nicholas had brought her. Aya’s sweatpants were soft and a bit too long, pooling slightly at her ankles, but that didn’t matter, they were warm, and they smelled faintly like lavender detergent.

The hoodie, though, was something else entirely. It was thick, cozy, and smelled like Nicholas, earthy, smoky, and musky, like pine forests after rain. The scent surrounded her the moment she slipped it on, wrapping her in a strange sense of safety and comfort. She wasn’t sure if it was the hoodie itself or the thought of it being his that made her heart feel so full.

She pulled her hair free from the hood and turned to glance at herself in the small mirror above the sink. The sight made her smile softly. She looked so small in his clothes, the sleeves covering her hands entirely. When she walked back out, Nicholas was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze instantly finding her the second the door opened. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

His hoodie hung loosely on her frame, the sleeves too long, the hem reaching mid-thigh, and the faint scent of his own wolf coming off of her made something primal inside him stir. His wolf practically purred, proud and content. Ours, it whispered in the back of his mind. A slow grin spread across his lips, softer than most people ever saw from him. “You look…” he paused, stepping closer until he was just a few inches away, eyes gleaming playfully, “…way too cute for this world.”

(Y/n) laughed, rolling her eyes just as he reached out and tugged the hood up over her head, the movement light and teasing. The hood almost fell over her eyes, making her look even smaller, and Nicholas couldn’t help but chuckle. “See?” he teased, gently adjusting the hood so she could peek out again. “Too cute.” (Y/n) pushed at his chest lightly, trying to hide her blush but failing miserably. “You’re impossible, you know that?” “Yeah,” Nicholas admitted with a small smirk, his voice low, “but you like me anyway.” She gave him a mock glare, but the corners of her lips twitched upward, betraying her amusement. “Maybe just a little.”

Nicholas’ grin softened into something more genuine, more tender. He looked down at her for a long moment, committing the sight to memory, her in his hoodie, her laughter still hanging softly in the air, the warmth of the dimly lit cabin wrapping around them both. His wolf settled peacefully in his chest, for the first time in years feeling entirely at ease.

“Get some rest,” he murmured, stepping back slightly, his tone still playful but gentler now. “You’ve had a long couple of days.” (Y/n) nodded, pulling the hood down again just to tease him, and climbed into bed. Nicholas sat down beside her, leaning back against the headboard, watching as her eyes grew heavier by the minute.

When she finally drifted off to sleep, the faintest smile still curved her lips, his scent surrounding her completely. Nicholas stayed awake a little longer, quietly keeping watch, his wolf satisfied and proud, his mate, here, safe, and wrapped in his scent.

~~~

The next day dawned quietly over the village, sunlight slipping through the trees and casting soft golden lines across the forest floor. Life in the packhouse returned to its usual rhythm, laughter spilling through the open windows, the smell of breakfast drifting from the kitchen, and the low hum of voices filling the air.

(Y/n) was feeling much better. Whatever exhaustion or unease had clung to her the day before was gone, replaced by her usual confidence, and mischief. She was back to teasing Nicholas, which didn’t go unnoticed by anyone. As she stood by the counter, helping Aya and Miyu dry the breakfast dishes, Nicholas walked past, pretending not to notice her. That only made (Y/n) grin wider. She called after him, her voice playful and sweet.

“Hey, wolf boy! Forget to say good morning?” Nicholas turned, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “I didn’t forget,” he said smoothly, “just waiting for you to say it first.” (Y/n) gasped dramatically, hand over her heart. “Excuse me? Pretty sure I deserve a ‘good morning’ after I kept you from snoring through the night.”

That earned a few laughs from around the room. Jo choked on his drink, trying to hide it, while Kei and Yuma exchanged amused looks. Even Sora and Miyu giggled quietly to each other. “Snoring?” Nicholas raised an eyebrow. “I don’t snore.” “Sure you don’t,” (Y/n) teased, her grin widening. “Do too,” Harua muttered under his breath as he walked past, earning himself a pointed glare from Nicholas and more laughter from everyone else.

The teasing, the smiles, it was good. It meant (Y/n) was settling in, and Nicholas could feel his chest loosen just a bit seeing her laughing again. Kei and Yuma exchanged a glance, a silent understanding between them. If she was joking like this, she must really be feeling better.

But beneath the easy rhythm of breakfast chatter, Nicholas felt something else, something quieter. A faint tension that pulled at the edges of his mind. It wasn’t from (Y/n) this time. When the group began getting ready to leave for the studio, Nicholas caught sight of Taki sitting on the porch steps, staring off toward the woods. His shoulders were tense, his usual bright energy dulled.

Nicholas hesitated a moment, then walked over, leaning against the porch railing beside him. “You okay, kid?” Taki looked up, startled, and quickly smiled, too quickly. “Yeah, of course. Just tired, that’s all.” Nicholas studied him, crossing his arms. “You sure?” Taki nodded, eyes darting away. “Yeah, really. I’m fine.” Nicholas didn’t buy it for a second. He could sense it, the younger wolf’s energy felt off, clouded by something heavy. But he also knew pushing wouldn’t get him anywhere. He sighed softly, standing straight. “Alright,” he said, though his tone made it clear he didn’t believe him. “But if something’s wrong, you come to me. Got it?” Taki nodded again, trying to smile. “Got it.”

As Nicholas turned back toward the car, he spotted Jo and Sana talking quietly near the side of the house. An idea sparked. He walked over to them, lowering his voice. “Hey,” he said, glancing briefly back toward where Taki sat, “can you two try to spend some time with him at uni? He’s been off lately, and I don’t like it, something’s wrong.” Jo frowned slightly, nodding. “We don’t have any classes together, so it’s hard to run into him, but…” He looked toward Sana, who instantly understood.

“I can try,” she said softly. “We have the same campus area, I’ll check in on him whenever I can.” Nicholas gave her a grateful nod. “Thanks. That’s all I’m asking.” He wasn’t sure what was wrong with Taki, but his instincts told him it was something bigger than the boy was letting on. Still, there wasn’t time to press further, not today.

As Nicholas, Kei, Yuma, Jake and (Y/n) packed into the car for another day at the studio, (Y/n) leaned her head against the window, humming softly to herself. Nicholas glanced at her reflection in the glass, calm, beautiful, and so very unaware of the storm quietly building beneath the surface of their peaceful lives.

~~~

Once again, (Y/n) was working on perfecting another makeup look on Nicholas, or at least trying to. It was hard to focus when the wolf sitting in front of her seemed determined to test her patience and her self-control. Nicholas leaned forward just slightly, the glint of mischief in his golden eyes unmistakable. “You’ve been staring at my face for a while now,” he said, voice low and teasing. “You sure it’s just for makeup purposes?”

(Y/n) tried not to smile, failing miserably as she dipped the brush back into the powder. “You’re lucky I need you for this project,” she said evenly, though the faintest amusement played in her tone. “Lucky,” he echoed, leaning in closer still. “I’d say you’re the lucky one, my witch.” (Y/n) raised an eyebrow, pretending to focus on his eyeliner. “Oh? And why’s that?” Nicholas’ smirk widened. “Because you get to stare at me all day.” (Y/n) rolled her eyes, but her cheeks warmed. “You’re insufferable.” “I’m honest.”

She tried to continue working, but the air between them had shifted, charged, playful, a little dangerous. Nicholas’ gaze dropped to her lips, his wolf howling quietly in his chest. He leaned in, slow enough for her to stop him, yet bold enough to make her heart skip a beat. He licked his lips, his breath brushing her skin. For a moment, the world felt suspended, her hand stilling, their faces barely inches apart. Then, just as their lips were about to touch, (Y/n) brought her hand up, her palm resting against his cheek. Her fingers were soft, her touch feather-light.

Nicholas’ heart thundered in his chest, until she shifted her grip, thumb and forefinger pressing against his chin, and she gently but firmly pulled him back. “Sorry, wolf boy,” she said, smirking up at him, her voice a smooth mix of tease and command. “It’s not gonna be that easy.” Before he could react, she patted his cheek, almost mockingly sweet, and turned on her heel, walking away with her head held high. Nicholas blinked, his wolf somewhere between impressed and infuriated. He ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

A while later, Nicholas’ smirk had faded, replaced by the sharp edge of possessiveness that came so naturally to him. Across the room, Jake was laughing about something with (Y/n), and even though Nicholas knew there was nothing romantic about it, he couldn’t stop the growl building in his chest.

When (Y/n) stepped out of the room for a moment to grab something, Nicholas seized his chance. He moved fast, cornering Jake near one of the tall studio shelves. The wolf’s shadow loomed large, his sharp gaze cutting through the air like a blade.

Jake froze, his tail nearly bristling in instinctive defense, though he tried to keep his composure. Nicholas leaned in close, his scent heavy with warning, his voice low and gravelly. “Leave us alone for a while, yeah?” he said, the deep rumble of his growl vibrating in his chest. Jake swallowed hard, his golden retriever instincts screaming do not challenge the predator. “I wasn’t”

“Don’t you dare try anything,” Nicholas interrupted, voice low, dangerous. His eyes glowed faintly, the gold of his wolf seeping through. “She belongs to me.” The words had barely left his mouth when a familiar voice cut through the tension, smooth, confident, laced with amusement. “Oh, wolfie,” (Y/n) said, walking back into the room, one eyebrow raised. “Don’t you know it’s the other way around?”

Nicholas turned, startled, his wolf instantly calming at the sound of her voice. (Y/n) closed the distance between them, her steps slow and deliberate. When she reached him, she reached up and grabbed his tie, her fingers curling around the fabric as she tugged him down until their faces were only inches apart. “You belong to me,” she said softly, her smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

For a moment, Nicholas forgot how to breathe. The possessiveness that had burned through him moments ago melted into something entirely different, submission, devotion, the raw instinct to please his mate. He stared into her eyes, and for once, the usually confident wolf found himself completely disarmed. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice low, rough, his lips barely moving. “Guess I do.”

(Y/n) let go of his tie with a satisfied smile and brushed past him, leaving the wolf standing there, heart pounding and wolf purring deep inside his chest. Jake, now safely out of Nicholas’ reach, chuckled quietly. “Looks like she’s got you wrapped around her finger.” Nicholas shot him a glare, but even he couldn’t deny the truth of it. She did. Completely.

~~~

Later that afternoon, she felt a strange sense of déjà vu, standing once again in front of Nicholas, brush in hand, trying to fix the same spot she’d fixed yesterday. “This feels familiar,” she said dryly, brushing another layer of pigment across his lips.  “Can you keep that damn tongue in your mouth? You’re ruining your makeup,” (Y/n) scolded, narrowing her eyes as she once again leaned in to fix the smudge Nicholas had caused.

The wolf sat there, completely unbothered, his smirk betraying exactly how much he was not taking her seriously. She dabbed the small brush against his lower lip with precision, trying not to get distracted by how close they were, or how his golden eyes seemed to glow every time she leaned in. “You know,” Nicholas said casually, voice low and smooth, “you say that like it’s a bad thing.” “Because it is,” she muttered, wiping the corner of his lip with a cotton pad, pretending not to notice how he was watching her mouth more than her eyes. “Hold still.”

He did, for about ten seconds. Then he licked his lips again. (Y/n) froze mid-motion, exhaling through her nose in pure frustration. “You did not just,” Nicholas tilted his head, looking up at her with that same teasing glint in his eyes. “If I do keep my tongue in my mouth,” he said, completely shameless, “you won’t pay any attention to me, and I like your attention.” Before she could respond, he moved, fast, fluid, wolf-like. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer until her balance tipped, and she ended up half in his lap.

Her breath hitched, eyes widening as he leaned forward slightly, his mouth close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek. “See?” he whispered, his tone softer now, coaxing. “Back where you belong, in my arms.” The words were barely audible, a rumble that carried straight from his chest to hers. (Y/n) blinked, her heart stuttering for just a moment before she caught herself. Her lips pressed into a firm line, eyes narrowing. “Quit playing around, Nicholas,” she said, pushing herself off his lap and straightening her clothes. “This is serious.”

He looked up at her, his playful expression faltering for a brief second, replaced by something uncertain, but before he could say anything, she had already turned on her heel and walked away. (Y/n) found Yuma on the other side of the room, bent over his sketches. She stopped beside him, still slightly flustered, brushing imaginary dust off her sleeve. “Is your brother always this damn…” she started, struggling to find the right word.

Yuma looked up, one eyebrow raised, his lips twitching into a grin. “Annoying? Infuriating? Flirtatious?” She sighed. “Yes. All of it.” Yuma laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Don’t worry, you get used to it. Eventually.” (Y/n) groaned, muttering under her breath, “I doubt that.”

From across the room, Nicholas watched them, his wolf torn between smug pride and the faint sting of her retreat. He wasn’t used to someone walking away from him, especially not someone who made his heart race the way she did. But as she laughed at something Yuma said, the corners of her mouth lifting, Nicholas’ smirk returned. Challenge accepted.

(Y/n) walked over to Jake after her talk with Yuma, ruffling the dog’s hair and scratching gently behind his ears as she smiled. The familiar wagged his tail, leaning into the affection, his golden retriever energy impossible to ignore.

Nicholas watched from where he sat, his jaw tightening slightly. The easy warmth in her touch toward Jake, that soft fondness, it made something ache inside him. He wasn’t jealous of the bond itself, but he couldn’t help wondering if he was too harsh around the edges for her. Should he smile more? Be gentler? Less teasing, maybe? Then again… no. Fate didn’t pair people who were supposed to pretend. Fate brought together opposites for balance, not imitation.

(Y/n) came back over, interrupting his thoughts as she placed a hand beneath his chin and tilted his face toward hers. “Finally,” she said with a teasing smile, “the lipstick’s dry. Now then, let’s keep going with your eyes. Think you can behave for that?” Her tone was playful, challenging. And Nicholas never turned down a challenge. He moved faster than she expected, standing and stepping closer, close enough that the air between them shifted. His hand landed on the wall beside her head, his other hand lightly resting on her waist. His breath brushed her skin, warm and steady.

“Am I not behaving now?” he murmured, his voice low, almost a growl. His golden eyes glowed faintly as they met hers. “You really think you can tease a wolf and get away with it, witch?” (Y/n)’s heart skipped, but she didn’t back down. “Maybe I like testing limits,” she replied softly, though her pulse betrayed her calm tone. Nicholas leaned in just slightly closer, close enough for her to feel the heat of his skin. “Careful,” he whispered, “you might find out what happens when you push too far.” For a moment, the world seemed to still. The air around them was charged, their breathing shallow, both caught between instinct and restraint.

Then (Y/n) pressed a hand against his chest, steady but not forceful. “You should sit down, wolf boy,” she said, her voice softer now, though the edge of amusement never left it. “Or I might start to think you actually enjoy this.” He stepped back, letting her go, but the smirk stayed on his lips. “Maybe I do.”

“You know, your lips look a bit dry, allow me to help you with that,” Nicho said before diving in. (Y/n) gasped as his lips landed on hers. She had been working on his makeup all morning, yet she never thought his lips would be so soft. She couldn’t help but reciprocate the kiss as his lips worked on hers. He was like a starving man finally getting some food. He wouldn’t stop, and neither would she. Her hands tangled in his hair, his slightly long, recently bleached hair. 

His arms were wrapped tight and secure around her, his body warm and toned. Neither one could have enough. They were insatiable as they kissed. Once she finally pushed him away, just slightly, she was out of breath. Nicholas wiped away some lipstick from the corner of her mouth, a cocky smirk on his lips, yet his eyes were shining like never before. “There, now I’ll behave, darling,” “Nicholas, you-,” her words got stuck in her throat, no malicious or annoyed words would escape as she still only thought of how his lips felt against hers. Nicholas sat down once again, leaving (Y/n) leaning against the wall. She knew he could hear how fast her heart was beating, she knew he was enjoying it too, but she didn’t mind, not right now. 

~~~

The sun was high above the university campus, casting long shadows across the courtyard as students hurried between classes or lounged on the grass. It was lunchtime, the air buzzing with chatter and laughter. Sana walked through the crowd, her bag slung over her shoulder, searching for a familiar face. She wasn’t particularly close with Taki, not like Jo was, but now, she’d made it her mission to look out for him. She and Jo had talked about him after Nicholas had mentioned worrying about the younger wolf.

Sana had asked her mate if he understood what Nicholas meant, and Jo had sighed softly, the protective edge of his voice barely contained. “Out of all of us, Taki’s had it the hardest,” he’d explained. “His wolf’s… different. He can’t shift like the rest of us, something is blocking him. He struggles to control it the wolf in other ways as well, and people can tell he’s not like them. They notice things, his eyes, his reactions, and they don’t understand. I think he’s been getting picked on again.”

The words stuck with her. So now, during her free period, she searched the crowded courtyard, determined to find him. It didn’t take long. At the far end of the open quad, near one of the old stone walls, she spotted a group of guys walking away, laughter trailing behind them. Something in the sound made her stomach twist. When the group moved, she saw him, Taki, on the ground. His bag was tossed a few feet away, his lunch scattered across the pavement.

Her heart lurched. “Taki!” she called, rushing over. The boys turned briefly before walking off faster, pretending not to hear. She dropped to her knees beside him. His lip was split, and a bruise was already forming along his jaw. Worse, his hands, he was clutching them close to his chest, trembling. She caught a glimpse of sharp claws glinting under the sunlight before he tucked them away, ashamed.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Sana said softly, her voice steady even though she felt like screaming. “It’s just me.” Taki looked up, forcing a weak smile. “Sana… hey. I’m fine, really. They were just, uh, joking around.” “Joking around?” she repeated, frowning. “Taki, jokes don’t make people bleed.” She reached up, brushing his hair back gently so she could see the bruise better. He flinched a little but didn’t pull away.

He looked embarrassed, more than hurt. “I didn’t mean to let it happen,” he muttered. “They just… said some things, and I felt my wolf pushing forward. I tried to hold it in, I really did, but they could tell something was off. And then they started pushing, calling me names, and I…” He stopped himself, voice cracking.

Sana’s chest tightened. “They don’t know what I am,” he continued quietly, “but they know. You know? I can see it in their eyes. They can tell I’m not normal. And when I can’t hide it, when my claws come out or my eyes change, they look at me like I’m… a monster.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. The sound of students laughing and talking nearby felt far away, like it belonged to another world entirely.

Sana reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch gentle but firm. “You’re not a monster, Taki,” she said. “You’re one of the kindest people here. If they can’t see that, that’s their problem, not yours.” He blinked up at her, his eyes glassy. Then, unexpectedly, a small, shaky laugh escaped him. “You sound like Nicholas,” he said quietly. “He says the same thing.” Sana smiled softly. “Guess you’ve got a whole pack who believes in you, huh?” That earned a real smile from him, tired but genuine.

“Come on,” she said, standing up and offering him her hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up before we go home, if they see you like this? I think we’ll have a whole pack coming here to fight, and I don’t want to be responsible for that chaos.” Taki chuckled, the sound still weak but warmer now. He hesitated, then took her hand. As she helped him stand, she could feel him trembling, his wolf was restless, still close to the surface. But she squeezed his hand, grounding him, letting him know he wasn’t alone.

Together, they walked toward the nearest bathroom building, leaving the chaos of the courtyard behind them. The walk was quiet, the tension fading slowly with every step. When they reached the bathroom, Sana handed him a wet paper towel, letting him clean his face while she stood by the door, keeping an eye out. “You know,” she said softly after a moment, “Nicholas worries about you a lot. I think he sees something of himself in you.”

Taki looked over, one corner of his mouth lifting. “That’s… kind of terrifying,” he said, trying to joke. She laughed quietly. “Maybe. But he also sees strength, Taki. The kind that doesn’t come easy. You just have to stop fighting yourself long enough to find it.” He nodded slowly, looking at his reflection in the mirror. His claws had receded, his eyes back to normal. “Thanks, Sana,” he said after a moment. “For helping me.” She smiled softly. “Anytime.”

~~~

Sana leaned back in her seat on the bus, her phone still in her hand after ending the call with Jo. He’d asked if something had happened, and she had almost told him, almost spilled everything right then and there. But one glance at the younger wolf sitting beside her—head bowed, bruised, eyes distant, made her stop. “I’ll tell you when you get home later,” she’d said instead, her voice calm but firm. Jo hadn’t pushed, only told her he loved her and to be safe.

The bus rattled quietly down the road toward the outskirts of the town, the ride unusually silent. Taki sat with his hood pulled up, avoiding every curious glance thrown their way. His hands fidgeted in his lap, and when a couple of students across the aisle whispered something and looked at him, his shoulders tensed. Sana’s eyes flashed, sharp as glass, and she shot them a glare so cold they immediately turned away. He noticed it and gave a small, grateful smile. “You didn’t have to do that,” he mumbled. “Yeah,” she said softly, “I did.”

The rest of the ride passed in silence. The closer they got to the forest and the hidden road that led toward the pack’s village, the more the tension seemed to ease off his shoulders. Home always had that effect on them, even if home sometimes came with difficult conversations. When the bus finally came to a stop near the path leading into the woods, Taki stood hesitantly. Sana nudged him forward with a gentle smile. “Come on, you’re safe now.”

They walked the rest of the way through the forest path. The air was crisp and familiar, carrying the scent of pine and earth. The village slowly came into view, its cozy cabins glowing with warm afternoon light. Standing at the edge of the clearing, waiting for them, was Euijoo. Sana wasn’t surprised, Jo must have told him.

The Alpha’s eyes were serious, scanning the path as they approached. His expression softened the moment he saw Sana, his protective instincts flaring for a brief second as he looked her over for any sign of harm. When he saw none, his attention shifted to Taki.

The young wolf looked smaller than usual, his shoulders hunched under invisible weight. His face was bruised, lip split, and his scent carried the faint tang of frustration and shame. “Taki,” Euijoo said softly, stepping forward. His tone wasn’t stern, it was heartbreakingly gentle. The second youngest looked up, guilt swimming in his golden-brown eyes. “EJ, I, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” He didn’t get to finish. The Alpha reached out, pulling him into a tight embrace. The motion startled him, but then Taki melted into it, his body shaking slightly as Euijoo’s arms wrapped around him, protective and warm.

“Don’t apologize,” Euijoo said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. “You didn’t do anything wrong, do you understand me? Nothing.” For a long moment, the only sound was the wind through the trees and the soft, almost childlike way Taki clung to his Alpha’s shirt. Sana stood nearby, watching the scene unfold, her chest tightening at the sight. It was such a raw display of care, the kind that only existed between family, even if not by blood.

When Euijoo finally pulled back, he placed his hands on Taki’s shoulders, looking him straight in the eyes. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” Taki hesitated, his throat tight. He looked down, muttering, “It’s fine. Just… some guys from school.” “Doesn’t sound fine,” Euijoo replied. His voice was calm but firm, the kind of tone that carried quiet authority. “You know you can talk to me, right? To any of us?”

Taki nodded weakly. “I just don’t want to be a burden.” Sana stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “You’re not a burden, Taki. You never were.” Euijoo gave her a small nod of gratitude before turning back to his pack brother. “Why don’t you go inside? Get cleaned up, eat something. We’ll talk when you’re ready.” Taki nodded again, his eyes glassy, and walked slowly toward one of the cabins.

Once he was out of earshot, Euijoo exhaled heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “Jo told me you’d bring him home early,” he said, looking at Sana. “He didn’t say why, but I had a feeling. Thank you, for looking after him.” Sana shook her head. “He’s family,” she said simply. “That’s what we do.” The Alpha smiled faintly at that, his expression softening. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s exactly what we do.”

He looked down the path toward the cabin where Taki had disappeared. “He’s been trying so hard lately. Sometimes I forget he’s still so young. We’ll have to make sure he knows we’re here for him, every one of us.” Sana nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “He knows,” she said softly. “He just needs to be reminded sometimes.” And with that, the two of them walked toward the main house together, the air around them filled with the quiet, comforting scent of the pack, home, safety, and belonging.

