#I love golden son I love golden son I love golden son

[zorostitties]

Aurora; 11 (m)

⤕ Your existence had been an endless night, where shadows whispered long forgotten secrets. Trapped in a golden cage, your fragile mind and shattered memories were chains that kept you from dreaming of freedom. Then, he appeared with the first light of dawn, like a gentle sun warming your cold skin. In his gaze, the promise of a new beginning; in his presence, the sunrise your soul had longed for.

In which Alucard saves you from Erzsebet.

pairing: alucard (castlevania) x (f) reader

genre: angst, romance, slow burn, eventual smut

warnings: violence/blood, explicit language, mental health issues, grief, physical abuse.

rating: 18+

word count: 9k

A/N: HELLO WORLD!!! This one came a bit late but here it is!! Honestly this chapter was the trickiest to write bc I didn't know how to still make most of it entertaining. I'm proud of myself for DESTROYING this writer's block with my own hands, though. 😈 With this chapter, we reach the mid point of our story!! Not literally, though, because I don't know how many chapters we still have ahead of us lol BUT we're def in the middle. ANYWAY! Feedback as usual is VERY MUCH appreciated! If you've been reading this fic up until now and never commented, please send me a hi or anything. I'll love to know how you like the story. DON'T BE SHY AROUND ME BABYGIRL 😈 Enjoy <3

⤕  Masterlist  ⤕ Also on AO3 ⤕ Playlist

Caution was the rule that dominated Olrox’s life.

He had learned from a young age that in order to survive in this world, you have to be cautious about everything. The people you let into your life, your enemies, the alliances you make; before speaking, you should listen. Before forming an opinion, you should take as much information as you could find. Before taking action, you should think about it – plan it, revise it, think about it again and again and again.

Caution was what kept Olrox alive while his city and his people burned. Caution was the reason why Olrox was still alive to this day despite all odds being against him. And caution was what told him he had to leave the Old World soon.

Olrox knew when a war was lost; he had tried to turn the tables in the past, and it led to nothing but pain. He knew better now. Sometimes, retreating is the best course of action.

Erzsebet had retrieved the second half of Sekhmet’s soul. Olrox tried to intervene by giving Alucard an advantage in the run after the mummy; the son of Dracula had failed to take it. There was nothing he could do anymore, not now that Europe became Sekhmet’s territory.

Olrox had to be cautious for the sake of his inner voice – even more than usual. Erzsebet was still no goddess, but she had managed to summon the soul of one back to the land of the living… and that was a clear commandment for him to stay away.

Which is why Olrox was shocked at himself when he left the docks and flew towards Paris.

Every instinct in him was yelling at him to turn back. Her stench was worse than ever; he could feel her power from miles and miles away. It made the tiny hairs in his arms raise, made him feel genuine repulse. He shouldn’t be anywhere near her. That wasn’t fear or cowardice as he knew Mizrak had assumed. That wasn’t even just his caution.

No… that was something that ran deep within Olrox – in his body, his spirit and his soul.

It was a law he shouldn’t break.

Preys shouldn’t sleep around predators. Earth shouldn’t stop spinning. Rain shouldn’t go upwards. Fish shouldn’t be out of the water.

A god shouldn’t be anywhere near another god.

That is why Olrox had been so cautious ever since the night Tenochtitlan burned. He had to take care for something other than his life – his inner voice.

But Olrox was marching towards Paris anyway, and even though he knew the rules better than anyone else, he couldn’t stop himself.

Perhaps because a part of him never got to terms with what happened to his people, all these centuries ago. Perhaps because, although he promised himself to never join any cause that wouldn’t benefit him only, he never got over the fact that he had failed more than once to fight for justice.

Or perhaps because Mizrak’s saddened brown eyes didn’t leave his mind for a second.

And spend a lifetime running from her? No.

This was Mizrak’s response to Olrox’s invite to come to the New World with him. Not because he didn’t want to go; but because he didn’t want to live a life hiding from Erzsebet.

And perhaps that was enough of a reason for Olrox to want to defeat her.

The closer he got to Paris, the more his heart tightened. He felt his limbs get weaker, a strange ill sensation set in his guts. He’d never felt the presence of another god so strongly like that; before, Erzsebet was just feeding off Sekhmet’s power. Now that she had settled another half of the deity’s soul, things got entirely different. Much more complicated.

The greater force overwhelms the weakest. Erzsebet-Sekhmet had claimed territory over the entirety of Paris, even if she did it unknowingly. It made things even harder to navigate.

But Olrox remembered that Mizrak, a simple human being, was somewhere down there fighting, so he shouldn’t make excuses.

Even so – he had to be careful. Facing Erzsebet directly would be unwise.

Then, he decided to focus on Drolta.

He never liked her. She reminded him of the Spanish Christians too much. Her obsession disgusted him. But he had to admit that she was strong – much more now in this horrendous form.

So Olrox wouldn’t be able to face her in his usual form, too.

The transformation was longer than he expected, took too much energy from him; even in this form, he wouldn’t be able to give his all. Sekhmet’s presence overwhelmed him. But Olrox pushed forward anyway until he no longer resembled a man, but a giant, glorious winged snake in the night sky.

He came in time to save Alucard from a certain strike.

Purple lightnings of pure power slashed the sky.

Drolta knew what she was dealing with immediately.

She groaned, wrapping her arm around her own stomach for a moment – the exact spot where the power jolt hit her – before taking flight once again. She narrowed her eyes and took a defensive position.

“Quetzalcoatl,” She hissed in a mix of surprise, anger and pain. “I should’ve known you were just a snake!”

Olrox attacked again.

The sky got brightened up in eerie purple flashes as their battle unraveled above the ceilings of Paris. Drolta was strong – much stronger than a regular night creature, but her previous fight with Alucard had taken a toll on her. Meanwhile, Olrox was fighting with half of his usual strength; being in Sekhmet’s territory weakened him deeply. In fact, transmuting into the Quetzalcoatl form was something he shouldn’t even be doing, but fighting in his normal form against her would be suicide.

The scales were evenly balanced in this fight.

Drolta slashed his body with her sharp nails – so strong that they could pierce even through his usually impenetrable scale armor, making him snarl in pain. Olrox sent more and more lightnings in her direction. She flew in zigzag, trying to avoid being hit, and every time one missed, it destroyed entire chunks of buildings; any time it hit, Drolta yelled in agony.

Olrox understood Alucard’s strategy: by keeping Erzsebet and Drolta apart, they’d have double chances to defeat them. He knew some magicians – including the Belmont boy – were somewhere down there fighting Sekhmet’s vessel. All he had to do was keep her busy while they worked, even though Olrox didn’t know how much longer he could take…

His inner voice was unsettled; he could feel His discomfort, how it tugged at the corners of his consciousness, making him lose focus for a second. Back away, He ordered Olrox; Go away. Take distance. You must not be near them. You must not.

Yes, Olrox knew that; he knew what he was doing was foolish and Olrox didn’t like to be foolish–

Wait.

Near... them?

But Sekhmet was the only deity there–

His eyes passed rapidly by the city’s cathedral, meters and meters away from where he was. There… there was a figure laid in front of its central doors.

And at that moment, the world stopped.

Nothing else mattered. His inner voice. Drolta or Erzsebet or Sekhmet. His caution.

None of that mattered anymore because it was Mizrak and he was bleeding to death.

A desperate snarl erupted from his throat as Olrox flew in his direction, leaving an injured and tired Drolta behind. He crossed the streets at an unnerving pace, way too fast for a creature so big, making humans down there gasp and run, not knowing if this was another enemy.

Olrox didn’t care about any of them. He got close to the ground, his dragon form dissolving in a black cloud until what resurfaced was a desperate man running towards Notre Dame.

As soon as he got a good look at Mizrak, his heart dropped.

The black haired monk bled from the stomach – he had been pierced. He was laying on the floor, his fist tightened against the wound; his breathing was shallow, his lips already had a nauseating blue color. Olrox knelt down by his side and immediately took him in his arms. Mizrak was getting cold.

This can’t be happening. It can’t be.

Mizrak, who was nothing but fair and virtuous and kind; Mizrak, who weeped at the death of unknown people and put his life on the line for them, even if he was just a fragile human. Mizrak, who made Olrox remember the best mankind had to offer.

And he was dying.

Olrox ripped some of Mizrak’s cape and pressed it against the wound to stanch the bleeding; he gently tapped his face, called his name a few times. To his relief, Mizrak opened his eyes – but there wasn’t much strength to him. His olive skin was sickeningly pale.

Mizrak looked confused, as if his sight was out of focus. Then, Olrox saw the moment his pupils dilated almost imperceptibly.

“Ol...rox?” He managed to speak somehow – his voice was but a ragged, painful breath.

“Shhh. Don’t speak.” The vampire shushed him softly before, with the utmost care, helping him to sit. Mizrak groaned in pain. Cold fear crept up Olrox’s body; he had already lost way too much blood. Medicine wouldn’t save him, and as far as Olrox knew, there weren’t any healers powerful enough to help in France…

It was then that Olrox realized that the cold he felt had nothing to do with fear.

His eyes widened.

The air smelled of coal and sulfur.

He looked behind his shoulder in time to see the tall shadow approaching.

Olrox brought Mizrak closer to him protectively. The entity grinned at them, trembling in what could be interpreted as excitement. At that moment, Olrox damned that fucking Abbot for the hundredth time for dragging Mizrak into all this.

“Old Man Coyote,” Olrox hissed. “He’s not for you.”

His inner voice got agitated, which surprised Olrox. He has been in the presence of this demon before, and He didn’t show much of a reaction… what had changed?

The shadow laughed mockingly – it was like multiple voices overlapping – before disappearing once again.

He had to take Mizrak out of there as soon as possible.

His original plan was to just teleport both of them out of there, but fuck – Olrox had exhausted himself with Drolta; the little strength he still had was being suppressed by Sekhmet’s presence. Olrox helped the monk get to his feet, putting Mizrak’s arm over his own shoulders. Olrox didn’t know how damaged his organs were, so he had to be delicate. Slowly, Olrox started to walk out of there.

“We’re not far from a safe place,” Olrox explained. “Hold on a little longer.”

Mizrak whimpered in response. His head was hanging low, he panted with difficulty. It just made Olrox feel even more desperate.

Then, out of nowhere, the monk raised his head.

A new emotion clouded his face.

“Olrox…” he called in a weak voice again. The vampire shushed him.

“Save it. Everything will be okay.” He didn’t know if he was trying to convince Mizrak or himself. The monk, however, got more and more agitated.

“No… Olrox… y-you have to…”

“Don’t exhaust yourself.”

Mizrak groaned again – but this time, it sounded more like frustration.

He looked over his shoulder; his eyes widened.

Using the little strength he still had, Mizrak put the entire weight of his body on Olrox’s side – making him lose his balance and stumble closer to the sidewalk.

“What–?” Olrox tried to say.

He had no time.

Mizrak got away from Olrox’s grip in a surprisingly swift movement and pushed him into an alley on their left.

The vampire fell on the cobblestones, completely confused; why did he do that? Did he not want to be saved? Was he disgusted of him–?

Light.

It came out of nowhere. It was blinding. It brightened up the whole sky.

Olrox watched with widened eyes as the avenue he was standing in a second ago was completely engulfed in light. He thought it was an explosion at first, but no boom or shockwave came. He felt his stomach drop, his fingertips shake.

Mizrak stood under the light with closed eyes.

Then, Olrox started to hear the screams.

They came from all directions, screams of the purest agony. Screams of death.

Things slowly made sense in his mind.

Olrox approached the corner of the alley. Hesitantly, he stretched his arm towards that light. His fingertips burned. He immediately flinched away.

That was sunlight, even though the sun itself was still hidden behind the eclipse.

He retreated and gazed at Mizrak in pure shock.

Mizrak… somehow, he knew that was going to happen. At the last minute, he pushed Olrox into that alley; it was between two tall buildings, reigned by shadows. Sunlight wouldn’t reach it from the position it was coming from.

That fragile human was on the verge of death himself, and even so, he saved Olrox’s life.

His heart tightened.

After no more than two minutes, the light diminished. Olrox didn’t care to learn where that came from, who caused it, and why it made his stomach drop like that. All he cared about was taking Mizrak in his arms again before he could fall. All he cared about was bringing Mizrak closer to him, cradling him, caressing his face.

Weakly, the monk put his gloved hand over Olrox’s.

He was visibly in so much pain. Even so, Mizrak’s half lidded eyes were full of determination and… care.

He took a deep, difficult breath before speaking.

“F-Fight.” Mizrak whispered. “For m-me.”

Olrox’s heart tightened even more.

The vampire never expected he’d find someone like this in the Old World. He never expected that this painful sweetness would take control of his actions again, of his sanity, overwhelming everything else – his usual caution, his selfishness, even his inner voice.

Mizrak represented everything Olrox loved about humanity.

So, if this fragile human asked him to fight – he would.

Olrox brought their faces closer to each other’s. He pressed his lips over Mizrak’s softly; his hand caressed the monk’s face gently. It was a chaste kiss – much different from all the kisses filled with passion and heat and anger they had shared. And yet, that simple press of lips ignited fire through Olrox’s soul much more than anything they’d done to each other before.

He could feel that something was happening not far from there. An explosion of red power that made him feel even more ill. That didn’t matter. Olrox just wanted keep closer to Mizrak for a second more.

Finally, he delicately laid Mizrak on the floor and got up. If he wanted to save the monk, he’d have to act fast; each wasted minute could cost Mizrak’s life.

Olrox was weakened. Olrox’s inner voice kept telling him to run away. He ignored all that and marched towards battle once more.

That day, Mizrak would lose his mortal life. And yet – he got something far more precious, far more powerful in return.

That day, Mizrak gained the heart of a god.

Drolta was tired.

Tired of the incompetence around her. Tired of these humans. Tired of waiting. She had waited for over a thousand years to awaken her goddess; century after century, she had roamed the Earth after a suitable vessel. Her only goal was to bring Sekhmet back. Everything she did was to comply with her duty as a High Priestess.

And she was tired of Erzsebet.

She took care of this woman for almost two centuries; fed her with her goddess’ holy blood, trained her, pampered her. Drolta killed thousands for Erzsebet’s sake. Drolta made a pact with a demon for Erzsebet’s sake.

And now that she had finally retrieved Sekhmet’s Ba after centuries of searching, how did Erzsebet repay her?

By being humiliated by a bunch of humans.

Drolta was tired.

So when she finally bit Erzsebet’s neck and sucked her blood, she felt nothing. There was a time when maybe, maybe, Drolta felt some sort of affection for her. Not anymore. Not now that she had ashamed and failed her.

This power belonged to her, after all. It had always belonged to her.

Drolta felt a wave of pure power penetrate her skin, her bones, her muscles, every centimeter of her body. It hurt like she was being pierced by a million needles, like she was being chewed by the biggest crocodiles of the Nile. An animalistic growl erupted from her throat; red energy revolved her, cloistered her, pierced her, clacking the air. The air got hotter than the midday sun in the Sahara. Her leathery skin smoked.

Pure agony was what her body felt; her mind, however, was enlightened – as if such excruciating pain broke the boundaries of consciousness.

So much power. It was as if she could see and hear everything at the same time, but all made sense; she could feel the weight of a spirit much, much higher than her permeate her mind. A spirit filled with anger and hate and blood thirst.

It almost felt like an inner voice, commanding her to attack.

Sekhmet, the Goddess of War; She Who Mauls.

Maniacal laughter escaped past her lips. The Belmont boy, knelt on the floor whilst holding the woman that carried a whisp of Sekhmet’s soul, looked at her with widened eyes. Yes; feel scared, be frightened, for I have returned. She was tired of him, too. Drolta had faced Belmonts in the past and she hated all of them throughout history. It was time for that clan to end.

But most of all – that girl he was holding had to die. Who did she think she was to get anywhere near Sekhmet’s Akh? How dare she disturb her goddess’ soul like that? She didn’t know what Sekhmet needed, what she represented. She had no right to be anywhere near her.

After these two, she’d go after that snake. Drolta never trusted Olrox enough, but she didn’t think he’d have the guts to actually face her… and most of all – she didn’t know what lied within him. You must destroy them, her inner voice growled in a wrathful female tone that did not belong to her.

The son of Dracula was next in line. She was also sick of him. He had killed her once, and she’d have her revenge. Drolta would not give him another chance to escape.

And lastly…

Ruby.

She had to die.

It was all Erzsebet’s incompetence, Drolta knew; all she had to do was keep that girl locked and away from the world, but she obviously failed. Drolta spent so long breaking into her, making her submissive – and it all went to waste in less than a week. Now, things were out of control. Ruby had obliterated most of her army. Ruby was remembering, and she shouldn’t remember anything.

But Erzsebet was dead and Drolta had retrieved Sekhmet’s power, so there was no use in keeping her alive anymore. It was time to fulfill her part on the pact and finally get freed of it.

Yes. Everything was within reach. Everything. There was nothing she couldn’t do; there was nothing she couldn’t achieve; there was no one powerful enough to stop her. I am Sekhmet, Goddess of War, her inner voice growled. And I want my revenge against the humans who have wronged me.

Drolta would be the harbinger of this revenge.

She raised her right arm, ready to slash the Belmont boy with her sharp nails–

And it was stopped midway.

It couldn’t be. Not him again.

Alucard stood between the couple and her, halting her attack with his long sword. That… that half-breed bastard was putting himself in the way again. She couldn’t stand looking at his face anymore, she’d took her time to kill him and she’d make it as painful as possible–

Drolta felt a shiver run down her spine.

A shiver?!

No. That couldn’t be possible… she was the Goddess of War and Revenge. She was more powerful than anyone on Earth. Nothing should be able to make her shiver.

Alucard let a raspy, angry scream. It was the first time he let any sort of extreme reaction in all the times they fought. The air around him became different. Drolta… Drolta could see things she couldn’t before. There was a red aura growing around him as rapidly as flames on hay.

His sclera got red.

And at that moment, Drolta knew why she felt a shiver.

His power and his aura and his eyes made her body remember the most powerful creature who had walked this Earth, the only man who ever made her feel real fear, the only man who ever made her obey.

Drolta shouldn’t have forgotten – but that was the son of Dracula.

He didn’t get turned into a vampire, he was born as one. The Vampire King’s masterpiece; the perfect alchemical aberration.

And Drolta realized with anger that during all of their fights until that moment, Alucard wasn’t giving his all.

She growled back at him and tried to attack with her left arm. Alucard deflected it and pushed her back with his sword. No. No one should be able to push her back. She was… she was stronger than anyone else, wasn’t she?!

Drolta launched herself towards him again – this time, he wouldn’t escape. Alucard’s face was distorted in a scowl of anger now. He pulled his cape to cover his body and teleported in a beam of yellow light – only to appear behind her.

She had time to turn back and see as Alucard summoned a giant ball of pure fire and lava in her direction.

Drolta stopped it with her bare hands, but that thing kept pushing and pushing and pushing with the force of thousands of tons; she grunted with the effort, felt the ground beneath her crack, the air get so hot that it boiled the skin of her palms. No, she wouldn’t be defeated. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t.

Drolta yelled when she finally managed to kick that thing away in the Belmont boy’s direction. Unfortunately, he deflected it somehow.

For the first time, she focused her gaze on him again.

The Belmont boy walked towards her, took his whip in his hands; a serious, stone hard expression covered his features. She could see it, too – the blue aura growing around him, invisible to the human eye. He’d never transpired as much power as in that moment. Shouldn’t he be at least tired after fighting against Erzsebet?

The girl behind him, the one that carried a whisp of Sekhmet’s soul…

Mortals work better when they are in their best feelings.

Love is extremely powerful in magical terms.

Drolta found all that pathetic.

Another maniacal laughter erupted from her throat as both men got ready to fight her: Alucard’s sword embedded in red fire, the Belmont boy’s whip embedded in blue. Pathetic is what both of them were. All of them were pathetic – these humans soldiers, the weak vampires that died in battle, Erzsebet, this disgusting city. They all would soon be trembling under her feet; it’s where every living creature deserved to be. Fear is what would unite this world. Fear would be her crown.

They attacked.

Drolta used her hair tentacles to deflect them. Each tentacle had an extremely sharp blade on their tips; they were able to cut through concrete and cobblestones with ease as they whipped around violently. Perhaps Alucard would be able to heal from such injuries, but the human boy wouldn’t – so she focused mostly on him.

Both men immediately understood her tactic.

They fought in synchronicity as if they were connected somehow, attacking while protecting each other. The Belmont snapped his whip around him, twirled mid air to create a field of protection around his body while pushing her tentacles away; whenever one got too dangerously close, Alucard cut them. Drolta was able to regenerate the tentacles fast with her new powers, but it still burned whenever one of them were able to slash her.

That wasn’t going how she wanted it.

Drolta used her nails to try to cut them, her legs to try to kick them, her tentacles to try to strangle them; they always somehow got away. The Belmont summoned fire and ice and lightning against her, somehow piercing through her thick skin; the red flames of Alucard’s sword burned her and his sheer swordsmanship confused her, forced her to be on her toes the entire time. The vampire made sure to tank her heaviest blows so the Belmont could attack with his magic freely.

