'Cause I’m still the same but only entirely diff

Riki heard you before he ever set eyes on you. A snickering drunk alpha, tugging at his patience, thin darkened lips slurring mentions of a "delicate lil' thang dropping stacks at his charity".

Enraged was an understatement, there's not a single word to describe just how much your nosy behavior irritates him.

This little stunt you pulled is an example of just that, not only did you inadvertently make yourself a target for the nastiest scum, but you just let everyone on the streets know that Riki has a soft spot with deep pockets.

There's something seriously wrong with you and he's yet to figure it out.

How can someone be so naive, what's your problem? What are you looking for, always sticking your nose in his business, without so much as a clue of what it is.

He finds you two blocks away, still in his parts of town, eyes trained to the gps on your phone, your figure adorned in a pricey pink wool set, you looked like the type of prize people in this part of town don't take mercy on, gambler's lucky to be robbed and left for dead.

"Riki? Oh wow! Thank goodness you're here" you gasp as he emerges from the distance. "I tried talking to those men but I think I might've made a mistake, I don't know what happened, I was just trying to—"

"Just trying to what?" He cuts off, eyes sharpening as his presence inching closer, a dark suffocating weight, his brows furrowed at your guilty expression, the same one you wear when he finds you like this, your tail between your legs.

"No Ki, I promise, this time I was just trying to help, I didn't mean to—". Riki didn't let you finish, he didn't need to, he'd heard you make this promise at least a hundred times before.

"Stop fucking helping! Just stop!" He meant to end there, but as the pre-rut fever furnaced his skin, and the ache in his core grew unbearable, he couldn't help but snarl at you. "Playing savior again, in a world you have no clue about isn't helping jack shit."

"Am not, I just wanted to—" you cried out, voice cracking as your teeth sunk raw into your lip, a copper scent breaching his heightened senses.

"Well you didn't" he bites, stepping into your personal space until your back hit a rusted lump post. "What's with you and thinking you can buy whatever you want, you can't buy my damn safety. You just put a target on our backs because you're so fucking nosy. stay in your own lane doll, you don't know nothing about mine."

Your eyes swelled with tears at every word, fingers tightening at the straps of your new coach purse, scent spiking in distress— slightly bitter, decaying utterly devastated and utterly submissive. His alpha should've stood down, should've reeled his pre-rut back in at the sight, but your scent hit him like a drug, nothing in comparison to his highest puff of nicotine.

Riki wants more of this, he wants to be mean, wants to tear you apart right there on the pavement just to see you break for him.

"Go home." Voice low, dropping to a tone you've never heard him use before, a terrifying register that had your knees ready to give out. "Go do the mindless shit you do all day, and stay out of my life. You wouldn't last a day in it"

You listen, you always do. You can be good when he wants you to be, he appreciates that most about you. Your silhouette faded in the distance, Riki was left to his clenched fists, and a mind already playing with the image of your flushed, tear streaked face and glossy lips.

Twenty-four hours later, his frustration wore off, the "mean" alpha agenda gone with it, replaced by a man lost to his biology and consumed in a heat of want. Riki's rut hit him like a damn speed train, every thought a jagged shameful thought of you, your tears, your mouth, that scent.

He doesn't knock—he's never done that before, why start now?. He sneaks through the balcony door of your pristine apartment, reeking of sweat, desperation and a driving need. You're at your vanity, soft silk pajamas hanging loosely by your shoulders as you brush your hair, a stark contrast to his own. He ran a quick hand through his dark hair, blonde streaks catching light with every movement.

When your eyes land on his lean figure, you start to apologize profusely, mouth an overflowing river of "sorry's" and "I didn't mean to's". He paid them no mind, just inches closer and closer until the gap between you was filled entirely with him and only him. You remained seated, voice dying down the closer his crotch got to your eye level.

"I told you to stay away from me, doll." he rasps, fingers tangled in your freshly tamed hair, pulling your head back so you have to look up at him. His eyes a dark, pupils blown wide with need. "Anyone ever tell you how pretty your mouth is?"

He questions, free hand already working his belt open, unzipping his denim jeans before pressing your lips against the bulge beneath his briefs. You slowly pulled them apart to suck at the fabric, nose engulfed in his musky basil scent, tongue lapping at a damp spot by his length.

"Shame you can't shut it" he breathes out,

Riki's thumb lingers on your bottom lip as he pulls you away, dragging the drop of salt-heavy moisture across the soft peak of your pout. He watches with a sick, possessive sort of satisfaction as the light from your vanity mirror catches the wetness.

His pre-cum.

Giving your mouth a gloss that looks more expensive—and far more dangerous—than anything you've ever bought.

"Look at you," he rasps, his hand tightening in your hair just enough to tilt your chin up further. "Crying over me yesterday, and now you're sitting pretty with my mess. Better than Dior, isn't it? Tell me it's better doll."

You can't even find your voice.

You're eye-level with the heavy, dark cotton of his briefs, the heat radiating off him hitting your face in waves. The bulge there is terrifying—furious and twitching—and as you stare, a fresh stain of dampness seeps through the cotton, mere inches from your nose.

He lets out a jagged, frustrated breath, his Alpha scent turning thick and cloying, like smoke to your pink room. "I spent all day thinking about how much I wanted to ruin that pretty face of yours. To make you pay for being so fucking stubborn."