~~~

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and the pack house glowed softly in the dark, light spilling out from its windows onto the grass. Normally, this hour was filled with laughter, the hum of voices, maybe a movie playing in the background. But tonight, the air was heavy. When the sound of a car pulling up broke the silence, everyone turned. Kei, Yuma, Nicholas, (Y/n), and Jake stepped through the door. It didn’t take long for them to realize something was off, the mood inside was tense, quiet in that eerie way that comes just before a storm.

Kei was the first to ask, “What happened?” His tone carried the authority of an older brother, but the worry in his eyes betrayed the calm front. It was Jo who answered, standing near the couch with his arm around Sana. “Taki got jumped,” he said simply. The two words were enough to ignite chaos. “What?” Kei’s voice was sharp, and before anyone could explain further, Nicholas had already taken a step forward, his eyes glowing faintly gold. His wolf was clawing to get out.

“Who?” Nicholas demanded, the growl in his chest deep and dangerous. “Some idiots from campus,” Sana answered quietly. “He didn’t want to fight back. He said he didn’t want to hurt anyone.” That broke something inside Nicholas. His breathing quickened, muscles tensing, the growl in his throat deepening. His claws began to form, eyes burning brighter. Kei moved fast, stepping in front of him, but Nicholas’ fury was like wildfire, unstoppable once it had caught.

Until (Y/n) moved. She didn’t hesitate. She reached for him, her hand finding his. “Nicholas.” Her voice was steady, calm, like water dousing flame. He froze. His chest rose and fell rapidly, but his eyes flicked to her. The fury in them softened slightly at the sound of her voice. “Anger won’t help him right now,” she said gently. “He needs his family. Not more fire.” Nicholas clenched his jaw, forcing his claws to retract, though it was clearly an effort. He squeezed her hand, grounding himself with her scent. “I just,” he started, but his voice broke with frustration. “He’s a kid. He doesn’t deserve this.” Kei placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “I know,” he said quietly. “We’ll handle it. Together.”

Across the room, Fuma stood near the back door, his fists tight at his sides. His face was unreadable, but the sharp scent of pine and smoke clung to him. Euijoo glanced at him. “You went out training again?” Fuma’s jaw tightened. “If you call knocking over three trees ‘training,’ then sure.” “Fuma,” Euijoo started, but the older wolf cut him off. “Don’t. I needed to burn it off before I did something stupid.” His tone was low, the anger still simmering beneath the surface.

At the table, Harua was quiet, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His brow was furrowed in thought. “We can’t just let this go,” he said finally. “But we can’t go after them either. Not unless we want more trouble for him.” Yuma nodded. “He’s already struggling enough at school. If they find out what we are,” “They won’t,” Kei interrupted firmly. “I’ll make sure of that.”

In the kitchen, the soft clatter of dishes offered the only normal sound in the house. Maki and Miyu were preparing food, the comforting aroma of rice and soup drifting into the room, but even that couldn’t mask the tension. Miyu glanced at the youngest wolf. “You’re quiet,” she said softly. Maki didn’t look up from the pot he was stirring. “I’m just… angry,” he muttered. “He didn’t do anything wrong. He never does. Why do people always have to be cruel to someone different?”

Miyu’s heart ached at the frustration in his voice. She reached out, brushing her hand over his shoulder. “Because they’re scared of what they don’t understand,” she said quietly. “But that’s why he has us. We protect our own.” He finally looked up, nodding, his eyes still stormy.

Back in the living room, Nicholas had finally sat down, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight. (Y/n) sat beside him, her fingers still intertwined with his, grounding him. EJ stood in front of them all, his Alpha presence calm but commanding. “No one leaves tonight,” he said firmly. “Not until we know Taki’s okay. Fuma, you’ll keep watch outside just in case those kids decide to follow him here, though I doubt they’d make it far.” Fuma gave a curt nod, already heading toward the door.

Nicholas finally spoke again, voice low and hoarse. “He’s just a kid, EJ. He’s been trying so hard to fit in. To shift, to study, to be like us. And they treat him like… like that.” His hand tightened around (Y/n)’s. “I should’ve been there.” EJ crouched slightly, meeting his eyes. “You can’t protect everyone all the time, Nico,” he said softly. “But you can make sure he knows he’s not alone. That’s what we do.”

(Y/n) looked at the Alpha, then back at Nicholas, her hand still warm in his. “He knows,” she said gently. “Because he has all of you. I’m been alone almost my entire life, as someone who’s always been an outsider, I can tell, he’s lucky to have you all,” “And now, you do too,” Sora said as she smiled at the witch. 

~~~

The evening air was crisp, the kind that hinted at the coming change of seasons. The forest surrounding the pack’s village was alive with quiet sounds, crickets chirping, leaves rustling softly in the wind. Out on the porch of the main house, five girls sat huddled together under a thick blanket, mugs of tea warming their hands as they looked up at the night sky. Tonight, the stars seemed brighter than ever, the first streaks of the promised meteor shower already cutting faint lines across the dark expanse above them.

For the first time since she’d arrived, (Y/n) found herself alone with the other girls, Aya, Miyu, Sana, and Sora. She hadn’t realized how easily they all fit together until now. Aya, with her confident energy and bright laugh; Miyu, warm and nurturing, always making sure everyone was comfortable; Sora, calm but playful, teasing her mate whenever EJ wasn’t looking; and Sana, soft-spoken and kind, with the sort of gentle wisdom that only someone deeply in love could carry.

They made space for (Y/n) in the circle without hesitation, wrapping her in warmth and inclusion. It was strange, witches didn’t do this. Covens were colder, structured, more about power than companionship. But here, sitting with them, she felt something she hadn’t in a long time. Home. “So,” Aya said, breaking the quiet with a grin, “we have to ask… what’s it like?” (Y/n) blinked. “What’s what like?”

“Being with Nicholas,” Miyu chimed in, leaning forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You two have been orbiting each other like magnets all week.” (Y/n) laughed softly, setting her mug down beside her. “I’m guessing you all went through this with your mates too, didn’t you?” “Guilty,” Sora said immediately, raising her hand. “EJ used to glare at me for just excisting. Now he follows me around like a shadow.”

That made them all laugh, and even (Y/n) couldn’t hide her smile. She looked up at the stars, watching as another streak of light crossed the sky. “It’s… strange,” she admitted quietly. “He’s so intense. But not in a bad way. It’s like he sees everything. I’ve never met someone like that before.” Sana nudged her lightly with her shoulder. “That sounds a lot like love.” (Y/n) sighed, a small, nervous laugh escaping her. “Maybe. Kind of. I just…” Her voice trailed off. The others turned toward her, their smiles softening when they saw the look in her eyes.

“I’m scared,” she finally said. “Not of him, but of me. My oracle side, it’s unpredictable. It ruins things. Every time I let people close, something happens. People get hurt.” A quiet fell over the porch, not awkward, but heavy with understanding. It was Sora who spoke first, her voice steady but gentle. “Fate doesn’t put people together just to tear them apart. You saw something in your vision, didn’t you?” (Y/n) nodded slowly, eyes on her hands. “Blood. So much of it. I don’t even know what it means yet.” Aya reached over, taking her hand. “Then don’t face it alone. Whatever it means, we’ll face it together. You’re one of us now, oracle or not.”

Miyu nodded in agreement, her tone warm but firm. “We’ve all had our challenges with fate. But we learned that fear doesn’t stop it, it only makes you miss the good moments before the bad ones come.” Sana smiled softly. “And besides, Nicholas isn’t exactly the kind of guy to let fate scare him away. You should’ve seen Jo when I first met him. He was terrified, and look at him now.”

(Y/n) looked up, following Sana’s gaze toward the open yard. Down below, laughter filled the night. The boys were gathered around the basketball court, Jo, Maki, Yuma, Nicholas, and Fuma, who had returned from patrol not long ago. The sound of the ball hitting the pavement echoed through the clearing. Jake was among them, darting between the wolves with surprising speed, his tail wagging every time he managed to score a point.

(Y/n) smiled, her heart warming at the sight. The pack’s laughter mingled with the sound of crickets and the rustle of trees. For the first time, she didn’t feel like a visitor. She felt like she belonged. And maybe, she thought as she looked back up at the sky, fate hadn’t been cruel to her this time after all.

~~~

The date of the collaboration show drew closer with each passing day. The air around the pack village buzzed with energy, excitement, nerves, and the constant hum of preparation. (Y/n) and Jake had checked out of the hotel completely, moving into the village full-time. The comfort of the pack’s home was unmatched. But most of all, it satisfied Nicholas, more than he’d ever admit aloud. Just knowing she slept under the same roof, that he could hear her laughter drifting from the kitchen in the mornings, or feel her presence through the walls at night, settled his wolf in a way nothing else could.

She and Yuma worked tirelessly, their creative minds blending seamlessly. The studio’s main room had been turned into a whirlwind of fabrics, pins, threads, and half-finished designs. Kei and Nicholas filled their roles as models perfectly, Kei with his calm professionalism, and Nicholas, for once, with surprising restraint.

He still smirked every now and then when (Y/n) passed him a fabric sample or adjusted a collar, but he’d turned down the flirting. She needed to focus, and he could respect that, even if every instinct in him screamed to distract her. (Y/n) noticed the effort, though she never said anything. Instead, her heart softened more each day. 

She’d grown comfortable here, with the pack’s warmth, the laughter that echoed through the houses, and the quiet strength that seemed to bind them all together. The other girls felt like sisters now; Aya’s confident teasing, Miyu’s steady kindness, Sora’s quiet guidance, and Sana’s cheerful honesty all wove around her like threads in a tapestry. For the first time in her life, she didn’t feel like an outsider. The nightmares and visions had gone quiet too, for now. She didn’t know if that was a sign of peace or a warning, but she allowed herself to enjoy the stillness. The calm before fate decided to turn again.

Meanwhile, at the university, Sana and Jo had made it their shared mission to help Taki. Sana sought him out every day at lunch, refusing to let him eat alone anymore. She didn’t push him to talk about what had happened, just sat with him, her chatter filling the silence, reminding him that he wasn’t alone.

Jo would find him in the afternoons during his free hour. The two wolves didn’t talk much either, but they didn’t need to, sometimes Jo would just sit beside Taki on a bench near the old oak trees, sketchbook in hand, quietly drawing while his younger brother stared at the sky. It was their silent way of saying we’ve got you.

~~~

The night before the big show, the pack once again gathered at Koyomi, their favorite refuge for both celebration and comfort. The restaurant smelled heavenly, a blend of roasted meats, simmering sauces, and sweet pastries, the kind of scent that lingered in the air like warmth itself.

Miyu and Maki had been in the kitchen since morning, working tirelessly alongside Jay. It was one of those rare nights where the restaurant was completely closed to outsiders; only those who knew of the supernatural world were allowed inside.

Lila had stopped by earlier in the day to help with the desserts, her laughter filling the kitchen as she teased Maki and Jay for being too serious about plating. When she was done, she left behind a tray of beautifully frosted tarts and a list of serving instructions taped to the counter before waving goodbye, promising to visit again soon.

Now, the long wooden tables were covered in plates of food and half-empty glasses, laughter echoing through the restaurant. For the first time in days, everyone looked relaxed. (Y/n) and Jake sat near the end of the table, right across from Harua and Fuma. The witch and the familiar had heard plenty of stories about Jay, but meeting him in person was something else, his calm, charming demeanor instantly put them at ease. He seemed to know everything that was going on without needing to ask, his dark eyes sharp but kind as he welcomed them to what he called the most chaotic family in town. “Welcome to the inner circle,” he said with a grin, raising his glass toward (Y/n). “I’d say brace yourself, but you’ve already survived Nicholas, so you’ll do fine.”

Jake burst into laughter, his tail giving a small flick before disappearing out of sight. (Y/n) tried to hide her amusement behind her glass, but Nicholas, sitting beside her, rolled his eyes, though even he couldn’t hide the faint smile tugging at his lips. “Hey, I’m not that bad,” he muttered. “Sure,” Jay teased, leaning back in his chair. “And I’m not nocturnal.” The whole table erupted in laughter. EJ cracked a smile where he sat with Sora leaning against him.

Miyu emerged from the kitchen then, wiping her hands on a towel and announcing that dessert would be served soon. Maki followed right behind her, proudly carrying the tray of tarts Lila had prepared. As everyone began to eat again, (Y/n) looked around at the table, at the wolves, the vampires, her familiar, the humans, all of them together like one strange, mismatched family. The sound of their laughter filled her chest with a warmth she hadn’t felt in years. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t an outsider looking in.

She glanced at Nicholas beside her, his arm resting on the back of her chair, his head tilted slightly as he listened to Yuma and Kei argue about whose outfit was going to steal the spotlight tomorrow. His golden eyes caught hers for a second, and a small, private smile passed between them. Tomorrow would be big. Tomorrow would be chaos. But tonight, tonight was perfect.

A while later, after everyone had finished helping to clean the restaurant, tables wiped, dishes stacked, and laughter still echoing faintly in the air, Nicholas found himself quietly watching (Y/n) from across the room.

She was helping Miyu stack glasses behind the counter, her sleeves rolled up, her hair falling loosely over her face. The faintest tremor ran through her shoulders, and Nicholas caught it instantly, a shiver. He’d noticed it before, too; she always seemed to run cold, like her warmth was just a little harder to keep.

Without a word, he grabbed the jacket that hung over his chair, a thick black one she’d teased him about wearing even though it had looked very good on him, and walked over. (Y/n) was about to reach for another glass when she felt something warm and heavy settle across her shoulders. She turned her head, ready to protest, but the scent hit her before the words could. That familiar, grounding scent of pine and smoke and something uniquely him.

Her body relaxed instantly. The jacket was too big for her, but it was soft and warm, and the moment she slipped her arms into the sleeves, she felt as if she’d been wrapped in a piece of Nicholas himself. “You didn’t have to” she started, but her voice trailed off as he moved closer, standing just behind her, his presence radiating warmth that seemed to seep into her bones. “I did,” he said softly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

(Y/n) tilted her head up to look at him, her lips curling into a small, genuine smile. “Thank you,” she whispered, barely loud enough for anyone else to hear. Nicholas didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close against his chest, resting his chin lightly on the top of her head. His voice dropped to a low rumble, one that she could feel more than hear. “Anything for you.” And for a moment, the world felt still. The noise of the others faded into background warmth, laughter, clinking dishes, the hum of music, but none of it mattered. All that mattered was the steady rhythm of his heart against her ear, and the quiet realization that she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

~~~

Night passed quicker than anyone expected, the hours slipping away beneath the hum of excitement, the buzz of preparation, and the electric current of anticipation that ran through everyone in the building.

The pack filled the front rows of the audience, a solid wall of warmth and loyalty. EJ sat tall in the center, his arm resting behind Sora, while Jo and Sana whispered quietly to each other, her hand resting on his knee, Harua and Aya taking thousands of picture hoping to use them for an article or two in the coming days. Maki, Taki, and Fuma were all discussing if this collab was some kind of competition or just something for fun. Kei’s and Nicholas’ names were on the program, the two wolves set to walk for the final collection of the night. Behind the curtain, it was chaos.

Backstage, the air was heavy with the scent of hairspray, fabric, and adrenaline. Models hurried from one fitting to another, designers barking last-minute instructions, assistants weaving through the crowd like currents of energy. Amid all that movement, (Y/n), Yuma, Kei, Nicholas, and Jake stood as a small, centered unit, calm in the storm.

Their designs stood out instantly. Where others had gone sleek, modern, and metallic, theirs felt alive, threads of nature and night weaved into silk and leather. (Y/n)’s pieces carried hints of her own magic, deep forest hues, threads that shimmered subtly under the lights like enchantments. Yuma’s designs mirrored them, elegant structure with a wild edge. It was cohesive in a way no one else had managed. And anyone who knew them could feel the connection between wolf and witch reflected in every stitch.

Nicholas stood before her now, tall and unmovable, letting her work. For once, he wasn’t teasing, wasn’t smirking. His expression was composed, eyes locked on her face as she focused on painting color onto his lips with the kind of concentration that made his chest ache. She leaned closer, carefully blending the edges, and for a rare moment, he didn’t even think about licking it off. He just… watched her.

(Y/n) stepped back, head tilted, examining her work. She focused on the way his warm brown eyes glowed faintly beneath the stage lights, the way the blonde hair framed his sharp features. He looked unfairly good, and worse, he knew it. “Stop looking at me like that,” she said softly, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. “Like what?” he murmured, voice low, smooth, dangerously close. “Like you know exactly what you’re doing to me.”

Before he could reply, she leaned forward, quick, decisive, and kissed him. It was brief, a soft press of lips that stole his breath before she pulled back. Nicholas blinked, stunned. She had kissed him. (Y/n) smiled, her fingers still holding his chin, her eyes glinting with mischief. “If you work your ass off out there,” she whispered, “I’ll accept you as my mate officially.” He stared at her, pulse hammering, then gave a crooked smile that made her heart flutter. “I was already going to burn the stage for you, sweetheart,” he murmured. “But now I might set the whole damn building on fire.” She laughed, shaking her head, and pushed at his chest lightly. “Go get ready, wolfie.” Nicholas grinned, a feral, beautiful grin, as he turned toward the runway entrance. The challenge was set, and every inch of him was ready to prove himself worthy of his witch.

Kei and Nicholas were the final act, the ones meant to end the show with a statement. Backstage, the air was thick with tension and excitement. Kei cracked his knuckles once, rolling his shoulders as Yuma gave him a last approving nod. Nicholas stood beside him, calm but dangerous, his usual stoicism replaced by something sharper, a quiet confidence that hummed just beneath his skin.

When their cue came, Kei stepped out first. The lights hit him like sunlight breaking through clouds, and the crowd reacted immediately, gasps, murmurs, the flash of cameras. Kei knew how to move, every stride measured, commanding attention but never trying too hard. Yuma’s design, sleek, bold lines and a perfect balance of structure and softness, looked like it had been made just for him. He carried it with a touch of arrogance, a smirk that earned a few cheers from the audience.

Then Nicholas stepped out. The moment he did, the entire room changed. There was a collective inhale from the audience, a sound that rippled through the crowd like wind through trees. The lights found him instantly, the red and green of (Y/n)’s design catching and reflecting in a way that made him seem almost otherworldly. (Y/n)’s concept had been simple yet stunning: the beauty and danger of a rose.

The cropped crimson top clung perfectly to his chest, showing off the sculpted muscles beneath, the way his abs tensed with every slow, deliberate step. His arms, toned and inked with faint veins, caught the light like polished marble. The dark green pants sat low on his hips, the fabric flowing just enough to suggest movement, to echo the idea of petals caught in motion. A rose, dangerous, breathtaking, impossible to ignore.

Nicholas walked like he owned the world, every stride a mix of grace and predatory power. His expression stayed steady, eyes locked forward, sharp, golden, and hypnotic. The faintest smirk tugged at his lips as he reached the end of the runway, his aura radiating pure confidence. The crowd went wild.

(Y/n) stood backstage, watching, her heart thundering against her ribs. She’d designed that piece, every stitch, every line, but Nicholas was the one who brought it to life. Seeing him in it, the way he carried it, made her breath catch in her throat. Beside her, Jake let out a low whistle. “He’s eating that runway alive.” (Y/n) could only nod, unable to look away. Her wolf looked magnificent, untamed yet controlled, wild yet perfectly hers.

Out in the crowd, the pack couldn’t stop cheering.Almost all of them had their phones out, Fuma was laughing loudly, and EJ looked impressed, proud, almost emotional. Fuma leaned over from laughing, holding onto Maki on the shoulder with a grin. “Okay, I get it now. That’s why Nico’s been working out like a man possessed the last few weeks,” he joked. “Guy’s been preparing for this exact moment.” Harua smirked, shaking his head. “Yeah. Guess we know who he wanted to impress.”

At that moment, Nicholas reached the end of the runway, turned, and met (Y/n)’s gaze over the flashing lights and roaring applause. He didn’t need words, the look said it all. He had kept his promise. He had worked his ass off. And now, the only thing he wanted… was her.

Nicholas didn’t even wait for the applause to die down. The second his feet hit the floor backstage, he was already moving, purposeful, determined, every line of his body screaming one thing: mine. Before anyone could react, he strode straight up to (Y/n), scooping her up and tossing her over his shoulder as though she weighed nothing at all. She let out a startled yelp that turned into laughter, her hands pressing against his back as her hair brushed against his side.

“Nicholas!” she protested between giggles, her voice echoing in the hallway. “Borrowing my mate for the rest of my life,” he announced loud enough for Yuma, Kei, and Jake to hear, his tone smug, possessive, and so unapologetically happy it made the others burst out laughing. “Hey! We still have post-show photos, you lunatic!” Yuma called after him, half amused, half exasperated. But Nicholas didn’t even slow down.

He carried her through the maze of backrooms until he found an empty room and kicked the door closed behind them. The sudden quiet wrapped around them like silk, the muffled noise of the show fading, replaced by the sound of their breathing. He gently set her down, but she barely had time to take a single breath before he leaned in, his hands cupping her face, and kissed her. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was real.

The kind of kiss that carried all the teasing, all the tension, all the quiet moments they had stolen, finally unleashed. His lips moved against hers, soft at first, then deeper, hungrier, until she was clutching at the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer. When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless. Nicholas didn’t move away though, his forehead rested against hers, his chest rising and falling in time with hers.