Alucard jiggled from side to side in the blink of an eye – so fast that even her sharp senses failed to follow. Drolta couldn’t expect where his next attack would come from; his sword twirled in the air creating arches of death, trying to reach for her neck before falling in the hands of its owner again. He was even faster now compared to their previous fights, even more brutal, his precision heightened to two hundred percent.

Excruciating pain.

Drota widened her eyes. Blood spilled from her right shoulder and hair tentacles.

She was so focused on Alucard that she didn’t see when the Belmont sent a sharp ice shuriken wrapped in electricity her way.

Alucard didn’t give her time to recover.

He pushed her up towards the sky – up, up, up, each push more and more violent; his attacks came from all sides, his sword slashing and piercing her leathery skin, each cut deeper than the other. Alucard’s strikes were so fast and so intense and so disorienting and so painful that Drolta couldn’t help but stop for a moment to try to protect her body with her arms and tentacles; he didn’t give her any opening.

Enough!

Drolta screamed in both anger and pain. She whipped all of her tentacles towards him at the same time, finally managing to push him; Alucard fell many meters away back to the ground, creating a crater where he hit.

She smiled. There’s no way he didn’t get slashed by her tentacles this time–

The whip tangled around her neck.

Drolta didn’t have time to prepare for the kick on her face the Belmont struck, propelled by his fire magic. He kicked again, punched her head, kicked again; Drolta growled, feeling rage fill her more and more. That human scum had the audacity to hit her with his bare hands?!

She clasped her hands together and hammered him down to the ground. The boy hit the cobblestones on his back, blood spilled from his lips. Drolta grinned at his immobile figure; she made her nails grow until they were as long as a blade before flapping her wings and flying down on a beeline towards him. Oh, she’d pierce through his chest. She’d take pleasure in ripping his heart out with him still alive.

Her nails were centimeters away from his body…

And then, she couldn’t feel her left hand anymore.

Drolta had forgotten about the ice shuriken he made earlier.

It cut her entire hand off.

She yelled in agonizing pain and stumbled away, holding the severed arm close to her chest. He… he cut her hand off. That fucking human boy cut her hand off.

Anger as red as the sky above her rose from her heart.

Her body got once again wrapped in energy. Crimson electricity clacked around her; her tentacles moved around frenetically like angry snakes. No. That couldn’t be happening. She had achieved the power she sought for over a thousand years. These two couldn’t be offering her enough of a challenge… that didn’t make sense.

Her inner voice growled.

Will you continue playing around with my power like this?

Drolta was tired.

She turned to face them at the exact moment they would attack together.

Time stopped.

Drolta gazed at both men. They were frozen in the air centimeters away from her. They had painful expressions. She could see them struggling to break away from her spell.

The woman laughed and straightened her posture. She lifted her severed arm. After focusing a bit more energy there, it regenerated in the blink of an eye; bone, muscle, veins, flesh and skin rebuilding a new hand in seconds, much faster than Ruby’s healing. Her inner voice was right. She’d already given these two insects enough time to play around. She’d been fighting with what she knew; using her body and strength. But… that was only the surface of what a goddess could do.

Drolta focused on this new power, letting her heightened consciousness travel through it. The larger spirit that now inhabited her body had an infinite reservoir of power. So, so much power; so much energy. The possibilities of what she could do were infinite. They went much beyond just making her skin thicker, her muscles bigger or her tentacles sharper.

It didn’t matter that her opponents were the son of Dracula and this Belmont. Alucard wasn’t Dracula himself, he only had a fraction of his father’s power. And the Belmont… he was just a human magician.

Her newly grown hand got wrapped in pure energy.

She grinned and pointed her hand towards Alucard.

He had to go first. Not only because she despised him, but because he was hindering her attacks the most, confusing her, getting in the way and acting as a shield for the human boy.

Drolta unleashed a wave of red energy his way.

It blew on his face. Alucard groaned in pain as he was sent flying back meters and meters away, hitting a building on his way – destroying half of it – before hitting the floor the same way he did to her earlier at the Notre Dame.

And then – it was just her and the Belmont boy, frozen in time in front of her.

Drolta chuckled with cruelty again. He didn’t have his vampire shield anymore. That wave of energy would tear him to pieces.

Slowly, she aimed her hand at him.

For every suffering, a wisdom is gained, she thought. Maybe if this fight hadn’t happened, Drolta wouldn’t have realized the true extension of her new powers. For that, she was grateful. A goddess shouldn’t fight like a mortal. Now, she knew how to obliterate this city with a flick of fingers. After the Belmont boy was done – and after she beheaded Alucard; she knew that wasn’t enough to kill him – she would have no enemies powerful enough to face her anymore…

Her thoughts got interrupted by a punch.

Drolta got dizzy for a moment.

What?!

The Belmont boy – he broke away from her freezing spell and landed his fiery fist on her face.

Love is extremely powerful in magical terms.

Drolta growled. She hated him. She hated him. She HATED him! He had to die. He was going to die right now. She raised her hand wrapped in power again to annihilate him – there was no way this human boy would survive her next attack–

The next second – all her power was gone.

That girl the Belmont put his life on the line to protect… she was floating in front of Drolta, holding her wrist with her much smaller hand.

And yet, when she squeezed Drolta’s wrist, she yelled in pain and fell to her knees.

Drolta looked deep within that girl’s eyes. They were golden, her irises were vertical like a feline’s. Her grip was hotter than Alucard’s lava ball; her expression was ferocious like a lioness’.

At that moment, Drolta finally understood.

That girl wasn’t stealing her goddess’ power. That girl… somehow she did what not even Erzsebet was able to do.

She became an avatar.

Drolta wasn’t looking at a human girl. Drolta was looking straight into the eyes of Sekhmet.

She shivered.

A part of Drolta wanted to smile, wanted to bow. Finally… after a thousand years, after uncountable nights of prayers, after sweat and blood and tears dropped, she stood in front of her goddess. The one she always fought for. The one who possessed her utmost loyalty and adoration. The one whom Drolta went to the ends of the world for; the one whom Drolta went as far as making a pact with a demon for her sake.

Drolta had fantasized of this moment many times before… the day she’d finally have Sekhmet walk on Earth again; and, if she died trying, the moment her goddess would meet her with open arms at the duat, after Anubis had weighed her heart as righteous and deserving of eternal rest.

But that was not how Sekhmet was looking at her at that moment.

Her golden eyes were clouded by rage and disapproval.

And, for the first time since her mortal days, Drolta felt shame.

“I am Sekhmet!” Her goddess growled as a golden aura grew around her like flames. “Guardian of the Dawn, Child of the Sun, Mistress of Healing!”

Drolta’s entire body shook in pain.

“I did this for you!” Drolta claimed. “All of this! I did it for you!”

“Made yourself into this unclean thing!” Sekhmet vociferated – and, as she spoke, Drolta realized that her inner voice was repeating the same words in unison; she felt as the soul within her and Sekhmet in front of her connected their consciousnesses into a single one. “Filled my temple with atrocities! Fed my soul to a disgusting walking corpse!”

Tears welled up Drolta’s eyes. Her chin trembled.

“So that you could live again!” She tried again; her goddess had to understand, she had to… “I-I thought it was what you wanted! I thought it was what you wanted!”

“It is time to balance the scales!” Sekhmet declared.

At that moment, reality hit Drolta.

Her beloved goddess. The one she had worshiped and served her entire life, from her mortal days to her vampire days to her reborn form…

Sekhmet was disappointed at her.

No. It was more than that.

Sekhmet despised her.

Tears dripped down Drolta’s cheeks.

“I thought it was what you wanted…” she whispered one last time. Pain much stronger than any physical attack slashed through her soul.

In less than a minute, Drolta’s determination was gone.

Her existence was pointless.

She did not fight as Sekhmet started to pull her power – her souls – back from Drolta’s body. She yelled in pain until her throat ached. She yelled for all the years gone to waste. She yelled as she felt her heart breaking into a million pieces.

Drolta weeped for the only real love she ever had as it turned its back on her, forever.

Alucard hadn’t completely healed the wound in his chest when Annette– Sekhmet intervened in the fight.

He almost sighed in relief when she did. He barely made it out alive of Drolta’s last attack; Richter wouldn’t have stood a chance. He stayed knelt on the floor holding his chest. Surprisingly, her attack made a lot of internal damage, but his skin wasn’t pierced – which didn’t mean he didn’t get hurt or wasn’t in pain.

But that pain could wait for now.

Because Richter was trying to reach Annette’s body as Sekhmet pulled her souls back.

Both of them – Annette and Drolta – were involved in a gigantic golden aura, as bright and as hot as the sun. Her power was jarring, he could feel it with every centimeter of his body. Richter made his way towards Annette with difficulty; he covered his arms with a layer of ice to try to lessen the burns before hugging her from behind.

A part of Alucard – the methodical part – was annoyed that this boy was intervening in the process. That was their only chance of putting Sekhmet’s souls where they belonged: out of anyone’s reach.

But Alucard’s mortal heart spoke much, much louder this time.

Because Richter was just a boy. Much stronger than the average human, carrying the heavy Belmont crest on his back with the responsibilities it possessed, one of the few mortals on Earth who could actually be a threat to a goddess.

But he was still just a boy in the end.

And like all Belmonts, he carried a heart too big, too sincere. It was a burden and a blessing at the same time. His heart made him experience the world in more intense ways than any other human Alucard ever met.

Richter was a Belmont. Like Juste, like his grandfather, his great-grandfather… like Simon. Like Trevor.

And on top of that, Richter was in love – and Annette could die at that moment, be consumed by Sekhmet’s power. This boy with a heart too big wouldn’t know what to do if he lost the one he loved the most.

So Alucard had to step in before he’d do something he would regret.

“Richter. My friend.” He called softly, resting his hand on the boy’s back, right over the Belmont crest.

Richter looked at Alucard with round blue eyes – scared blue eyes. I don’t care if we live in eternal fucking darkness, just leave Annette alone!, are the words that had just left Richter’s mouth. Alucard knew Richter didn’t process the true gravity of these statements, but at the heat of the moment, anything could become true.

He needed someone to be the voice of reason.

Alucard looked at him with empathy and quiet sadness.

“You know that’s not what she’d want.”

Richter gulped.

He tightened his eyes for a moment before finally – hesitantly – letting go of Annette.

Both men stepped back.

The golden aura between Annette and Drolta got stronger, more volatile. Tears of blood dripped down Annette’s eyes; Drolta screamed in pain like a hurt animal. The light got so strong that they had to protect their eyes.

Finally, with a last agonizing yell, that volatile aura exploded.

A shockwave hit them. Annette let go of Drolta’s wrist, each falling in a different direction; Richter rushed to catch her body before she could hit the floor.

Sekhmet’s presence was in this world no more.

Alucard would’ve sighed in relief if Annette weren’t in such a critical condition.

Richter was knelt on the floor while holding the girl in his arms. She was unresponsive. Richter called her over and over again, on the verge of tears; the scene made Alucard feel as if a cold hand gripped his heart.

He stood at some distance to give them space. In moments like this, Alucard wished he’d be fit to summon healing – it was one of the rarest forms of magic in existence. Healing someone else takes an absurd amount of energy… and this form of magic is not part of a vampire’s existence.

So there was nothing he could do at that moment but watch.

Richter was so young... he shouldn’t have to experience this type of loss so soon, especially when he didn’t even have the chance to confess his true (obvious) feelings.

You said you’d be here; make her feel it’s true. That she can always come back to you.

These were the words Alucard told him.

So, with a weak, trembling voice, Richter started his whispered confession.

His blue eyes were drowning in tears, but he still tried to sound firm as he described quietly the moment they first met. It even felt wrong for Alucard to witness this moment of fragility; he’d rather not be there at that moment, but he couldn’t walk away when they weren’t sure if their enemies were really gone. So Alucard chose to stand away from his field of view, but still protectively close. Richter held her gently.

“I can’t imagine the world without you, Annette. Any of it,” his voice was but a hopeful whisper. “Not hearing your voice, not seeing you roll your eyes at me, not waking up to know that whatever happens, somewhere, you are there. Please… don’t leave me. Please.”

Alucard tightened his lips. He felt genuine sadness at the boy’s heartfelt words.

...Something changed.

Annette’s body started to shine. Richter widened his eyes, startled.

But that shine was very brief this time. When it disappeared, Annette was herself again; her usual clothes were back, her hair was short again.

Alucard held his breath in anticipation.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. They were no longer soulless, her pupils weren’t vertical anymore… just her usual brown and round eyes.

“...You smell of burning,” she said in a weak, raspy voice.

Richter gasped. Fear immediately left his gaze, being replaced by utmost relief and joy. He chuckled and sighed. “Y-Yeah, that would be you… you’re like holding burning coals.”

Alucard watched with a small, serene smile while they hugged each other and cried.

He knew that feeling very well. Being so deeply in love with someone that your heart aches for them. Caring so much about someone that being apart brings genuine suffering. Sharing their sadness, their happiness, wanting to support them at every moment, knowing them intimately – and receiving this same intensity back.

Alucard had fallen in love countless times during his life… but it’s been a long time since he let himself feel it to the fullest. He decided to shroud his heart after so much pain, so much longing. At the slightest sign that he was beginning to develop feelings for someone, he’d immediately distance himself. He couldn’t bear going through anything like that anymore.

But at that moment, he realized something.

He’d been running away from pain and longing for so long that he had forgotten how love can be… sweet.

Was… was Alucard ready to feel it at its full intensity one more time?

Would his heart be strong enough to bear this again?

Did he even have the right to feel it, especially considering who this involved? What if the other end was too fragile to take him? Would Alucard take the pain of allowing himself to feel something like this again, only to have it ripped away from him like so many times in the past?

Would it be fair for him and for her?

Alucard didn’t know.

And his thoughts came to a halt when an anguished scream slashed the air.

Drolta.

She held her head, her breathing was irregular… for a second, she looked absolutely lost – almost like a child throwing a tantrum.

Drolta gazed at a confused Annette with pure hatred.

Then – Alucard saw the exact second she realized something.

Her eyes widened. Her back stiffened.

Alucard saw everything that unraveled in the next few seconds in slow motion.

Drolta turned her head to the northeast. At first, the vampire thought she wanted to flee – she was obviously weakened now; she had no power source, no army and no chances of winning. Of course, he would never let her go; his hand already gripped the hilt of the sword.

But then, Alucard saw her expression. The aggressiveness. The hurry in her gaze.

Those were not the eyes of someone planning to run away; they didn’t reflect defeat. That was not the gaze of a desperate woman wanting to go down fighting.

That was the gaze of a woman who had a plan.

And when she extended her giant wings and took flight, Alucard realized.

Notre Dame was at northeast.

He unsheathed his sword and flew.

Alucard hadn’t healed his wound completely; his brusque movement sent jolts of pain through his body. But at that moment, that didn’t matter – nothing else mattered, his mind went completely blank. Because even though Erzsebet was dead and Drolta was weakened and most certainly defeated, she still wanted to retrieve Ruby.

He would never let that happen.

They clashed mid air.

Drolta’s reflexes were slower now. Though she already sensed Alucard behind her, she couldn’t defend herself when he threw a heavy blow against her – sending her straight to the ground again not far from where they stood initially. A crater opened where her body hit, rising a cloud of smoke and debris.

She didn’t even have time to recover. Alucard was already upon her.

Both of them were slower, their limbs heavier, their powers weakened – but none of them wanted to lose. Alucard noticed that by Drolta’s fighting style, she was more worried in brushing him away than actually killing him. Her movements showed urgency. In fact, she looked almost desperate. Alucard was in a hurry, too; he didn’t know if Richter could still fight, considering the amount of blows he took, and Annette didn’t look like she could fight at that moment.

What was her plan? Why did she still want to get to Ruby? Sekhmet had completely vanished, the eclipse was still up in the sky – so what use would Ruby have? That couldn’t be just revenge. Drolta might’ve been defeated, but she would never lash out uselessly like this.

These answers would stay unanswered because Alucard needed to kill her.

He was tired of that woman, of the destruction she had caused, of the pain she inflicted. He’d been tracking her for five years – he needed to finish her right then and right there, he needed to end this chapter of his life. If Drolta staying alive meant Ruby would still be in danger, then there were no questions to be asked. She had to go – and she had to go now.

But Drolta was as determined as him.

She elbowed his chin in a blow that left him dazed; she gripped the hilt the sword and grabbed it from his hands. Then, she kicked his chest–

Right where the internal wound still hadn’t healed.

Alucard lost his senses for a second and fell on his back. He felt the taste of his own blood, his vision got blurred, extreme pain radiated from that spot in his chest to the rest of his body. As if she knew that was where the wound was, Drolta pressed her hoof right there to keep him on the ground. Alucard groaned in pain, trying to push her away–

His eyes widened when he looked up and realized what she was about to do.

Alucard had time to put his forearm in front of his body for some protection before Drolta impaled him with his own sword.

He screamed. The blade pierced through his forearm directly into his shoulder – if Alucard hadn’t moved a few centimeters up, she would’ve pierced his heart. With an angry growl, Drolta hammered the hilt of the sword with her fist with such strength that the blade sank into him, piercing the ground below.

Alucard spat blood. The pain was so extreme that he couldn’t think for a moment. Shit, I need to get up. I need to keep fighting. Get up!

His vision was still blurred when he saw Drolta being whipped from behind.

The woman let another yell of anger and pain before stumbling away from Alucard and turning around; Richter was, somehow, still standing. He had rushed to retrieve his whip which was already soaked in blue flames. His flames were visibly weakened now, showing the true state of his physical condition. Richter’s eyes, however, didn’t looked weakened; he sent a fast worried glimpse towards Alucard before gazing at Drolta with determination.

Alucard could hear the sounds of the fight happening beside him, but he didn’t look; he was too focused in trying to get his sword off him. He gripped it with his right hand and started to push it up. Every centimeter it moved send jolts of more pain throught his body. The internal wound and the wound Drolta had just inflicted hurt, his body was weak, his senses were slow – none of that mattered. He had to get up. He had to get up. Richter wouldn’t be able to fight for much longer. Get the fuck up!

With a last groan of pain, Alucard finally managed to take out the sword, holding it by the blade; it was completely soaked with his own blood. He looked towards Richter’s direction and his stomach dropped.

The Belmont boy was about to get hit with no defense.

“Richter!” Alucard managed to scream…

But a new sound completely engulfed his voice.

A purple lightning slashed the air.

Both Richter and Alucard looked above with shocked expressions as a giant winged snake floated near them.

Olrox hit Drolta on the chest with his electric attack; she screamed in agonizing pain, her whole body had spasms. Alucard didn’t expect that Olrox would come back, especially not to save Richter. The Belmont boy himself seemed shocked, though his eyes had anger and resentment in them.

Alucard took these small moments of distraction to stand up and hold the hilt of his sword again. He’d let himself feel pain and tiredness later.

With his last breath of strength, he ignited his sword in red fire once more.

Richter got the message.

As soon as Olrox’s attack ceased, Richter snapped his whip; it entangled around Drolta’s neck. She was too disoriented to resist. Richter pulled the whip, forcing her to bend on her back.

Alucard jumped in the air.

The sword was ready to come down on her neck.

Unexpectedly, Olrox sent another of his attacks – but this time, he aimed the lightning at Alucard’s blade, wrapping it in purple electricity which mixed with Alucard’s red fire.

Time slowed down once more.

Alucard could see everything with clarity: the air clacking with purple sparks around him. Richter’s blue fire burning Drolta’s neck. The reflection of his red fire on her face. Her widened eyes in an expression Alucard knew very well: the gaze of someone realizing they have nowhere else to go. The gaze of someone finally understanding they are about to die.

With the way Richter forced Drolta to bend, the ruby necklace came to rest directly over her neck. It was time to fullfill the promise Alucard made to Ruby and to himself.

The blade came down on Drolta’s neck.

A sanctified silver sword. The purple magic of a god. The red fire of a dhampir.

Nothing could withstand that.

The ruby stone was shattered to pieces.

Drolta’s thick skin offered no resistance.

And then – an explosion.

The three of them were sent flying back. The explosion was red; it had a strange cold feeling, it smelled of sulfur. Alucard had time to see an incredible amount of energy being released from the jewel when he broke it apart. The destruction of the ruby caused the explosion, which made Alucard realize in shock that that was never a regular necklace.

The explosion rumbled the entire city of Paris.

Then… silence.

Alucard got up with difficulty again. Richter too, a few meters away from him. Olrox’s dragon form floated above them. Drolta’s lifeless body stayed in the middle.

The air seemed lighter. The city was eerily quiet.

Alucard looked up.

The shadow that covered the sun… it was slowly disappearing.

It… it was over.

Alucard gripped the wound on his left shoulder. It still bled. Now, his whole body was in pain, but he still stood – because something else could unravel in front of him.

Richter and Olrox stood face to face. A giant winged greature and a Belmont. Richter’s whip was still ignited.

Alucard watched them with anxiety. He knew what had happened to Richter’s mother… and he also knew that neither him or Richter were in condition to fight anymore.

But Richter closed his eyes for a moment.

“...I will kill you, Olrox. One day.” Finally, the blue flames of his whip went out. “But not today.”

He opened his eyes.

They gave each other a last meaningful gaze before Olrox retreated in a shadow of pitch black smoke.

Alucard almost sighed in relief.