Then he smiled. Not his usual smirk. Not his cocky, teasing grin. But a real smile. Bright, warm, open, the kind that stripped away every wall, every bit of the intimidating wolf persona he usually wore like armor. For the first time, (Y/n) saw the side of Nicholas that not many others did. The tough, brooding wolf was gone. In his place stood a lovesick puppy, eyes soft and glimmering with something dangerously close to adoration.

(Y/n) blinked at him, caught off guard by just how cute he looked. “Oh no,” she whispered with mock horror, reaching up and pinching his cheek, “you’re adorable.” Nicholas didn’t even try to stop her, he just grinned wider, his cheeks heating under her touch. “Adorable, huh?” he teased, leaning in closer again, his voice low and amused. “Better be careful, witch. You’ll make your wolf start wagging his tail.”

She giggled, giving his chest a playful push, though she didn’t move far. “Maybe I don’t mind that.” Nicholas’s grin softened into something more tender, his thumb brushing along her jaw as he looked down at her, his mate, his other half, his entire world standing right there. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m not letting you go.”

Perhaps her vision hadn’t been a warning after all. Maybe the blood she’d seen hadn’t been a sign of death, but of rebirth. Maybe it had been a symbol of new beginnings, of change. Perhaps it had alluded to Taki’s struggle, the pain and healing that followed, or maybe it was something else entirely, something she would never fully understand.

Maybe it was fate’s way of testing her, of seeing whether she would still choose love, even when she feared losing it. (Y/n) didn’t know. There were so many things she didn’t understand about her visions, about her power, about the strange way the universe liked to twist its stories. But as Nicholas’s hand found hers, steady, warm, grounding, she realized that maybe she didn’t need to know.

Because what she did know was this: She was in love. Deeply, wildly, completely. And for the first time in her life, she wasn’t running from it. She wasn’t afraid of what her visions might say or what the world might think. She had found her place, a home, a family, a love that was both fierce and gentle. The pack had become her safe haven, a strange, beautiful collection of souls bound together by more than blood. And Nicholas… he was her heart’s anchor. Her wolf. Her chaos. Her peace.

As the night settled around them and the noise of the world faded away, (Y/n) leaned into his warmth, smiling softly against his chest. Perhaps fate had only been trying to scare her, to see if she was brave enough to hold on to what she was meant for. And she was. Because this, right here, Nicholas, the pack, this new life, this was where she belonged. Her forever place.

~~~The end (for now) ~~~

Thank you guys for reading! I hope you enjoyed this slightly longer part! 

Good job with the guessing from the teasers, a couple of you guys knew it had to be Nicholas, and we all cheered! 

Also, Jake appearing and not being a vampire… were you guys shocked? And (Y/n) being half-witch half-oracle, how do we feel about that? Do you think her vision was a test? Or perhaps was it eluding to something that is to come? 

How do we feel about Taki and his struggles?  Who do you think will find their mate next? And will there perhaps be more enemies entering their town?

And don’t worry, we will see a lot more of their relationship grow in the coming parts, I had so much to add to this one that I probably could have reached like 50k if I added it all, but I decided to cut some scenes to add in future parts. 

Did you guys understand kind of what outfit I was describing for Nicholas during the runway scene? If not, I’ll add a picture, I did change a few details but I’m obsessed with this look on him and come on, how could I not add him wearing a crop top? 

[nichobby]

the way i was giggling and kicking my feet the whole time i was reading this……

[jayflrt]

a stoner’s guide to starbucks

PAIRING ▸ lee heeseung x fem!reader (ft. enha, winter from aespa, beomgyu from txt, and dino from svt)

GENRES ▸ social media au (smau), crack, fluff, stoner au, strangers to lovers

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, sexual jokes, zero braincells, limited knowledge of the starbucks corporation, weed consumption, dumb shenanigans, ignore timestamps!

SUMMARY ▸ in which you work at the starbucks where heeseung is a regular at (and considered a public enemy). also he only goes when he’s stoned off his ass.

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ hello !! i am alive (real) also i was so committed to the bit that i got high to make this <3 shoutout @hoonbear for the Extensive Starbucks Knowledge 🫡 i would also like to note that i am NOT doing a tag list for this smau. also please note that this is a fictional setting and to boycott starbucks in real life for firing their workers over their pro palestine speech. remember to do your daily click!

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[romancentold]

☤ TEETH. ❝ 𝖲𝖤𝖱𝖨𝖤𝖲 𝖬𝖠𝖲𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳 ❞ 박성훈⸝.ᐟ⋆

ᐟ⋆ S 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗆—𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗍𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗒, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖾𝗅𝗌𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾. 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗉 𝖾𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗌, 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗋𝗎𝖾𝗅𝗍𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇, 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺 𝖻𝗈𝗒 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝖼𝖾. 𝗇𝗈𝗐, 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗈𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝖾𝗋, 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗁 𝖺𝗍 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗐𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗇𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗌, 𝖽𝗂𝗀𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗇𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾? 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗋𝖾. PAIRING 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 ۶ৎ 𝘧𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋. 💿playlist 👥profiles 💿sunghoon’s playlist 💿your playlist

TAGS slowburn enemies to lovers 。 childhood friends to strangers 。love triangle w/jake 。slice of life 。chaebol sunghoon + reader 。found family 。college au 。fratboy sunghoon 。angst angst angst 。smau elements 。𝓦 。。abuse, toxic dynamics, heavy smut MDNI sunghoon is mean and an overall asshole, reader is not the bigger person, they’re both freaks and obsessive, sunghoon is massively hung, super rich kids with unresolved trauma & high libido, heeseung as hoon’s babygirl best friend, misogyny (not from hoon), power play, denial, unhealthy coping mechanisms (smoking, alcohol), emotional manipulation, high society elitism, nobody communicates like a normal person, concerning levels of sexual activity

READ HERE total parts ⤷ 15 ⁞ 𐚁 jan 2026 status: ongoing

PROLOGUE ㅡ PART ONE No profit ㅡ PART TWO Chessboard ㅡ PART THREE Endless ㅡ PART FOUR I’m sick of games 5.4k ㅡ PART FIVE Too easy ㅡ PART SIX Fill the thirst 1.1k ㅡ PART SEVEN Sink my teeth in 8.7k ㅡ PART EIGHT An empty mirage 8.5k ㅡ PART NINE Because I see everything 13.7k ㅡ PART TEN I know you’re enjoying it 17.7k ㅡ PART ELEVEN The more you hide it 16.8k ㅡ PART TWELVE The more it appears 18.6k ー PART THIRTEEN Feel the bite 001 002 35k ー PART FOURTEEN Let’s play together 26k — PART FIFTEEN It’s no use 27.3k

DRABBLES: Seoul City 23.8k (inbetween chapters 14 and 15)

ᐟ⋆ S you have a strict “never fuck park sunghoon again” policy in motion. but unfortunately, he’s got a big mouth, an even bigger dick, and absolutely zero intentions of letting you keep your promises.

DISCLAIMER 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗈𝖿 fiction 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗇 no 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖺 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝖽𝖾𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗏𝗂𝖽𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖾𝖽. 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗌 parental abuse, 𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿-𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗎𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒, 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗅𝗈𝗍. 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 read 𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖺 𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅/𝗂𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒. the story will mainly consist of written chapters.

teeth!sunghoon look 01 | look 02 © ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴄᴇɴᴛᴏʟᴅ

faq: do you have an update schedule? when will the story end?

i don’t have a set update schedule and there’s no official end date in sight. i tend to let the story guide me wherever the next chapter wants to go when i sit down with my google doc. that said, i do have the entire plot mapped out! since i’m juggling life and studies alongside writing i can’t always promise speed, but thank you so much for your patience & for being here with me through every chapter ♡

⋆ ASKS/REBLOGS/COMMENTS ALWAYS APPRECIATED ⋆

if you enjoyed, even the tiniest bit of love and feedback means the world to me and keeps me going as a writer, especially since this is my first ever published fic! ╰(´︶`)╯♡ constructive criticism, however, is not what i’m here for. if it’s not your cup of tea that’s completely okay!but please just scroll past. i pour my heart into every chapter and i want this space to be about sharing excitement and the love for storytelling. ♡

[nichobby]

truly a masterpiece…

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

SAFE & SOUND — enhypen (m)

Navigating one year post-apocalypse, when the dead began to walk and the living proved to be no better, you decide that trust is a luxury you can no longer afford. But after a run-in with a group of seven peculiar survivors, you learn that there are bigger problems than just the undead roaming the streets. You also start to wonder if there’s more to survival than simply staying alive.

word count: 142k words

genre: dystopian, post-apocalyptic survival, horror/thriller, slow burn, ANGST

status: completed! (15/01/25 – 05/04/25)

warnings: depictions of graphic violence, blood, death, and loss, horror themes, usage of strong language and profanities, descriptions of gore, killing, weaponry use, survivor guilt, trauma bonding, morally grey characters/ideologies, and basically anything and everything that comes with a zombie apocalypse. afab reader. readers' discretion is advised. please click out if you have a weak heart, I MEAN IT.

disclaimer: this is a work of pure fiction. If any context is similar to any other stories, it's either inspired (in which credit will be given) or just a coincidence. the characters' personalities, words, actions and thoughts do not represent them in real life. any resemblance to any real life events or person, present or past, are purely coincidental. i apologise in advance for any spelling or grammar mistakes.

notes from nat: some plot points and zombies are inspired by the walking dead franchise. also inspired by safe & sound—mother swift's soundtrack for the hunger games. actually lowkey want to kms for writing this.

part 1 - rotten

part 2 - warmth

part 3 - whispers

part 4 - blood

part 5 - people

part 6 - dusk

part 7 - hope

extra cuts - jungwon's pov

sequel under works...

Copyright© 2025 thatfeelinwhenyou All Rights Reserved

[nichobby]

and what if i said this is my favourite thing i’ve ever read? literally deserves a nobel peace prize i’m dead serious

[nichobby]

he’s so fine, does he know that i’m INSANE

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

──── SOMETHING LIKE HOME ⁺₊✧ s. jy

pairing ⋆₊˚⊹⋆˙⟡ sim jaeyun x f!reader ── .✦ smut (mdni!), fluff, angst, slowburn, single dad!jake au, neighbor!jake au, rom-com, mutual pining wc ꩜⊹✎ᝰ.ᐟ 26.2k (˶o˶˶o˶)

synopsis ₊˚⊹⋆˙⟡ jake's life is built on routine. early mornings, packed lunches, and a five-year-old daughter who knows exactly how to cause the right amount of chaos. he's content with keeping things easy and predictable. until you move in across the hall one day, slowly and quietly becoming part of their every day. from accidental run-ins to forced dinners to shared mornings and lingering touches, jake realizes that sometimes—home isn't a place you build on purpose. maybe it's the one you stumble into, and maybe she's just across the hall.

warnings ✦ ݁˖ 18+ // family & domestic themes // sim jiuen is a menace // angst angst, miscommunication, very confusing feelings // avoidant attachment issues // lots & lots of tension, HEAVY on the slowburn // jake is still awkward bc it's jake but like hot awkward // mentions of parent abandonment // profanity // alcohol consumption // features uncles enha LOL // heavy pining // LOTS of domesticity // y/n is younger, ages not explicitly mentioned ˗ˏˋ nsfw tags ᝰ.ᐟ soft dom!jake, unprotected sex, oral sex, fingering, dry humping, rough sex, doggy, praise kink, daddy kink, creampie, heavy on the breeding kink (...jake never learns), calls reader 'momma', anddd choking kink.....bc yeah

°˖➴ .ᐟ addie ── wow ok so im sad im done writing this fic bc this truly has had me in a chokehold bc i LOVE this concept so much :') like wdym dad jake with a lil daughter and he's hot and awkward and takes care of her and is just so soft ㅜㅜ anyways prob the quickest i've written a fic given usually it takes me months so ty for everyone's luv & support & excitement <33 a massive shout out again to juni @yuons for this idea and then of course special mentions to my luvs ronnie & kiki for planting some ideas thru out this fic & beta reading & their support i luv my frens @heejamas @hoonieyun <3 i genuinely had so much freaking fun writing this,,dilf jake & sim jiuen i luv u LOL HOPE U ALL ENJOY ! ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻)

they say having kids will change your life.

your sleep schedule. your priorities. your definition of love. and jake agrees with all of that, obviously. he’s not an idiot.

but what no one really tells you—what none of those parenting books or late night reddit threads or overly cheerful pediatricians mention? is how much kids also sharpen your life. how they turn it into something precise. measured. carefully arranged so nothing spills over.

jake’s mornings start the same way every day. alarm at 6:12AM (not 6:10, too early. not 6:15, too risky). coffee brewed before the sun is fully up. socks paired and re-paired because somehow they never match. and then a five year old’s voice drifting down the hallway asking questions that absolutely do not need to be asked before sunrise.

he packs lunch with muscle memory. apple slices. sandwiches. no peanut butter because of that one kidin class with an allergy whose mom sends passive-aggressive emails. a juice box that he knows will come back unopened. a sticky note with a doodle and a message that he pretends is just something he does because it’s cute, and not because his daughter reads them like they’re the law.

and life is…fine. quiet. predictable in the way that feels earned, safe, and steady. and jake likes it that way.

which is exactly why, when sim jiuen barrels full-speed down their apartment hallway one afternoon after being picked up from school—ignoring every rule jake has ever taught her about inside voices and walking feet—jake already knows something is about to go wrong.

this is what he gets for disrupting the routine.

for the record, routines are sacred. they are survival. and today, jake had broken it—slipping an extra sugar cookie into jiuen’s lunchbox this morning because she looked particularly sleepy and small at breakfast and he felt particularly soft and he’s clearly trying to uphold his title as World’s Best Dad.

an avoidable mistake. a sugar-fueled one.

“ji—slow down!”

but it’s too late.

because right as she rounds the corner, there’s a collision. a gasp. and then a very loud, deeply concerning thump.

and because jake is 1) tired, 2) a father, and 3) a man who works out maybe twice a week on a good month, he’s too out of breath from sprinting after his child to fully process what’s happening at first.

one hand is still gripping jiuen’s backpack, the bright pink, aggressively sparkly thing swinging wildly by his side—while his free hand instinctively goes to his hair, attempting to smooth down what he’s fairly certain is day-two-and-not-washed.

but he finally looks up. and that’s when he sees you.

jiuen stands directly in front of you, eyes blown wide, hands planted firmly on your knees like she’s just discovered something monumental, maybe life-altering even, in her very impressive five years of existence.

you, on the other hand, have a cardboard box labeled kitchen??? in messy marker, the question marks thick and uneven like you added them after the fact, once you realized you had absolutely no idea what was supposed to go in there. your hair is pulled into a messy knot that’s surrendered in multiple places—stray strands loose around your face in that very specific way that suggests nothing except moving day exhaustion, and you’re blinking down at his child like you’re not entirely sure what just ran into you either.

jiuen grins.

“hi!” she says immediately, the bright smile on her face saying she’s completely unbothered by the concept of personal space or strangers.

jake closes his eyes. just briefly. just long enough to mentally sigh and add stranger danger refresher to tonight’s ever growing list of things he’s probably forgetting to do as a parent. but when he opens them again—he feels it. the shift. the stutter. the barely there change in the air, like the moment right before something tips over and the trajectory of everything changes.

because now the confusingly labeled box that was in your hands sits abandoned on the floor beside you, and you’ve crouched down in front of jiuen without hesitation, meeting her at eye level like it’s second nature. your smile mirrors hers—it’s warm, wide, completely unguarded—and jake doesn’t process what you’re saying at first, but it’s the way your voice sounds. the way it doesn’t feel practiced or forced or overly polite in that adult talking to a child way.

and that’s when he knows.

jake already knows, deep in his bones, with the certainty of someone who’s survived long enough to recognize danger when it’s standing right there in front of him—that whatever calm, careful rhythm he’s built for himself?

you’re about to ruin it.

because here you are, and now that jake’s actually looking—he takes you in.

you can’t be that much younger than him, judging by the faint, familiar look sitting just beneath your eyes, the kind that doesn’t come from staying up too late partying or bad decisions, but the quieter kind. the kind that comes from long days, early mornings, and figuring out in real time how to answer when life already started asking things of you.

your cheeks are pink and flushed, probably from hauling boxes up and down all afternoon, and there’s a soft sheen to your skin that tells him it has nothing to do with sweat and effort and everything to do with the fact that you just…look like that. it’s subtle and unassuming, the kind of natural glow from within that isn’t trying to be noticed—and yet somehow demands jake’s full attention anyways.

and your hair, despite the chaos of it, falls perfectly around your face anyways—enough for jake to have to blink twice when he finally sees your face—and you’re wearing nothing but a simple white tank top and shorts, casual and effortless in a way that feels almost illegal considering there is, in fact, a five-year-old child living directly across the hall from you and this is, very clearly, meant to be a family-friendly building.

jake swallows hard. he feels his pulse kick somewhere hard and low all because he’s witnessing the new neighbor’s tank top cling to her like second skin, and he almost wants to scold himself for acting like a pathetic thirteen-year-old-boy discovering girl's shoulders for the first time.

he has to look away. he has to. because if he doesn’t, he’s going to stand here like an idiot, staring, while his five-year-old watches and the hallway slowly catches fire.

life is…fine. this is fine, completely fine. a normal reaction to the new neighbor. nothing to read into. except his brain, traitor that it is, offers the deeply unhelpful thought that if you look like this on moving day? then jake might be absolutely, unquestionably screwed. and he hasn’t even learned your name yet.

he clears his throat, once. then again.

“uh—sorry,” he starts, gesturing vaguely between you and the small human still beaming up at you like she’s already won at life at the age of five. “she, um. she runs.”

jiuen starts nodding enthusiastically. “i run really fast!”

jake sighs, squeezing his eyes, “too fast.”

you giggle, the sound soft and surprised, like you hadn’t expected this interaction—and it immediately makes something in his chest tighten in a way he does not appreciate.

“it’s okay,” you say easily, pushing yourself up from your crouch. “honestly the highlight of my day.” your eyes flick briefly to the box still sitting near your feet. “you know how it is, moving day.”

jake’s eyes follow yours to the box before looking back at you, humming in agreement, “yeah, that…pretty much tracks.”

then there’s a beat. a small pause where he knows he should say something else. introduce yourself. be normal. adult.

instead, what unfortunately comes out is, “you’re…uh—new.”

brilliant.

you tilt your head at him, a small look of amusement on your face, like you’re very aware of the obvious fact and are choosing to be kind about it.

“is it the boxes,” you tease lightly, “or the fact that i look disheveled and smell like cardboard?”

jake pauses for another beat before he exhales a quiet laugh. “…little bit of both?”

then, realizing he’s still standing there like an idiot, he straightens slightly and finally does the thing he should’ve done ten seconds ago. “i’m ja—”

“i’m jiuen!” the tiny human standing between you and jake beats him to it with enthusiasm, thrusting her hand out toward you, grin wide and eyes crinkling at the corners, clearly thinking this moment is about her and not her dad. “and that’s daddy!”

your smile softens immediately as you look back down at the little girl, taking her hand and giving it a very serious shake.

“well, hi jiuen,” you say warmly. “that’s a pretty name for a pretty girl. nice to meet you.”

your voice is gentle, easy. the kind that makes jake have to consciously remind himself that he needs to keep breathing because he’s being weird for no reason and this is simply what nice people just sound like.

then, slowly, you lift your gaze.

“and you too…” you add, eyes flicking back up to his, lips curling faintly. “…daddy.”

forget about breathing.

jake thinks he forgets how lungs work. literally.

he lets out a breath that sounds more like something he’s been holding in for too long by accident.

“jake,” he says, clearing his throat and finally extending his hand. it’s awkward. a little stiff. like it’s been a while since he’s introduced himself to someone who isn’t five years old or a teacher. “i’m jake. we, uh—we live right there.” he nods towards his apartment door, unnecessarily.

you glance down at his hand, then back up at him, smiling as you take it.

“y/n,” you reply easily. then you tilt your head, gesturing toward your obviously still open door, “and i live right there.”

and something small and traitorous flutters in jake’s chest at that. at how light your voice is, like you’re not overthinking this at all—like you aren’t at all aware of the way his pulse is racing, or how thoroughly you’ve already disrupted any sense of balance he thought he once had just by standing there.

he shifts his weight awkwardly before glancing down at the box still sitting by your feet. then at the few others stacked haphazardly just past your open doorway. then back at you.

“do you, uh—” he starts, already regretting it halfway through. “do you need help with those?”

it’s an offer he makes automatically, reflexively. years of carrying groceries one-handed while holding a sleepy kid with the other have rewired the way his brain works permanently.

you follow his gaze and smile, shaking your head.

“i’m okay,” you say simply, “i think i’m gonna call it a night anyways, it’s been a long day.”

“i can help!” jiuen then announces, voice loud and enthusiastic as she’s already stepping forward like she’s ready to carry the entire box herself.

jake gently grabs the back of her collar, halting her mid-step, her back softly thudding against his legs with an oomph. “you helped enough today.”

she pouts. “but y/n needs help.”

and jake has to pretend that your name doesn’t sound different coming from her voice, like it already belongs there.

you giggle softly, “i’ll survive, promise. but thank you, jiuen.”

jiuen studies you seriously, like she’s deciding whether or not to believe that. then her face brightens again, sudden and sincere. “you’re really, really pretty,” she says as if this is important information you should have. “do you wanna come over?”

jake’s head snaps up.

“ji—”

you blink. then laugh again, this time a little louder, glancing at jake with amused surprise.

“wow,” you say, looking back to smile at jiuen. “that’s very generous of you.”

jake clears his throat. “she’s…friendly.”

you tilt an eyebrow at him. “that’s one word for it.”

“daddy says i’m really good at making friends," jiuen nods proudly.

he exhales, rubbing a hand over his face, muttering, “i say a lot of things.”

you tilt your head, watching him with a soft smile before you bend slightly back down to match jiuen’s height. “hey,” you say gently. “i think you should probably get some rest, yeah? you had a big day.”

jiuen considers this seriously. then sighs long and dramatically. “okay.”

jake feels relief for only exactly half a second. because then his karma—small, loud, and wearing light-up sneakers—points a finger between the two of you, “but you have to come over soon!”

you glance up at jake again, eyes bright with amusement, but laced with something else jake refuses to acknowledge for his own sake.

“i’ll…think about it,” you say, and he tries to ignore the tone behind it. 

jake feels like he should say something. anything. step in. regain control of the situation.

but instead, he hears himself say, “she’s usually in bed by eight.”

he has no idea why he said that.

why. did. he. say. that.

a flicker of surprise crosses your face before it softens into something small and knowing.

“good to know.”

jiuen beams, clearly satisfied—and clearly oblivious—finally allowing herself to be guided inside. jake opens the door, nudging her gently forward, but she looks back one last time.

“bye, y/n!”

“bye, jiuen!” you reply warmly, just as the door closes.

and suddenly, it’s just the two of you in the hallway. everything settles differently now, thicker somehow. enough to make jake shift his weight again, sliding his hands into his pockets, very aware of how close you’re standing. close enough to notice the faint scent of laundry detergent and something citrusy and…yeah, cardboard.

“well,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “i’m right across the hall. if you, uh…need anything.”

you meet his gaze, smiling softly. “i’ll remember that.”

another pause. and not awkward exactly, but just the kind of linger that happens when neither of you is in a hurry to be the first one to leave.

eventually, you step back towards your door, fingers brushing the doorframe as you turn.

“i’ll see you around, jake.”

jake nods immediately, too fast, eyes wide in a way he can’t seem to control.

“yeah. see you around.”

and as your door closes, jake stays where he is for a beat longer than necessary, pulse racing. because this—this is another thing they don’t teach you about kids:

sometimes, they know what belongs to you long before you do.

jake learns that life goes on. it always does.

no matter the disruption—no matter how unexpected, how citrus-scented, how unfairly and distractingly pretty that disruption might be—life keeps moving forward. coffee still brews. mornings still come too early. a five-year-old still needs lunch packed and hair brushed and shoes tied.

life goes on, yes. but change? change has a way of slipping in quietly. unannounced. making itself comfortable before you realized it’s even there.

a few days pass. not enough time for anything to really change drastically. not enough time for routines to fully unravel or for habits to break. but just enough time for jake to become aware of you in the quiet, peripheral way when people notice things and pretend they don’t matter.

like in the damp little cluster of wet shoes you leave outside your door after it rains, lined up neatly like you meant to deal with them later and absolutely did not. or in the simple welcome mat you’ve placed outside your apartment, like it’s always been there. or in the way certain evenings suddenly smell like garlic and butter and something warm and familiar drifting from across the hallway, making him pause and think, oh. someone’s cooking.

and it definitely isn’t him.

but you.

he hasn’t actually seen you much, though. no hallway run-ins. no brief waves or awkward small talk. not even a coincidental meeting in the lobby or the package room. just evidence of your alleged existence, scattered quietly around him like proof he keeps pretending not to collect.

which is fine. good, even. he tells himself that.

until one evening, everything takes a turn. and that turn comes in the form of his own blood—powered by fruit snacks, unfiltered opinions, and, apparently, a complete disregard for social decorum.

she’s already tired. a long day of coloring inside the lines (mostly), playing house on the playground jungle gym, and surviving on dinosaur nuggets and chocolate milk finally caught up to her. her backpack is slipping down one shoulder, sparkly shoes half-scuffed from dragging her feet, energy running on stubbornness and stubbornness alone.

and jake’s already bracing for it. he tightens his grip on jiuen’s hand, mentally flipping through his usual de-escalation techniques when the typical evening meltdown comes. calm voice. eye level. he likes to think he’s good at this whole parenting thing. a professional, even.

they make it exactly three steps down the hall.

“—I WANT Y/N TO COME OVER FOR DINNER.”

jake freezes mid-step.

“ji,” he hisses quietly, already crouching to her level, hands gently but firmly holding her arms. “inside voice.”

“no,” she says and definitely not with her inside voice. her tone wobbles dangerously, “you never invite her. you promised!”

“i didn’t promise,” jake says carefully, whispering now as he glances instinctively toward the neighboring doors. “she just moved in, and we don’t—”

“I LIKE HER,” jiuen announces, louder now, voice climbing as tears prick the corners of her eyes. “AND YOU’RE BEING MEAN.”

the hallway suddenly feels too long. too narrow. too echoey. jake can feel it. he can feel his neighbors’ heads turning from behind their doors with curiosity.

“okay,” he says, taking a deep, slow breath, attempting calm. he gives his daughter a stern look as best as he can. “let’s go inside first, and then we can talk about—”

“no!”

jiuen stomps her foot. once. then again. then repeatedly, her palms now balled into fists at her sides.

“I WANT HER. I WANT THE PRETTY NEIGHBOR OVER NOW.”

“shhh—ji—”

“she’s really pretty, daddy,” she adds, as if this is the final, irrefutable point he can’t argue against.

jake squeezes his eyes shut. this is happening. in public. in the hallway.

“please, princess—” he whispers again, desperation slipping through despite his best efforts as he tries, and fails, to gently steer her tiny body toward their apartment door. “we can talk about this after dinner.”

“I DON’T WANT DINNER,” she cries. okay. she’s crying now. this is happening. “I WANT HER.”

and then—

your door opens.

jake’s soul leaves his body.

you step out, brows furrowed, hair loose and down this time, concern softening your face as you take in the scene in front of you: a very teary-eyed five-year-old, a very stressed dad crouched beside her, and one very sparkly pink backpack abandoned on the floor.

“uh,” you say gently, one eyebrow lifted. “everything okay?”

jake stands up immediately, mortified. “i am so sorry. she’s—she’s just tired. i’m so sorry.”

you smile, amused more than anything, walking towards jiuen and crouching down in front of her before jake can stop you.

“hey,” your voice cuts in softly, gentle and grounding all at once. one hand lifts instinctively to wipe the tear slipping down jiuen’s cheek. “what’s going on?”

jiuen sniffles dramatically. “daddy said you’re not allowed to come over.”

that’s when you tilt your head up and glance at jake, eyes bright with humor, mischief flickering there like you’ve already decided to enjoy this.

“wow,” you say lightly, “that’s harsh.”

jake blinks. he feels his ear’s burning already.

“it’s not—” jake starts, panicking. “i didn’t—”

jiuen turns back to you, another tear rolling down, another sniffle, “he’s being mean.”

you nod like this is serious business. “well, that's not good.”

jake lets out a quiet groan. he briefly considers banging his head against the door. just once. for clarity.

“and now,” jiuen continues, voice trembling again, “he said you can’t come over ever.”

jake’s head snaps up. “that’s—what? that’s not—”

you stifle your giggle, pressing a hand to your chest as you gasp softly. “ever?”

jiuen nods quickly.

the hallway suddenly feels very, very small.

“well,” you say thoughtfully, glancing between the two of them before your gaze settles back on jake—your smile turning into very specific kind of dangerous. “i do happen to have some free time tonight.”

jake stiffens. he silently prays to whatever higher power that might still be listening that this is a joke. that this is where you laugh it off and go back inside and pretend none of this ever happened.

“and,” you continue, tone easy, playful, teasing, “if daddy doesn’t mind me crashing dinner…”

and then jiuen’s face lights up instantly.

“YES!” she cheers, grabbing your hand with both of hers and tugging it excitedly.