The red color of the sky was slowly being replaced by its original blue. The vampire closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself feel relief. He could hear the sounds of the city again… citizens realizing the eclipse was over… people walking on the streets…

Five years of searching for Sekhmet’s mummy, of planning a strategy against them, of finding ways to defeat their troops…

It was finally over.

Alucard opened his eyes once more. Richter was limping his way towards Annette. He saw Juste and Maria, many meters away from where they were, waking up. It’s a miracle that all of them ended up alive…

But he caught something with the corner of his eye – and it immediately made him freeze.

Alucard whipped his head towards Drolta’s body.

She was still laying there. Beheaded. No signs of life at all.

But the shadows below her were moving.

They were getting thicker. The shadows of the entire square seemed to be getting pulled towards Drolta’s body; they twirled under her like a whirpool of pitch black. Alucard gripped his sword. Richter took his whip again. Annette stumbled back. The temperature seemed to drop at least ten degrees.

The air smelled of coal and sulfur.

A black figure rose from within the shadows. It grinned down at Drolta; something that sounded like mocking laughter hovered in the air.

They watched in shock as the shadows engulfed Drolta’s body – and then, both of them were gone.

You were… confused.

You could hear and see. You knew there was something violent happening somewhere in the city; colorful explosions, shockwaves and earthquakes, thunders and the sounds of destruction. You could hear Henri’s and Charle’s nervous chatter somewhere beside you. And yet – it’s like you weren’t really there. As if your mind and body were disconnected somehow. As if… you couldn’t react to anything.

You felt strangely at peace.

You knew that the sky started to get clear at some point. You heard the boys celebrating behind you. But… you couldn’t really move from that spot on the balcony of the north bell tower. You didn’t want to stand up.

A familiar touch on your back.

“Ruby?”

You turned your head to the side slowly. That was… that was Alucard. Yes. Alucard. You knew him. He had knelt on the ground beside you.

“...Hello.” You heard a voice say from a distance… your voice. You said that.

Alucard had a worried expression in his face. His hair was gloriously disheveled, the strong winds at the top of Notre Dame played with it. The fair skin of his face was… dirty. He was all dirty, in fact.

You knew they were talking about you. “I… I think she’s not okay, Mr. Alucard,” Henri said in a hesitant and worried voice. “She’s not reacting to anything. It’s like she’s on some sort of trance,” Charles completed. Alucard placed his hand over your forehead – why was he doing that again? – his frown deepened. Heavens, he was so beautiful. So, so beautiful. Even with the disheveled hair and all the dirt. You coudn’t do anything but look at him; you didn’t bother when Alucard instructed the boys – “You should take care of the wound on your shoulder, son,” he told Henri. “There are nurses out there. Get medical aid. I’ll take care of her.”

You knew the two boys were walking out of the tower towards the stairs. A part of you wanted to stop them to properly say thank you, but your body didn’t want to move. So you just gazed at Alucard instead.

He held your arm softly. “Ruby, are you listening to me?” he asked in a worried voice.

His eyes widened in surprise when you touched his cheek.

“You’re hurt,” you heard your voice say from afar again.

If you were fully conscious, you’d never be brave enough to touch him like that. But it’s like you weren’t even there, so nothing felt real. You brushed some strands of hair away from his face and cupped his cheek delicately.

“You’re tired,” your voice said again. Your eyes dropped below – and for the first time, you noticed a gash in his jacket, right over his right shoulder… “You’re bleeding.”

Alucard rested his hand over yours, which made you look up again. He had a tiny smile on his lips, though his brows were still slightly furrowed. He gazed at you with… affection. It made your body feel warm on the inside. His hand was bigger than yours. Even through the leather glove, you could feel his warmth.

“I’ll heal anyway. Don’t worry about me.” You knew he was just light-heartedly repeating what you already told him over and over again. “Are you hurt?”

You frowned and looked down again.

“No. But I feel strange.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know. I’m… distant. And I’m tired.” You looked at him again. Alucard didn’t move to take your hand away from his face. His own still rested above yours, his thumb caressing your fingers slowly. “You’re hurt.”

“You already said that.” Alucard chuckled lightly before a bit of seriousness covered his expression once more. Finally, he wrapped his hand around yours and took it away from his face; he didn’t let go of it, however, resting both of them over your lap. He looked hesitant before speaking.

“Ruby… Drolta and Erzsebet are dead.”

You stared at him in silence for long seconds.

“Are… they?” Alucard nodded slowly. “Are you sure?”

Alucard hesitated for a second. You saw a glimpse of something you couldn’t understand cross his gaze.

But he nodded again in the end. “Yes. No mistakes this time.”

You lowered your head and… smiled.

Where did that smile come from? Why were you smiling in the first place? You had no idea.

Erzsebet and Drolta are dead.

The mere mention of their names made you feel… closer to your body, somehow. As if things were starting to get real again.

The sun was shining once more. You should’ve understood what that meant. The eclipse had vanished… and so had the Vampire Messiah.

Erzsebet and Drolta are dead. They are dead.

You didn’t know where the tears came from.

They came spontaneously, unannounced. You covered your mouth, trying to swallow a sob; your body was shaking. What were you crying for? Happiness? Relief? Sadness? Grief? Hatred? Pain? You had no idea. But you couldn’t stop, you didn’t know how. When was the last time you let yourself cry freely like that, without trying to be silent, without muffling any sob?

Drolta didn’t like the sound of you crying… so probably never.

But she was dead now.

Maybe if you were in your right mind, you wouldn’t have wrapped your arms around Alucard’s neck, embracing him in a tight hug. Maybe you wouldn’t have hid your face in his shoulder. No, you wouldn’t have the courage. But nothing felt much real at that moment, so you didn’t really care.

Alucard hugged you back immediately, offering no resistance, no hesitance. He kept you close, kept you tight. Tighter than your previous hug. Maybe if you were in your right mind, you would’ve shivered when he hid his face on your neck, too. Maybe your legs would’ve lost all of their strength when you felt his hot breath there, the touch of his soft cheek on your skin. All you could do was cry in a way you never did before.

At some point, you heard your voice stuttering a strangled thank you.

Alucard sighed deeply.

The morning sun kissed you both. The city down there was still in chaos – too many losses, too much damage, too many questions to be answered. You and him were still in he eye of the hurricane. But at that moment, nothing felt too real, so you didn’t care.

Nothing but him felt real. Him, and the fact that those who hurt you were gone from this world definitely. Him, his embrace and the way he warmed you up.

The voice of that unknown woman whispered in your ears once more – and, for some reason, it brought even more tears to your eyes.

...Love doesn’t burn.

Love warms up.

It was over.

[no1blacksapphirefan]

I love you're self aware AU, it's so adorable <3

Ngl- as a Burning Spice selfshipper, I always get jealous whenever I notice him interacting with the same cookies everytime in my kingdom... I always seperate them as much as possible or just flat out disable them in the dashboard KSHDJSHDJS

How do you think the beasts/ancients would react?

That’s so fair. This is actually an entertaining thought, would be extremely funnier if reader was oblivious, cuz imagine your “God” pulls you away from another cookie in silly jealousy but they don't even know that you're aware.

Anyways here’s your request, I hope it’s okay <33

Pure Vanilla finds it cute. The idea anyways, he doesn't really like the feeling of being restricted, especially if he was just talking to a friend. He just wanted to talk to White Lily happily before he was picked up and away from her. Then he sees you disable her from the dashboard?? Don't get him wrong, he can understand it to some degree, and if he could, he'd reassure you that he only has eyes for you. But he can talk to friends too y'know...

He does find your jealousy funny though as you don't seem to realise that they know they're in the game. Seeing you being so jealous despite the fact that in your eyes they're not real is almost entertaining enough to forget about the fact you're still making his friends disappear for a bit.

White Lily is on a similar boat as Pure Vanilla in regards to the fact that while she can understand your jealousy. She finds it confusing that you're jealous. Did you secretly know that they've been watching you? Or was that just how you were. She doesn't mind the jealousy per say, but seeing some of the cookies getting disabled was a bit surprising. Being the Light of Freedom and wanting that for other cookies didn't help.

What freedom would the other cookies have if their own "god" didn't want them to interact with her? Maybe there was a way to let you know this is upsetting her...

Dark Cacao the first time it happened he was surprised. He had no idea your abilities included being able to make some cookies disappear. He had no idea why at first, I mean he knew you had something to do with it but wasn't sure why. What reason did you have? He was sure that the cookies he had talked to didn't deserve that.

He was relieved that they only disappeared when you were online and nothing bad happened to them, but he wanted to know why and when he did? He was conflicted. You didn't know they that they were aware so on one hand. It was almost cute to see you still be jealous over other cookies. On the other, suddenly seeing your son disappear is rather...traumatising.

Hollyberry being the Light of Passion at first thought it was silly. She almost loved it in a way when it started, but if it continued for a while then she'd grow a bit more concerned for this jealousy. Don't get me wrong, she loves you. And at times, you pulling her away is entertaining, but I feel like she'd hate seeing your friends disappear.

Pull her away from her friends sure, she'll put all her attention on you but making them disappear is something she's more iffy on. She's almost tempted to break the screen and let you know that most of her love is on you. And the others were just friends.

Golden Cheese she's incredibly and utterly flattered. Similar to Hollyberry she also thought it was silly and cute at first. But she does not like you disabling cookies. She is more then glad that the other cookies are fine and they're not hurt though.

Just like the other ancients, she's not a big fan on making other cookies disappear but is a bit more fine/accepting of you pulling her away. She finds it funny that you're not even aware of her knowledge of you yet still feel the jealousy to pull her away. She should give you hints to not make fellow cookies disappear though.

TLDR; For the ancients, I feel most wouldn't like you just making their friends/fellow cookies disappear. Especially if they were close with said cookie. They don't mind being pulled away once or twice and almost find it cute, especially as you don't seem to know they've found out they're in a game. Some probably got traumatised the first time you did it depending on which cookie you disabled. If you ever find out they knew/were aware and you apologised? They'd be more than grateful.

Mystic Flour of course, the Light of Apathy doesn't care for seeing fellow cookies disappearing, in fact she cares more for the fact that you did it for her. How cute. She smiles ever so slightly as she hears you disable yet another cookie just for talking too much to her. Oh if only she could come out and let you know there was no need for that.

Not that she's complaining as your actions tell her how much you love her. But oh would she love to tell you the love is returned. She'll just have to tell you or show you in another way...sigh, maybe Shadow Milk is willing to help

Shadow Milk oho he also loves it. He'd be lying if he said he disliked it. Of course he's a bit more iffy if you make his minions disappear but if you did it just for him? He can look past it for a moment. He probably would do the same anyways if he was in your position. Your attention is on him and that's what he loves.

He loves getting picked up by you and being essentially dragged away because of your oh so silly jealousy. Honestly bonus points if you don't know. He finds it so flattering that you love him enough to still be jealous despite your belief that he's not real.

Burning Spice He also enjoys it a lot, your attention on him and watching cookies disappear. He knows that they technically didn't crumble but he loves pretending, watching certain cookies panic as they see their friend suddenly disappear is also amazingly funny.

Oh he loves the different ways you show affection, this new way, even if it's more so done out of jealousy he also likes. While he'd prefer if you leave his minions untouched as he likes talking to them. Seeing you pout as you disable them is almost worth it...

TLDR: Unlike the ancients, the beasts love it. Having you love them so much that even though you're not aware of their own knowledge, you're still jealous of other cookies? Almost makes their heart flutters in a lot of ways. If you ever find out they're aware and try to apologise for your "embarrassing" actions? They're quick to tell you they love it <33

[novaursa]

Arthur Dayne x reader

Where he manages to get away with baby Jon and make it to Dorne and live happily ever after with maybe Martell or a servant (works for house Dayne) reader(childhood sweethearts 🙏🏼)? 👀👀

What We Kept

- Summary: Arthur and you make a home in Dorne.

- Pairing: martell!reader/Arthur Dayne

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial

The heat of Dorne wraps around you like a second skin, warm and dry, clinging to your limbs as you step barefoot across the sun-warmed tiles of the villa courtyard. A light wind stirs the orange blossoms, their perfume thick in the air, mingling with the salt carried inland from the sea. The villa is quiet at this hour, the kind of golden silence that comes in the lull of midday—when even the cicadas fall still, and the world exhales. Your fingers are stained with crushed figs from the breakfast you had with Jon on the terrace, his small hands sticky as he reached for another piece, laughter bright and unburdened in the way only a child’s can be. He does not know yet the weight he carries in his blood, nor the fire that gave him breath, nor the cold that hunts his name across the North.

“Nymeros,” Arthur calls softly, your chosen name in this second life. You turn toward him, and the sight of him still steals your breath—his hair longer now, sun-bleached and tied back in a leather cord, a short beard shadowing his jaw. He carries Jon on his hip, the boy’s arms thrown around his neck, head resting trustingly against his shoulder. “He fell asleep halfway through the story,” Arthur adds with a smile, and you know without asking that he had been telling him tales of knights and swords, of dragons and valor—stories without truths, only the bright glint of legend.

You reach for your son, your fingers brushing through the soft dark curls at his temple. Jon stirs slightly, murmurs something incoherent, then nestles closer to Arthur. Your heart swells at the sight. “He’ll be too old soon to be carried like this,” you say, keeping your voice quiet, though a smile plays on your lips.

Arthur chuckles and shifts Jon’s weight. “Then I shall teach him to ride. And fight. He has fire in him. He’ll not sit still long enough for lullabies soon.”

You nod, your gaze drifting toward the distant horizon, where the hills of Dorne roll toward the sea. “He’ll be strong,” you murmur. “But I want him to be happy. Safe. Free from what we left behind.”

The world believes you dead. Both of you. The Tower fell in blood, but not before you and Arthur slipped away under cover of shadow and smoke, with a babe swaddled in crimson and silver silk. The North mourned the Stark girl and the child she bore; the Kingsguard and the Martell princess lost to the madness of war. Even Ellia, your sister, had not known—she had already been lost to the flames of the sack, a memory that still haunts you in dreams. You cannot undo what was done, but here, in this quiet corner of Dorne, you’ve made a life out of the ashes.

You step inside the cool shade of the villa, Arthur beside you, Jon still asleep against him. The room smells of lavender and sandalwood, of old books and parchment. It is a peaceful home, filled with the laughter of your son, the brush of Arthur’s hand against yours, the sound of wind through silk curtains. You pour wine into a cup, hand it to Arthur, and watch him as he sinks into the cushions with a quiet sigh.

“I had a dream last night,” you say after a long moment. “Of the Tower. Of Lyanna. Her voice echoes sometimes. She said… ‘Promise me.’”

Arthur’s expression tightens, though he says nothing at first. He brushes his fingers through Jon’s curls, and his voice is quiet when he speaks. “We did what we could. We kept the promise. He’s alive, and he’s here. Loved. That is more than she ever had.”

You nod slowly. The guilt is a low, ever-present ache beneath your ribs, but you draw breath and force yourself forward, as you’ve done every day since that night. “Do you ever think about returning?” you ask. “To the world we left?”

Arthur looks at you, his violet eyes thoughtful. “And do what, my love? Face Ned Stark with his sister’s child in my arms? Reveal the truth and tear down everything that’s been built since? No. I have you. I have him. That is all I want.”

You look at him—at Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, now known as Arrion Sand, the wandering sellsword who vanished into the Dornish hills with a lover and a child. He has traded blade and glory for silence and peace. You reach across the table, taking his hand, tracing the calluses there. “You would’ve made a fine father to any child. But to him… to our son, you are everything.”

He lifts your hand to his lips and kisses it, reverent and slow. “And you,” he says, voice rough with feeling, “have made this broken world beautiful again.”

That night, Jon stirs restlessly in his sleep, and you rise to soothe him. He dreams of wolves and stars, of great white beasts with eyes like moonlight. You hum softly until his breathing evens, your hand resting on his back. You watch his little chest rise and fall, and you think of Lyanna again—wild, fierce Lyanna—and of Elia, your quiet sister, gentle and kind. Both gone. But their legacies burn in the child before you. Not a Targaryen. Not a Stark. Not a prince.

Just Jon.

Your son.

[blazinghotfoggynights]

There is so much going on this season

A- Eddie did not need to buy that death trap he calls a house and move to El Paso. All he needed was a week and Buck to help drive. Go down there, tell Christopher he can hate you, but he will be doing it in LA, and tell the Devil...er Diaz parents if they don't butt out, you will cut them completely out of your life. Threaten restraining orders if you have to.

We all know Buck is a mess but Eddie is probably worse. The man has blown his life up how many times in the past two seasons? He did so because he lacks impulse control. He acts without thinking. He immediately goes to the most ridiculous course of action possible.

Eddie is just as, and I say MORE, messed up than Buck. He just hides it.

Didn't Eddie go to our favorite golden retriever disaster for advice and a pep talk? Exactly. Advice? From Buck?

B- That is huge. Why? Eddie Diaz, war hero and guy who has his shit together, is his totally messed up, out of order, confused, all over the place self in front of Buck. No one else in the 118 has a clue how mess that man's life is. But he doesn't hide it from Buck. He wouldn't even let Shannon see him break, but he doesn't hide from Buck that he is already broken.

C- Food and couches. Eddie and Buck. Even I can't deny it now.

D- It makes sense that Buck will not consciously admit he feels something for Eddie. Why? Everyone he has loved has left. I know this is crazy, but it's Buck, so his logic is illogical. If he doesn't love Eddie, Eddie will not stay gone. He won't lose him.

E- Buck admitted to having feelings for Eddie without knowing he admitted it. Freudian slips are real, yall. "I don't have to sleep with everyone I have feelings for and I don't have to have feelings for everyone I sleep with."

That idiot didn't even realize he was saying he has had feelings for someone but didn't act on them, but will jump into situationships with people without feeling anything for them. That second part is all his damn relationships on the show! Abby was just after he lost Devon. Allie was convenient and met during a tense moment and after just meeting Eddie. Taylor was after Eddie was shot. Tommy was after Eddie began dating Marisol AND Eddie began focusing on Tommy.

F- Buck telling Eddie he has to stay could have two reasons. Buck wants Eddie to be with his son. Buck also needs time to make sure he doesn't have feelings for Eddie.

G- You think this is a coincidence?

Eddie is bookended by his son and Buck who look similar. Buck and Christopher happen to be wearing almost identical colors? Look at the lighting. Eddie is in a darkened environment but Buck is surrounded by light and his background is home. It was like that every time in this episode. Eddie is calling his light and his home. But Eddie is not well.

H- Which leads me to this one. Mentally stable people do not quit their jobs without having another, buy a dump without seeing it in person, sink all their money into that dump, sell their truck to buy a used heap (isn't that the check engine flashing?) and drive for Uber. They also don't buy PS5s when they are broke to try to buy their child's love when they could have simply told Mommy and Daddy to get out of their house and their child to go be mad in his room. Edmundo Diaz is having a mental crisis and has been for a long time. I believe Buck subconsciously knows but he doesn't want to admit it. In his eyes Eddie is perfect and he won't let anything taint that image, BUT he will do everything in his power to keep that man happy and help him get better.

I- You know? Like you do when you love someone. What have the 118 said about love? Now look at these two. Seeing someone at their worst and loving them anyway? It means stepping into their mess?

Hmm. 🤔

J- It's only platonic because Buck did not know he was bi and Eddie thinks he is straight. They just didn't know. That happens. It isn't always repression or lying. Sometimes you don't know what you don't know.

But let's see if Minear is setting the stage for Buddie or, the only other option, the biggest queerbaiting in the history of television.

[liuhsng]

✩ˎˊ˗ between the shelves ( sjy ! ) — part 2

✩ˎˊ˗ part of the untouchable series | enhypen masterlist

⤷ pairing — jake x fem!reader ⤷ part 1 | part 2 ⤷ word count — 18.7k ⤷ taglist for the series — open ! ⤷ warnings — a/b/o au, foul language, fem!reader, strangers to lovers trope-ish, jake is in love-love, jake is literally just so down bad for you oml, kinda self-depraving thoughts, tooth-rotting fluff, mentions of the other parts from this series, not proofread ⤷ a/n — this is so sweet and fluffy i legit cried writing this + here's the second part bc tumblr told me that i was too much of a yapper LMAO

✩ˎˊ˗ summary: jake had spent his whole life believing patience was his greatest virtue. it was what made him the perfect friend, the perfect son, the perfect alpha. and then he met you. and suddenly, patience felt like a cruel joke. because who would’ve thought that the big, bad, pureblooded alpha named sim jaeyun—the one who always kept his head up, would find himself wrapped around your finger? jake had always known he would have a mate someday. he had just never imagined that once he found you, he wouldn’t be able to stay away.

Jake had been careful.

Or at least, he thought he had.

But apparently, not careful enough.

Because the second he smelled it—them, it was already too late.

Jake’s body tensed, his nose twitched, and his fingers flexed against the back of the bench. The comfortable warmth of your scent was suddenly invaded, drowned out by something else.

Jake inhaled once again, and immediately regretted it.

The sharp mix of scents crashed into him all at once; strong and entirely too familiar. His grip on the bench tightened as his mind registered what this meant, who this meant.

He didn’t need to raise his head up. He already knew.

A few feet away, a cluster of figures stood at the entrance of the parking lot, their presence thick in the air. Pureblooded alphas and omegas: his friends. His pack.

Jake exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing his shoulders to relax, but it was no use. The warmth of your scent had been his safe haven for weeks, and now it was being suffocated under the weight of theirs.

He could feel the way you stilled beside him, your fingers subtly tightening around the edge of your book. You felt it too.

The realization settled in your chest like a stone.

You could feel their eyes now. The weight of their stares pressing in, a mix of emotions swirling between them: amusement, curiosity, suspicion.

Jungwon and his mate, Heeseung and his mate, Sunghoon and his mate, Sunoo and his mate. Jay and Ni-ki. All of them.

You swallowed, glancing at Jake, only to find his gaze locked straight ahead, jaw clenched. “Jake?” you whispered.

He didn’t respond.

But he did look at you. His golden-brown eyes met yours, flickering with something unreadable, it was heavy, waiting.

That silence stretched too long, and your heart started to pound. Instinct took over before you could stop yourself. “Alpha?” you murmured, softer this time, almost hesitant.

That snapped him out of it.

His shoulders eased just a fraction, his fingers flexing against the wood of the bench before he sighed. His head tilted ever so slightly, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he murmured, “Do you wanna meet them?”

Your breath hitched.

He was waiting. Waiting for your response.

It was as if nothing else existed in that moment but the space between you and him. Not the weight of the stares boring into your back, not the amusement in Sunghoon’s smirk, not the knowing gleam in Jay’s eyes. Just Jake. Just his question.

And when you gave the smallest nod, Jake didn’t hesitate.

With ease, he reached for your things, moving as if he had done it a thousand times before. His hands brushed against yours as he fixed your books, slipping them into your bag before slinging it over his shoulder. Then, in one smooth motion, he reached for his own.

Two bags. One on each shoulder.

The sight of it sent something warm and electric through your veins. It was such a simple thing, such an Alpha thing, but your inner omega reacted instantly, curling with satisfaction, swooning.

And the worst part?

Despite the situation, despite the fact that all of your friends had just caught Jake ditching them for you—you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Jake took slow steps forward, as if still assessing the situation. His grip on your bag tightened for a moment before loosening, his gaze flickering between you and the group still watching from a few feet away.

And then—he caught it, the slightest shift in your scent.

It was subtle, barely noticeable to anyone else, but to him? It was everything.

The hesitance. The nerves. The way your omega fluttered beneath the surface, not just from the weight of their stares but from him.

And just like that, Jake didn’t hesitate.

His free hand dropped from your bag strap, fingers brushing against yours for only a second before he took your hand fully, intertwining them without a second thought.

Your breath hitched. Your head snapped up to look at him, but he wasn’t fazed at all.

Jake gave your hand a single, reassuring squeeze. Then, in a voice just above a whisper—low and teasing, meant only for you; he murmured, “How fucking unbearable are they about to be?”

Your lips parted, a small, nervous laugh tumbled past your lips. “Very unbearable.”

The silence that followed was almost deafening.

You could feel it, the weight of their stares, the unspoken words pressing into your back.

Jake, in true Jake fashion, pretended not to notice. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

His grip on your hand didn’t loosen, his fingers still intertwined with yours like he had no plans of letting go anytime soon. His strides were slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. But you weren’t fooled.

He was stalling.

And then—

“Sim Jaeyun, you absolute menace.”

Jay’s voice rang through the air, and the exasperation in it was so familiar, so expected, that you almost laughed.

Almost.

Jake finally stopped walking, letting out a slow, drawn-out sigh before finally, finally turning to face the group. Still holding your hand.

And as expected—they were all staring.

All of them.

Sunghoon had his arms crossed, unimpressed but unsurprised, Jungwon looked beyond entertained, Sunoo was clutching Heeseung’s arm in excitement, and Ni-ki? Ni-ki had his phone out.

“Not a word.” Jake pointed a warning finger at them, but it only made Sunoo’s grin widen.

“Aww, but Jakey—”

“Not. A. Word.”

You felt the second Ni-ki snapped a picture.

Jake groaned, running a hand down his face. “I hate all of you.”

Jay scoffed. “Clearly not as much as you love disappearing on us.”

“Correction.” Sunghoon lifted a finger. “Disappearing on us for the love of his life.”

Jake gave him a flat look. “Wow, thanks for that. Really needed the clarification.”

“Oh, don’t mind us,” Jungwon added, voice dripping with amusement. “We’re just catching up with our dear council secretary. You know, since he’s been avoiding his actual responsibilities.”

“Responsibilities?” Jake echoed, feigning confusion. He squeezed your hand lightly before flashing his signature, lazy grin. “I don’t know, I think I’ve been pretty responsible.”

Jungwon blinked. Then, he laughed.

It was slow, knowing, and full of amusement.

Because it was true.

Because even when he was ditching them, Jake had still been keeping everything in order. Still answering emails, still approving proposals, still handling every little thing he needed to.

He just… hadn’t been doing it in person.

“Do you know what I had to suffer through today, Sim?” Sunghoon cut him his thoughts, dramatically placing a hand over his heart. “Coach absolutely wrecked me on the field. Do you know why?” He paused for effect. “Because my dear best friend, my beloved council secretary, my alpha packmate—left me to die.”

Jake sighed. “Sunghoon—”

“Left. Me. To. Die.”

“You weren’t even there on time.”

“That’s not the point!” Sunghoon threw his hands up. “I had to run extra laps alone! Do you know how humiliating it is to be the only one doing laps while everyone else is just standing there watching?”

Jungwon nodded sagely. “That does sound tragic.”

“Oh, utterly devastating.” Sunoo pressed a hand to his chest. “Poor Sunghoon. Abandoned. Betrayed.”

Sunghoon clicked his tongue. “Exactly. And for what? For you to come running to your omega?”

That did it. You finally laughed, the sound slipping out before you could stop it.

Jake blinked. Then smirked. “Sounds like a pretty good reason to me.”

Sunghoon’s mouth fell open. “Are you serious?”

Ni-ki burst out laughing. “Dude, he didn’t even hesitate.”

Jungwon chuckled. “Man knows his priorities.”

Jay exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

Jake only smirked, shrugging. “I do my best.”

Then, before anyone else could add more, he cleared his throat, straightening up.

“Alright,” he said, voice cutting through the noise. “Since you guys are so invested in my love life—”

“Secret love life.” Heeseung corrected.

Jake ignored him.

“—I might as well make this official,” he finished, then turned to you, his gaze softening. “(Y/N), meet my incredibly nosy, insufferable friends.”

Sunoo gasped. “Did you just call us insufferable?”

Jake smirked. “You deserved that one.”

Before anyone else could chime in, Heeseung’s mate stepped forward, looking straight at you with a knowing smile.

“Oh, we know her,” she said, and then—“More than you do.”

Jake blinked, brows furrowing. “What?”

Before you could even begin to explain, Jungwon’s mate tilted her head, grinning.

“This little missy’s been hiding a lot from us these past few weeks,” she teased, crossing her arms. “I’m honestly impressed we didn’t figure it out sooner.”

Jake turned to you, eyes narrowing. “You’ve been hiding from them?”

Your face warmed, but you squared your shoulders, pursing your lips. “…Maybe.”

“Oh, my God.” Sunoo'smate looked delighted. “So this was a two-way sneaking-around situation? Adorable.”

And then—before you could react, Sunghoon’s mate and Sunoo's mate were suddenly at your side, practically bouncing with excitement.

“Finally! A new friend!” Sunghoon’s mate beamed.

“Oh, this is gonna be so fun!” Sunoo's mate added, already looping her arm through yours. “We have so much to talk about.”

Jake frowned, pulling you back toward him. “Okay, can we all calm down?”

Jungwon's mate smirked. “What’s wrong, Sim? Afraid we’ll steal your girl?”

Jake glared. “We’re not even official yet.”

Silence.

And then—

Laughter.

Full, unrestrained, absolutely merciless laughter.

“Oh, honey.” Heeseung’s mate patted your arm, smiling fondly. “You’re already one of us.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jungwon waved Jake off. “Technicalities, technicalities. It’s basically official.”

Jake shook his head. “You guys are ridiculous.”

Heeseung shrugged. “And you’re in love.”

Jake froze.

And then—he scoffed.

But he didn’t deny it.

The low purr of the engine filled the space between you, steady and smooth as Jake effortlessly navigated the road. The once playful energy that surrounded you both earlier had shifted into something quieter, softer.

The streetlights flickered past in a golden blur, casting fleeting glows over his face. Sharp jaw, slightly tousled hair, the relaxed curve of his mouth.

And his hand; still warm against yours. Still holding on.

Not like before, when it had been a casual, almost unconscious gesture.

No, this was different, this was intentional.

Jake was driving with one hand, his other still intertwined with yours, resting against the center console like it belonged there. And maybe… maybe it did.

“You good?” His voice broke the comfortable silence, gentle but teasing. “You’ve been staring at me for a while now, sweetheart.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “I have not.”

Jake hummed, clearly amused. “No? Then what were you looking at?”

You huffed, shifting in your seat. “I was just… thinking.”

“About?”

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to say it, but because you weren’t sure how to.

Jake, however, wasn’t one for patience. With a slight squeeze of your hand, he coaxed, “Come on, pretty girl. Let me in.”

You exhaled, fingers tightening around his. “Just… your friends.”

Jake clicked his tongue. “Ah. Yeah. Them.”

You laughed softly. “You make it sound like they’re the problem.”

“Well, they are,” he said, grinning. “Did you see the way Sunghoon was looking at me? I swear he was two seconds away from kicking my ass.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s because you ditched him on the field, Jake.”

“For a very valid reason,” he defended, tapping his thumb against your skin absentmindedly. “I mean, come on, what’s more important? A stupid practice game or my favorite omega?”

Your breath hitched. Just a little.

But he noticed, and that cocky little smirk of his deepened.

“Jake,” you warned.

“What?” He feigned innocence. “I’m just saying. If you were me, wouldn’t you choose the same?”

You gave him a look, but your silence spoke volumes.

Jake chuckled. “That’s what I thought.”

Another beat of silence. Another flicker of golden light over his skin.

Then—

“You know, they really like you,” Jake murmured, a bit more serious now. “Even if they’re insufferable.”

Your chest tightened at the sincerity in his voice, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He glanced at you briefly, his gaze softer than you’d ever seen it. “So, I hope they didn’t overwhelm you too much. I know they can be a lot.”

You smiled. “It was… a lot. But not in a bad way.”

Jake’s fingers flexed slightly around yours, like he liked that answer.

“Good.”

The car slowed as he pulled up in front of your place, but neither of you made a move to get out just yet.

The street was quiet. The world felt small.

And Jake? He looked too damn good in the dim light, one hand on the wheel, the other still tangled with yours.

Jake’s foot eased off the gas the moment you passed through the large iron gates. The car rolled forward at a slower, almost leisurely pace as the long, luxurious road stretched out before you, lined with towering trees and carefully maintained flora. The headlights cast soft glows along the stone pathway, painting the scenery in warm, golden hues.

He was stalling, you could tell.

The way his fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel, the way his other hand, still holding yours, tightened just the slightest bit.

Sim Jaeyun was never the nervous type. He was always so sure of himself, so effortlessly confident. But right now? With the way he exhaled softly, the way his jaw tensed and relaxed in quick succession, you knew.

Something was coming.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” Jake murmured, eyes flickering briefly to you before settling back on the road.

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “Thinking about what?”

He let out a quiet chuckle. “You.”

Your breath hitched, and he noticed—of course, he did.

Jake glanced at you again, this time longer, like he wanted to see your reaction. Then, with a soft squeeze of your hand, he continued.

“I didn’t think it’d happen like this.” He exhaled, shaking his head lightly. “I didn’t think we would happen like this. But then I started spending more time with you. Started prioritizing you over things I never thought I’d neglect.” He clicked his tongue. “And the thing is, sweetheart? I didn’t even care.”

His grip on the wheel tightened, his thumb brushing absently over your knuckles.

“I didn’t care that I was missing out on game nights, that I wasn’t showing up to practice as much, that I was skipping out on meetings.” His voice softened. “Because I was with you. And that always felt more important.”

Your heart pounded so loudly in your chest, you were surprised he didn’t comment on it.

Jake kept talking, his voice quieter now, like he was letting you in on a secret.

“And I tried,” he admitted, shaking his head with a small, breathy laugh. “God, I tried to be subtle about it. But the guys caught on. Hell, everyone caught on before I even did.”

Your stomach flipped. “Jake…”

He turned his head fully now, his dark eyes locking onto yours. And the intensity in them? It froze you in place.

“I want you, (Y/N).”

Your breath caught.

“I want to court you. Properly. Not just as Jake, your annoying escape from reality, not just as your friend.” He turned his palm up, allowing you to tangle your fingers with his if you wanted to. “I want to court you as your Alpha. As your mate, if you’ll let me.”

Silence.

The kind that hung heavy, filled with something more.

The car rolled to a stop at the grand entrance of your home, the world around you completely still, yet your mind spun.

Because Sim Jaeyun, the big bad council secretary, the golden boy who had it all—was offering himself to you.

Entirely.

Completely.

You stared at him, your lips parting slightly, and Jake—he waited.

No teasing remark, no smug smirk, no impatience.

Just… waiting, waiting for you, waiting for your answer.

Jake’s grip on the wheel tightened, his other hand still wrapped around yours. He hadn’t let go once. Not in the library. Not in front of his friends. Not even now.

And yet, there was hesitation in his touch.

“I meant what I said,” he finally broke the silence, voice lower now, more careful. “I want to do this right.”

You swallowed, fingers twitching slightly against his. He noticed.

“I want to court you,” he repeated, slower this time, like each word was deliberate, like they carried more weight than he knew how to handle. His thumb brushed over the back of your hand. “Not because I think I should. Not because of some expectation. But because it’s you.”

The car rolled to a stop at the base of your driveway, the soft hum of the engine lingering between you. His gaze never wavered.

“You don’t have to give me an answer now,” he added, quieter. “I just… I needed you to know. I needed to say it.”

The way he said it, like it was inevitable. Like it didn’t matter how long it took, because he had already made his choice.

He had chosen you.

And he was just waiting for you to choose him back.

Your breath hitched.

Jake exhaled a small laugh, shaking his head as he glanced down at your joined hands. “God, I thought I’d be good at this,” he admitted. “I thought I’d know exactly what to say, exactly how to make this sound… less terrifying.”

Your heart squeezed.

Sim Jaeyun, the ever-composed, ever-effortless Alpha—was terrified.

Because for the first time, he was giving someone the chance to say no.

And yet, he was still here. Still holding on.

Still waiting.

And maybe it was the sincerity in his voice. Maybe it was the way his fingers curled just slightly around yours, like he was memorizing the shape of them. Maybe it was the fact that deep down, you already knew your answer.

You squeezed his hand back.

Jake inhaled sharply, his entire body going still.

You didn’t let him wait any longer.

“Yes.”

His breath left him in a quiet rush, like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding it. “Yes?”

You nodded, biting down the smile threatening to break through. “Yes, Jake.”

And just like that—just like that—Jake Sim, the Alpha who had spent his life in perfect control, the student council secretary who had built his world around responsibilities and expectations, broke.

Not in the way that meant ruin, but in the way that meant relief.

Because for the first time, he wasn’t standing at the top alone.

He had you, and he wasn’t letting go, but even then, he still couldn’t believe it.

Jake let out something between a breath and a laugh, but it was unsteady, like he was struggling to ground himself. He shook his head, giving your hand a small tug before turning fully in his seat to face you.

“Wait—wait, say it again.” His voice was rushed, almost urgent, like he needed to hear it one more time just to be sure. “You actually—” He broke off, exhaling sharply before letting out a breathless laugh. “You actually said yes?”

Your chest ached in the best way possible.

“I did say yes,” you repeated, slow and teasing, and his grip on your hand only tightened.

Jake exhaled another stunned laugh, tilting his head back against the seat before running a hand through his hair. His fingers curled slightly, like he didn’t know whether to laugh or bury his face in his hands.

“Holy shit,” he muttered under his breath. “Holy shit.”

And you would’ve laughed, would’ve teased him for how utterly shaken he sounded, but then he was leaning in, forehead resting lightly against yours, his breath fanning over your lips.

“I don’t think you get it,” he murmured, voice softer now, a little more vulnerable. “I was prepared to wait. I was ready to wait as long as it took.” His fingers curled around your wrist, grounding himself in the warmth of your skin. “But then you just—” He broke off, exhaling a sharp breath, “—you just said yes like it was the easiest thing in the world.”

Your heart swelled.

“It was the easiest thing in the world,” you whispered.

Jake let out a small, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head again.

And then, he pulled you in.

Not for a kiss.

Not yet.

But just close enough that you could hear his heartbeat pounding against his ribs, just close enough that you knew, he was yours now.

Then—

The sound of the big white wooden doors opening snapped the both of you back to reality.

Jake didn’t hurry, didn’t jolt or stiffen or scramble like he’d been caught red-handed.

No, he just let out a soft chuckle, low and fond, before he begrudgingly, slowly—let go of your hand. The warmth of his palm lingered against your skin, even as he pulled away to step out of the car.

You barely had time to process the rush of cool air in his absence before he was rounding the front of his sleek black sports car, movements unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.

Your door opened with a soft click, and there he was, standing before you, effortlessly illuminated by the warm glow of the driveway lights.

His eyes met yours as he extended a hand, palm up, waiting.

You slipped your fingers into his grasp without hesitation.

Jake gave the slightest squeeze before helping you out of the car.

And then, wordlessly, he ducked down, reaching inside for your bag, as if it were second nature, like it was obvious that he’d be the one carrying it. The sight of him, tall and broad, in his neatly pressed uniform, standing against the quiet of the night with your belongings in his hands; something about it felt so… domestic.

Before you could say anything, he grabbed something else, his discarded school blazer, which had been tossed carelessly onto the passenger seat earlier.

Jake straightened, holding both items with ease before turning back to you.

Then—he held his blazer out, shaking it slightly, like an unspoken invitation.

You hesitated, glancing up at him.

Jake cocked an eyebrow. “Take it.”

You bit the inside of your cheek but complied, reaching out to grasp the familiar fabric, feeling the weight of him lingering in it.

The scent—his scent—was everywhere.

And then, in an almost perfect, synchronized motion, your hands reached up to your own blazer, still snugly draped over your shoulders. You slipped it off, folding it neatly before handing it over to him.

Jake blinked once. Then twice.

His lips twitched.

“Can’t let me go without a properly scented item too, yeah?” he mused, voice laced with something teasing but sincere.

You rolled your eyes, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you.

Jake didn’t slip your blazer on, just held it, fingers curling around the soft fabric. Meanwhile, he moved forward slightly, lifting his own blazer before draping it carefully over your shoulders, adjusting the collar just right.

The moment was soft, warm.

And then—

“Ahem.”

A small, quiet cough cut through the thick silence.

Jake froze.

Your heart plummeted.

Slowly—so, so slowly—your heads turned toward the front porch.

There stood your mother.

Still dressed in her business attire from work, a hand perched on her hip, her gaze cool but undeniably amused as she took in the sight before her. The sight of you, bundled in Jake’s blazer, standing just a little too close to him under the soft glow of the peeking moonlight.

Jake straightened. Not stiffly, but… refined. Almost like he was preparing to introduce himself to a superior officer.

Your mom tilted her head, the corners of her lips twitching.

With a quiet, knowing sigh, she muttered, “Young love.”

Your stomach dropped.

Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, half a laugh, half disbelief.

Meanwhile, you, mortified beyond belief—groaned, hiding your face behind your hands.

Jake barely had time to school his expression before your mother took a slow step forward, heels clicking softly against the marble porch floor.

The corners of her lips curled just slightly, not quite a smirk, not quite a smile, just enough to let you know she was enjoying every second of this.

Meanwhile, you were dying.

Young love? Young love? Oh, you were never going to hear the end of this.

Jake, for his part, seemed to recover faster than you. He straightened—not stiffly, but with that effortless poise he always carried himself with. He still held onto your blazer, fingers curled around the soft fabric, like he had no plans of letting go anytime soon.

Your mom’s gaze flickered to the exchanged blazers, the way his sat snugly over your shoulders, the way yours was still resting in his grip.

A knowing glint passed through her eyes.

Then, without hesitation, she turned to Jake and said, “You’re staying for dinner.”

Not a question. Not even a suggestion. A statement.

Jake blinked.

You blinked.

Your jaw nearly dropped.

Your mother simply shrugged, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear as if she hadn’t just casually invited Jake into your home for dinner.

Jake’s lips parted slightly, caught between amusement and surprise, but he recovered quickly. He shifted his hold on your blazer, glanced at you briefly before nodding, effortlessly slipping into that charming, golden boy demeanor of his.

“I’d be honored,” he said smoothly, giving your mother a slight bow of his head.

You groaned under your breath, pressing your fingers against your temples. This was not happening.

Your mother, entirely unbothered, turned her attention back to you.

“(Y/N), dear,” she said airily, clasping her hands together. “Please inform me ahead of time when you're bringing Jaeyun over, yes?”

Jake coughed.

You choked.

Your mom merely smiled.

Jake, to his credit, kept it together. Mostly. He tilted his head, eyes twinkling with barely contained laughter as he leaned slightly in your direction.