jake opens his mouth. closes it. opens it again.

“i—uh,” he clears his throat, scrambling. “i mean, you don’t have to—”

“it’s okay,” you shrug, standing now, still smiling at him, still holding jiuen’s small hand in yours. “i don’t mind.”

jake looks at you. then looks at his daughter. then back at you again. and realizes—too late—that this is his fate. that his fate is being emotionally blackmailed by his own flesh and blood, simply because she has perfected the art of puppy eyes and is currently holding hands with the pretty neighbor who smells good and laughs easily. and so, how exactly is he supposed to say no?

he exhales slowly, the sound less about the situation at hand and more so about grounding himself because in a few seconds you’re about to be in his apartment. with him. and with his child. and it suddenly feels like a much bigger deal than it should.

“…okay,” he says finally, voice a little strained. “dinner sounds good to me.”

jiuen’s already tugging you toward the door, bouncing on her heels as she waits. jake unlocks the front door and steps aside to let you both in, his heart thudding a little harder than it should over something as simple as letting someone inside.

“uh—” he starts, then stops as he follows you in from behind, because welcome to my humble abode feels both too formal and wildly insufficient when you’re already stepping past him.

and jake's apartment is nice, he'd like to think. spacious, but not in a way that feels empty. it’s cozy and lived in, in the way that matters. the kind of space that’s clearly been shaped by routine rather than decoration. there’s a shoe rack by the door with pairs in varying sizes—tiny sneakers with light up soles shoved randomly next to bigger ones. a half-folded jacket draped over the back of the couch like it was meant to be put away and simply wasn’t. crayons and coloring books stacked neatly on the coffee table, and next to them, a lone plastic dinosaur guarding the tv remote.

you glance around politely, curious but not nosy, and jake suddenly becomes painfully aware of everything.

the family calendar stuck to the fridge with mismatched magnets. the crooked drawing taped beside it, stick figures holding hands under a sun that’s a little too big, labeled ME & DADDY in uneven marker. the faint smell of laundry in the air because he forgot, again, to move the wet clothes into the dryer this morning, and the small pile of plates still in the sink from breakfast, abandoned sometime between packing a backpack and tying shoes.

it’s not messy. it’s not spotless either. it’s real. you smile at the thought.

jiuen kicks her shoes off immediately, shoving them toward the corner of the rack before darting into the living room like she owns the place (and, well, she does). you hesitate for half a second, then slip your own shoes off, lining them neatly by the door as jake watches.

“sorry,” he says beside you, gesturing vaguely at the space like he could somehow explain it. “it’s…not usually this chaotic.”

you shake your head, smiling, “it’s cute.”

and that word—small, simple, probably something you said out of politeness—lands somewhere in his chest and stays there.

there’s a brief moment of silence after that, just long enough for jake to realize he should probably, definitely say something, considering you’re just standing there now, inside his apartment, and he’s doing a very poor job of pretending he isn’t staring.

“i’ll be in the kitchen,” he finally says, pointing toward it as if it isn’t directly in front of the both of you. he gestures again, unnecessarily. “make yourself at home, jiuen usually watches her show while i prep dinner.”

you hesitate for a second, like you’re deciding where you belong in the space, before trailing after him anyways as he heads towards the kitchen.

“i can help,” you offer.

he shakes his head immediately, “you’re a guest.” he’s already pulling things out of the fridge—chicken, leftover vegetables, a half-used bottle of sauce.

you arch a brow, leaning lightly against the counter, watching him with an expression that’s equal parts amused and thoughtful, “i invited myself over, jake.”

jake lets out a small laugh, defeated.

fair. 

“okay, fine. you can, um—wash and cut the vegetables, if you want.”

jiuen’s head immediately pops out of nowhere as she climbs onto her chair at the dining table, chin propped on her hands as she watches from across the kitchen bar.

“daddy never lets me help cook,” she states casually. then, after a thoughtful pause, adds, “he must really like you.”

jake chokes on absolutely nothing.

“i—princess,” he says, recovering far too slowly, eyes avoiding yours, “that’s because you can barely reach the counter.”

you laugh, the sound easy and warm, already rolling up your sleeves as you move toward the sink. you grab the vegetables jake set out without asking, rinsing them carefully under the water like you’ve done this, in his kitchen, a hundred times before.

and everything after that kind of falls into something that almost feels like routine.

not the routine jake’s used to, no. not the familiar soundtrack of a cartoon playing too loudly in the living room while he stands at the stove, squinting at his phone and failing spectacularly to follow a “simple” cooking tutorial that somehow requires three different pans just because jiuen had a specific craving. no, tonight is different.

instead of high-pitched characters singing nursery rhymes, it’s jiuen’s voice carrying across the kitchen as she narrates her entire playground adventure from today to you—you, who’s listening, genuinely, and reacting to all the right parts. instead of jake cooking alone, there’s the soft steady sound of you chopping vegetables beside him, your elbow slightly bumping against his in a way he doesn’t seem to mind.

he pretends not to notice the way you cut everything into careful, bite-sized, jiuen-sized pieces without being asked. pretends not to notice the way you slide the vegetables into the pot he’s currently stirring, easily and unintrusive, like you already know where things go. the way you move easily in his kitchen, not hesitating, not hovering…just fitting.

dinner itself goes smoother than jake expects. which surprises him, because he’s not exactly known for being smooth—especially not in situations like this. especially not when his own child is a small ball of chaos and he’s never quite figured out what to do when he’s in unfamiliar situations. and having someone like you sitting at his dining table—like it’s normal, like you belong there—definitely counts as an unfamiliar situation.

nothing about this is normal. and it’s not because you’re sitting in his usual seat besides jiuen (because she insisted, and as has been clearly established, jake is powerless against that), but because he can’t remember the last time it was just him, his daughter, and someone else at this table.

maybe last month, when his parents surprised them and showed up with new toys and enough meal prepped food to last weeks. but that doesn’t count. that was grandparent obligation. this feels different.

“do you cook a lot?” you ask from across the table. 

“eh,” jake shrugs, spoon clinking awkwardly against his bowl of rice. “enough to keep us alive.”

“that’s impressive,” you tease. “high bar.”

he huffs a laugh before he can stop himself.

and the conversation slips easily into place after that, weaving itself between the sounds of jiuen slurping her soup and attacking her noodles with her newly acquired chopstick skills. you ask about where he’s from. he asks why you moved. how long he’s lived in the building. what you do for fun. what he does for a living.

and jake answers carefully, not guarded, but deliberate and thoughtful. like he’s choosing his words because he hopes they land somewhere that matters to you. and you do the same. nothing heavy, nothing rushed. just the quiet sense of two people learning each other in real time. observing. taking mental notes. letting something small and unspoken take shape between them without neither noticing it.

jiuen’s stories find their way into the conversation too, popping up between bites and questions.

“and then,” she says proudly, pausing dramatically, “i colored outside the lines.”

you gasp at her. “a rebel.”

jake shakes his head, lips twitching, “i raised a menace.”

you grin at him, the look sharp and playful, “she gets it from you, doesn’t she?”

he pauses, eyes narrowing slightly, something playful yet unreadable flickering there before he recovers, “hey.”

you just smile back, innocent.

dinner eventually winds down slowly, but not all at once. just in the way that good things do, stretching themselves out like they’re reluctant to end. plates get cleared, except jiuen’s, who casually pushes hers towards jake across the table as if asking him to finish it for her like this is a long-standing silent agreement.

her stories taper off into softer commentary. words replaced by yawns. her head droops, then rights itself up, then droops again. the kitchen light hums quietly overhead, and somewhere in the living room, the clock ticks steadily, marking time neither of you seem eager to acknowledge.

eventually, jake stands and gathers the plates, stacking them carefully in the sink like he’s buying himself time.

“alright,” he says, glancing at the clock before turning to jiuen. “bath time.”

she groans instantly, slumping dramatically in her chair. “already?”

“yes, already,” he replies, tone firm but familiar, the kind of stern that doesn’t actually mean he’s serious. you catch the exchange and smile before you can stop yourself. “say goodnight to y/n.”

and jake barely has time to process it before jiuen hops off her chair and goes to where you’re standing in the kitchen, wrapping her arms around your waist without hesitation and pressing her cheek against you like this has always been happening. like this is normal, and you’re not the neighbor he met only last week, standing in his kitchen, quietly rearranging his sense of self.

it shouldn’t hit him the way it does. but it does, and he fails to ignore it. something about the way you instinctively hug her back, one hand resting between her shoulder blades, the other smoothing over her hair—like you’ve done this before and like you’ll continue doing it. it makes something in jake’s chest shift, something unfamiliar. and terrifying.

not because he’s standing in his own apartment, surrounded by the life he’s already built for himself—but because suddenly, somehow, that feeling of home seems to be tied to a person that, for once, isn’t the five-year-old little human he raised.

but to you.

jake’s throat tightens.

“goodnight, jiuen,” you murmur softly. “sleep well, okay?”

jiuen pulls back just enough to look up at you, short arms still looped around your waist. “you’ll come over again?”

you smile at her. “if your dad lets me.”

she turns and squints at the innocent man caught off guard, standing not too far behind her. “you better.”

jake exhales, something like a laugh slipping out, “go get ready.”

she grins, satisfied, and soon disappears down the hallway, calling out, “goodnight, y/n!”

and when she rounds the corner, it’s suddenly quiet again.

jake clears his throat just to fill the air. “well,” he says, breaking the stillness. “that was fun.” he says it because he means it. and he hopes, quietly, that you don’t hear it as just politeness.

“it was,” you agree, just as softly, not moving from where you stand. “you’re really good with her, you know.”

something warm creeps up jake’s neck. he shifts, arms hanging awkwardly at his sides as he searches for a response that doesn’t feel too much for a moment like this.

“oh—” he starts, then shrugs lightly. “i mean. i try. most days.”

you let out a small laugh, but nod, watching him with an understanding that feels deeper than the moment calls for. then, you simply add, “she’s lucky.”

jake rubs the back of his neck. and because he doesn’t know what to say and panicks, he then gestures toward the door, suddenly aware of how close you’re standing in front of him and because his five-year-old is just down the hall. “i can, um—walk you back.”

he immediately realizes how ridiculous that sounds when you live ten feet away. maybe less. but he hopes you say yes anyways.

“yeah,” you nod, moving to slip your shoes on as he opens the door for you. “thank you.”

he walks beside you for all ten feet of it, close enough to feel your warmth, but far enough to keep things safe. he stops in front of your door, hands slipping back into his hoodie pockets.

“well,” you say quietly, turning to face him. “thanks for having me.”

he smiles, small and genuine, eyes steady on yours, “thanks for inviting yourself over.”

you laugh under your breath, eyes flickering away for a moment before finding his again. there’s a pause again, as you both seem to register the natural lack of space between you, the shared breath, the way neither of you is in a hurry to end this.

eventually, your hand finds the doorknob behind you. it lingers there for half a second before you turn it.

“goodnight, jake,” you say, glancing back at him one last time.

“goodnight,” he replies, and it comes out quieter than he intends.

your door closes with a gentle click.

and jake is left there, exhaling slowly, staring at the wood of your door like it might finally offer him answers it didn’t the last time he stood in this exact spot only days ago. days ago, when he was actively choosing to ignore the feeling that stirred in his chest the moment he first saw you at the end of this hallway, white tank top, hair up, kitchen??? box and all. but now—whatever this is, whatever slipped so quietly into his life—it’s asking him to notice it. and this time? jake doesn’t think he wants to look away.

he sighs quietly to himself, retreating back to his own apartment and silently shutting his door before turning around.

and nearly jumps out of his skin.

“—JESUS, ji—”

and jiuen is standing right there. at the end of the hall, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

“you told me not to ever use God’s name in vain,” she says sternly, marching towards him with purpose before planting herself in front of him.

jake ignores her. “why are you staring.”

“i’m not staring,” she says defensively, folding her arms again. “i was waiting.”

“for what?”

“for you.”

he sighs tiredly, “i thought i told you to start the bath.”

she tilts her head, studying her dad with an intensity that makes him deeply uncomfortable. then, very matter-of-factly, and very much ignoring what he just said, “i like her.”

jake rubs his face. “you’ve mentioned.”

“she’s really pretty.”

“yes,” he mutters, sidestepping her and continuing down the hall. “you’ve mentioned that too.”

jiuen spins around to follow him and squints. “so you don’t think she’s pretty?”

jake stops. slowly, he closes his eyes, debating if he wants to choose peace for the night.

“princess,” he says carefully, opening them again, “that’s not what i said.”

“that wasn’t an answer.”

he exhales through his nose. then—

“she is,” he admits quietly. “she’s pretty.”

jiuen gasps. an actual, audible gasp. the light enters her eyes again.

“i knew it,” she says, spinning around once before marching toward the bathroom, a new bounce in her step. “i knew you were acting weird, daddy.”

“i was not acting weird, what—”

“you were,” she insists. “your voice did the thing.”

“what thing.”

“the thing where you don’t talk a lot because you’re nervous.”

jake nudges the bathroom door open and flicks on the light, his voice deadpan, “you are five.”

she hums casually, climbing onto the little step stool by the sink, legs swinging as she watches jake start the water. “when is she coming over again?”

“okay, woah—,” jake stares at the running water, dipping a hand to check the temperature. not too cold, not too hot. “slow down.”

“she can help me color,” jiuen continues, completely ignoring his attempts at creating boundaries. “and we can watch movies. and she can sit by me again.” a pause. then, thoughtfully, and very seriously, “and maybe she can sleep over and stay for breakfast.”

jake freezes.

he looks back at her, at the way her feet swing innocently, like the implication of what she just said won’t casually rearrange his entire life’s trajectory.

“breakfast?” he repeats.

“yes,” she nods, very seriously. “pancakes. my favorite.”

he turns back to the tub, now squeezing bubble bath into the water like this conversation is not happening. “you’re planning very far ahead, princess.”

“she said she might come over again.”

“she said she’d think about it.”

jiuen hums, unbothered. “that means yes.”

jake snorts, hands now guiding her towards the tub. “you’re very confident, ji.”

she beams up at him with nothing but the unfiltered opinions and innocence of a five-year-old, “i like her, daddy.”

he pauses again, looking down at her with something in his expression softening in a way he doesn’t bother to hide anymore.

“yeah,” he says quietly. “i know.”

and silently, to himself, he acknowledges the part he hasn’t said out loud yet. the part he’s been circling around since the hallway.

me too.

jiuen steps into the tub, splashing immediately. “she feels nice.”

jake blinks. “…feels nice?”

“yeah. she hugged me,” she states like it’s obvious. “and she smells good.”

his chest tightens. he ignores it. clears his throat. “okay. bath.”

she giggles as he hands her a toy, distracted and already moving on. until, “daddy?”

“mm?”

“you should be nice to her.”

jake swallows, eyes squinting. “i am nice.”

“no,” she says, humming thoughtfully, head tilting. “nice nice.”

jake closes his eyes again.

“bath,” he repeats, voice tired but fond and full of something else knowing he’s not ready to name quite yet.

something warm, something hopeful. and something that already feels a little like home.

jake tries—really, really tries to snap everything back into place. 

tries to pretend that he didn’t lie awake far longer than he should have that night, staring at the ceiling long after jiuen had fallen asleep, replaying moments he keeps telling himself don’t mean anything. tries not to linger on the sound of your laughter, or the way you soften without thinking around his daughter. the way your eyes light up when you smile. the careful sincerity in your voice, like you choose your words because you mean them.

he tries. tries to get back into the rhythm over the next few days. back into the carefully constructed routine he’s spent years perfecting. because routines are reliable. predictable. safe. and whatever you are, you are none of those things.

but he doesn’t know if he even seems to mind anymore.

6:12AM. the alarm goes off exactly once. coffee brewed. mismatched socks. apple slices packed into tupperware, a peanut-butter-free sandwich wrapped just right.

and one cookie.

only one. no matter how small and cute jiuen looks this morning in her uniform, hair clipped back with the ones she picked out, coat buttoned up crookedly because she insisted on doing it herself. no matter how she smiles up at him over her breakfast pancakes with crumbs on her lips and sleepy eyes.

he cannot and will not risk another sugar-fueled sprint down the hallway. he has learned his lesson.

the routine continues. he grabs his keys, her backpack, checks the clock, and out the door. jiuen’s hand slips into his automatically as they step into the hallway, her fingers small and warm and safe in his palm.

and then your door opens.

jake stops.

you step out in workout clothes, hair pulled back, ear buds dangling loosely around your neck. there’s a brief second where all three of you just pause. like the universe is giving him half a second to prepare.

he does not.

he cannot, because you’re standing there, wearing that, and looking like something he has no business imagining at 7:15AM in the morning with his five-year-old daughter holding his hand.

“oh!” you say softly, surprised, but smiling. first at jiuen, then back up at jake.

jiuen lights up, the sleepiness in her eyes immediately fading. “good morning!”

“good morning, jiuen,” you reply, crouching just slightly so you’re closer to her height. “you look very official today.”

she beams, both hands holding the straps of her backpack proudly, “i have school.”

“i can tell,” you reply seriously. “very important business.”

jake watches the exchange like he’s witnessing something sacred and mildly terrifying. like this is a glimpse into a life that feels far too close for comfort.

you straighten up, your eyes moving to him now. “—and good morning, jake.”

“morning,” he manages, and his voice lower and rougher than usual. and he hopes you blame it on the early hour and not the fact that he feels a strange and unfamiliar heat pooling low and tight in his gut just from seeing you like this.

it’s too early for this. too early for you to look good in the way no one warns you about. fresh. awake. effortless. like you didn’t even try, and somehow that makes it worse.

“are you guys walking over?” you tilt your head, ponytail sliding over one shoulder as you shift your weight from one foot to the other, the motion small but enough to make the cropped hoodie on you ride up, exposing another small inch of the curve of your waist and the faint dip where your leggings sit low on your hips.

jake’s eyes drop before he can stop them. automatic, unintentional, but fully unavoidable. he forces his gaze back up. too late. the image is already burned in.

“uh—” he clears his throat, trying to sound normal. “yeah. it’s not too far from here.”

jiuen then tugs at his hand, suddenly bouncing slightly in place, “wait—are you walking me too, y/n? is that why you’re here?”

jake’s head snaps to you above jiuen’s head.

you look back.

and for a split second, something unspoken passes between you. a question, an invitation, then, like crossing a line neither of you were ready to acknowledge out loud, you smile.

“yeah,” you nod easily, smiling at jiuen like this was always the plan and not, in fact, a three-mile run. “totally.”

jiuen’s smile stretches wide.

jake doesn’t miss the way your eyes flick back to him, gentle and reassuring. he knows the look on his face gives him away—eyebrows lifting just slightly, mouth pressing thin in that i am so sorry way.

you answer it with nothing but a small smile in your eyes. and something in jake warms at that. something subtle that he definitely didn’t need to contribute towards his already confusing feelings, but now undeniable and evidently, there.

and that’s how it happens.

that’s how the three of you end up walking together down the block together, the morning air still cool and damp with dew, the neighborhood waking up around you. a dog barks somewhere in the distance. the sun still hangs low in the sky. a school bus passes by.

jiuen chatters the entire way. about school. about her favorite color (it was pink yesterday, purple today). about how she’s very fast at running but not allowed to race in hallways anymore, not after the incident.

and jake watches as you listen—nodding, reacting, laughing at all the right parts like every detail matters. because to jiuen, it does. he catches it from the corner of his eye, pretending he’s focused on the traffic lights and crosswalk signals instead of the way you lean in just a little when jiuen speaks. the way your attention never wavers. and the way his heart beats a little quicker at the view.

“do you run, y/n?” jiuen’s small voice cuts in, peering up at you as her hand still swings lightly in jake’s larger one.

“sometimes,” you answer. “mostly when i think too much and my brain needs to quiet down.”

jake smiles to himself before he can stop it. you catch it.

“what?” you ask, tilting your head slightly, already half-smiling.

“nothing,” he says, shaking his head. “that just…yeah. that makes sense.”

because it does. because he understands the need to outrun your own thoughts—how they can pile up when you slow down. the constant calculations. the quiet questions he never says out loud ever since five years ago.

is he doing enough? is he doing too much? is she happy? is he happy?

because it’s not just his life he’s trying to keep steady anymore. it’s hers. every choice carrying some sort of weight, every mistake feeling like it echoes louder and lingers longer when you’re responsible for another human being.

so yeah, he gets it. gets the impulse to move. to breathe. to find a rhythm that drowns out the noise if even for a little while.

you don’t push for more. you just look at him for a second longer, soft and curious, like you’re piecing something together without needing him to explain it out loud.

jiuen skips a few steps ahead, then suddenly stops short, gasping dramatically as she spins back around to the both of you.

“today’s friday!” she exclaims like everyone is supposed to know what that means. “it’s movie night!”

she then plants herself directly in front of you, halting both you and jake mid-step.

“you should come join us!” jiuen’s eyes grow wider as she stares up at you with excitement.

jake pauses. 

he really should’ve seen this one coming. 

a quiet sigh slips out as he makes, again, a mental note to have a conversation with his daughter about asking dad for permission before inviting people over. 

he looks at you. then back at her. then squeezes his eyes shut and questions how he somehow raised a child completely unburdened by social anxiety.

this is on him. absolutely his fault.

“—okay, look,” he cuts in quickly, both hands already on jiuen’s shoulders and turning her back around towards the school’s entrance in the short distance, “we’re here. let’s get you to class.”

at the school gates, it’s chaos in the way only elementary schools can be. kids everywhere, backpacks too big for their own bodies, parents lingering, coffee cups in hand and sleepiness in their eyes.

and jiuen forgets everything the moment she spots her friends. she’s gone in an instant, running towards a small cluster of just-as-tiny-beings already show-and-telling their new bracelet, new hair clip, look what my mom packed for my lunch today!

but then, just as quickly—they all notice you.

“jiuen—” one of them whispers but it’s not really a whisper because they’re five and so, naturally, it’s loud and clear, “—is that your mom?”

and jake chokes. actually chokes. he inhales wrong, coughs hard, eyes flying wide as his head snaps towards you before darting back to the small cluster of children now openly staring at where the two of you stand side by side.

“what—no—” he starts, words tangling somewhere between his brain and his mouth because how did he let himself get in this situation?

but you’re already laughing, instinctive and bright, lifting a hand to cover your mouth like you’re not entirely sure what the correct response is either when both of you clearly know what it is.

“no,” jiuen shakes her head firmly, turning back to her friends matter-of-factly. “she’s my dad’s really pretty lady friend.”

jake stops breathing.

oh. god.

there’s a collective pause.

then—

“ooooh,” a random kid says—jake doesn’t know which one, but he’s pretty sure it’s the same kid with the peanut allergy and passive-aggressive mom. “she looks like a mom.”

“yeah,” another voice adds from the group. “can she play with us?”

jiuen perks up immediately, spinning back toward you and jake, eyes shining. “can you?”

you giggle and crouch slightly, meeting her at eye level like this is the most reasonable request in the world.

“maybe later,” you say softly. “after daddy picks you up. then we can do movie night.”

jake swallows.

hard.

you really need to stop calling him that. for his own mental health. for his continued ability to function normally. especially in public.

and especially when you just naturally included the casual we in your proposition and he’s now too busy short-circuiting to register it. the easy way you already folded yourself into their evening like it was already decided by fate itself.

he might’ve missed it entirely if jiuen didn’t light up on the spot, joy and excitement blooming all across her face.

“YES!” she cheers. “you’re going to love movie night!”

and jake barely has time to recover before she spins on her heel, throwing one last wave over her shoulder.

“bye, daddy! bye, y/n!”

and just like that, jake’s left standing there, mind several seconds behind his body, very stunned and very well aware of the fact that you’re still standing next to him.

“so…” your voice slips in quietly as you turn to look up at him. you tilt your head, expression open and curious in a way that looks innocent—but jake is starting to think there’s nothing accidental about the way you do that anymore. “movie night?”

he blinks, needing a moment to fully reenter his own body. “uh—yeah. yeah. if you’re down, i mean.” he clears his throat, instinctively straightening up. “she, uh…she gets excited quickly. just kind of throws ideas out there without thinking.”

you give him a smile. soft, small, understanding. “she’s five, jake. she’s not supposed to think too much.” a light shrug. “that’s kind of the magic of that age.” then you pause, like you’re deciding whether to say the next part. “plus, i technically invited myself over. again.”

jake lets out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze drifts briefly towards the school doors before finding its way back to you. “well—” he exhales. “clearly, jiuen loves you. so…you’re welcomed over anytime.”

the words settle between you.

between the way he’s standing just a little too still and how you haven’t stepped back and the quietness of the early morning where everything feels a little too real.

you study him for a beat, something amused and unmistakably intentional flickering in your expression. like you’re deciding how honest you can be. deciding just how far to push.

“mmm,” you hum softly, the corner of your mouth lifting. “is that for before or after eight?”

jake’s breath stutters. his thoughts derail, scattering somewhere between what you’re implying and the way you’re looking at him right now—like you’re aware of the line and choosing to hover right at the edge of it.

he searches for words. any words. something smart, something adult.

something that doesn’t give him away—but maybe gives him away just enough. enough to let you know that he’s thought about it. about what crossing the line would look like, about what after eight might look like.

nothing comes. his mind is both painfully blank and full in the worst way.

and before he can even attempt to say something smooth, something that might maybe, maybe help his case, at all—

“alright, well,” you say casually, stepping back like nothing just happened and jake isn’t standing in front of you and having thoughts he shouldn’t be having this early in the morning in front of his daughter’s elementary school, “—gonna go on my run now.”

you adjust your earbuds, already moving to turn away.

“i’ll see you later?” you add over your shoulder, looking back at him one more time, and it’s just long enough to make him wonder if this moment meant the same thing to you as it did to him.

and he really hopes it did.

jake nods quickly, chest tight, thoughts scattered. “yeah,” he says. “yeah. later.”

and as he watches you jog away, something in jake finally settles.

which says a lot, because jake has never been good at certainty. he doesn’t really know how to fold fitted sheets. doesn’t know how to answer when jiuen asks questions that start with why and end somewhere completely out of his realm. still doesn’t know what her kindergarten teacher means when she insists on a five-subject notebook versus two-subject on the school supply list.

jake’s spent most of his life figuring things out as he goes. adjusting, learning by necessity.

but this? this, he knows.

because as he watches your figure grow smaller down the block, his thoughts still stuck where you left them—on the way your voice dripped sweet but dangerously only a minute ago and the look in your eyes enough to say more than he needed to ever hear—

jake understands something with nothing but clarity.

he now knows nothing about you is coincidental anymore. not the timing. not the teasing. not the way you look up at him then pull away like you know exactly what you’re doing.

and that jake doesn’t just want movie night.