“Well?” he mused, voice rich with amusement. “You heard your mom.”

You glared at him.

He grinned.

The warm glow of chandeliers illuminated the grand foyer as you and Jake stepped inside, the scent of freshly prepared dishes wafting through the air.

The moment the doors shut behind you, the sight that greeted Jake was the chefs bustling in the open-concept kitchen, a handful of staff moving seamlessly, plates clinking, and the rich aroma of slow-cooked meats filling the space.

Jake let out a low whistle, eyes flickering over the scene before turning to you. “So… what’s for dinner?”

You snorted. “I don’t know. You’ll find out with the rest of us.”

“Great,” he said, amused. “Love a little mystery in my life.”

Your mom, already slipping into host mode, gave Jake a polite smile before excusing herself toward the kitchen, probably to oversee the final preparations.

Which left the two of you alone.

“Come on,” you said, motioning for him to follow you toward the living room. “Let’s get comfortable before they make us sit through some formal dinner.”

Jake chuckled, slipping his hands into his pockets as he trailed behind you. “So, do I sit wherever, or is there some unspoken family hierarchy I need to know about?”

You threw him a look over your shoulder. “You’re fine, golden boy. Just don’t sit in my dad’s chair, unless you have a death wish.”

Jake raised his hands in mock surrender, lips quirking up. “Noted. Avoid the dad throne.”

The two of you settled onto the plush couch, the air shifting into something more relaxed, comfortable. You curled your legs under you, and Jake, ever the gentleman, didn’t immediately invade your space—though the scented blazer still draped over your shoulders said enough about the way he wanted to.

The soft murmur of the staff in the kitchen filled the background.

And then—

A deep, serious voice cut through the space.

Your dad.

Both of you stilled, tuning in as the unmistakable authority in his tone rang clear.

“—If the shipment doesn’t arrive by Friday, I expect a full report by the end of the day. No excuses.”

Jake leaned in slightly, brows lifting, intrigued.

Another pause. Your father’s voice lowered slightly, but still firm. “No. I want the contract finalized before the month ends. I don’t care what needs to be done, just make it happen.”

It was funny, he had spent years in rooms full of powerful business partners, men who made decisions that shifted markets and controlled entire industries. He had shaken hands with some of the most influential Alphas in the country. He had sat through negotiations worth millions, unflinching.

But this?

Facing your dad?

He was nervous.

God, he was so screwed.

Because this wasn’t just some businessman, this was your father; your very much pureblooded of an Alpha father.

And Jake was about to do something infinitely more terrifying than striking a deal.

He was asking for his daughter and risking it all didn’t even begin to cover it.

His hand flexed at his side as the sound of your father’s deep voice grew closer, footsteps heavy against the marble floors. The call had ended, the sharp clack of his phone being placed down echoing through the vast space.

Jake straightened.

Your dad stepped into the room.

The man was tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of presence that could silence a room without saying a word. He barely looked at Jake at first, his gaze landing on you instead. And just like that, the hardened businessman softened.

“Did you just get home?” he asked, voice much gentler than it had been on the call.

You nodded. “Jake drove me.”

That was when your dad finally turned to him.

Jake didn’t miss a beat, he stood up immediately, straight-backed, and bowed slightly before extending a hand.

“Good evening, sir,” he said, perfectly composed, though his fingers curled just a little tighter. “Sim Jaeyun, please, just call me Jake. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Your dad’s eyes flickered to his outstretched hand.

Then, slowly, he clasped it.

The handshake was firm, and Jake wasn’t stupid enough to think that was unintentional.

“Jake.” Your father’s voice was slow, calculated. “I remember you.”

Jake nodded, maintaining steady eye contact. “I’ve had the privilege of seeing you before at a few events.”

“Mm.” Your dad hummed, unimpressed. “And now you’re here. In my home.”

Jake felt the weight of the words. He refused to let it shake him.

“Yes, sir,” he said evenly. “Thank you for having me.”

Your dad’s gaze flickered. Assessing. Calculating.

“Do you like cars, Jake?”

Jake nearly let out a relieved laugh, but he knew better. Instead, he grinned. “I love cars, sir.”

Your dad’s expression didn’t change. But there was a glint of approval in his eyes.

“Good.” He released Jake’s hand, then gestured toward the dining room. “Let’s talk over dinner.”

Jake caught your gaze for a brief second before following your father, only to catch the amused, shit-eating grin on your lips.

He huffed a quiet laugh.

You knew he’d survive.

Jake had barely taken a step before your dad’s voice rang through the space, cutting through the distant clatter of the kitchen.

“That black sports car outside.”

Jake halted mid-stride, his fingers tightening slightly at his sides.

Your dad turned to him, arms crossed, gaze sharp. “That yours?”

It was a simple question, but the weight behind it made something coil in Jake’s stomach.

“Yes, sir,” Jake answered, nodding with practiced ease. His voice was steady, his posture relaxed, but you saw the way his jaw tensed for just a fraction of a second.

Your father hummed.

Jake nearly swayed on his feet.

It wasn’t disapproval, but it wasn’t outright approval either. It was the kind of sound that could mean anything, and Jake knew better than to assume the best too soon.

Your dad’s eyes flicked towards the door, as if mentally reviewing the car in question. Finally, he turned back to Jake, tilting his head slightly. “What model?”

Jake almost let out a breath of relief. “McLaren Artura,” he answered, voice calm but undeniably proud.

Your dad’s brows lifted ever so slightly. “Hybrid, right?” he asked, his tone shifting from scrutinizing to genuinely interested.

Jake internally grinned. He knew that tone.

“Yes, sir.” His shoulders eased just a fraction as he continued, “Twin-turbo V6, powerful but efficient.”

Your father actually nodded, his lips twitching in what could almost be called approval.

“It’s an incredible drive,” Jake admitted, unable to hide the slight excitement in his voice. “Would you like to take a look after dinner?”

Your dad barely hesitated. “I’d like that.”

And just like that, the atmosphere shifted.

The tension in Jake’s shoulders disappeared completely. He let out a slow exhale, stealing a glance at you, only to find you already watching him with barely contained amusement.

Your lips twitched.

Jake shot you a told you so look, the corner of his mouth curving slightly.

You just grinned.

Because, of course all it took was a damn car to break the ice.

Your dad barely gave you a second to recover from his unexpected interest in Jake’s car before he turned to you with a teasing glint in his eye.

“Come on, (Y/N), don’t keep your suitor waiting.”

Jake barely had a second to process your dad’s words before you froze beside him.

Your eyes widened in absolute shock, head snapping toward him so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash. Your dad? The same man who had spent years maintaining his unreadable, intimidating aura? He just casually called Jake your suitor?

Jake, meanwhile, stiffened beside you. Not in fear, no, at this point, he had already thrown himself headfirst into the battlefield that was your family; but in pure disbelief.

Your dad let out a low chuckle, effortlessly amused at both your reactions. Then, before either of you could fully recover, he gave Jake a firm clap on the back. Not light, not cautious, just enough force to make Jake jolt slightly in surprise.

"Relax, son,” your dad mused, eyes glinting with something almost mischievous. "I was the same way with her mom."

Your jaw dropped.

Jake, who had just barely started to regain his composure, choked on air.

Your dad? The same man who had kept his business empire running with an iron grip? The same man who rarely let emotions slip past his carefully built walls? Once upon a time, he had been just as whipped as Jake was now?

Jake straightened slightly, as if realizing that. His lips parted just a little, and then, ever so subtly, a smirk tugged at his mouth. It was barely there, almost unnoticeable. But you saw it.

Jake was relieved, like some kind of weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

Like this small confirmation from your dad was the reassurance he hadn’t even realized he needed.

Your dad smirked at the sight, already making his way toward the dining hall. “Come on, let’s eat.”

Jake exhaled, finally relaxing. He turned to you, catching your gaze with a look that was half amused, half triumphant. You just huffed, biting back a smile as you both followed your dad into the dining area.

The dining hall was massive but warm. Despite the high ceilings and the long mahogany table stretching across the center, the soft glow of the chandelier cast a golden hue over the space, making it feel less like a cold, formal setting and more like home. The faint scent of herbs and spices wafted from the kitchen, promising a well-prepared meal.

Jake slowed down as you both reached the table. Before taking his seat, he momentarily set down your bag and his blazer—your blazer, on the side of the couch near the dining hall entrance, making sure they were placed neatly.

Jake hadn’t even taken his seat yet. Instead, he moved wordlessly, hands brushing against the back of the chair as he pulled it out for you. There was no hesitation, just quiet, effortless care.

You hesitated for only a second before sitting down, watching as he made sure you were comfortable before pushing the chair in gently. The moment was brief, simple, yet something about it made warmth bloom in your chest.

Just around the corner, where the kitchen met the dining hall, your parents lingered for a second longer. A glance was exchange, one of knowing, of quiet approval.

Then, they stepped in.

Your mom took her usual seat first, and your dad followed soon after, settling at the head of the table. He didn’t say much at first, simply reaching for his glass of water.

Your dad set down his glass, regarding him with a thoughtful look before asking, “How’s your father doing?”

Jake swallowed his bite of food before answering. “He’s doing well, sir. Still as hands-on as ever when it comes to the business.”

Your dad nodded. “And how’s it been? The family business?”

Jake’s lips twitched slightly, something fond in his expression. “Really good, actually. We’ve opened more branches recently, both for the restaurants and the malls. My father’s been focusing on expansion in other regions, and I’ve been following him more closely to learn how to manage everything. It’s been challenging but rewarding.”

Your dad hummed in approval. “Planning to take over one day?”

“Yes, sir,” Jake said without hesitation. “I’ve always wanted to. I’ve been training for it properly a few years back, but I started learning the basics way before that. My father believes that the best way to understand the business is by experiencing every level of it firsthand.”

Your mom smiled, clearly impressed, while your dad nodded in agreement.

You sat quietly, not wanting to intrude, though your attention had shifted slightly, toward the mashed potatoes sitting just a few plates away from Jake. You weren’t even thinking about it, really, just absently staring, considering whether or not you wanted to reach for them.

Jake, ever observant, noticed.

Without breaking his flow in conversation, he reached for the dish, smoothly setting it down in front of you before finally glancing your way.

“Do you want anything else?” His voice was low, meant just for you. “String beans, carrots, shrimp?”

You blinked, a little caught off guard, but shook your head. “No, I’m good. Thank you.”

Jake gave a small nod, as if satisfied with your answer, before effortlessly shifting back to your dad, seamlessly continuing their conversation.

It was such a simple moment, but something about it—his attentiveness, the way he so naturally took care of you made warmth curl in your chest.

Your parents exchanged another look.

Yeah. Jake had definitely won them over.

The kitchen smelled like vanilla and melted butter, the warmth of the oven humming softly in the background. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting golden patterns on the marble counter where you stood, a wooden spoon in hand as you mixed the cookie dough in a glass bowl.

Jake was seated on one of the stools at the kitchen island, elbows resting lazily on the counter as he watched you. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, revealing his forearms as he idly drummed his fingers against the cool surface. He’d been stealing bits of cookie dough whenever you weren’t looking, but you let it slide.

“So, explain to me again,” Jake said, breaking the quiet. “Why are walnuts a crime in cookies?”

You huffed, pausing to shoot him a look. “Because some of us actually enjoy soft, chewy cookies.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “You have zero appreciation for texture.”

“I appreciate textures that make sense,” you corrected.

Jake chuckled, leaning forward to swipe a bit of cookie dough from the bowl. He popped it into his mouth before you could swat him away.

“Well, more for me, then.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway, sending the Alpha a teasingly glare.

“By the way, my parents want to meet you.”

You froze for half a second, just long enough for Jake to notice. The spoon in your hand stopped mid-stir, and when you turned to look at him, your voice was steady, but your fingers gripped the edge of the bowl a little tighter.

“Really?”

Jake immediately caught the nervousness laced in that single word. His lips curled up slightly, half amusement, half affection—before he pushed himself off the stool.

“Mhmm,” He hummed as he made his way around the counter, closing the space between you. You weren’t facing him yet, still staring at the dough like it held all the answers to your life, so he gently rubbed his hands up and down your arms

“Hey,” he murmured, voice softer now. “It's just my parents, not a police interrogation.”

He let out a small chuckle, hoping to ease the tension, but you only sighed, grip loosening on the spoon but not quite relaxing.

“What if they don’t like me?” you muttered, finally turning to face him. Your brows furrowed, uncertainty flickering behind your eyes. “What if I say something wrong? Or they think I’m not… I don’t know, enough for you?”

Jake clicked his tongue, tilting his head slightly. “First of all, impossible.”

You rolled your eyes. “Jake—”

“Second of all,” he cut in, grinning now, “if my parents don’t like you, I’m disowning them.”

That made you pause. “Jake.”

“Okay, okay,” he laughed, hands squeezing your arms reassuringly. “But seriously, that’s not gonna happen. My mom already thinks you’re great, and my dad is all about first impressions. Just be yourself.” He shrugged. “Worst case scenario, you bribe them with cookies.”

You let out a breathy laugh despite yourself, finally feeling some of the tension melt away. “You think that’ll work?”

Jake smirked. “Babe, you had me wrapped around your finger after one batch.”

You sighed, your hands instinctively finding his as they rested on your arms.

Jake gave your arms another reassuring squeeze before dipping his head slightly, voice laced with certainty. “Besides, our parents work in close circles. I just know they’ll love you.”

He nudged his nose against your temple playfully before adding, “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, omega.”

Your breath hitched slightly at the way he said it—soft, teasing, but still carrying that familiar weight of possession, of affection.

You scoffed, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “That obvious, huh?”

Jake grinned, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Painfully.”

You groaned, leaning back against him dramatically, and he chuckled, easily holding you up. “I hate you.”

“Mm, no you don’t,” he murmured, resting his chin on your shoulder. “You love me, and you’re gonna charm the hell out of my parents, just like you did with yours truly.”

You nudged him lightly with your elbow, and he let out a mock oof before grinning against your skin.

“Anyway,” he continued, dropping another kiss to the side of your head. “On the bright side, you’ll finally get to meet Layla.”

That made you perk up slightly. “Your dog?”

“My baby,” Jake corrected, pulling back just enough to look at you. “And trust me, once she sees you, I’m pretty sure she’s gonna forget I exist.”

You laughed, the last remnants of your nerves fading. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Oh, you will,” he smirked. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you when she ditches me for you.”

You fumbled with your necklace, fingers grazing over the small pendant as if it would somehow calm the nerves bubbling in your stomach. You exhaled slowly, trying to steady yourself, but it wasn’t working.

A beige coat wrapped snugly around your frame, paired with a brown sweater underneath and a black skirt—something Jake specifically asked you to wear.

Jake had texted you the night before, the alpha sending a flurry of ‘I miss you messages’ before casually asking you to wear something beige tomorrow. When you asked why, he said that he wanted to match with you—like this was just some casual thing and not the biggest meeting of your life.

You pushed open your bedroom door, stepping out and making your way down the spiral staircase. Each step felt heavier than the last, and the motion did nothing to help the uneasy feeling settling in your chest. You weren’t even in the car yet, and it already felt like you had a rock in your stomach.

Jake’s parents wanted to meet you. That was all this was.

So why did it feel like you were walking into a battlefield?

As you stepped into the hall leading to the living room, your eyes immediately landed on the neatly wrapped box of cookies you had prepared that morning.

A small gift for his parents, something to bring, something to keep your hands busy, something to make a good first impression. You reached out to grab it, only to freeze when you noticed someone else sitting on the couch.

Your mom.

She was staring at you with glossy eyes, and before you could even react, she was already on her feet, pulling you into a quick but tight embrace.

You stood there, blinking, arms awkwardly hovering in the air as she held onto you like she was about to send you off to college in another country.

“…Mom?”

She pulled back just enough to cup your face in her hands, letting out a soft, wistful laugh.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, her thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “You look so beautiful.”

You barely had time to register the compliment before she let out a dramatic sigh.

“My baby’s meeting her mate’s parents. Time flies so fast.”

You deadpanned. There it is.

“Mom—”

She pinched your cheek before you could finish, making you let out a small noise of protest.

“Breathe, darling,” she said, smiling. “They’re going to love you.”

Before you could argue, your dad’s voice interrupted.

Standing in the doorway, he crossed his arms and leaned against the frame, watching the scene with an amused smile.

“She hasn’t even left yet and you’re already emotional?”

Your mom shot him a glare but didn’t let go of you just yet.

“Let me have my moment.”

Your dad only chuckled, shaking his head. You sighed. This was already off to a great start.

Before any of you could say anything else, the faint sound of an engine pulling into the driveway reached your ears. You swallowed hard, heart skipping a beat.

Jake was here.

The deep, purring hum of his sleek black McLaren filled the air, the polished exterior gleaming under the soft morning light. Your dad, as expected, cast an approving nod toward the car the moment it came into view, he never failed to acknowledge Jake’s car, much to your amusement.

The door swung open smoothly, and Jake stepped out with confidence, adjusting the cuffs of his coat before shutting the door behind him. His eyes flickered toward the front door, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile the second he spotted you through the glass.

Your dad didn’t even hesitate to step forward, meeting Jake halfway with an outstretched fist. Without missing a beat, Jake bumped it with his own, the casual gesture signifying just how close they had grown in the span of a few weeks.

You blinked. If someone had told you months ago that your father and Sim Jaeyun would be on fist-bumping terms, you wouldn’t have believed it.

You took a deep breath, fingers tightening around the box in your hands before stepping forward. Your mom walked beside you, her hand brushing against your back in silent reassurance as you both made your way to the entryway. Jake met you halfway, his smile growing the moment he laid eyes on you.

Before you could say anything, your mom pulled him into a warm hug. Jake, never one to hesitate, wrapped his arms around her with ease, his touch gentle but firm.

“Take care of my baby, okay?” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jake pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, nodding once with unwavering certainty. “Always.”

Something in your chest softened. He said it so naturally, like it wasn’t even a question. Like it was a promise he never had to think twice about.

And just like that, he turned to you, wordlessly reaching for the box of cookies in your hands. You blinked in surprise as he effortlessly took it from your grasp, holding it securely in one hand before his other hand found yours. His fingers slid between yours with ease as he gave them a small squeeze.

You cast one last glance at your parents, who stood side by side in the doorway, their smiles filled with something between amusement and quiet pride. Jake mirrored the gesture, flashing them his signature grin before gently tugging you forward.

Like always, he opened the passenger door for you, a silent but familiar gesture that never failed to make your heart do the smallest flip. You slid into the seat, watching as he carefully set the box of cookies in your lap before shutting the door with a soft click.

A moment later, he was in the driver’s seat, adjusting his sleeves before starting the engine. The low, smooth purr of the sportscar filled the space between you.

Jake glanced at you as he shifted into gear, his smirk playful yet reassuring. “You ready, pretty?”

You exhaled, finally allowing yourself to settle into the seat. “As I’ll ever be.”

Tall buildings stretched high into the sky, their glass windows reflecting the afternoon sun. The sidewalks bustled with people, neon signs flickered against storefronts, and the distant sounds of car horns and laughter filled the air.

Inside the car, however, it was quieter, just the soft hum of the engine and the faint sound of music playing from the speakers. Jake’s hand rested effortlessly on the wheel, his other draped over your thigh, fingers tracing absentminded patterns on the fabric of your skirt as he drove through the familiar streets.

A beat of silence passed before he glanced at you. “You okay?”

You turned to look at him, his side profile glowing under the soft golden light. “Yeah.”

Jake hummed, unconvinced. His fingers drummed lightly against your thigh before giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You nervous?”

You sighed, shifting slightly in your seat. “A little.”

Jake chuckled, his thumb brushing circles against your skin. “I can tell. You’ve been messing with your necklace since we left.”

Your hand immediately dropped to your lap. “I do not.”

“(Y/N).” Jake smirked as he turned onto a wider street, city lights reflecting off the sleek black exterior of his car. “You’ve been doing it since you walked out the door.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Okay, maybe I am. A little.”

Jake squeezed your thigh again. “Again, it’s just my parents, pretty. Not a job interview.”

You gave him a look. “Easy for you to say. You already passed my parents’ test.”

“And you’ll pass mine, too.” Jake’s lips curled up. “Besides, our parents work in the same circles. You think they haven’t already talked about us behind our backs?”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” You exhaled, turning your gaze to the city outside. The skyline blurred past, “What if they think I’m not… business-minded enough for their only son?”

Jake let out an amused scoff. “You’re kidding, right?”

You blinked at him.

Jake shook his head, lips quirking slightly. “You were practically born into the industry. You know how to navigate this world better than anyone. If anything, I think my parents are more worried I’m not good enough for you.”

You faltered at that, brows furrowing slightly.

Suddenly, the car rolled to a smooth stop at a red light, the soft hum of the engine filling the momentary silence between you. Jake shifted in his seat slightly, and before you could process what he was doing, he leaned over, closing the distance between you.

You barely had time to react before he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his scent enveloping you as his wrist brushed against your skin. The familiar, comforting warmth of him sent a shiver down your spine, his touch soft as he rubbed his wrist along your scent glands, letting his pheromones settle into you.

Your breath hitched, hands tightening slightly in your lap.

He inhaled deeply, voice low as he murmured, “Just so you can ease up a little.”

The tension in your shoulders loosened almost immediately, the comfort of his scent working faster than your own attempts to calm yourself down. A soft, grateful smile tugged at your lips, though he couldn’t see it with his face still pressed against you. Instead, you raised a hand, fingers slipping into his hair as you gently ran them through the soft strands.

Jake hummed at the touch, his grip on your thigh tightening for a brief second before he finally pulled back, eyes lazily flickering up to meet yours. His smirk was subtle, teasing, but his gaze held something warm.

“You’re really overthinking this, huh?”

You hesitated. “Maybe a little.”

Jake chuckled, shifting his hand to intertwine his fingers with yours. “You'll be fine, omega.”

The ride continued in easy comfort, the city’s vibrant energy gradually fading as the streets grew quieter, more exclusive. You watched as the towering buildings gave way to sprawling estates, each one grander than the last, their high gates and manicured gardens a clear mark of old money.

And then, as Jake turned onto a long, private driveway, you saw it—their estate.

The first thing that caught your eye was the sheer size of the garden. Lush, endless greenery stretched across the front of the property, perfectly trimmed hedges lining the stone pathway leading up to the house.

Various trees, their branches swaying gently in the afternoon breeze, stood tall and proud, while vibrant flower beds added soft bursts of color to the landscape. A few workers were scattered around, tending to the greens—trimming bushes, watering flowerbeds, adjusting small decorative lanterns placed strategically around the garden.

You raised a brow, leaning forward slightly. “Damn. Your mom is just like mine with the plants.”

Jake let out a short laugh, slowing down as he drove past another set of hedges. “You could say that.”

Your gaze followed the stretch of land, taking in the well-maintained beauty of it all. It was similar to your own estate, but while your family leaned toward a sleek, modern aesthetic, the Sim estate carried a sense of old-world charm.

The house itself was a perfect blend of traditional and elegant—a massive structure of smooth marble mixed with rich oak wood. Tall, arched windows lined the facade, allowing glimpses of grand chandeliers and luxurious interiors inside. The pillars supporting the grand entrance had intricate carvings, and the towering front doors were framed by a classic stone archway.

Jake pulled up to the front, the car rolling to a smooth stop just before the entrance. A staff member, dressed in a crisp uniform, was already making his way down the front steps, likely to open the door for you. But before he could reach the car, Jake wordlessly beat him to it.

He stepped out smoothly, shutting the driver’s side door before rounding the front of the car to your side. You barely had time to reach for the door handle before he was already there, opening it with ease.

“Come on, pretty,” he murmured, offering his hand.

Your fingers slipped into his without hesitation, the warmth of his touch grounding you as he helped you out. The cool breeze brushed against your skin, and as you straightened up, your eyes flickered toward the house once more.

It felt real now. You were here. You were about to meet his parents.

Jake gave your hand a gentle squeeze, bringing you back to the moment. When you glanced at him, he was already reaching for the box of cookies, his other hand still holding yours firmly.

Your chest tightened at the simple yet reassuring gesture.

Before you and Jake could take another step, a blur of golden fur came rushing out from one of the garden houses. The rapid thud of paws against the stone pathway echoed in the air, followed by an excited bark.

Jake barely had time to react before the golden retriever launched herself straight at him, her tail wagging furiously as she jumped up, paws nearly reaching his chest. He laughed, shifting the box of cookies to one hand while keeping his grip on yours.

“Layla,” he greeted, his voice dropping into something softer, more affectionate. He crouched slightly, giving the dog a quick scratch behind her ears before she finally noticed you.

Her big brown eyes flickered to you, curiosity taking over as she took a hesitant step forward. Layla sniffed the air, her nose twitching before she brought it close to your free hand.

You watched her for a second before letting out a laugh, bending your knees just a little to meet her halfway. “Hey there, girl,” you cooed, running your fingers through her soft golden fur.

Layla’s tail wagged faster, her entire body practically vibrating with excitement. She gave a happy little huff before pressing herself into your touch, clearly approving of you already.

Jake grinned, watching the interaction with amused satisfaction. “I think she likes you,” he remarked.

You chuckled, scratching behind Layla’s ear. “Good. I was kinda worried she’d be the hardest one to win over.”

Jake let out an exaggerated scoff. “Excuse me?”

You glanced up at him, smirking. “What? Layla’s the real judge here.”

Layla let out a happy bark in response, her tongue lolling out as if she agreed.

Jake shook his head, but the fond smile never left his face. “Let’s go. My parents probably already waiting by the door.”

With that, he wordlessly shifted the cookie box under one arm and took your hand again with his free one, tugging you gently toward the entrance while Layla trotted happily beside you.

As you approached the front steps, the grand double doors were already beginning to open.

Jake gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Ready?”

You exhaled slowly, glancing at him. “Do I have a choice?”

His lips quirked up, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Nope.”

The moment you reached the steps, one of the staff members outside, dressed sharply in a clean, tailored uniform—bowed his head slightly toward Jake before reaching for the grand double doors. With a practiced ease, he pulled them open, revealing the warm glow of the estate’s interior.

As the doors parted, Jake gave your hand a light squeeze, wordlessly guiding you forward. You barely had time to take in the intricate details of the grand entryway, the high ceilings, the cascading chandelier that shimmered like stars, the polished floors reflecting the golden light, before he was leading you deeper inside.

Your heart pounded as you stepped through the threshold. The faint scent of wood and something subtly floral filled the air, mingling with the distant sound of soft classical music playing from somewhere in the house.

Layla padded ahead happily, her tail still wagging as she trotted down the hallway, clearly knowing exactly where to go.

Jake, ever the effortless alpha, walked with quiet confidence. The smooth stride of his steps, the way he carried himself so naturally here, only made you more aware of the difference between your nerves and his ease.

As you passed by, another staff member stepped aside, bowing their head slightly toward Jake in silent acknowledgment before continuing with their tasks. You swallowed, this wasn’t just some casual introduction—Jake was bringing you into his home, into his world.

He must have sensed your nerves creeping back in because, without looking, he gently ran his thumb over the back of your hand in slow, comforting strokes.

“Breathe, baby, breathe,” he murmured, just low enough for only you to hear.

You exhaled, steadying yourself as you let your gaze drift to the hallway ahead. The dark oak floors stretched long, leading to an open archway where the living room came into view.

Soft, golden light filtered in through the tall windows, illuminating the plush sofas and polished coffee table. The fireplace flickered quietly in the corner, casting a warm glow over the space. The air held the faintest trace of fresh flowers, and from where you stood, you could make out a vase sitting elegantly on a side table, delicate white lilies arranged with the utmost care.

And then you saw them.

Two figures seated on the couch, their conversation pausing as they turned their attention toward the approaching footsteps.

Jake’s parents.

Your grip on his hand instinctively tightened.

Jake glanced at you, and though he said nothing, the soft, reassuring squeeze he gave you spoke volumes.

The moment your eyes met Jake’s parents, you felt it. The nerves clawing up your throat, the way your heart pounded so loud you were convinced they could hear it too.

You were pretty sure you could smell your own scent turning bitter, your anxiety seeping into the air like an unshakable weight pressing down on your chest.

Jake’s mother sat with a perfectly poised elegance, her gaze sweeping over you in a way that made you hyper-aware of every inch of yourself. Was she scrutinizing you? Did she already think you weren’t good enough for her only son?

His father, on the other hand, blinked once. Then twice. Expression unreadable, completely composed, his lips pressed into a neutral line as he studied you in a way that sent a fresh wave of unease through you.

Oh, god. What if they didn’t like you?

And then, just as you braced yourself for whatever came next, Jake’s mother suddenly stood up. The shift was so quick you barely had time to react before she was already making her way toward you, her heels clicking against the polished floor.

Your breath hitched, the tension in your shoulders locking into place.

But then—

“(Y/n), darling! It’s so nice to finally meet you in person!”

Before you could fully process it, she was pulling you into a warm hug, her arms wrapping around you with a familiarity that caught you completely off guard.

You froze for half a second, caught between your lingering nerves and the unexpected warmth of the embrace. But then you felt it, the genuine affection in her touch, the way she held you like you already belonged here.

Your chest loosened just slightly.

Jake’s scent curled around you comfortingly as he let out an amused huff beside you. “Told you there was nothing to worry about.”

You barely registered his words, still stunned as you slowly lifted your arms to hug her back.

Jake’s mother beamed at your response, pulling away just enough to hold your hands in hers. They were soft and warm, her grip gentle as if she was already treating you like family.

“Oh, sweetheart, how was the ride? Was Jake driving too fast again? You should tell me if he does, I’ll scold him,” she fussed, her expression filled with nothing but warmth.

You blinked, stunned for a moment before shaking your head. “Oh—no, he was fine! I mean, he drove well, not—uh—”

Jake snickered beside you, clearly enjoying this.

His mother waved a dismissive hand, completely ignoring him as she kept her focus on you. “And are you hungry? I had the kitchen prepare a few dishes already, but if there’s anything else you’d like, just let me know. And, oh dear, did he even let you rest before bringing you in? The drive can be tiring—”

You barely had time to process all of her questions before a deep, amused chuckle interrupted.

“Let her breathe, love,” Jake’s father said as he finally stood up, making his way toward you. Unlike his wife’s warmth, his presence was more composed, his steps slow and steady. But the moment he reached you, he extended his hand.

You hesitated for half a second before shaking it, and then—

“Welcome to the family.”

You had to physically hold back your tears.

The words hit you like a wave, crashing over your already overwhelmed emotions. It felt real. Like you were truly being welcomed into something bigger than yourself.

Jake’s hand, still resting against the small of your back, pressed just a little firmer.

His mother, who hadn’t missed the way your eyes slightly glossed over, let out a soft coo. “Oh, sweetheart, we’re just so happy you’re here.”

You swallowed thickly, nodding as you mustered a small, grateful smile. “Thank you… really.”

Jake’s mom’s gaze then flickered downward, and the second she spotted the neatly wrapped box in her son’s hands, her eyes lit up. “Oh! Jaeyun mentioned you bake.”

Jake groaned playfully. “Mom, don’t embarrass me.”

“Oh, hush, I’m just saying,” she scolded before calling over one of the maids. “Set these aside to be served during lunch.”

You watched, still in slight disbelief, as the maid took the box with careful hands and carried it toward the kitchen.

Jake’s father clapped a firm hand on his son’s shoulder, shaking his head fondly. “You really found a good one, son.”

Jake grinned, nudging you slightly. “Told you they’d love you.”

Before you could even fully process the warmth of their welcome, Jake’s mother looped her arm around yours, gently stealing you away from the entrance.

“Oh, come, darling. Some of the dishes are still being prepared, and I don’t want you standing around hungry.”

Jake and his father trailed closely behind, Jake’s hand instinctively finding the small of your back as his mother led you through the hall and toward the garden.

“I had the staff prepare some cold brew tea for refreshments,” she continued, her voice light and eager. “I hope you don’t mind, Jake mentioned you enjoy lighter drinks rather than coffee?”

Your eyes flickered toward him, and he only smirked in response.

“You told her that?” you mused, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“I tell her everything,” Jake said smoothly.

His mother laughed. “He really does. You should hear how much he talks about you over the phone.”

You felt your cheeks warm at that, but before you could dwell on it, you stepped into the garden, your gaze immediately taking in the picturesque setup.

A beautifully arranged table sat in the middle of the lush greenery, set with delicate porcelain cups, a glass pitcher filled with golden-hued tea, and an assortment of small treats. The garden itself was breathtaking as vibrant flowers lined the stone pathways, and the soft sound of a water fountain trickled in the distance.

You turned to Jake’s mother, eyes wide. “This is beautiful.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you think so! I wanted everything to be perfect for you.” She gestured toward one of the chairs. “Come, sit, sit.”

You settled down, and the second you did, she was already fussing over you, pouring you a glass of tea before placing a small plate of pastries in front of you.

“Now, tell me, dear, how have you been? I hope Jake hasn’t been keeping you too busy.”

You chuckled. “Not at all. If anything, I think I’m the one keeping him busy.”

Jake scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “That’s debatable.”

His mother beamed, clearly delighted by your dynamic. “I love that! It’s good that you keep him on his toes.” She then sighed dreamily, placing her chin in her palm as she looked at you. “You really are lovely. When Jake told me he was finally bringing his mate home, I might have gotten a little too excited.”

Your heart stuttered.

His mate.

Jake stiffened slightly beside you, likely catching your reaction, but his mother simply continued, “I know you two haven’t made anything official yet, and I completely understand the pressure that comes with it. It’s a big decision, and I don’t want you to feel like we’re forcing anything.”

You swallowed, glancing at Jake, who was already looking at you with quiet reassurance.

“I really appreciate that,” you said sincerely. “It means a lot.”

His mother reached out, patting your hand gently. “Sweetheart, we already adore you. You don’t have to prove anything to us.”

Then, with a warm smile, she added, “Oh, and please, call me Mom.”

Your breath hitched slightly at that, your heart squeezing in your chest. You hadn’t expected her to say it so soon, so effortlessly—but the way she looked at you, like she had already welcomed you as part of the family, made your throat tighten.

Jake nudged your knee under the table, as if silently telling you to take it in, to believe it.

You swallowed past the sudden lump in your throat and managed a small, touched smile. “Okay… Mom.”

Her face lit up instantly, and before you knew it, she was reaching over to pull you into another gentle hug. Jake’s father chuckled at the sight, shaking his head fondly as he took a sip of his tea.

And just like that, the nervous knot in your stomach completely unraveled.

The dining room was just as elegant as the rest of the house,high ceilings, warm lighting, and a long oak table set with an array of dishes that made your stomach rumble just looking at them.

You were seated next to Jake, and across from you sat his parents, who, to your surprise, had chosen seats closer to the middle rather than the grand ends of the table.

“We like to hear each other talk,” his mother had explained with a wink, pouring you a glass of freshly squeezed juice.

Jake’s father chuckled as he adjusted his napkin. “And by that, she means she likes to talk, and I listen.”

Jake groaned beside you, leaning in to whisper, “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

You held back a laugh, already feeling at ease.

The meal started off light, just casual conversation and the occasional compliments toward the food. But it wasn’t long before the attention turned to Jake, and his mother, much to your delight, wasted no time embarrassing him.

“Oh, (Y/n), has Jaeyun ever told you about the time he used to sleep with his stuffed puppy?” she asked with a knowing smile, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Jake, who had just taken a sip of water, nearly choked. “Mom—”

“Oh my god,” you gasped, turning to him with wide eyes. “You had a stuffed puppy?”

His mother nodded eagerly. “Oh yes, he wouldn’t go anywhere without it. He even used to call it ‘Puppy’—such a creative name, right?”

Jake groaned, dropping his head into his hand. “Mom, please.”

His father smirked, finally joining in. “He threw a fit once when we accidentally left it at a hotel during a family vacation. We had to call the staff and ask them to ship it back to us.”

Your jaw dropped as you tried to hold in your laughter. “No way.”

“Mhmm,” his mother confirmed, absolutely delighted. “He wouldn’t sleep properly for three nights until we got it back.”

You turned to Jake, who was sinking further into his seat. “You poor thing,” you teased. “I can’t believe I’m just now hearing about this.”

Jake sighed, taking your hand under the table and squeezing it as if to silently plead for mercy. “You know, I thought today was supposed to be about you meeting my parents, not me getting humiliated.”

His mother waved him off. “Oh, hush, Jaeyun. I need to make sure (Y/n) knows all the important things about you.”

His father hummed in agreement. “Like the time he dressed up as a prince and made Layla his ‘royal steed’ for a whole week.”

Jake groaned. “I was five.”

“And yet,” you giggled, “that’s still adorable.”

Jake sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “I don’t know why I thought bringing you here was a good idea.”

You leaned into him, smirking. “Because you love me?”

His ears turned pink, but he played it cool, bringing your hand to his lips and pressing a quick kiss to it. “Something like that.”

His mother cooed, clasping her hands together. “Oh, you two are just precious.”

His father smirked. “At least now he has something else to obsess over besides that stuffed puppy.”

Jake groaned again, and you just laughed, squeezing his hand under the table.

The laughter finally settled as the meal continued, but the warmth in the air remained. You were beginning to feel more at home, like you truly belonged here.

“So, (Y/n), you and Jaeyun go to the same academy—we already know that,” his father started, setting his utensils down neatly. “But have you given any thought to what you want to do after graduation?”

You hesitated for a second before giving a small, sheepish smile. “Not entirely. I have a few things I’m interested in, but I know for sure that I’ll be taking over the family business.”

His mother’s eyes lit up with interest. “Oh? That’s wonderful! Your family has quite an empire, don’t they?”

You nodded, swallowing a bite of food. “Yes, we have a few ventures, but our biggest ones are the island resorts and event rentals. Most of our islands are privately owned, but we lease them out for major events like weddings, corporate retreats, sometimes even small festivals.”

Jake’s father let out an impressed hum. “That’s an incredible business. It must take a sharp mind to manage all of that.”

You chuckled softly. “Well, I hope mine is sharp enough when the time comes.”

Jake squeezed your hand under the table. “You’ll be great,” he said confidently, as if it wasn’t even a question.

His mother clapped her hands together. “Oh, speaking of your family, I had the absolute pleasure of meeting your mother at a charity gala last year.”

That caught you off guard. “You did?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! We sat at the same table during dinner, and she was just delightful, so charming and intelligent. We talked about all sorts of things, and honestly, I’ve been meaning to reach out to her again. We should arrange something soon.”

You smiled, amused at how eager she sounded. “I’m sure she’d love that.”

“Wonderful,” she beamed. Then, after a beat, she tilted her head. “And what about hobbies, dear? What do you enjoy doing in your free time?”

“Oh, she bakes,” Jake answered before you could, earning a nudge from you.

His mother’s smile widened. “Oh, I already know that! These cookies are divine.” She motioned to the plate on the side, where the kitchen staff had already set them out. “Anything else?”

You thought for a moment. “I also do some graphic design when I have the time. Mostly for fun, but it’s something I’ve been doing for a while now.”

His father nodded approvingly. “A creative mind as well as a business-oriented one. That’s an excellent balance.”

Jake’s mother suddenly gasped. “Oh! I just had an idea. (Y/N), dear, if you ever want to, I’d love your help in designing invitations for some of our events! I host a few charity functions throughout the year, and I just know you’d create something elegant and fresh.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “Oh, I—I'd love to, actually.”

“Perfect!” she said, looking thoroughly pleased with herself.

Jake leaned in, whispering, “See? Told you they’d love you.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but the truth was, he was right. They did love you. And for the first time since arriving, you weren’t just trying to make a good impression, you were simply enjoying their company.

After lunch, you found yourself seated comfortably on the plush sofa in the living room, a massive photo album spread across your lap. Jake’s mom was right beside you, flipping through the pages eagerly, while his dad sat back with his drink, occasionally chiming in with his own commentary.

Jake, on the other hand, was slumped on the armrest beside you, groaning into his palm.

“Oh, look at this one!” His mom pointed excitedly, tapping the glossy page. It was a picture of Jake, probably around four or five years old—wearing the most ridiculous set of oversized sunglasses while attempting to hold an ice cream cone twice the size of his tiny hands. His chubby cheeks were dusted with crumbs, and he had the most determined expression as he tried to keep the ice cream from dripping onto his shirt.

You giggled, covering your mouth. “Oh my god, he was adorable.”

Jake peeked over his fingers, his ears already tinged pink. “Please, no.”

His dad chuckled. “That was at a summer festival. He insisted on getting the biggest ice cream available, and when it started melting all over him, he threw the saddest tantrum I’ve ever seen.”

Jake groaned louder, dragging his hand down his face. “Dad, stop.”

You, however, were having the time of your life. “Wait, wait, what happened next?”

His mom laughed. “Oh, we had to strip him down to just his little shorts right then and there. He was crying about losing the ice cream, so we had to buy him another one, only for him to drop it again.”

Jake sat up suddenly. “Okay! That’s enough. We’re done.”

But his mom had already turned another page. “Oh! This one’s my favorite.”

It was a picture of a younger Jake, maybe ten years old, curled up in a pile of pillows with Layla, his golden retriever, draped across him like a blanket. His hair was a little messy, his face buried in her fur, and his small hands clutched the dog close like she was the most precious thing in the world.

Your heart melted. “That’s so sweet.”

His dad smirked. “He refused to sleep in his bed for weeks after we got Layla. He swore she’d be lonely without him.”

Jake, officially unable to handle more, grabbed the album and shut it dramatically. “That’s it. Nope. We’re done with memory lane.” He stood up and, in one smooth motion, pulled you up with him. “We’re going upstairs.”

You laughed as he practically whisked you away, but before you could fully escape, his mom called out, “I do want grandpups running around someday, Jaeyun, but not too soon!”

Jake choked, nearly missing a step on the staircase.

Your laughter doubled as you clung to his arm. “Oh, I love your mom.”

“She’s insane,” he muttered, ears burning.

As you and Jake made your way up the grand staircase, your hand still wrapped in his, you couldn’t help but notice the wall of framed pictures lining the hallway just above you.

It was a mural of memories; photographs of Jake through different stages of his life, from baby pictures to school achievements, and even candid moments with his family. Some frames held images of his cousins, aunts, and uncles, the warmth of their smiles radiating through the glass.