he wants it all. everything that has to do with you.

you, not as a passing thought or a harmless curiosity or the girl-across-the-hall, but as something chosen. something built, something real, something that feels like home.

he wants what comes after eight. before eight. and everything in between.

jake is at a crossroads.

which feels dramatic. but also, accurate, considering he’s currently standing in the middle of his living room, staring down at his couch like it might give him all the answers he’s been silently begging for.

and the couch in question has definitely seen better days. one armrest sinks a little too much, the springs on the far end squeaks faintly if you sit down too fast, and there’s a barely noticeable dip in the middle from years of movie nights that were really just him and jiuen slowly falling asleep to whatever animated movie was playing.

but now it’s suddenly important. because tonight isn’t just movie night.

it’s movie night.

and jake is painfully aware of two things:

one — he does not know how to host another adult without spiraling.

two — he does not know how to be around you without spiraling.

which makes the idea of hosting you in his apartment, for the second time no less, an objectively terrible plan.

and yet.

he’s still standing there, staring at the couch, questions firing off in his head in rapid-fire.

which seat is y/n going to take? is it weird if i sit directly next to her? should jiuen sit between us? is that too domestic? or somehow less domestic? do people think about this? do normal people actually think about this? would she want a blanket? an extra pillow? does she get cold easily? what movie snacks does she like? why didn’t i ask what snacks she like?

jake looks down at the coffee table. the bowls are out. popcorn in one, chips in another. napkins neatly stacked. remote control placed intentionally at one end of the table, positioned just right so it doesn’t look like he tried too hard (he tried very hard), but also so it’s clear he’s not the kind of man who loses the remote every night and blames it on the couch gaps like a liar.

this is stupid, he tells himself. he’s being stupid.

“y/n’s here!”

jiuen’s voice rings through the apartment before jake even has time to look up, her tiny hand already swinging the door open with the enthusiasm of someone who has never once her life considered stranger danger.

“ji, what did i tell you about opening doors before asking me—“

and then jake stops.

because there you are.

and you’re standing in the door like you’ve stepped straight out of a very specific fantasy he absolutely will not get into the details of right now.

you’re wearing pajamas, real ones. not the cute, intentional matching set kind—although he’s not sure he’d survive that either—but soft sweatpants that hang low on your hips and an oversized sweater that he thinks could probably double as a dress if you felt like it. your hair is loose, a little messy in that end-of-the-day way, and in your hand sits a tub of ice cream like this is the most normal thing in the world and not simultaneously his worst nightmare and saving grace all in one.

jake forgets how to blink.

this is…worse than this morning. worse than workout clothes. worse than a white tank top. because this feels intimate in a way his brain absolutely did not prepare him for. this is what you look like when you’re home. when you’re comfortable. when you’ve stopped trying and started existing—unfiltered, unguarded, entirely yourself. like this is the version of you reserved for quiet nights and people you trust.

jake’s brain was not built for this.

every thought he prepared, every carefully constructed plan about seating arrangements and blankets and snacks and emotional readiness immediately disappears. nothing left. not a single coherent thought in sight. just the overwhelming, bone deep realization that movie night was a terrible idea.

“i brought ice cream!” you lift the tub and spoons like a peace offering in one hand, your smile bright and instant.

jiuen gasps, both arms shooting up on instinct before she, evidently, realizes she’s very much too short and settles for grabbing your free hand instead.

“ICE CREAM?” she squeals, already tugging you inside without waiting for permission. “daddy never lets me have ice cream on movie night!”

“that’s because movie night is already ninety percent sugar,” jake says automatically, still standing there with the door wide open like an idiot, “and ice cream makes you sleepy—and also…hi.”

you glance back at him. he’s leaning against the doorframe, watching you in that way he’s started to do without realizing it—like he’s trying not to stare, but he’s memorizing anyway.

you smile at him, soft and knowing, “hi.”

and it all seems casual. seems normal. like this is nothing. like you didn’t just walk into his apartment in your house slippers and soft clothes and that familiar citrusy scent and quietly rearrange his entire evening the way you have been doing ever since you moved in.

“i hope this is okay. i figured movie night deserved ice cream.”

jake finally steps aside, letting the door close behind you. and the apartment immediately feels smaller, in the best way possible. warmer. familiar. like the space shifted to make room just for you.

“yeah,” he says, letting out a small laugh as he follows you and jiuen to the living room. “of course. i’m a dad, not a monster.”

jiuen’s already climbing onto the couch, scrambling straight for the middle cushion—no hesitation, no second thoughts. unlike her own father, who absolutely would have overthought it for the next ten minutes if it were left up to him (and well, he did).

“i’m sitting in the middle!” she’s already making herself comfortable under a throw blanket before she pats the space beside her and points determinedly, “y/n here.”

then the other side.

“and daddy here.”

well, that’s one of jake’s problems solved.

he watches as you sit down next to jiuen without question, turning toward her with full attention like this seating arrangement has always been decided ever since he bought this couch years ago.

“so,” you say seriously, hands folding in your lap as you look at her seriously. “what movie are we watching?”

“we’re watching the princess one!” jiuen announces immediately. “the new princess one!”

“you mean the one we watched last week?” jake asks exasperatedly as he sits down on jiuen’s other side.

“yes,” she replies, unwavering. “but again. because y/n wasn’t here.”

you laugh again, and jake watches the way you tuck your legs beneath you without thinking. the way the tub of ice cream already sits on the coffee table with three spoons laid out next to it, two big, one small. the way that nothing about this should feel normal, but it does.

jake tries not to think about it.

“alright,” you say, reaching for the remote and hanging it to jiuen. “princess movie it is.”

and then everything settles into place, in that quiet, familiar way things do when they’ve been done a hundred times before and will be done a hundred times more. like if a stranger took a good look at the moment in front of them, they might think this is what every friday looks like in the sim household. except it isn’t. this is the first time. and yet, somehow, it already feels like something they’ve been doing for years.

jiuen insists on turning the lights off because “it’s cozier that way,” and jake lets it happen even though he knows she’ll be out cold in forty minutes. she narrates the first ten minutes of the movie, loudly. you react to every single comment like it’s important, nodding when she nods, gasping when she gasps, leaning in when she leans. jake watches that more than the screen. watches the way your hand absently smooths over jiuen’s hair. the way you tilt your head slightly when she murmurs something about the princess’s dress. like it matters that you hear her, like you want to.

the ice cream gets passed back and forth too—jiuen to you, you to jake, jake back to you, then back to jiuen, spoons clinking softly against the tub, the rhythm of it so easy and unthinking it almost feels practiced.

somewhere around the second act, jake realizes his shoulders aren’t so tight anymore, that he feels less hyperaware of your every move and your overwhelming presence. he allows himself to shift comfortably, stretching one arm along the back of the couch until his fingers brush your shoulder accidentally. accidentally, but enough. enough to send a spark through his entire being, but still so light that maybe you don’t feel it. if you do, you don’t pull away. and neither does he.

eventually, right around the forty minute mark like jake had predicted, jiuen shifts. her head dips, body rolling instinctively onto her side. and before anyone can stop it, she’s curled into you, cheek resting in your lap, small legs stretched across jake’s, tangling the three of you together beneath the blanket.

jake adjusts the blanket automatically, careful not to wake her. you don’t flinch at any of it—the closeness, the way it happens so naturally, the strange domestic weight of the moment. he watches from the corner of his eye as your hand keeps moving through jiuen’s hair, slow and steady, until her eyes finally flutter shut.

“she’s asleep,” you eventually whisper, barely moving as your eyes meet his.

jake nods, throat tight as he looks at you. “told you it was the ice cream.”

you let out a quiet laugh, gentle enough not to disturb her, eyes drifting back to the screen. his hand still rests near your shoulder. you still don’t move.

the movie keeps playing, but it’s long forgotten now. everything feels too soft, the room dim, only lit by the glow of the tv and the warm lamp from the kitchen. jake tells himself not to stare. tells him to focus on literally anything else.

he fails.

your breathing eventually evens out and jake realizes you’ve drifted off too—your head slightly tipped to the side now, resting close to where his hand sits on the back of the couch. and you look so soft—unguarded, lashes resting against your cheeks, hair framing your face perfectly. the glow of the tv paints your face in warm light, catching on the gentle rise and fall of your chest.

jake doesn’t move. he just watches. watches the way one of your hands still cups jiuen’s head, fingers absentmindedly threaded through her hair like you’re keeping her safe even in her sleep. the way you’ve leaned towards him without even realizing it. like instinct. like he’s where you belong.

jake looks back at the screen when he thinks he’s been staring for too long, but the movie means nothing now. animated colors flicker past, a princess sings, and he’s pretty sure some frog is talking. he absorbs none of it. all he can feel is the silent weight of the moment. the warmth of his daughter against his leg. the warmth of you just inches away. the fragile, impossible peace of it all.

eventually the credits roll and jake has to face the fact that he’s being selfish. that he’s been sitting here, not moving, just watching you breathe like this moment is something he’s allowed to keep. that’s you’re someone he’s allowed to keep. that you’re more than just the neighbor he just met and somehow already can’t imagine not knowing.

he turns back to you, takes in the vision in front of him one more time, then gently nudges your shoulder.

“hey,” he murmurs as you slowly stir awake. “you can stay. i mean—if you want. the couch—”

you blink the sleep from your eyes, clearly disoriented for half a second before smiling up at him softly. “hey.”

jake’s breath stalls, quiet and helpless, as you look up at him like that. he thinks his heart is going to jump straight out of his chest right here, right now, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

“hi,” he whispers back, because he thinks his brain can’t manage to think of anything else in his moment.

for a moment, neither of you move. not because you don’t want to, but because something about the space between you feels fragile. feels aware—of the look in his eyes as he looks as you, and the look in your eyes as you look at him. of how easily this could become something else. of how much it already has. and—definitely not for the first time tonight—jake realizes that, for once he isn’t overthinking about jiuen, or the overly animated princess and talking frog, or the way his couch creaks when someone shifts. he’s only thinking about you.

you eventually rub your eyes carefully before letting out a small yawn. “let me help.”

he watches as you carefully slide one arm beneath jiuen’s shoulders, one under her knees, and lift her from your lap with a slow, practiced ease. she stirs a little, a quiet, involuntary sound leaving her throat as she wiggles then settles to press her cheek against your shoulder, tiny fingers curling instinctively into the fabric of your sweater. you adjust your grip, one hand coming to cradle the back of her head, the other holding her close. she doesn’t wake still—just settles, breathing soft and steady again, like she knows she’s safe.

jake watches it all happen like it’s something holy.

you follow him down the hallway with quiet steps, the apartment hushed around you, the only sound filling air the low hum of the fridge and jiuen’s gentle breathing as you carry her to her room.

jake leans against the doorway of her dim room, heart caught somewhere between his stomach and his throat as he watches you tuck jiuen into bed—smoothing the blanket over her small shoulders, nudging her favorite stuffed animal closer to her chest, pressing a gentle kiss to her head.

“goodnight, princess,” you whisper.

something in his chest cracks open.

by the time you both make it to the front door, everything feels impossibly quiet. you step into the hallway that separates both your places but turn back toward him, lingering just inside the frame of his doorway. jake doesn’t move and neither do you.

“thank you,” you say softly. “for tonight.”

“anytime,” he replies, the word coming out more honest than he meant it to. then, after a pause, “and…thank you for inviting yourself over. again.”

you laugh under your breath, eyes dropping to the floor before lifting back to his. and suddenly, there’s a pause. the kind that stretches. the kind that tells him something is about to happen.

jake steps closer before he can talk himself out of it.

you don’t move away.

you’re close enough now that he can see the small changes in your expression, the slight part of your lips, the way your pupils are blown wide in the dim overhead light. his hand lifts almost on its own, as if he was in a trance from looking at you alone, brushing a loose strand of hair back from your face, knuckles grazing your cheek.

you inhale slightly, your breath hitching sharply as his thumb lingers there, warm against your skin. for a moment, he just stays like that, eyes searching yours, as if memorizing the feel of you, the way you look standing beneath his touch, so still and so impossibly his in this stolen pocket of time.

slowly and carefully, he leans in.

he watches you swallow.

your eyes flicker to his mouth for a brief second before back to his eyes, now wide and dark and wanting.

“goodnight, yn,” he murmurs, voice low and barely above a breath.

“goodnight, jake,” you whisper back, but neither of you move.

his hand settles at your jaw, not even thinking as he lets his body take over, his thumb sliding to rest against your bottom lip, pressing down just enough to part it further. the pad of his thumb is warm, slightly rough from years of holding jiuen’s hand, fixing toys, carrying grocery bags. it feels almost obscene in its gentleness.

your breath stutters, and a tiny, involuntary sound escapes your throat that makes his stomach drop. you’re so close now that he can feel the exact shape of your lips without contact, the faint tremor in your exhale over his mouth like an agonizing tease.

every nerve in his body is screaming at him to close the distance, every ounce of restraint he has gone, especially as he watches the way a small, “jake…” slips out of your lips like a confession, half plea, half surrender as his thumb presses a little harder against your lip. and then he watches as your eyes flutter closed and the way you lean in, lips ghosting his in an aching hover—

“daddy?”

jiuen’s voice cuts through the moment.

you jump apart. jake spins so fast it almost makes him dizzy.

a soft gasps leaves your lips at the same time as a quiet, frustrated curse slips from under jake’s breath as he turns and sees jiuen standing in the hallway outside her room, eyes half-lidded, one hand rubbing at them, her stuffed animal in the other one.

“you forgot to tell me goodnight,” she mutters sleepily, completely unaware of the scene occuring in front of her.

jake inhales sharply through his nose, eyes squeezing shut for a split second in what looks like pure frustration, heat crawling up his neck as he straightens up and eventually settles for something halfway between a sigh and a laugh as he walks over and bends to scoop her up.

“’m sorry princess,” he murmurs, “come here.”

you’re still standing there, frozen, cheeks flushed under the building’s hallway lights, lips parted like you forgot how to close them as you watch him.

“i—um,” you start, voice too high and a little too breathless, “i should…i should go. goodnight. again.”

jake nods quickly, still holding jiuen close. “yeah. yeah.”

you hesitate for just a second longer, eyes heavy as they meet his.

“goodnight, jake.”

“goodnight,” he says one last time before he watches you unlock your door with fumbling fingers and click the door shut behind you.

so jake doesn’t really know how this works.

or more accurately, it’s been a long time since he’s found himself anywhere near this kind of situation.

having a five-year-old daughter tends to do that to a person. dating doesn’t exactly slide neatly into a life that revolves around bedtime routines and color-coordinating outfits and making sure tiny humans don’t put rocks in their mouths. and he’s had…opportunities, sure. maybe not normal ones per say, but they’ve existed.

like back when jiuen was still a toddler and his friends had decided it was their personal mission to get him back into society…by attending mommy and me classes.

“maybe you’ll meet a hot mom there,” heeseung had said once, bouncing a one-year-old jiuen on his lap as she happily tugged on his hair like she discovered uncle hee is her new favorite toy now.

jake had shot him a look so serious that heeseung thought he was about to be threatened.

“do not say that in front of her. and also, those classes are for the baby. and it’s literally called mommy and me. not daddy and me. i’m not going.”

heeseung just shrugged in a way that said well, i tried before going back to making ridiculous faces at jiuen. from the other end of the couch, sunghoon looked up from his phone. “i think you should go. isn’t it supposed to help with development or something? social skills. brain stuff. seems good for her.”

jake slumped back on the couch, muttering, “doesn’t change the fact i’ll be the only dad at mommy and me.”

“so what?” sunghoon shrugged, clearly not having ever experienced the stress of a twenty-something-year-old with the responsibility of raising a toddler. “break the patriarchy or whatever.”

jake stared at him, horrified. “that is not how that works.”

and yet, that following thursday, jake found himself sitting cross-legged in a pastel-colored room, jiuen balanced on his lap, singing songs about farm animals and hand motions and friendship and feelings, surrounded by a circle of moms and their respective mes doing the exact same thing.

and yeah, sure, there were some cute moms. a few of them even approached him afterward, cooing at jiuen like it was their only opening line.

“she’s so cute,” one of them had said brightly. “looks just like you.”

and jake, because he’s jake, had panicked and blurted something about diaper brands. so needless to say, none of those conversations went anywhere.

so yeah, it’s safe to say it’s been a while since jake had anything to do with feelings.

but then you came into the picture. and now jake doesn’t really know how this work. because how exactly do you go back to how things once were after you almost kissed the girl across the hall? the same girl who now occupies far too much space in his thoughts. the one he thinks about when he’s lying awake at night. when he’s packing lunches in the morning. when he’s stepping into the hallway and secretly hoping, every single time, that her door will open.

but that’s just the thing. he hasn’t seen you ever since that night, which he thinks is almost a cruel joke sent from the universe itself, considering just less than a week ago, he froze at the sight of you in workout clothes, half-convinced and half-hoping you were joking when you offered to walk jiuen to school with him.

now? now he’s going out to check the mail a little too often than necessary, even though he’s lived in this building long enough to know deliveries only come on tuesdays and thursdays. he even started looking through the peephole every time the elevator dings, only to frown when it’s just another neighbor, and very much, not you. and yeah, okay, he’s not proud of that one.

but now, he doesn’t know what to do.

because now, it's late at night on a wednesday, rain tapping steadily against the windows, jiuen fast asleep down the hall. and jake should be getting ready for bed too. but because jake is still jake, and old habits die hard, he’s sprawled on the couch, watching late-night reruns of glee when at exactly 9:27PM, the tv flickers once. then twice. then goes dark.

the lamp on the side table follows. then the kitchen light that he had left on.

shit.

jake should’ve expected as much. blackouts always happen during storms, and this building—charming as it is—has never been known for its hasty speed when it comes to generators. that’s why, over the years, jake has learned to invest in a few backup LED lanterns for nights exactly like this.

he sighs to himself as he pushes himself up, already heading for the hall closet. and that’s when an intrusive thought makes its way to his head.

he wonders if you’re okay.

you’ve only been here a few weeks. you wouldn’t know about the power issues. wouldn’t know how long they last. what if you’re sitting alone in the dark right now, rain beating against the windows, the apartment suddenly too quiet? what if you happened to hate the dark? what if you happened to hate storms? the idea twists something in his chest.

he should check in on you. that’s reasonable. neighborly. normal.

except—what if you’re already asleep? what if he knocks and wakes you up just because he couldn’t stop thinking about you? and what if this is a lot less about neighborly concern and more about wanting an excuse to just see you again?

jake stands there, in his own hallway, one lantern in his hand and an extra one tucked away on the bottom shelf of the closet, staring back at him, his heart doing something quite unhelpful to his chest.

and next thing he knows, jake finds himself in front of your door.

he stares at your door, hesitating for just a second. the hallway is dim, lit only by the window at the end of it and the bright red EXIT sign next to it. he looks down at your welcome mat, with the slightly crooked letters that always makes him smile.

he raises his hand, knocking once, then twice. it sounds louder than it should, but then he hears a few footsteps, a soft shuffle.

then the door swings open, and there you are.

“oh,” you’re blinking at him, standing there in a long hoodie and socks, definitely not expecting company. he glances behind you for a second to see your apartment lit by a few candles. “jake?”

“hey,” he manages. for a moment, neither of you move, and jake is thrown back to just a few days ago, when he found himself in his same exact situation, standing so close to you at his doorway. “uh—sorry. i didn’t mean to bother you. the power went out and i…i just wanted to check on you.” he then lifts the extra lantern in his hand, like proof. “you okay?”

you glance past him down the hallway, then back at him. “yeah. i mean, it was kind of scary for a second, but i lit some candles.” a small smile. “you don’t have to worry about me.”

of course he does.

“jiuen?” you ask quietly, eyes flicking to his door across the hall.

“she’s asleep,” he replies. “in bed by eight, remember? didn’t even flinch.”

you nod, relieved. there’s a pause as the rain taps harder against the windows behind you. the candlelights flicker.

“do you…want to come in for a bit?” you ask after a moment. “it’s kind of creepy standing out here.”

jake’s heart skips. “yeah,” he says too quickly, then softens it. “yeah. okay.”

you step aside to let him in, the warm candlelight wrapping around him as he crosses your doorway.

jake hesitates for a moment before toeing his shoes off. he then takes in his surroundings—the way you’ve managed to make the place yours in just the few weeks you’ve been here. a woven basket of throw blankets sits beside the tv stand, a corner of one draped lazily over the side like it was returned in a hurry. a couple of books rest on the coffee table next to a mug with a silly cartoon on it. there’s a tall green plant that looks like it’s actually being watered that’s sitting near your window, and a stack of half-unpacked boxes sit near the hallway, labels scribbled in marker—bathroom, bedroom???, misc—and it makes him smile to himself.

he follows you into your living room, where you’re already moving the laundry basket that was sitting on the couch, clothes half-folded, a stray sock hanging over the edge. “sorry,” you murmur, setting it aside. “i was in the middle of folding when everything went out.”

“it’s fine,” jake says, moving to sit on the couch, trying not to take up too much space even though his knees brush yours when you settle beside him. you tuck one leg under yourself, turning towards him, the soft candlelight painting the entire room and your face in a warm gold that almost makes his heart ache at how soft the entire image is. ”um…so,” your voice is gentle, as if aware but avoiding the tension, “how have you been?”

jake almost laughs. almost laughs, because he’s been anything but okay.

because he doesn’t know how to tell you that ever since friday, his world has been shifted and devastatingly tilted in a way that is just slightly in only your direction. that everything, every small detail, keeps circling back to you in ways he didn’t expect and can’t seem to stop. that on saturday morning, while he and jiuen shared pancakes, he kept wondering if you’d felt it too—that moment where you lips had almost met his—and wondered if you wanted it as much as he did. that on sunday, he thought about knocking on your door just to ask if you wanted to come to the park with them, like that wouldn’t mean something more. how jiuen came home monday morning with a new stick figure drawing—not just ME + DADDY anymore, but ME + DADDY + Y/N. and how yesterday night, he laid there awake, staring at the ceiling, realizing something real and terrifying. how he doesn’t want things to go back to how they once were.

“good,” he lies straight through his teeth, a barely there smile tugging at his mouth because he doesn’t know how else to answer. “i’ve been okay, i guess. you know, work. jiuen. busy.”

“yeah?” your brows knit just slightly, concern flickering in your eyes in a way that makes him feel sick. “you’re taking care of yourself?”

and he nods immediately, like he needs you to believe him.

“and jiuen? she’s been okay?” you ask next, and the look on your face says you genuinely are wondering, and not just asking to be polite.

“yeah. yeah, she’s good.” a small smile sneaks in. “she misses you, though. keeps asking about you.”

you laugh softly, glancing away for a second. “tell her i miss her too.” you pause, as if a thought crosses your mind. then quieter, more sincere, “i really meant it when i said she’s lucky, jake. she really is.”

he just smiles back, not really sure what else to say when the moment settles between you and the air suddenly feels heavier. you then shift slightly, sitting to sit up straighter now, as if giving yourself the mental courage to say what you’re thinking next.

“can i…can i ask you something?” you say carefully.

he looks at you. nods.

“about jiuen,” you continue, almost hesitating. “about…her mom?”

jake lets out a short breath, like he knew this question was always going to find its way here, no matter how much he avoided it and no matter how prepared he was to fully answer it.

“yeah. she—um,” he pauses, eyes dropping to the material of your couch suddenly. “we were young, just…having fun. not thinking too far ahead. and then when it happened, it was a lot. everything changed all at once.”

he swallows.

“she wanted to keep the baby. and i respected that, of course. i still do. but when jiuen came along…it all got real really fast. and i mean, it did for everyone, you know? but i think for her…it was just too much.” his tries to keep his voice steady, but something tight sits underneath it. “so she left. i haven’t heard from her since…and now here we are.”

you don’t say anything right away. you just look at him.

“that’s…a lot,” you eventually say gently. “i’m really sorry, jake.”

he then looks up to meet your eyes, and he shakes his head almost immediately. “don’t be. i mean—yeah, it hurt back then. and it still does sometimes, but not in the same way. and i got jiuen out of it.” a faint smile pulls at his mouth. “and she’s everything. she makes all of it worth it.”

you can hear it in the way he says her name. not anything rehearsed, not anything forced. just true.

“and honestly,” he adds quietly, “it was probably for the best. we weren’t good together. not the kind of people who should’ve been reckless or trying to build a life like that.”

you don’t push, don’t interrupt. you just watch, eyes not leaving his once as if giving him the space to keep going if he needs it—like he needed this safe space to confront his own thoughts that he’s been pushing away for so, so long.

“i think…i think it hurts in a way that—” he says, voice dropping, “—that makes me wonder if i’m doing enough, you know? enough for her, enough for myself.”

you shake your head immediately, as if that’ll physically reject the thought from his own head.

“you are, jake,” you add, soft but sure. “and i know i haven’t been around long, but i see it. she looks at you like you’ve given her everything and more.”

something shifts in his chest at that. and then jake looks at you, really looks at you, like he’s weighing something in his head and tired of holding it in.

“yeah,” he says quietly. “almost.” the words hang there between you, heavy with intent, and your breath catches. just a little, but he still catches it. his eyes don’t leave yours. “but not…everything.”

and that’s when everything breaks.

you inhale sharply, like the truth you’ve been avoiding just brushed against something raw and tender.

“jake…” you murmur, turning away, like if you keep looking at him you won’t be able to stop yourself. “we can’t—”

“y/n,” he cuts in, already learning forward without even realizing he’s doing it, voice low and urgent, “you can’t tell me you didn’t feel it too. friday. what happened between us, we can’t just pretend it didn’t.”

you squeeze your eyes shut, exhaling hard. “i know,” you whisper, breath unsteady. “i know, and it’s not that i don’t feel it. i—i did. i do. it’s just—we can’t—”

“why?” jake asks immediately, closer now, knees brushing yours, searching your face like the answer is written there and he just has to read it right. “why not? because we’re neighbors? because of jiuen?” he can’t help the way his voice cracks a little. “because that clearly didn’t stop us from what almost happened.”

you finally look back at him, eyes wide and honest, mouth parted open and too close to his.

“jake,” you say quietly, almost like you’re begging him to understand and maybe begging yourself too, “it’s because of how much it matters.”

he stops.

“you don’t get it,” you continue, voice trembling now. “if this was just a stupid crush or some harmless flirting, it wouldn’t scare me like this. but it’s not. it’s you. it’s her. it’s—” you gesture weakly between the two of you. “…it’s this.”