But what caught your eye the most was the largest frame near the top of the stairs. It was a beautifully preserved photo of his parents when they were young—probably still in high school. His father had his arm around his mother, both of them laughing, completely lost in each other’s presence. There was something so genuine about the picture, something that made your chest ache in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

Right beside it, however, was an empty frame.

You frowned slightly, pausing your steps. “What’s this one for?” You gestured towards the blank space, curiosity lacing your voice.

Jake, who had been leading you up the stairs, followed your gaze before exhaling softly. “That’s for me,” he admitted.

You blinked. “For you?”

He nodded, lips curling into a small, knowing smile. “My parents put this up when I was little. They knew they were meant to be—fated mates, if you want to call it that. So they kept this one empty, saying it’s for when I meet mine.”

Your heart skipped a beat, the weight of his words settling over you.

Before you could respond, Jake turned to you, his golden eyes searching yours with something unreadable yet undeniably deep. Then, without a word, he tugged you closer by the waist, his warmth seeping through the layers of your coat.

He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

Then, in a voice so soft you barely caught it, he murmured, “I already found mine.”

Your breath hitched.

The pureblooded Alpha pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his expression unreadable for a split second before it melted into something unmistakably tender. “I don’t need some grand revelation or the universe to tell me. I just… know.”

Your chest tightened, a warmth blooming deep within you.

Jake let out a small chuckle, shaking his head as if amused by himself. “Guess my parents were right to put that frame up, huh?”

You felt your lips part, but no words came out, too caught up in the weight of what he had just said.

As if sensing your inability to respond, he gave your waist a final squeeze and tilted his head toward the hallway. “Come on. Let’s get to my room before my mom finds another way to embarrass me.”

Jake pushed open the door to his room, stepping aside to let you in first. It was big—just as big as yours, but undeniably boyish in its essence. Darker tones complemented the sleek furniture, a mix of modern luxury and personal touches that made it distinctly his.

To the side, another door led to a small office space, likely where he handled council work or studied in peace. His bed was massive, positioned near a set of tall windows that undoubtedly led to a balcony. A walk-in closet sat slightly ajar, revealing neatly arranged clothes, and another door, presumably leading to the bathroom, was slightly open.

But what really caught your attention was the study area near the far wall. Above the desk, a series of framed photographs hung neatly. Some were of his family, others of his friends, and then—

You took a step closer, heart nearly stopping in your chest.

One of them was of you.

It wasn’t just any photo. It was… breathtaking. Almost surreal.

You, asleep at one of the library tables.

It looked professional, almost like a painting. The way your hair draped over your arms, the golden light catching on just the right places. Your lashes looked impossibly long, lips naturally pink, your entire expression soft and peaceful in slumber.

You turned to Jake, wide-eyed. “Where did you get this?”

Jake scratched the back of his neck, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “I took it.”

Your brows furrowed. “You took this?”

“Well,” he chuckled, rubbing his jaw, “I commissioned it.”

Your stomach flipped. “Commissioned?”

He shrugged, stepping beside you to admire the piece as if seeing it for the first time himself. “You just looked… so at peace. I didn’t want to forget it. So I had an artist recreate it.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

Jake turned to you then, eyes gentle but serious. “I don’t think I ever told you, but that’s when I really started to notice you.”

Your throat tightened.

“I mean, I knew who you were, obviously. But that day? You were just there, completely unguarded, no pressure, no expectations. Just… you.” He exhaled a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “And I couldn’t look away.”

A warmth spread across your chest, blooming up your neck and into your cheeks. You swallowed thickly, fingers twitching at your sides.

Jake grinned at your reaction, nudging you playfully. “Don’t get all shy on me now, omega.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips was impossible to hide.

Jake tugged you forward, guiding you toward his bed with a gentle pull. You followed, watching as he sat down at the edge, his head tilting up to look at you. You were standing between his legs now, and before you could say anything, his arms wrapped around your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer.

Your breath hitched. His touch was warm, steady, and grounding.

His hands smoothed over the fabric of your skirt, resting on your hips as he tilted his head against your stomach, inhaling deeply.

“You have no idea how crazy you make me feel,” he murmured, voice low but soft, like it wasn’t meant for anyone else but you.

Your fingers found their way into his hair, threading through the soft strands as you smiled down at him. “Oh? That bad, huh?”

Jake chuckled, squeezing your waist. “You have no idea.”

He leaned back slightly, shrugging off his coat before pulling away just enough to pat your arms. You blinked at him, confused for a second, before realizing what he wanted.

You complied, letting him slip your coat off your shoulders, his touch lingering as he neatly set it aside.

But before you could process the tenderness of the moment, Jake suddenly tugged at your hand, pulling you forward until you toppled onto the bed—right on top of him.

A surprised giggle escaped your lips as you landed against his chest, his arms looping around you effortlessly.

Jake grinned, eyes filled with something unbearably fond. “That’s better.”

You shook your head, resting your hands against his chest, still giggling. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he murmured, squeezing you gently. “But you like it.”

Jake shifted beneath you, his arms tightening for a brief moment before he suddenly flipped the both of you onto your sides. A surprised yelp left your lips, but he only chuckled, adjusting so that you were facing each other, bodies comfortably close.

His hand found your waist, thumb tracing slow circles as you stared at him, taking in the soft expression on his face.

"That went well," you murmured, still processing just how warm and welcoming his parents had been. "Your mom is amazing. Your dad too. I didn’t expect them to be so…”

“Loving?” Jake finished for you, lips curling.

You nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I was nervous out of my mind, but they made me feel like—like I belong.”

Jake exhaled a quiet laugh, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing just below your eye. “That’s because you do, omega.”

Your heart swelled.

“I’m just so happy,” you admitted, pressing your cheek further into his touch.

Jake’s eyes softened, and then he shifted, pulling you up slightly so you were leaning against his chest, while he settled back against the headboard. His arms remained wrapped around you, steady, secure.

“I’m just as happy as you,” he murmured. “You really have no idea.”

You smiled, looking up at him. “I think I have some idea.”

Jake chuckled, but then his expression grew distant, thoughtful. His fingers traced slow lines down your spine before he finally spoke again, voice quieter.

“I never really expected to fall in love,” he admitted, gaze fixed somewhere past you. “I thought—maybe someday, when I was older, when I had time for it. But finding you—” he paused, swallowing thickly before continuing. “It’s like everything I thought I wanted before doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I was willing to drop my position on the council,” Jake confessed, voice barely above a whisper. “I still would, if it meant spending more time with you.”

Jake exhaled shakily, his arms tightening around you like he was scared you’d slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough. His head dipped, nose brushing against your temple as he breathed you in, like you were his lifeline.

“I was so focused on the idea of it,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “On knowing that someone was out there for me—that someday I’d find them. But you…” He let out a shaky laugh, pressing his lips together. “You were right in front of me all along.”

You stared at him, heart skipping.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Your chest ached at his words, the quiet realization that had been eating at him for God knows how long.

Jake swallowed hard, his grip on you never faltering. “And I was too stupid to see it.”

You opened your mouth to say something—anything, but Jake was already shaking his head, his hands coming up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing away the dampness collecting beneath your eyes.

“No, let me say this,” he pleaded, his own eyes glassy. “(Y/n), I love you.”

Your breath hitched.

“I love you,” he repeated, firmer this time, like he needed you to understand just how deeply he meant it. “And I don’t care if it’s too soon or if I’m not supposed to feel this way yet—I do.” His voice cracked, raw, vulnerable. “I love you so much it scares me.”

Tears slipped past your lashes, your vision blurring as you stared at him, at the boy who had somehow, in the midst of everything, become your home.

Jake’s hands trembled against your cheeks as he continued, his own emotions threatening to spill over.

“I would’ve given it all up for you,” he whispered. “Everything I’ve worked for, every expectation set on me—I would’ve thrown it all away if it meant I could be with you. But you…” He let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “You didn’t even ask me to. You just wanted me, for who I was, not for what I could give up.”

A sob caught in your throat, and Jake was already pulling you in, pressing your foreheads together as he closed his eyes, his breathing uneven.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

You let out a soft cry, shaking your head as your hands found his face, cupping his cheeks.

“Don’t say that,” you choked out.

Jake let out a shaky laugh, his thumbs brushing against your skin. “But it’s true.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands sliding into his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands.

“Jaeyun,” you murmured.

His breath stilled.

“I love you too.”

Jake’s eyes widened slightly, as if he hadn’t expected you to say it back. Like he had prepared himself for anything but this.

And then, within seconds, he was kissing you.

Jake kissed you like he had been holding it in for years, like the weight of every suppressed emotion had finally come crashing down all at once. His hands cradled your face with the utmost care, fingers trembling as they traced the curve of your jaw, the line of your cheek, as if memorizing every inch of you.

A quiet, broken sound left his throat as he angled his head, pulling you impossibly closer, like he wanted to drown in you. His lips were warm, desperate yet gentle, moving against yours with a devotion so raw it made your chest ache.

And God, you kissed him back just as fervently.

Your hands moved to his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands, tugging ever so slightly. Jake groaned against your lips, his arms wrapping around you fully, pulling you flush against him, as if he needed to feel every part of you pressed against him to truly believe this moment wasn’t just a dream.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, your foreheads remained pressed together, noses brushing as you both tried to catch your breath.

Jake let out a shaky laugh, one that was thick with emotion, his thumb brushing tenderly against your cheek. His eyes were still damp, glistening under the soft light filtering through his bedroom.

“I wasn’t ready for that,” he murmured, voice hushed, like he was afraid speaking too loudly would break the moment.

You smiled, just as breathless. “For what?”

“For you to love me back,” he admitted, voice cracking slightly. “I—I wanted it so badly, but I never let myself believe I’d actually have it.”

Your heart clenched at the quiet vulnerability in his words, at the sheer disbelief still lingering in his eyes.

You cupped his face again, your thumbs tracing soothing circles against his skin. “I love you,” you whispered, because you needed him to believe it, to understand that this wasn’t a dream. That you were here, with him, for him.

Jake closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, before exhaling just as shakily. “Say it again.”

You smiled, pressing a feather-light kiss to the corner of his lips.

“I love you, Jaeyun.”

A sound escaped him—somewhere between a laugh and a sob, before he crushed you against him again, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

And you knew, in that moment, that he never would.

The Sim estate was alive.

Warm lights flickered from the chandeliers, and laughter rang from every corner of the room. The party was in full swing, with staff and chefs moving efficiently in the background, setting up the final touches on the decorations.

Your friends were scattered throughout the house, making themselves comfortable as if they lived there—Jungwon and his mate chatting near the dessert table, Heeseung and his mate inspecting the decorations, Sunghoon and his mate laughing over something near the fireplace, while Sunoo and his mate lounged nearby.

And you?

You were losing your mind on the loveseat.

Seated directly across from Jake’s and your parents, you were tense, fingers twisting the hem of your white dress, which by now had lost its crisp perfection from how much you’d been picking at it. Layla sat beside you, her large brown eyes flicking between you and your phone, sensing the waves of stress rolling off you in thick waves.

Sunoo’s mate plopped down next to you, barely settling in before your voice rang out.

“What do you mean the cake isn’t there yet?! It was supposed to arrive thirty minutes ago—where is it now?”

The entire room paused.

It was so rare for you to raise your voice that even the staff subtly slowed their movements. Ni-ki, who had been mid-sip of his drink, turned his head so fast it was a miracle he didn’t spill it. Jungwon’s mate blinked, exchanging looks with Sunghoon’s mate, while Heeseung’s mate raised a brow.

Sunoo, who had been lazily scrolling through his phone nearby, leaned over and whispered to Jungwon’s mate. “I think this is the most stressed I’ve ever seen her.”

Jungwon’s mate hummed in agreement. “Jake has no idea how much effort she’s putting into this.”

Across from you, Jake’s and your parents continued their conversation, though it was clear that Jake’s mother was watching you with amusement.

“It would be lovely to have both our families vacation together soon,” Jake’s father was saying, voice casual yet certain. “Somewhere quiet, maybe. A private resort.”

Your mother hummed in agreement. “That does sound nice. We’ve been meaning to take a break.”

Jake’s mother nodded excitedly. “Oh, absolutely! I was thinking something like—”

You barely caught the rest because your phone buzzed again.

This time, it was a message from Jay.

Jay [6:42 PM]: Yo, we’re on the way home. He’s driving. We were at the F1 event. Got him distracted, don’t worry.

Jay [6:43 PM]: Be there in like 15 minutes.

Fifteen. Minutes.

Your grip on your phone tightened. The cake still wasn’t here.

Just as panic was about to set in again, your phone vibrated with another message.

Staff [6:44 PM]: Cake is here, Miss.

Your head snapped up. The front doors opened, and two staff members walked in—one carefully holding an enormous white cake box.

The sheer relief that flooded through you had you sagging back into the loveseat, a breathy “Finally.” escaping your lips.

Sunoo’s mate patted your back, and Layla let out a soft woof, sensing the tension in your body ease.

As the staff carried the box toward you, your eyes widened at the massive size of it. It was beautifully crafted, the logo of the upscale bakery gleaming in gold on the top, and while it looked heavy, the way they handled it told you it wasn’t too much for you to carry.

You quickly stood up—so fast that Layla let out a surprised yelp, and rushed over to them.

Carefully, you placed your hands on the sides of the box, testing the weight before taking it into your arms. It was large, but the weight was manageable, and you cradled it as if it was a fragile piece of art—which, honestly, it was.

Jake’s mother, watching your intense concentration, let out a fond laugh.

“Everything alright now, sweetheart?” she called out, voice warm.

You turned, exhaling deeply before finally smiling. “Yes, everything’s good now.”

Jake’s dad chuckled. “You put so much effort into this. He’s a lucky boy.”

You glanced down at the cake, warmth blooming in your chest.

Jake had no idea what was waiting for him.

And honestly? It was going to be perfect.

The moment you carefully lifted the cake out of the box with your mother and Jake’s mother helping you steady it, you heard the familiar hum of a car pulling up outside.

Your stomach flipped, your heartbeat quickening as the entire room stilled for half a second before suddenly—

Chaos.

Everyone rushed to get into place. The staff quickly stepped back, making way for the group as they hurriedly gathered in the living room. Sunghoon, moving with sharp reflexes, snatched a lighter off the nearby console table and flicked it on.

“Keep it steady,” he murmured as he leaned over, the warm glow of the flame flickering against his face before he lit the candle sitting atop the cake. The moment the soft golden light illuminated the surface, he gave you a small, satisfied nod before stepping back.

Jake and Jay’s voices were getting closer.

“I should be spending time with (Y/n) and my family, man.” His voice was muffled at first, but as he and Jay neared the end of the hallway, it became clearer, the weight of guilt unmistakable. “I feel like a complete douche for leaving her today. I mean, I get that you wanted to take me somewhere cool, but I feel like an idiot for just—disappearing like that.”

Jay, walking beside him, nodded his head towards the living room entrance, not saying a word.

Jake kept going.

“I swear, she’s probably stressed out. She’s been planning everything so carefully, and here I am, leaving her to handle it all while I went off with you to some F1 event. God, I’m such a—”

The doors opened.

The staff stepped aside.

And the moment Jake rounded the corner, he was greeted by everyone.

His entire family.

His closest friends.

And you, standing right in the center, holding a perfectly crafted birthday cake, the candlelight glowing softly against your face.

A soft gasp left his lips as his entire body froze. His eyes swept over the room, from his parents standing by the couch, his friends scattered around with varying expressions of grins and amusement, the staff standing by with knowing smiles.

Then, his gaze landed on you.

His expression melted.

Pure shock and awe crossed his face, his lips parting slightly as he took you in—the way you were holding the cake so carefully, the way your dress had wrinkles from how much you had been fussing over everything, the way the warm glow of the candle made you look even more radiant than he thought was possible.

Jay, watching Jake turn into a complete goner, simply smirked, patting him on the shoulder.

“Surprise, birthday boy.”

Jake didn’t move. He barely blinked.

And then, as if the reality of the moment finally hit him, his eyes softened.

Jake barely had time to process what was happening before his body moved on instinct, surging forward, arms reaching for you, heart pounding in his chest.

But just as he was about to pull you into his arms, you swiftly lifted the cake up, holding it just out of reach.

Laughter erupted from everyone around you.

Jake froze mid-step, blinking at you in disbelief before a fond, exasperated smile stretched across his lips. His hands, once desperate to embrace you, found their place on your waist instead, thumbs absentmindedly tracing soft circles against the fabric of your dress.

“Make a wish first, birthday boy.”

A groan slipped past his lips, head tilting back dramatically as he let out a playful sigh. For a second, he just stood there, shaking his head at you, but the warmth in his gaze stayed.

He exhaled deeply, his grip on you tightening slightly before he leaned forward, eyes fluttering shut.

And in that moment, with the sound of laughter filling the air, the warmth of your presence in front of him, and the love of his family and friends surrounding him, he only had one wish in mind.

‘I get to spend the rest of my life with you.’

Jake opened his eyes, gaze locking onto yours one last time before he blew out the candle.

Before he could even react, Sunghoon smoothly stepped forward, grabbing the cake out of your hands with ease, as if he had been waiting for the perfect moment to do so.

Jake barely had time to process it because the second your hands were free, he finally pulled you in

His arms wrapped around you in an instant, lifting you slightly off the floor as he spun you around once, twice, before pressing you firmly against his chest. His heartbeat pounded against yours, fast and steady, so completely full.

A breathless chuckle left his lips as he set you back down, but he didn’t let go.

Instead, his forehead dropped to yours, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment as he took you in, the warmth of your touch, the scent of honey and seawater lingering on your skin, the way your hands clung onto the fabric of his suit like you never wanted to let go either.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he murmured, voice soft, almost vulnerable. “Jay was being pushy and—”

“You mean Jay, the person who was part of this entire thing?” you interrupted, amusement dancing in your tone.

Jake froze.

Slowly, he pulled back, brows furrowing as his head turned toward Jay, who stood across the room, smug as ever.

Jake’s jaw dropped.

His eyes darted from Jay, back to you, back to Jay.

And then, without missing a beat, he lifted his hand behind his back and flipped him off.

Laughter exploded in the room, the sound ringing loud and free, wrapping around the space like a comforting embrace.

Jay only grinned, completely unbothered, and threw an arm over Jungwon’s shoulder, nodding to himself proudly.

Jake sighed, dramatic as ever, before shaking his head and turning his attention back to you. The moment his gaze met yours, his entire expression softened, eyes melting into something so utterly full of love, so devastatingly tender.

“You really planned all this?”

Your smile mirrored his, just as warm, just as full. “Of course.”

Jake exhaled deeply, and then, before you could react, he was pulling you into another hug—tighter, closer, more real than before.

The night had settled deep into the sky, stars stretching far and endless above, but neither you nor Jake had the time to appreciate it.

The estate was still alive with chatter, laughter spilling through the grand halls as family members, distant relatives, and business associates roamed about, indulging in conversation, drinks, and whatever lingering slices of cake were left from earlier.

Jake had barely had a second to himself.

And neither had you.

Everywhere you turned, someone was pulling the two of you into conversation—family, distant relatives, business associates, people you had never even met before, all eager to talk, to ask, to pry.

“So, you two,” a well-dressed woman mused, swirling her wine in thought. “Not official yet?”

Your lips parted slightly, but before you could even get a word out, she continued.

“I mean, come on.” She smiled, knowingly. “The way Jake looks at you? You’d think he’s already planning the wedding.”

Jake tensed beside you. Not out of discomfort, but because she wasn’t exactly wrong.

He was sure about you.

So sure that the thought of settling down wasn’t a question of if but when.

You could feel the way his fingers twitched at his side, like he was holding himself back from pulling you closer.

“We’re still in school,” you said smoothly, keeping your voice light. “That’s the focus for now.”

“Ah, but surely you’ve thought about it,” an older gentleman chimed in, a glass of bourbon in hand. “Jake, one of the most sought-after pureblooded Alphas, practically taken? It’s a bit of a heartbreak for some, isn’t it?”

Jake let out a small chuckle, but his jaw tightened slightly.

“It just feels… right,” he said, his voice softer this time. “Like she was meant to be here all along.”

Your heart stirred, warmth creeping up your neck.

But before you could dwell on it, another question was thrown your way; how you two met, how this story of fate had begun.

The conversation dragged on. And on.

Even though Jake was right there beside you, you could barely talk to him. Barely even breathe.

Then, he saw it.

A way out.

The moment there was even a sliver of silence, his fingers slipped down, locking around your wrist.

You barely had time to react before he tugged you forward, weaving through the crowd with a quiet urgency. His steps were quick, determined, like he had been waiting all night for this chance.

“Jake—”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t answer. Just kept going.

It wasn’t until the estate doors shut behind you, until the cool night air settled against your skin, the muffled noise of the party fading behind the garden walls—that you realized where he was taking you.

A gazebo.

Tucked away in a more private corner of the property, surrounded by hedges and soft-lit lanterns, hidden from the rest of the world.

Jake didn’t stop until you were standing beneath the wooden beams, the soft hum of the night pressing in around you.

And then, finally, he exhaled.

His grip loosened, fingers sliding from your wrist to lace between your own, the warmth of his touch grounding you.

“Finally,” he muttered, pressing his forehead against your shoulder. He breathed in deeply, his chest rising and falling against yours, as if he had been holding his breath all night and only now could let it go.

A quiet chuckle left your lips, your fingers threading through his hair. Smoothing down the strands, grounding him, bringing him back to you.

But the moment your touch grazed his scalp, he moved.

Jake’s hands slid to your waist, his grip firm as he pulled you impossibly closer. And before you could even question it, he dipped his head, pressing his nose against your neck.

Then, he scented you.

His wrist brushed over your skin, tracing from your shoulder to the base of your throat before sliding down your arm. The scent glands on his wrist left a trail, claiming, replacing, erasing.

It was instinctual.

It was possessive.

And it was so very Jake.

A low growl rumbled in his chest, vibrating against your skin as his fingers gripped your waist tighter.

“There were too many people,” he murmured, voice rougher than before. His lips ghosted over your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. “Too many different scents on you.”

He exhaled sharply, nuzzling against your shoulder again.

“I don’t like it.”

You shivered, heart hammering against your ribs.

Jake had always been protective, but this was different.

This wasn’t just about making sure you were safe or pulling you away from overwhelming conversations.

This was his instincts clawing at him, demanding that he remind everyone exactly who you belonged to.

You sighed, tilting your head slightly to give him more access, letting your hands slide up his back.

“All yours, Jake,” you whispered, voice light, teasing.

Jake stilled for a second. Then, he groaned.

His arms wrapped fully around you, caging you in, his body warm, solid, home.

“Don’t say that,” he grumbled, lips pressing against your temple.

You laughed softly, fingers playing with the strands of his hair.

“But it’s true.” Jake sighed, melting into you.

Jake’s arms tightened around you. His breaths were heavier now, measured, controlled—but you could feel the tension in every inch of his body, like a storm barely contained beneath his skin.

He wasn't okay. And for the first time tonight, he wasn't trying to hide it.

His voice was lower when he spoke, strained, edged with frustration.

“Why do they keep questioning me?” His hold on your waist tightened slightly, his fingers pressing against the fabric of your dress. “As if I’m not sure. As if I’m just—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Like I don’t know exactly what I want.”

You said nothing, letting him talk, letting him pour out everything he had kept bottled up all night.

“I’ve had to deal with this for years,” Jake continued, his voice laced with bitterness now. “Being the son of an Alpha. The pressure. The expectations. The constant need to prove that I’m worthy of it. And you know what?” He let out a sharp, humorless chuckle. “Fine. Let them push, let them question me about the business, about the future, about all of it. But not about you.”

His grip on you only grew firmer, as if trying to ground himself in the fact that you were here, that you weren’t going anywhere.

“I hate that they think I’d hesitate,” he muttered, his lips brushing against your collarbone as he spoke. “That I’d ever be unsure. Because I’m not. I never have been.”

His frustration simmered in the way he touched you, in the way he buried himself in your scent, in you.

“I hate how they talk about you like you’re some kind of decision I have to make.” His head dipped lower, his lips ghosting over your skin as he whispered, “You’re not a decision. You’re it. You’re my choice, my only choice.”

Your heart clenched at his words, at the sheer weight of them.

You moved then, your hands sliding up to cup his face, gently tilting his head up so that he could look at you. His eyes burned with something raw, something desperate.

“Jake,” you murmured softly.

His grip on your waist faltered for a second.

“What if we just—” He paused, his voice dropping even lower, rough with frustration, with longing. “I wish we could just be official already.”

You blinked at him.

And then, without thinking, without even questioning it, you said it.

“Okay.”

Jake’s brows furrowed. “What?”

You inhaled, watching the way his eyes searched yours.

“I said okay.” A small smile played at your lips as you brushed a strand of hair from his face. “I accept. You, us. Call it what you want—my mate, my Alpha, my boyfriend. But I’m yours, Jake. And you’re mine.”

Jake stilled. Completely.

For a moment, it was like the entire world had gone silent.

And then, he crumbled.

His lips parted slightly, a sharp exhale escaping as his eyes glistened, the first tear slipping down his cheek before he could stop it.

“You—” His voice cracked, and he let out a small, breathless laugh, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

You wiped away the tear with your thumb, your touch featherlight.

His arms were around you in an instant, pulling you so tightly against him that you felt the way his heart pounded wildly against his ribs.

“Say it again,” he murmured into your skin, his voice trembling. “Please, say it again.”

You smiled softly, leaning down, pressing your forehead against his.

“I’m yours, Jake.”

And this time, his breath hitched.

Jake let out a shaky laugh before burying his face into the crook of your neck, his body trembling slightly as he held you. His hands clutched at the fabric of your dress, as if he still couldn’t believe it, as if he needed to make sure this was real.

And when he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours, his next words were barely above a whisper, but they settled into your chest like they belonged there.

“I’m never letting you go.”

And with the way he was holding you, like you were the only thing that had ever truly mattered, you knew he never would.

⤷ read part 1 here !

taglist: @hoonbrry @hime98 @chae-darling @moonchus @peatchiedii @creamkwan @nyfwyeonjun @whoe-dis @woonie-muffin @caelumsjy @90sni-ki @leiomorea @junjungsunwoo @in-somnias-world @notcamii @yizhoutv @lovesickth @elairah @graythecoffeebean @skyearby @ikeumina @blckorchidd @littlebambi-isdee @immelissaaa @jakesfurry @dreamy-carat @cristy-101 @m1kkso @h4niyahcar

© 2025 liuhsng — reblogs are highly appreciated and please don't hesitate to request some fics here if you want me to write anything !

[dark-elf-writes]

Okay, so consider with me for a moment

A Bingqiu raised Wei Wuxian who grew up around demonic cultivation and is just so interested in it!

But his dads said no despite teaching him the theory so he doesn’t accidentally on purpose fuck up his core

But it’s still so fascinating!

So he starts looking around demonic cultivation instead of directly at it. Which ends up opening a whole new set of less dangerous options

What I’m saying is, Wei Wuxian, given the time and resources, could totally invent a new kind of cultivation that erks on the line of demonic cultivation without being harmful to the user

(I just don’t want Wei Wuxian to suffer and he also needs his core to cultivate to immortality with his soulmate but also Yiling patriarch hot)

I mean if anyone could figure out a work around for demonic cultivation (or close enough) with a golden core it would be Wei Wuxian. Like he is already a genius even with Madam Yu (who let’s be so real wouldn’t encourage him to actually do his best and apply himself) but with Luo Binghe and Sen Qingqiu? This boy is next level smart. Frighteningly intelligent. Could probably figure out how to make a carriage fly on its own if given an hour and a bottle of wine (don’t tell his a-die).

I think he would still have to be a certain level of desperate to get to that point with all the years worth of warnings and his parents stressing over and over again the kind of damage the two opposing types of cultivation could do to him, but if he was hurt and lost and alone and scared? Yeah I could absolutely see him making a new kind of cultivation that isn’t quite spiritual or demonic but something new.

Something terrifying.

(And oh how seeing his own white lotus son darken too would kill a part of Shen Qingqiu. Seeing his son driven by anger and fear and vengeance. Seeing sweet A-Ying looking half dead and full of so much hate it burned to look at. But he would find a way to help. To heal his baby. To bring him not back to what he was but to a new normal and assuring him that he will be loved no matter what.

Binghe will make sure the people who hurt him paid. At least, the ones that A-Ying hadn’t already gotten to.)

[the-phoenix-heart]

This is something that always strikes me about the differences between the Weasleys and Malfoys.

Because with the Weasleys, they're dysfunctional. And I think ultimately the dysfunction is supposed to funny, except when it comes to Percy's whole deal with the ministry. Maybe with Fleur and Bill's engagement.

The Malfoys meanwhile are an incredibly loving family, but I think we're meant to see it as cloying, smothering. They're spoiling Draco, just like Dudley is spoiled by Petunia and Vernon. I think it's especially supposed to be seen as funny because Lucius is a man spoiling his son. Narcissa's love seems to be taken more seriously, and once the Malfoys are required by the narrative to defect they get more pathos.

That's what we're supposed to see I think, but in practice what we get is the Weasleys have too many kids, Molly and Arthur don't get along well, Percy is the golden child until he isn't which alienates him from his siblings, Ron is forgotten, Ginny is ignored, the twins are acting out and clearly Molly's discipline isn't working, and Bill and Charlie have buggered off to Egypt and Romania and don't seem to want to contribute to the household funds at (I don't blame them, but if I knew my family was in terrible poverty to where my brother couldn't get a new wand - knowing how important wands are in wizard society - I would give them some money). Wow that was a lot of words with no periods. It does not paint a good picture of the Weasleys.

And then there are the Malfoys, which yes only have one son and lots of wealth which does change the dynamic, but they make time to talk to him and learn his hobbies and friends and enemies and advocate for him at school.

And I don't know if JKR is aware of any of this.

I was rereading Chamber of Secrets and something interesting is that this is one of the few years that Draco stays at Hogwarts during the holidays. At the end of the book, it’s revealed that Lucius has been threatening and blackmailing people into agreeing to make Dumbledore leave Hogwarts. Do you think it’s possible that Draco was asked to stay at school while his father was “Busy”?

Oh that's fun. Because the Doylist reason he stays behind is so the Polyjuice Potion scene can happen, but the Watonsian reason... not only does Draco usually go home for Christmas, he usually gives Harry a hard time for not going home for Christmas.

During Book 2, Lucius is dealing with Ministry raids on his house (so - dumping his contraband on Borgin and trying to sabotage Arthur Weasley, who seems to be a main driving force behind these raids.) He's also trying to bully/bribe/blackmail the other Hogwarts governors into getting rid of Dumbledore. Justin Finch-Fletchley and Nearly Headless Nick are both attacked right before the break, so everyone is getting really panicky.

I think Lucius is absolutely in Situation mode. He probably expects more raids (and we know he expects Borgin to come to the house and pick stuff up.) He's pulling out all the stops to sway the governors, something he probably wants a secure *base* for. I do think that's he's protecting Draco from anything nasty that might potentially go down.

Which actually says interesting things about Lucius. Because he's happy to bring Draco with him to Borgin & Burkes,' and watch him carry out an unsavory deal. That scene actually has a kind of bring-your-kid-to-work vibe. Lucius wants Draco to watch him navigate this power play, it's exactly the sort of thing Draco will need to do one day.

But Lucius is also very protective of Draco. There's of course the whole PTA Mom Buckbeak affair of Book 3, but even in this scene he does not let Borgin flatter/manipulate his kid:

“Ah, the Hand of Glory!” said Mr. Borgin, abandoning Mr. Malfoy’s list and scurrying over to Draco. “Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine taste, sir.” “I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer, Borgin,” said Mr. Malfoy coldly, and Mr. Borgin said quickly, “No offense, sir, no offense meant —”

Which does make me think he would have kept Draco away from the house during Christmas, if he thought things had the potential to get dangerous.

[miroana]

The Lancers of Augustus

[princesoleil29]

Two good boys

[angelcake10023]

Being Normal… (End)

Part 3 (Previous)

[hawkinasock]

My personal take on the Abundance Yanqing theory.

[novaursa]

Hello ❤️ May I request an Otto Hightower x Tyrell reader fic, please?

When Otto is dismissed by Aegon in season 2, he travels to Highgarden before going to Oldtown. Lady Tyrell would be the widow of an old friend. Her and Otto would be familiar with each other, they exchanged letters frequently and/or she often came to court. He confides in her about being dismissed, his doubts about Aegon as king, etc. She is worried about her son going to battle. It would be lovely if they could share some intimacy, finding comfort in each other.

Thank you so much for your consideration. Much love ❤️

What Remains of Us

- Summary: Some things war takes, some it gives.

- Pairing: tyrell!reader/Otto Hightower

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial

The banners of House Hightower flapped lazily in the spring wind, ivory and green against the emerald sprawl of Highgarden. The sun had dipped behind a veil of pale clouds, casting a diffused amber light over the Reach, where every hill bloomed with wildflowers and the air hung heavy with the scent of rose and honeysuckle. You stood beneath the carved archway of the eastern courtyard, where the ivy curled up the old stone like a lover’s grasp, your fingers clasped before you as your small retinue murmured polite courtesies and idle guesses among themselves. Your gown was a soft green silk, embroidered at the sleeves with golden blooms—modest but elegant, befitting a lady of your stature and one who had long ago learned the subtle art of courtly restraint. The letter he had sent ahead lay folded and unread in your chamber; you did not need it. You had read enough of Otto Hightower to know the measure of the man even before you saw the shape of him again.

He came through the outer gates at a slow canter, the dust of the road clinging to the hem of his cloak and the edges of his gloves, but otherwise, he bore himself with the same stiff dignity as ever. He rode like a man who had never forgotten who he was, even if the crown had tried to forget it for him. The lines at his mouth were deeper, his beard a touch more silver than when last you saw him at court, but his eyes—the keen, assessing ones that had always made you feel both admired and studied—had not dimmed. You stepped forward as his horse slowed, and he dismounted without waiting for help, the reins handed off to a servant before he turned to face you fully.

"My lady Tyrell," he greeted, bowing his head with a formality that made your chest ache for reasons you would not name. "You’ve not changed a whit."

You smiled gently, as you had so many times in the Red Keep’s gardens, over a shared cup of wine or the corner of some forgotten document. "And you’ve not grown any better at lying, my lord."

A flicker of amusement passed over his features. He did not laugh—not Otto Hightower, not here, not now—but the warmth in his eyes was real. "I had forgotten how sharp your tongue could be."

You stepped closer, and he did not flinch when you took his gloved hand in yours. "And I had not forgotten how heavy your words could weigh upon a heart. Come inside. You must be tired. The road from King’s Landing is long, especially with pride tucked beside you in the saddle."

His gaze held yours for a moment longer, and you saw it there—pride, yes, but also something frayed beneath it. You turned, guiding him into the shade of the trellised walkway, where wisteria curled above your heads and petals drifted like silk on the breeze. Your ladies-in-waiting lingered at a polite distance, and the guards posted at the gate looked on with the idle eyes of men not expecting trouble.

"It was not my choice to leave," Otto said once you were within the quiet of the inner garden, away from ears and judgment. His voice had the worn edge of iron struck too many times, and his hands folded behind his back like a man standing before a council that had already made up its mind. "The boy dismissed me. In front of the whole court. Not even his mother was consulted."

You stopped beside the stone basin where white lilies floated over clear water and turned to him. "You’ve written to me of your doubts before. About what kind of king Aegon might be."

He exhaled slowly. "I had hoped that, in time, he might grow into the weight of the crown. I thought… with Alicent beside him, and my counsel steadying his path..." He shook his head, and for a moment, you saw the weariness seep through the mask of the statesman. "But he is reckless. Cruel, even, though I daresay he has not the spine for true tyranny. He rules by whim and temper, and I fear what will become of the realm if he leads us into war."

You reached out and gently touched his sleeve, the worn velvet soft under your fingers. "You fear for the realm, but I fear for my son. Ser Lyonel rides for the Riverlands within the week. He’s but twenty, and I can see in his eyes that he’s eager to win glory he does not yet understand. If there is to be war, he will not be safe."

Otto’s expression softened. He covered your hand with his, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. "He is a fine young man. I met him once at court, do you remember? He asked me if dragons were truly as large as the stories claimed. You said he wouldn’t rest until he saw one with his own eyes."

"He still won’t," you murmured, the ghost of a smile passing over your lips. "But now he hopes to see one from a battlefield."

"I would not have had you worry like this," Otto said quietly, as if the words cost him something. "If I had held my place, perhaps I could have tempered Aegon’s more… dangerous impulses. But it was slipping from my hands even before the boy took the throne. And now I am an old man with enemies in every corner of court and a grandson who thinks power is his by birthright alone."

You looked up at him, this man who had always written to you not as a lord to a lady but as a confidant to another soul caught in the web of power and legacy. "You are not just an old man, Otto. You are a Hightower, the Hand who held the realm together for longer than most dared hope. And you are tired. Come. Rest, speak plainly, and let me bear some of the weight for a while."

He looked at you then, not as the Hand of the King or as a man measured by the legacy of his name—but as Otto. A man you had once exchanged poems with beneath the blossoming trees of King’s Landing, who had written of your late husband with such grace it brought tears to your eyes. A man you had never quite allowed yourself to miss until now.

"Only for a while," he said at last. "And only because it is you."

You smiled faintly. "It was always me."

The nights in Highgarden were warmer now, thick with the perfume of rose blossoms and rich dew clinging to every leaf. A hush had settled over the castle, the kind of silence that came not from sleep but from something deeper—from expectation, from unspoken thoughts swirling like mist along the River Mander. In the days since Otto’s arrival, you had spent every afternoon in quiet conversation or long walks beneath the green canopies, neither of you mentioning when he would leave for Oldtown, only ever speaking in the shape of the moment. You’d grown used to his presence again, the way his voice rumbled low when speaking thoughtfully, how his hands—so often still, deliberate—would sometimes twitch when he was lost in thought, or how his eyes softened each time they landed on you. You had known Otto Hightower for many years, but not like this—not like something close and tangible, like breath warming the hollow of your throat.

That night, the candles flickered low against the stone walls of your solar, and the fire burned gentle in the hearth. You had not summoned him, and yet he came—silent but purposeful, his hand resting against the edge of the door as though asking permission with nothing more than presence. You were seated by the fire, the laces of your gown undone at the throat, a shawl drawn loosely about your shoulders. When you met his eyes, there was no need for words. You stood slowly and crossed the room, each step deliberate, your bare feet whispering against the rug. He didn’t move until you reached him.

“Have you come to say goodbye?” you asked quietly, the words steadier than you felt.

His eyes searched your face for a long moment, as though committing it to memory. “Not yet.”

You nodded, heart fluttering beneath your ribs like a trapped bird. Then, carefully, you reached up and touched his cheek, letting your fingers trace the edge of his beard, the warm skin beneath. He exhaled shakily, almost imperceptibly, and leaned into your touch as if starved for it.

When he kissed you, it was not the kiss of a younger man, wild and eager. It was deliberate, full of unspoken things—regret, longing, years of restraint that no longer held. His lips were warm, dry at first, then softer as they parted yours, tasting of red wine and solitude. You clutched his shoulders and felt the tension in them, how tightly he held himself together. You knew then that no one had touched him like this in years—not truly. You led him slowly to your bed, your fingers unfastening the buttons of his doublet one by one, not out of haste, but reverence. Each layer peeled away until he stood before you in nothing but his skin and the truth of what remained between you.

He was not young. His body bore the marks of time—scars, silver hair, the subtle tremor in his hands—but none of it repelled you. If anything, it made him more real, more dear. When your gown slipped from your shoulders and pooled at your feet, he let his eyes take you in with a reverence that stole your breath. His fingers brushed along your waist, your spine, pausing at the curve of your hip as if memorizing every inch.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, as though it were a confession.

You leaned forward, resting your forehead to his. “And you are still a man worth loving.”

You lay with him as the fire crackled low, the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the hush of his breath mingling with your own. He was slow, reverent, as if afraid to break the moment—each touch considered, each kiss lingering. He held you as he moved inside you, and you held him in return, neither of you rushing toward the end. There was no desperation in your union, only quiet understanding—a meeting of souls as much as flesh. His name slipped from your lips like a prayer, and he whispered yours back, low and raw in the dark.

Afterward, he did not retreat or rise as you feared he might. Instead, he gathered you into his arms and drew the coverlet over your bodies, his hand resting at the curve of your back, his mouth brushing your temple. You curled into him, your leg tangled with his, your heart beating in rhythm with his chest.

“I was afraid,” he said after a long stretch of silence.

You turned your face to him. “Of what?”

“That I would lose myself in this. In you.” He looked down at you then, his fingers brushing lightly along your arm. “But I’ve spent so long being the Hand, the father, the keeper of peace. I forgot what it was like to just be a man.”

You traced a line over his chest with your fingertip, watching his skin shiver beneath your touch. “Then let this be your remembering. Even if it’s only for a little while.”

He kissed your forehead, lingering there, his breath warm. “It won’t be just a little while. Not for me.”

You closed your eyes and let yourself believe that, if only for the night. You fell asleep wrapped in his warmth, lulled by the sound of the fire and the steady beat of his heart. But when the morning came, you knew he would rise before the sun, and ride eastward to the Hightower, to duty, to the shadow of war. And you would remain, a garden left behind—but one he would carry with him, always.

[dootznbootz]

Hi. I'm cyberbullying a long dead poet because of his shitty fanfic. Enjoy. I'd love it if you joined me.

(Before you get mad at me, yes, I know Eugammon of Cyrene is an important figure and all that. I'm sick with some sort of flu. Let me cyberbully an ancient dead fanfic writer in peace.)

[ningadudexx]

.

.

@mizzy-mizer for this drawing ^ n caveman guy, check out their art its super awesome!!

🎉\_( *u* )_/🎉

A collection of things <|:^)

insane monkey enthusiast posting below

[the-diary-of-a-moody-teenager]

My favourite part of the whole saga was , when in the amazing animatic made by @mircsy Telemachus tries (try is the key word here ) to lean his against Athena's shoulder, after they just had a heart to heart , and just straight up falls , coz she is in her spiritual form , and then she just stares at him :)

[weirwoodweb]

my golden boy