“you think i’m not scared?” he says, blinking hard, voice barely above a whisper. “you think i don’t lie awake at night thinking about everything this means? how much it changes everything?”

he leans in even closer, not touching you, but still close enough you can feel the heat radiating off his chest, the faint tremor in his breath against your skin. the light of the lantern flickers across his face, catching the way his jaw clenches, the way his throat swallows hard.

“you make it feel like something’s missing when you’re not there,” he admits, quietly now, almost like he’s afraid the words still break on their own. “like something’s wrong when i don’t see you. you somehow make my own home feel empty without you in it, y/n.”

your eyes shine up at him, your breaths becoming more shallow, more uneven. jake’s gaze drops down to your lips, then back to your eyes. and then, without thinking, his hand lifts slowly, as if he’s giving you every chance to stop him, and settles lightly on the bare of your thigh, his warm touch brushing the sensitive skin just below where your hoodie cuts off.

you let out a small exhale, the sound barely audible. your hand finds his chest, not pushing, but just resting there, feeling the way his heart is pounding just beneath your palm. “jake—”

his other hand lifts, fingertips grazing the line of your jaw before cupping your cheek. his thumb brushes the apple of it, like he’s memorizing the way you look, the way you feel. the way your eyes flutter shut slowly, as if you’re trying to fight against your own restraint. the hand on your thigh starts moving higher, thumb stroking slower circles that make you press your thighs together instinctively. a low, broken sound escapes him when he notices before he breaks all his restraint and leans in, mouth hovering just over the corner of your jaw.

your head tips back against the couch, hands now fisting his shirt as his mouth moves, barely a kiss. the lightest brush of his lips against the side of your throat. then another. and another. each one soft, open-mouthed, each one lingering a second longer than the last. his hand slides higher, fingers curling gently around the inside of your thigh, making your hips shift restlessly. your hoodie rides up just enough that his fingertips brush your bare hip underneath it—and he stills for half a second as he realizes, with a choked sound, that you’re not wearing any shorts underneath the hoodie.

“fuck,” he breathes against your pulse, his teeth grazing the skin there, just slightly, and you let out a small sound before you could stop it.

“jake, please—”

“please what?” he murmurs, lips dragging up to your jaw, then moving to hover over your mouth again. “please stop?” another ghost of a kiss along the corner of your lips. “or please don’t?”

you’re trembling now, twisting the material of his shirt even harder, legs shaking, breaths coming in short, desperate pants.

“you’re…you’re emotional right now,” you barely manage, voice cracking. “you’re confused and not—” another kiss to your neck. “fuck—not thinking straight.”

jake pulls back just enough to look at you—eyes dark, pupils blown, chest heaving, but entirely real.

“no,” his voice comes out rough, needy, and raw and he doesn’t even care. “no, it’s not about that, nothing about us is about that. this is about you and me, and the way you look at me like you want this too. and you know that.” his hand moves higher now, deliberate, slow, until he reaches right where your hip meets your leg and he squeezes hard, making you gasp. “so tell me to stop. right now. and i will.”

and everything stretches thin, the moment frozen in time as you stare at him with your hands still bunched at the chest of his shirt—at the flush on his cheeks, at his parted lips, at the way you can feel his hand shaking with how badly he wants to keep moving, and the way he’s still giving you the out if you want it.

“please,” he murmurs, borderline desperate, eyes dark and pleading. “just—”

you let out one last, shaky breath. then your fingers tighten in his shirt, pulling him forward, and you crash into him.

and everything happens immediately, desperately. his mouth claiming yours, hot and hungry from the wait, tongue sliding against yours with a groan that vibrates through your whole body. you gasp into him, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer as the dam holding everything, all the tension, all the quiet glances, all the lingering touches, finally broke.

hands go everywhere, one of his fisting in your hair to angle you better against his mouth, the other fully sliding up to grip your ass, easily lifting you until you’re straddling his lap. you moan almost immediately, feeling the hard length of him pressing up against you through his sweatpants, the friction making you rock down instinctively. his head falls back against the couch for a split second—his eyes shut tight and his jaw hangs open in a silent moan before he surges back up to capture your mouth again.

“fuck, y/n,” he pants against your lips, hands sliding up your back, palms hot and rough on your back. “feel so goddamn good. wanted this—” your lips find his throat. another groan. “—so bad.”

you kiss him harder, moving your hips down harder, faster, as his hand roams greedily—up your sides, cupping your breast, thumb teasing over the sensitive bud until you let out a whimper. you arch into his touch, pushing down harder, the slick heat between your legs soaking through your underwear as all the tension breaks between you two.

jake thinks his head is spinning. or the room, or both. he groans again, deeper, more desperate as he bites lightly at your bottom lip, “god, so responsive,” he murmurs against you, every word punctuated by another kiss, another grind. one hand slides down to grip your ass, squeezing hard and pulling you tighter against him as he guided your movements now, his own arousal throbbing heavy against your core. the other stays tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back so he could have access to your neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses that leave a wet trail, his teeth grazing your skin, marking you with gentle bites that make you moan louder.

“jake—oh my god,” you break the kiss just long enough to take a breath, but it comes out more like a broken gasp before he chases your mouth again, his own low moans vibrating against your lips. the room is nothing but the slick sounds of your mouths meeting again and again, the faint creak of the couch beneath your shifting weight.

he nips your bottom lip again, sucking it between his teeth, slow and deliberate before releasing it with a pop before going right back in, tongue thrusting deeper, slower this time, like he’s savoring every inch of you, like he can never get enough.

he doesn’t stop. he can’t stop. not when you’re straddling his lap like this, soft skin bracketing his hips, your own heat soaking through and straight onto the material of his sweatpants. not when every desperate roll of your hips drags your swollen core over the thick ridge of him, making him throb harder and feel like he’s going to lose his mind from the friction alone.

jake’s voice fills the air as he groans against the throat, voice wrecked and hoarse, lips brushing the sensitive skin there between words, whispering how good you feel, how long he’s wanted this, telling you to keep going, just like that, don’t stop. his hips buck up, chasing the pleasure, grinding harder, the roughness of his sweatpants scraping deliciously against you. “fuck, you’re dripping all over me.”

his name spills from your lips like you’re in a trance, the sound coming over in broken whimpers over and over, like a prayer you can’t stop reciting. your fingers dig into his shoulders, anchoring yourself as your hips circle faster, desperately trying to chase the building pressure. your hoodie now sits bunched up above your waist, exposing the soft curve of your hips, where jake’s fingers hold you so hard you think it might bruise, but you don’t even care. jake starts to trail his mouth from your lips to jaw, then down the column of your neck, sucking hard enough to leave blooming marks until you’re gasping his name louder than you mean to. his hands clamp down harder on your hips, guiding you, controlling the pace, pulling you down harder and harder until it almost becomes too much.

you’re both utterly lost in it—frantic, greedy, boundaries dissolving until there’s no longer a place where you end and he begins. every stolen glance, every trembling breath, every moment from the last few weeks narrows to this single point, the way your skin feels under his touch, the sweet taste of him on your tongue, the broken sounds neither of you can swallow down any longer. nothing else processes to jake—not how much time has passed, not how the rain finally slowed down outside, not how jiuen sleeps easily just across the hall, and definitely not how he feels like a trembling teenager on the edge of ruin, so close to pathetically spilling in his sweatpants from nothing more than the friction of you grinding against him. and yet he doesn’t care. not even a little.

at least, not until he pulls back just enough to hear a faint buzz overhead. a small one at first, and then—the lights flicker on.

everything stutters back on in a full, unforgiving snap. the hum of a generator kicks back in, every lamp in the room coming back to life in a single moment. the warm light of your candles and jake’s lantern drowns out almost immediately, replaced by the harsh brightness pouring over everything—your flushed skin, his parted lips, the way your thighs are still shaking against his.

jake blinks, dazed, pupils struggling to adjust and chest heaving. his hands stay still on your bare waist, fingers spread wide, thumbs resting in the soft curve of your waist. and you’re still, very much, straddling him, still pressed flush against the hard line of him, your hoodie scrunched up, your panties exposed and soaked through.

you look absolutely wrecked.

your hair is everywhere from his fingers, lips swollen and glistening, cheeks a deep red. your breaths come in shallow, uneven waves, and your wide, glassy eyes meet his for one beat.

jake thinks, in that split second, that he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

reality rushes in quickly.

“oh god,” you whisper, voice small and cracked, as if the lights stripped away every layer of the moment you two just shared. you scramble off his lap in a frantic rush, legs unsteady, tugging your hoodie down with trembling fingers like it can hide what just happened. “okay—well. thank you for the light. and the…neighborly check in.”

the words tumble out all too fast, too polite, too hollow.

jake just sits there, stunned, like someone pulled the plug on him. his chest rises and falls and he feels something ache. one hand is still lifted, palms up, fingers curled slightly as if he’s still trying to remember the feel of you. but now the air where you were feels too cold and too wrong. he stares at the empty space in his lap, at the slightly damp spot you left on his sweatpants, at the way his body is still vibrating, still aching for you.

“y/n—”

you force a shaky smile, the kind that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, stepping back toward the door. your fingers close around the handle too tightly, knuckles white. “check in complete, right?” the laugh you let out comes out thin, fragile. “goodnight, jake.”

he just stares for a second, before he finally exhales, the sound landing somewhere between frustration and something softer, something more broken. slowly, he stands, legs unsteady, adjusting himself with a grimace that does absolutely nothing to hide anything. he walks to you carefully, like he’s fighting the urge to close the distance again and buy more time.

he stops just inside the doorway, close enough that you can still feel him, close enough that the light catches the faint clench in his jaw.

“yeah,” jake says, barely above a whisper. he looks at you, taking in the way your shoulders are hunched now, the way your eyes won’t quite meet his, the way he’s watching you build walls brick by brick right in front of him. “goodnight, y/n.”

and the thing about getting kicked out of someone’s apartment at nearly eleven at night is that there’s nowhere for the feelings to go.

which is how jake finds himself in his own kitchen five minutes later, barefoot on the cold tile, staring into the open fridge like he’ll find a solution in there. the light hums. the shelves are half-empty. the milk is definitely expired. none of this is helpful.

which is how, ten minutes after, jay is now sitting on jake’s couch with a mug of something warm in his hands that he doesn’t remember accepting, while jake sits beside him—knees bouncing, jaw tight, staring at absolutely nothing.

“wait—wait,” jay leans forward, elbows on his knees, squinting like he’s trying to make sense of everything. “so. you almost kiss your neighbor. then you do kiss your neighbor. and then—” he gestures with both hands, “—she kicks you out?”

jake groans, tipping his head back against the couch. “yes. didn’t say anything else. just opened the door and thanked me for the neighborly check in, whatever that even means.”

jay stares at him for a second, like he’s trying to replay the whole thing without knowing the full details and yet trying to figure out where exactly it went off the rails.

“okay,” he says slowly. “so you guys talked.”

jake drags a hand down his face. “yeah.”

“and then…you guys didn’t talk—”

jake winces. “yup. very big jump from talking to…not talking.”

“and then the lights came on and everything…felt too real?”

“pretty much.”

jay leans back against the couch, mirroring jake now. “so…she just freaked out basically.”

jake shifts, one knee bouncing faster now. “i don’t know, jay. maybe. i think we both did.” he exhales through his nose. “it just—everything happened all at once. and i think it all got real, real fast.”

“yeah, well.” jay hums. “that tends to happen when you kiss someone you actually care about.”

jake opens his mouth to argue. stops. closes it again. he pushes up to his feet, pacing two steps before sitting right back down like he can’t get comfortable in his own body.

“this is so fucked,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “why did i even go over there? why did i think that was a good idea? should’ve just left her alone, god.”

jay squints, tilting his head to the side. “i’m getting wildly mixed signals here, man. i thought you wanted something to happen.”

jake exhales, long and tired. “it’s just—this isn’t just some girl. she’s not just someone i met at a bar and can pretend doesn’t exist if things get weird.” he shakes his head at himself. “she lives across the hall. she’s in my kid’s life. she’s in my life.”

his voice is more hushed now as he gestures down the hallway, where jiuen’s door is closed and quiet.

“maybe she was right. because if this goes wrong, it doesn’t just go wrong for me,” he says softer now, “it goes wrong for jiuen. and i can’t—i can’t be reckless about that.”

jay doesn’t say anything right away, just leaning back into the couch and crossing his arms loosely over his chest, looking up like he’s looking for the right way to phrase this without sounding like a jerk.

“okay,” he says eventually, “so you’re just scared of the possibility of this going wrong.”

jake just looks at him. “because it could. of course i’m scared.”

“yeah. i can tell.” jay turns towards him. “but you’re talking about it like you already decided it will.”

jake frowns. “i didn’t say that.”

“you didn’t have to,” jay says matter of factly. “you’re acting like your only two options are: everything blows up, or you don’t try at all.”

jake shifts, restless in his seat. “i want to try. i want this. i want—” jake stops, jaw tightening. “i want her.” he swallows hard. “i just don’t have the luxury of screwing this up, man.”

the expression in jay’s eyes softens just a little. “i know. you’ve got jiuen, i get that. that’s real.” he puts his mug down on the coffee table, looks back at jake. “but jake, you don’t get to shut the door just because you’re scared of what happens if you open it.”

jake goes still.

“you think jiuen doesn’t notice stuff?” jay continues. “she’s smart. she’s watching how you do this. how you let yourself care, how you let yourself—” he hesitates, then says it anyways, “—be happy.”

something in jake’s chest cracks. he looks away, eyes drifting down the dark hallway where jiuen’s door is. where the soft shine of her nightlight bleeds under the door crack like a reminder of her presence.

jake’s spent years doing this. measuring every want against what she needs. every late night, every skipped invitation, every almost. he’s taught himself how to fold his life smaller, quieter, safer. how to make room for her and take up less space himself.

and now here you are.

and you’re just natural. bright, warm, laughing in his living room. sitting at his table. holding his daughter like you’ve always been here. and it feels like something he didn’t know he was missing until it was right there in front of him.

and that’s exactly what scares him.

“no,” jake says quietly, shaking his head. “y/n was right from the start. i shouldn’t have said anything, done anything. i shouldn't have—” he pauses. exhales sharply. “i shouldn’t have let it go there.”

jay opens his mouth, but jake keeps going, everything finally spilling now that he’s started.

“i can’t risk this falling apart, jay," he says. “i can’t. because it wouldn’t just be some bad breakup and awkward run-ins in the package room.” his voice drops, almost to a whisper. “it’s jiuen asking why y/n doesn’t come over anymore. it’s her asking what she did wrong. it’s her losing someone she didn’t even know she wasn’t allowed to get attached to yet.”

jay exhales slowly. “you don’t know that’ll happen, jake.”

“i know it could,” jake lets out a short, humorless laugh. “and that’s enough.” he leans back into the couch, dragging a hand down his face. “i already messed up once,” he mutters. “i don’t get to mess up again.”

jay straightens, tone firmer now, but still low. “that’s not fair. and you know it.”

jake just looks at him.

“this,” jay says carefully, slowly, “is not the same as before.”

and deep down, jake does know it. knows that this is different, that you’re different.

knows that even through a short span of time, he can’t ignore the way everything shifts when you’re around. the way everything feels like this is it. like you’ve found the spaces he built for himself and his daughter and stepped into them without any warning.

and it all feels too close, too comfortable, too much like there could be more than the home he built within these walls between him and jiuen and breakfast pancakes and uneven pigtails and dinners that came from a phone screen propped up on the counter.

and jake knows, deep down, that’s what scares him. not that he wants you, but that part of him that already knows where you fit. and that’s exactly the problem. because knowing where you fit means knowing exactly what it would cost to lose you. 

jake doesn’t sleep much after jay leaves.

he lies in bed, arms folded behind his head and staring up at the ceiling, listening to the soft, intermittent drip of raindrops making slow taps against his windowpane, replaying everything he shouldn’t be replaying. the way you carried jiuen into bed, the way your eyes shine whenever you smile at him, the way your skin felt against his, the way your fingers twisted into his hair with you in his lap, and the way you taste—sweet, dangerous, and still refusing to fade from his memory.

by the morning, jake decides to play it safe. the routine helps, it always has.

6:12AM, coffee, pancakes, one cookie—no matter how jiuen looks at him. jake tells himself that it he keeps moving, if he keeps the day ordinary enough, maybe everything will fall back into place. maybe the feelings will fall back into place. that maybe you’ll slide back into the category he put you in before—neighbor. friend. safe.

and it all almost works. almost.

because, again, the universe works in funny ways. in cruel ways, jake thinks. because right when he thought his day was over, that he managed to get through the entire day without running into you—it just happens.

he’s halfway down the hallway, jiuen’s hand soft and warm in his, her backpack slung over his shoulder because she insisted on carrying it herself and then immediately got tired one block away from school. and they’re only a few feet away from the door when it happens. when your door opens.

jake looks up before he can stop himself.

you walk out into the hallway, keys in hand, hair pulled back like you’re on your way somewhere. you freeze the same way he does, caught mid-step, like the world decided to press pause on this very moment.

for a moment, everything else disappears. the hum of the overhead lights, the distant ding of the elevator, jiuen swinging his hand—it all fades into the background.

jiuen lights up instantly. “y/n!”

you blink once, before your face softens into a smile as you crouch down, arms already opening without hesitation as she gives you a hug. “hi, princess.”

jake feels it in his chest. that small and sharp hit he’s pretending not to notice.

you stand back up and turn towards him. “hey, um—”

he looks away first. at the wall. at the floor. anywhere that conveniently isn’t you. his head already feels too full, his heart moving too fast, and he hates that you do this to him. hates that even without trying, no matter how carefully he stacks his safe mornings and routines, none of it holds when you’re standing right there. as long as you exist in his life.

when he looks back, you’re smiling—it’s small, soft, familiar. like nothing changed, like everything is still there, waiting for him.

jake straightens up instead.

“hey,” he says carefully, measured. “uh—do you have a second? can i talk to you?”

you still at his words, caught off guard, then nod. “yeah. yeah, sure.”

he turns, unlocking his door, guiding jiuen gently inside with a hand on her back. “go wait for me inside, okay? y/n and i need to talk for a minute.”

jiuen pouts immediately, already halfway through the doorway. “fine. but we have to hang out with y/n soon.”

you laugh softly, the sound a harsh contrast from the tension in the narrow hallway, lifting a hand in a small wave as the door closes, “soon, okay?”

when the door clicks shut behind her, jake turns back to you. his eyes are a little too wide, his breaths already a little too shallow. everything is telling him not to do this. to let it go. to let himself have this—just this once.

“listen,” he starts, then stops. runs a hand through his hair. tries again. “about the other night.”

your shoulders shift. your eyes snap to his, sharp and hopeful all at once, as if trying to read what he’s about to say before it comes out. “yeah—actually, i wanted to talk to you about that too. i can’t stop—”

jake cuts in before he loses his nerve.

“i think,” he says, staring at your door across the hall, at the scuffed spot by your feet, at anything that isn’t your face, “i think it was a mistake.”

the word lands.

you stop.

your mouth hangs slightly parted as jake watches you still, the smile on your face fading slowly. he pretends not to see it. pretends not to feel the way something in his chest sinks with it.

“a…mistake?” you repeat, voice smaller now.

jake swallows hard. “yeah. you were right. i shouldn’t have let it go there. i shouldn’t have crossed that line.” his voice tightens. “i just…i wasn’t thinking.”

you don’t say anything for a moment, just searching his face like you’re looking for the part of him that doesn’t mean it.

“this—” he exhales, frustrated, gesturing slightly, “—i don’t even know what this is.”

everything in him is screaming at him to stop. to take it back. to say anything else. that he’s already hurt you enough, he doesn’t need to make it worse.

“it was just…in the moment,” his voice cracks at the end. “it felt bigger than it was and didn’t actually mean anything.”

you hands stay at your side, and jake has to look away when he notices them trembling.

“so that’s all it was to you?” you ask eventually. “just…timing?”

jake almost flinches.

“that’s not what i meant.”

“but that’s what you said.”

jake opens his mouth. stops. rubs a hand over the back of his neck, eyes dropping to the floor like it might save him from the way you’re looking at him now—eyes shining but not with brightness this time, just hurt.

“i’m just—i’m trying to do the right thing, y/n.”

you let out a small, breathy laugh that doesn’t sound amused at all. “for who?”

he doesn’t answer right away.

“for everyone,” he says quietly. "for jiuen."

your expression softens, but it doesn’t erase the sting in your voice.

“right,” you murmur, nodding like you accept it. “for her. not because it’s easier to walk away.”

jake looks up.

“don’t tell me this is about you being scared,” you continue, voice steady even if your eyes aren’t. “maybe i was too. that’s why i pulled back, that’s why i hesitated.” you pause for a second. "but i can’t turn what happened into nothing now, jake."

everything feels too narrow. too close, too tight, too confusing. jake’s head buzzes, every thought and feeling tripping over the next, trying to gauge how he even let this happen in the first place. how everything flipped, how he’s now the one backing away when you’re right there standing still in front of him.

“y/n—i can’t—we have to, okay?” he hesitates, finally looking back at you, trying to swallow down the tightness in his throat. “i don’t get to…i can’t want things that might break everything else.”

“i get that,” you say, stepping closer to him. “but you don’t get to decide that for me, jake. i’m telling you right now—i was wrong. i don’t want to walk away from this, i want to try. whatever this is.”

and for a second, jake sees it. he sees it all in a rush—the dinners, the couch on movie nights, the walks to school, the way jiuen says your name. how easily his life blended into yours so naturally, how you slid into the quiet, stable routine of his life and made it feel full instead of small, repetitive. and he feels it, too. how much he wants to keep you there. and yet, even though every part of him fights them, he forces the words out.

“i’m deciding for me, y/n,” he lets out in a shaky breath. “we should just—let’s just go back to before. neighbors, normal.”

the word sounds wrong the second he hears it. jake almost wants to laugh. because he doesn’t think anything about you has ever felt normal. not from the first day you stood in the hallway with a box in your arms and shifted his life just a little to the left.

“normal,” you echo quietly. you take a step back.

jake hesitates, then nods. like if he keeps moving, he won’t have to think about what he’s just done.

there’s a long pause.

then you smile. and it’s nothing like the ones you usually give him.

“right,” you say. “i get it.”

and jake hates how relived he feels for half a second. hates how how easy it was for you to say it. hates how wrong it feels that he’s the one who made you say it.

you step down the hall.

“i guess i’ll see you around, jake.”

jake doesn’t say anything, just nods again, because it’s the only thing he seems capable of. and when you disappear into the elevator, jake stays there in the hallway, heartbeat pounding in his ears as the quiet finally catches up him and it sinks in a little too late that what he just protected wasn’t his life, or jiuen’s for that matter.

it was his fear.

the next week is exactly what jake asked for. normal. routine. quiet. but the thing about quiet is that it echoes. everything still passes in the same small, careful way. grocery bags and laundry cycles. cartoons in the morning, bedtime stories read a little too slow because jiuen keeps asking questions about the pictures instead of the words. normal. and yet, jake keeps checking the hallway out of habit, like his body hasn’t quite caught up to the decision his mouth made.

monday morning smells like pancake mix while jiuen sits on the counter as jake flips her mini ones over the stove.

“can y/n come for dinner tonight?” her legs swing innocently, unaware of how hard the simple question hits him.

jake doesn’t look up. “not tonight, princess.”

“tomorrow?”

“she’s busy, ji.”

jiuen hums, not pushing. “okay.”

tuesday, they run into you on the way to school.

“y/n!” jiuen doesn’t even wait for you to turn before her shoes are already squeaking against the floor as she runs into your figure, arms tight around your legs.

you laugh softly, dropping down to her level without thinking, “good morning, princess.”

jake watches the way you smooth her hair back, the way your thumb brushes a crumb off her cheek. when you stand, your eyes don’t fully meet his, “hi, jake.”

“morning,” he answers, too quickly, already stepping back and pointing down the hallway before he mutters something about getting jiuen to school on time.

wednesday is rain tapping softly on the windows and jiuen’s coloring books spread across the coffee table, pages crumbled and curled slightly at the edge from where she spilled water earlier and jake tried to fix it with a napkin.

“daddy, is y/n mad at us?” jiuen asks, like it’s a normal question as she draws a third stick figure onto her paper.

jake freezes. “what?”

jiuen shrugs, picking up a red crayon and scribbling a flower that’s too big to be realistic and halfway floating into the sky. “she doesn’t invite herself over anymore. and you don’t look at her like you used to.”

jake stops. because what does his five-year-old know about looking at someone? about how his eyes used to follow you without him even realizing it? enough for her to notice it?

“she’s not mad, ji,” he says, because it feels like the right thing to say, even if he’s not sure it’s true. “sometimes people just get busy.”

jiuen nods, clearly unconvinced. she adds a sun in the corner of the page and it comes out crooked. “i liked it better when she was here more.”

jake doesn’t answer. because so did he.

thursday night comes with leftover pasta and a show he’s already seen twice, but keeps on anyways because it’s jiuen’s favorite and she laughs at the same parts every time. friday is another elevator ride where he stands on one side and hopes, like an idiot, that the doors will open to you on the other side. saturday morning smells like dish soap and lemon cleaner and five loads of laundry.

and somewhere, down the hall, you’re doing your own version of this.

jake thinks about it without meaning to. you in your apartment, lights turned low, sitting cross-legged on your couch with your own version of your favorite show playing in the background. maybe you made that garlic-and-butter dish you promised you’d share with him one day, and now he may never get to try it. maybe there’s a laundry basket next to you on the couch, clothes half-folded, one sock still missing its pair. maybe you’ve already moved on. or maybe you haven’t.

maybe you think about the way his hand felt on you. the way he said your name like it meant something to him. the way he told you that you felt like home—and then took it back like it hadn’t already settled, soft and certain, somewhere deep inside you.

jake doesn’t know any of this, of course. because his saturday night comes with the soft sound of jiuen’s breathing as he tucks her in. saturday night comes with him lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about all the things he wants to take back. all the things he wishes he did instead.

saturday night comes with a knock at his door.

he sits up immediately, heart already jumping into this throat like, deep down, he knows who it is. he tells himself it’s probably a neighbor. maintenance. someone who got his mail on accident and is returning it. anything that isn’t the thought already forming in his chest.

he walks to the door anyways, and when he opens it—

it’s you.

you’re already standing too close, like you weren’t entirely sure where to put yourself either. your eyes are wide and glassy and looking up at him with a new expression he hasn’t seen before. jake can’t help but rake his eyes over your figure. the way your hair is done nicely, your makeup more intentional, the way your dress fits you tightly enough to convince him that he really needs to teach you about family-friendly-building-etiquette.

he notices everything. your cheeks are flushed deeper than usual. your eyes blink a little slower, your breaths a little softer, a little looser around the edges. the way you sway slightly in your spot.

“y/n?” he says in a low voice as he watches you carefully. “are you…okay?”

you shake your head immediately, too fast. “no—i mean, yes. i mean—” you huff out a quiet, breathy laugh. then as if you’re reminding yourself it’s way past eight pm, your voice drops. “i only had a little wine. i swear. just a few sips. i’m not drunk.”

you stop. swallow. your eyes drop to the floor between you before lifting back to his.

“i tried not to come here.”

jake doesn’t move. he watches the way you swallow, the way your fingers absentmindedly play with the hem of your dress.

“i—i went out tonight,” you continue, eyes steady even though your voice definitely isn’t. “i tried to forget everything, like you wanted. because—because it hurt so bad. what you said, that i meant nothing—”

jake squeezes his eyes shut, as if that could block out your words from his head. he starts to shake his head, but you keep going.

“—i tried to block it out, everything. the way i felt with you, the way you felt. the way you made me feel after only a few weeks but enough to know i want more.”

“y/n—”

“so i went on a date,” you say. and the words land heavy. heavy enough that he lets out an exhale without meaning to.

jake’s jaw tightens before he can stop it. something sharp twists low in his stomach, hot and ugly and very, very real. he hates the picture in his head, hates how easily he imagines you across from someone else, smiling the way you used to smile at him, giving pieces of yourself to a space he thought already belonged to him.

“…and i hated it,” you add quietly. “because all i could think about was you, jake.”

you keep talking, the words tumbling fast now, like you can’t stop now that you’ve started. “then i came back home and i told myself that whatever this is was just…tension or loneliness, or whatever. that i could forget everything. and i—” you stop, breath hitching, eyes now shining wet in the light. “i’m sorry. i’m so sorry, jake. i know you said we can’t, but—”

and when jake hears your apology, when he sees the way your eyes shine, all his restraint snaps immediately.

he cuts you off mid-ramble, not thinking, just moving. one hand cups your cheek, gentle at first, thumb brushing the damp corner of your eye, before the other slides to your waist and pulls you inside in one sure motion. he backs you up against the door instantly, his mouth finding yours before the door even clicks into place, everything tasting like pent-up frustration, the slight taste of the wine on your tongue, and the confession you just spilled.

you gasp against him, hands flying to his shoulders, fingers digging in to hold yourself up. his body presses flush against yours, hips pinning yours to the door. both hands grip your waist now, thumbs pressing into the soft dip above your hips, holding you exactly where he wants you.

“stop apologizing,” he rasps when he finally pulls back just enough to speak, forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathing hard and ragged. “don’t you dare apologize for this.”

he kisses you again—this time softer, slower, like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you. one hand moves to hold your face, thumb stroking your cheek again, the other still tight on your waist. “i’m sorry,” he murmurs against your lips, voice thick with everything. regret and need and pure desire. “’m so fucking sorry, y/n. i shouldn’t have said what i did. all i think about is you.” his hand on your face slides down your side, slow and deliberate, fingers tracing your outline before settling on your hip, gripping hard enough to make you arch in his hold. “about finally having you.”

you let out a sound at his touch, and it breaks him completely. he crashes back into you, mouth back on yours deeper this time, slower, savoring every second now that he’s finally letting himself have it. “want you so bad,” he breathes against your lips, voice wrecked and low. your hands find their way into his hair, and you tug gently enough for him to groan into your mouth, him tilting your chin up with gentle fingers so he can angle the kiss even deeper.

“i’m sorry, baby,” he whispers between kisses, each one softer and hungrier. “i’m all yours.” his mouth trails down your neck. you moan—quiet but broken enough—and he pauses, head lifting enough to quickly glance down the hall where jiuen’s room is.

“she’s asleep,” he murmurs, eyes dark. “we have to be quiet. think you can do that for me?”

you nod frantically, lips swollen and breathless, and that’s all he needs. he lifts you easily, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. he carries you down the hall with careful, deliberate steps, trying his best not to make any sound as he kicks his bedroom door shut behind him.

the second the door closes, he sets you on the bed like you’re something fragile, his hands lingering at your hips for a heartbeat longer than necessary, thumbs stroking slow, soothing circles over the material of your dress, the warmth of his hands leaving a spark in its trail. his fingers find the side zipper of your dress, and slowly peel the material off completely with deliberate slowness, eyes tracing every new inch of skin revealed like he’s committing it into his brain—the soft rise of your stomach, the delicate dip between your ribs, the way your chest rises and falls faster under his gaze.

“beautiful,” jake exhales a low sound, almost a groan. “so fucking beautiful, baby.” he leans down, pressing hot, messy kisses along your collarbone, teeth grazing just enough to make your arch. one hand cups the back of your neck, thumb stroking the skin there as if grounding you, while the other slips right above the thin material of your underwear, fingers spreading wide over the curve of your ass. he squeezes once, firm and possessive, then soothes the spot with a gentle rub.

your underwear is off in one smooth motion, his hands dragging the fabric down against your thighs, tossing them aside without looking. then he’s back between your thighs, spreading them wide with his palms, your skin cool underneath the heat of his hands as he settles on his knees at the edge of the bed so he can really look at you. his pupils blow wide and dark, but there’s something soft in the way he exhales your name like it’s a prayer.

“god, look at you,” jake breathes, voice wrecked and vibrating against your skin as he leans closer. you involuntarily shift your hips at the sensation of his breath against your thigh, and he lets out a small chuckle before moving back up, as if teasing you. his mouth finds yours again, softer this time, lips parting yours with a tenderness that made your stomach flip, his weight pressed right up against your heat. the kiss deepens quickly, his tongue tracing the outline of your lips before slipping inside, exploring with lazy strokes that sends warmth pooling low in your gut. you sigh into him, hands roaming up his arms, and he lets out an exhale without meaning to. “you’re perfect,” he murmurs against your mouth, his hand tracing the bare skin of your hip lightly.

suddenly impatient, your hands fumble at his waistband, fingers clumsy with need, hooking into the elastic of his sweatpants, already feeling the hard outline of his own arousal straining against it. you tug down just enough to free him, not wasting any time to wrap your hand around the base, the sensation releasing a deep sound from him. jake squeezes his eyes shut as his hips jerk forward into your touch, a bead of precum already slicking your thumb.

“fuck—” he breathed, head dropping to your shoulder, but then his hand catches your wrist, stopping you with a firm squeeze. “not yet, baby. wanna take care of you first.” he moves your hand away and pins it to your side against the bed as he starts to make his way down, his mouth trailing kisses along your jaw, your neck, your chest, leaving light nips that sting just enough to make you gasp. he settles back between your legs, broad shoulders pushing your thighs apart, the heat of his breath fanning right over your core, groaning softly as his eyes fix on the way you’re already dripping for him.

“look at you, so wet for me already,” he whispers, voice thick with awe, thumb brushing lightly over your folds, collecting the slick there and circling your clit with agonizing slowness. “such a good girl, getting all worked up just from kissing me.” he drags two fingers through your folds—slow, teasing, the slick sound obscene in the quiet—the pad of his fingers collecting your wetness, gliding with ease. he watches the way your hips twitch, your breath hitching in short pants. then he pushes them inside, deep and fast, curling just right against that spongy spot deep inside you.

“fuck—jake—”

your head falls back against the pillow as you whimper desperately, already clenching around him instinctively. and before you could even fully process the sensation, his mouth quickly replaces his fingers, tongue flat and broad, licking up a stripe up your center that has you arching off the bed, fingers twisting onto the sheets at your sides. “oh my god—” you gasp, eyes squeezing shut as the feeling washes over you all at once. the taste of you on his tongue draws a hum from his throat, the vibration buzzing against your core as he sucks gently, then harder and quicker, his hands forcing your thighs open when they try to close around his head.

“jake—” you gasp, voice breaking, but he just murmurs into you, “shh, baby. let me hear your pretty sounds, just quieter for me, yeah? can’t wake her up.” his fingers then join his mouth again, one slipping inside, then two—curling deep and slow, the wet slide filling the room with obscene sounds. his eyes watch you the whole time, eyes dark and half lidded, praising you between each lick—“fuck, so tight” “gonna feel so good around my cock”—his fingers pump faster now, curling harder, filling up the quiet room quickly before he suddenly plunges a third, stretching you full with a careful twist. “that’s it—open up for me.” jake moves like a man possessed, eyes fixed on where his fingers are moving at an impossible pace now, disappearing in and out of you easily with your arousal spreading everywhere. everything burns so sweetly, the fullness making your thighs tremble, and jake feels your walls flutter around him. “doing so well for me, baby. wanna feel you cum around my fingers first, yeah?”

the pressure builds quickly, jake moving without a care in the world, his tongue circling your clit with precise flicks, the pressure building hot and tight in your belly, his fingers pumping in the same rhythm until he feels you shatter—back arching, a muffled cry escaping you as one of your hands fly to clamp gently against your own mouth. he feels you squeeze around his fingers in waves, walls clenching around his fingers in pulsing grips as he works your through it, tongue gentling but not stopping, lapping up every last drop you release, fingers easing out slower and glistening now until you were limp and oversensitive. “there you go, so perfect—so good for me, baby—”

he sits up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark and hungry as he watches you sprawled out in front of him, the aftershocks making your hips twitch, your skin flushed and glistening with sweat. a knowing smirk sits on his face as he shed his sweatpants fully this time, his cock springing free, tip already flushed and leaking. he strokes himself slowly, hand slick from your arousal, eyes locked on yours as he settled between your legs again, one hand bracing beside your head.

“you okay?” he instantly softens his demeanor, bringing his free hand up to your cheek, thumb brushing softly as his eyes search your face. you just nod, pulling him down by the hair for a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue as he groans into your mouth, his hand now moving down to position himself at your entrance. he stops there for a second, just rubbing the head through your folds, coating himself in your slick like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, nudging your clit before pressing just the tip in, then pulling back. your hips lift instinctively, chasing him, but he stays still for a moment, eyes dark yet amused, breath coming in shallow pants against your mouth. “patience, baby,” he murmurs, but his voice cracks at the end, like he was torturing himself too.

“please, please jake—” he hears you mumble softly with a whine and jake just chuckles, but his eyes stay locked on where you connect, watching as he pushes in inch by inch, the stretch burning sweet, both of you gasping quietly in unison. “fuck,” he groans, head falling forward as he sinks in deeper and deeper, the heat of him filling you completely, walls instantly fluttering around him. you moan softly, nails digging into his shoulders, the sharp sting of pain making him inhale sharply.

his eyes fly shut when he finally bottoms out, hips flush against yours and stills—breaths syncing, his forehead on yours, sweat beading at his temple. “so fucking good,” he breathes, voice breaking. “you feel so good.” he starts moving then, slow thrusts at first, the rough drag of him against your walls sending sparks up your entire spine. the pace builds naturally, hips snapping harder, skin slapping softly, the bed starting to creak beneath you.

jake watches the way you bite your lip, cheeks flushed, eyes staying shut at the sensation like you’re struggling to hold yourself back, and he feels himself twitch inside you from the sight alone. he tilts his head, a wicked smile curving at his lips as his hand slides to one of your wrists, pinning it gently beside your head.

“why so quiet, baby?” he murmurs against your ear, voice teasing as his grip on your wrist stays firm, but careful, thumb stroking the inside. “gonna call me daddy in front of my kid all normal, but now you’re shy?”

your eyes snap up to his and widen in surprise at the boldness in his tone as he watches your reaction, your cheeks burning hotter and mouth parting in a silent moan. you squirm under him, too fucked out to even find the words when his thrusts turn harder, sharper, hips snapping with more force, his tip hitting that perfect spot deep inside you over and over again, almost like a punishment.

“jake—”

jake grunts, thrusts faltering for a second. “not jake,” he murmurs, thrusting a little more forcefully at that, “say it. let me hear you.”

“daddy,” you gasp, the word tumbling out shy and needy and he lets out a louder groan, rewarding you with a deeper thrust, his hips now moving in a filthy rhythm, as if out of his own control.

“fuck, yeah—that’s my girl. say it again.”

and you do, the word dripping more confidently this time from your tongue despite the pink on your face as he rises up slightly, still buried deep, knees dipping into the bed to steady himself. his hand stays wrapped around your wrist firmly, the other one now moving to your throat when your moans get louder, fingers wrapping gently, thumb pressing just enough to feel your pulse racing, keeping you in place as he pounds deeper.

“look at me,” he demands softly but everything intensifies quickly, his hips slamming now, skin slapping wet and loud, the bed creaking louder under the brutal force. his hand on your throat tightens just a fraction, possessive but always checking your eyes. “gonna make you feel so good, baby—gonna ruin you for anyone else.”

jake feels himself slipping. just a little, control fraying as the pleasure coils tighter, louder than he should allow in the quiet apartment—knows the low groans and ragged breaths and creaks of the bed are carrying further than they should, but the thought dissolves the second it forms. his mind is a beautiful and wrecked, jumbled haze now, narrowed to the wet, desperate sounds of your whimpers against his ear, the slick velvet grip of your walls clenching around his cock with every thrust, the sharp sting of your nails raking down the muscles of his back—digging in hard enough to leave marks he’ll wear proudly tomorrow and never once regret.

he knows he’s slipping. knows he’s losing himself, maybe a lot more than just a little—because his body now settles fully over yours again, skin sliding together with every roll of his hips. his mouth finds the crook of your neck, lips brushing hot and messy against the sensitive skin there, words spilling out a in low, broken babble he can’t hold back.

“gonna fill you up, baby,” he whispers, voice wrecked and trembling against your pulse, each syllable punctuated by a deep, grinding thrust. “gonna make jiuen a big sister—gonna make you a momma, all swollen and round and mine. you want that? want daddy’s baby?”

the words tumble out raw and reverent, half plea, half promise, his breath hot and uneven against your throat as he presses one last open-mouthed kiss there, teeth grazing just enough to make you let out a whimper, before the rhythm of his hips turns frantic again, chasing the edge with you.

“oh my god—jake, gonna cum, gonna—”

jake watches as your eyes squeeze shut as his words finally push you over, feeling the way your walls flutter harder around him, slick heat suddenly flooding between you as your body arches off the bed as much as his hold allows, thighs shaking, a fresh wave of wetness coating him and dripping down to the mattress. he follows seconds later, slamming deep inside you with a choked moan—spilling hot inside you in thick, pulsing waves, the warmth immediately spreading deep in your core, filling you until it leaks out, sticky and warm around him.

when he finally pulls out, both of you hiss at the sudden emptiness, the wet sound of him leaving you sharp in the air, a string of your combined slick connecting you for a moment before breaking. your body lies spent and boneless, trying to catch your breath. but before you can, you feel jake’s hands on you again and he’s flipping you onto your stomach in one fluid, strong motion, hands rough but careful as they grip your hips, pulling you onto your knees.

“not done,” he pants, and he doesn’t wait for a response before he slams back in all at once, the new angle hitting deeper than before, the stretch making you cry into the fabric of the bed sheets, the fullness overwhelming with his cock dragging new spots that make stars burst behind your eyelids. his hand trails down on your lower back, pressing you into the mattress to hold you steady, arching your back while the other spanks your ass lightly at first, then another one—harder this time, the sharp sting blooming red before soothing it with a slow rub, the contrast making you clench around him, the wet sounds even louder and filthier now.

“c’mon, baby. take daddy’s cock like a good girl,” he mumbles, thrusting relentlessly now—skin slapping loud against skin, his balls hitting your clit with every snap, the headboard of the bed tapping rhythmically against the wall, the wooden floors creaking in protest beneath. he moves to lean over you, chest to your back, his breath hot and ragged against your ear as he feels himself twitch violently inside you. “fuck—’m gonna cum, baby. tell me you want it, please—”

“—yes, please, want it so bad daddy—” and then you cum harder this time, walls clamping down around him as your orgasm washes over you in blinding waves. jake follows right after with one last final thrust, spilling deep inside you for a second time tonight, your name and broken praises tumbled from his throat in a rush as he feels his cock swell and twitch against your tight walls—”yeah, take it all” “my perfect momma, so fucking perfect”—hips grinding slow and deep to keep every drop inside, until he finally collapses over you, both of you panting, bodies tangled and slick with sweat, the room heavy with the scent of sex, his heartbeat pounding wildly against your back.

when jake eventually rolls off of you, he pulls you with him without hesitation, your body wrapped into his arms, head buried into the crook of his neck, cheek pressed to the warm of his chest where his pulse still races. his hands are gentle now, soft strokes through your hair, fingertips outlining lazy patterns along your spine. he presses a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth and it lingers, the kind of kiss that feels like a promise.

the shift is almost a harsh, stark contrast from just a few minutes ago. the same hands that gripped your hips hard enough to bruise now cradle you like something priceless, the same voice that growled filthy commands now murmuring soft, soothing nonsense into your hair. the same guy you met down the hall with eyes that didn't quite meet yours then and nerves in his voice.

“are you okay?” his voice is soft, concern lacing over every word, every feature on his face, as his thumb brushes your cheek and his eyes search yours—pupils still blown, still dark but filled with something tender and protective. your lashes flutter open, just barely, but enough to glance up at him and give him a small, sleepy smile as you nod slowly. exhaustion takes over your body as you curl into him like it’s instinct now, like your body already knows where it belongs, his nose nudging into your hair, his heartbeat steady against your ear, slowing you down with it.

jake exhales quietly, like the moment he's in is fragile. his thumb traces slow circles at the small of your back, and somewhere in that simple motion it hits him. it hits him how wrong he was to think he could ever keep you at a distance, how impossible it feels to imagine his nights without this, without you. how every careful, measured routine he's spent years building suddenly makes sense only because you're standing in it, changing it, softening it.

“good,” he whispers, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

and you’re already drifting when you hear it, soft and hopeful against your skin.

“stay with me tonight, yeah?”

and you do. you stay that night. and the night after. until it stops being a decision and starts being a habit, one that happens naturally.            

and somewhere in between all of that, jake realizes how you've become threaded through each and every one of his routines, soft and steady and unmistakably his. how he wakes up at 6:12AM to you now, your hair in his mouth because you always steal the corner of his pillow in your sleep. how he makes two coffees now instead of one. how you carefully pack jiuen's apple slices into her lunch box and sneak an extra cookie in there when you think jake isn't looking and he lets it happen anyways.

a few months down the line—somewhere between jake learning that you never finish your dessert and you realizing that he rubs the back of his neck every time he gets overwhelmed—you finally teach him your garlic and butter recipe.

t’s a tuesday and it’s nothing special, just one of those in-between days where jiuen has a spelling testing tomorrow and jake forgot to take the chicken out of the freezer, which means you’re in charge of dinner by default.

you show up with your keys in hand, hair twisted into a messy knot from your long day. you kick your shoes off by the door without thinking and they land next to jake’s, tipping one over. and the kitchen eventually fills with the kind of smell that settles into the walls. butter and garlic and something else that’s warm and soft that doesn’t feel like it comes from a recipe.

jiuen hums to herself as she sits at the table, swinging her legs, erasing the same spot over and over again because she likes the squeaky sound the eraser makes. you’re in the kitchen, next to jake and rambling about the most recent thing your coworker did at work to piss you off when you lean over and dip a spoon into the pan he's stirring. you taste it, squint a little, then tilt your head.

“hmm,” you smack your lips. “needs salt.”

jake has already stopped.

he’s just standing there, wooden spoon frozen in his hand, watching the way you continue to move in his kitchen like it’s yours too, now. the way your hair falls out of the messy knot at your neck, soft pieces catching the light. the way you’re wearing one of his sweatshirts—too big in the shoulders, sleeve bunched up so they don’t cover your hands—like you changed into it the second you came home without even thinking about whose it was.

jake feels it then. the quiet, steady shift in his chest, like something finally settling where it was always supposed to go.

you notice and stop what you’re doing, the sink running behind you where the vegetables you were washing sit abandoned now. you glance up at him, a curious smile already tugging at your mouth. “…salt, jake.”

“salt,” he repeats, but his eyes don't move from yours, like the word is foreign to him. like he forgot what the two of you were even doing in this room. he doesn’t move.

your eyes peer with amusement, your cheeks now a degree warmer. you move to close the distance, reaching past him to grab the salt from the cabinet. when you press it into his hand, your fingers linger for a half a second too long.

“there,” you murmur. “salt, in case you forgot what that is.”

jake looks at the salt in his hand. then at you. then, without really planning to, because jake is still jake and doesn’t really think sometimes—

“i love you.”

and the world doesn’t stop. the sink keeps running behind you. something sizzles on the stove. jiuen’s quick footsteps creak somewhere down the hall. the salt still sits in jake’s hand. so the world doesn’t stop, not exactly. but you do.

you turn back to him slowly, like you want to make sure you heard him right. there’s already a smile pulling at your mouth, impossible to hold back.

“yeah?” you ask, soft and quiet, almost teasing.

jake nods, like he’s confirming something for himself even though he's pretty sure he's known all along.

“yeah.”

you just stare at him for a moment. only for a moment, before you close the distance and your hands find their way around his neck and into his hair, and you kiss him. right there in the middle of the kitchen, with the sink still dripping and the smell of burnt garlic in the air because jake didn’t listen and left the stove on for too long earlier. and it’s just a simple, soft press of your mouth against his. warm and easy and familiar. yet jake still fumbles and drops the salt on the counter with a clatter he absolutely does not care about as his hands settle on your hips, pulling you in just enough.

he kisses you back slow, fighting back the smile against you, his fingers pressing in gently to hold you in place. like he’s got nowhere else to be. like he plans on staying right here for a long time.

”—DADDY WHERE DID YOU PUT MY BACKPACK?”

jake stops. he lets out a sound that lands somewhere between a laugh and a groan and drops his forehead against your shoulder. you’re already giggling, your hands still in his hair, your breath warm against his cheek. you pull back just enough to look at him, eyes bright before you give him one more quick, soft kiss.

“i love you,” you say. jake grins.

then you turn and call out, “coming, princess! check mine and daddy's room, ji.”

jake laughs under his breath, low and fond, and squeezes your hips once more before letting you go. he watches you disappear down the hall like it’s the most normal tuesday in the world.

so yeah. they say having kids will change your life. but they don’t tell you many things about having them.

they don’t teach you how to do braided pigtails without watching three youtube videos and still messing up. they don’t explain how to stay calm when you realize your three-year-old can be allergic to strawberries but somehow stay immune to falling off the couch. they don’t tell you how much money to leave as the tooth fairy, or how to sneak a bill under the pillow of a light sleeper, for that matter.

they don’t warn you that one day, your hallway will start to smell like citrus shampoo and butter and garlic. that there will be an extra pair of shoes by the door that aren’t yours or your daughter’s. that your fridge will slowly fill with things you didn’t buy—oat milk you’ll never drink, a bottle of hot sauce you pretend you can handle, a half-eaten container of ice cream that’s now a must have on every friday’s movie nights.

they don’t tell you that home can change shape without you realizing.

it happens in the small ways first.

in the way jiuen starts calling your apartment “the other house.” in the way that jake learns, somewhere between aisle seven and the checkout lane, that different pasta shapes actually matter to you—not for any logical reason, but just because you like how farfalle looks like little butterflies on plates and that makes jiuen smile. in the way movie nights turn into mornings, and mornings turn into you standing in the kitchen in one of his shirts, arguing about whether pancakes count as a balanced breakfast if there’s fruit involved.

it happens in the quiet.

in the way he learns the sound of your keys in the hallway. in the way you learn which floorboard outside jiuen’s room creaks and how to step around it on bare feet at two am. in the way you’ve gotten used to the one cushion that sinks a little too much on the couch and yet find it more comfortable that way—your body naturally curling into the dip, jake’s arm stretched along the back, fingers idly tracing soft patterns on your shoulder on purpose this time while jiuen snoozes away between you.

it happens in the soft moments.

in the way jake lets himself lean into you when he’s tired, head dropping to your shoulder after a long day, face buried into the crook of your neck, inhaling the faint scent of your shampoo and the warmth of you like it’s the only thing keeping him stable. in the way you naturally turn toward him in your sleep, your body seeking his even in your dreams, head against his chest, one leg sliding between his, hands fisting loosely in his shirt while he holds you close, palm splayed wide over the small of your back, fingers making lazy circles until your breathing evens out against his collarbone.

and it happens in the intimate moments.

in the way jake knows exactly what makes you feel good—the precise angle that makes your back arch off the mattress, how the slow, deep grind has you gasping his name into his shoulder so jiuen doesn’t hear, exactly how much pressure you like when his thumb circles your clit, in the way he knows the hitch in your breath when he sucks a bruise into the skin beneath your ear, knows how to whisper good girl against your pulse when you’re nearly close to breaking, how to pin your wrists above your head just firm enough that you melt under him, trusting him completely.

in the way you let him fill you completely—each and every time, and he’ll still check, voice low and rough but still nonetheless soft—”you okay baby?” “gonna fill you up, yeah?” “my perfect pretty momma”—even when he’s buried deep inside you, hips rolling slow and deliberate, sweat slicking the space between your bodies, the sheets tangled around your ankles.

in the way you reach for him in the dark after, fingers threading through his, legs still trembling as he pulls you against his chest, lips brushing your temple, murmuring soft nothings until you drift off again, safe and full and his.

and maybe that’s the part they don’t really tell you.

that home isn’t the walls, or the lease, or the schedule you've built for yourself over the years. sometimes, it’s a five-year-old asleep in the middle of the bed, a half-finished bowl of ice cream melting slowly on the nightstand, and you—on the other side of her, already drifting off, fingers in her hair, looking like you chose this. like you chose her. and like you chose him.

and jake thinks, while watching his future fall asleep in front of him, that maybe this is the thing he’s been looking for all along. not just a life. not just a routine. but something that looks a lot like you.

something that looks a lot like home.

꩜｡⊹ ࣪ ˖ & as always,,,,tytytyty for reading! mwahmwahmwah!

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