He doesn't wait for your apology. He reaches down, fingers already slick with playing in his own arousal, and shoves two of them into your mouth.

"Taste it," he commands, his voice vibrating through your skin. "Suck them. I want to see how well you can take orders when you aren't busy trying to fix my life."

The taste is sharp—musk, salt, and the raw essence of his full blown rut.

You wrap your tongue around his fingers, your eyes welling with fresh, overwhelmed tears as you look up at him through your lashes. Riki's head falls back, a low, guttural growl ripping from his chest at the sensation. He's losing it; the nonchalant "bad boy" is drowning in the feeling of your warm, wet mouth working for him, working to please him.

"Yeah, just like that," he groans, his hips giving an involuntary thrust toward your face. "So good when you're quiet. So fucking cute when you're listening."

He withdraws his fingers with a wet pop, the string of saliva connecting his fingers to your lips. Before you can even catch your breath, his hands are at his waistband. He doesn't go slow. He shoves the briefs down, and for a second, the sheer size of him—angry, reddish, veined, and leaking—makes you want to crawl backward.

But you don't. You're "good". His good omega.

Riki grabs your shoulders, his thumbs digging into your collarbones as he forces you to stay there. He leans down, his dark eyes staring into yours.

"You wanted to be in my world so bad?" he mutters, voice a dark promise. "Here it is. This is the only part of me you get to handle. Now, kiss it. Put that mouth to work, show me you're worth the trouble you cause me."

You lean in, your breath hitching as your lips graze the furious, pulsing tip. The moment you swirl your tongue around the crown, Riki's knees nearly buckle. He lets out a curse—something filthy and jagged—his grip on your hair turns desperate. He's addicted. He hates it, and he loves it, and he's going to make sure that by the time he's done, you don't remember a single thing about his world except for the way he feels inside you.

Riki's head snaps back, a jagged, strangled sound ripping from his throat as you take him in. He expected tentative; he expected a "good girl" who would shy away from the sheer weight of him never being exposed to something like this. Instead, you wrap your tongue around the head of his cock with a practiced, devastating skilled suction that has his fingers spasming violently in your hair.

"F-fuck," he wheezes, his hips giving into the involuntary, desperate twitch against your mouth. "Where did you... How did you… who taught you to use your mouth like that?"

He's shaking, the nonchalant "bad boy" persona completely destroyed by the way you're working him. You don't stop, swirling your tongue around the furious, pulsing vein and drawing him in deep until he's growling, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

He's at his limit—he can feel the sticky heat of his pre-cum slicking your tongue, his wolf screaming that this isn't enough. He doesn't want to spill on your face; he needs to be inside you. Needs to claim his good omega, show her, he’s proud of her working so hard to please him.

He hooks his arms under your armpits, hoisting you up with a low, guttural grunt. You're as light as cotton candy in his calloused hands, a contrast to the heavy, jagged heat rolling off his skin.

He carries you two steps to the bed, but he doesn't lay you down on the fluffy white blanket, no. He sits back against the headboard, his legs splayed, and pulls you onto his lap— making you face the vanity mirror so you're forced to see the absolute wreckage you've become.

"Look at yourself," he rasps against your ear, his voice a jagged edge of praise and possessiveness. "Look at how fucking slutty you look."

He shoves your silk pajama top up until it's bunched above your breasts, leaving your chest heaving and bare, your nipples peaked in the cool air. Below, your cunt is a tight mess of red heat and slick—your body screaming for a friction only he can provide.

"Ki…" you sob, the word catching in your throat as he positions you. You look ruined—hair matted to your forehead, lips puffy and swollen—but the way Riki looks at you, eyes bloodshot and entranced, makes your soul shatter.

"Tell me..." he groans, voice rough and needy, his hands bruising your hips as he guides you down. "Tell me how it feels to have me back..."

"It's t-too much," you choke out, your teeth grinding in pure, agonizing pleasure as you slowly lower yourself onto his length.

You can feel him everywhere—deep inside you, his cock pressing relentlessly into your g-spot, each inch lower sending a wave of pain and pleasure through you. The bulge of his cock digs into your stomach, and every time you sink down, the tip kisses your cervix, slamming into it with a hard, grounding force.

"Fuck," he swears, pulling away from the nape of your neck to catch sight of your expression in the glass—eyes puffy, lips parted, trembling beneath the weight of him.

"Yyou're lucky you're so damn..." he groans, breath hitching as he feels your walls clench tight around him. "Agh—fuck." He shudders, hips stuttering for a moment as his orgasm looms closer.

He doesn't want to waste a drop on your face; his wolf is screaming to be buried, to fill you until you're leaking .

"That's it... you're close already?" he laughs, a breathless, dark sound even as he keeps driving up into you without missing a beat. The tell-tale swell at the base of his shaft begins to pulse, his knot growing with a brutal, finality, settling you on to him for as long as his wolf desires.

"R-riki! Please!" you sob into his shoulder, voice cracking as your your stomach coils impossibly tight, the tension burning through your entire body. You pant into his mouth, your cries muffled as he finally crashes his lips against yours, his knot stretching you until you can't think, can't breathe , can’t talk—just a good, sweet omega taking everything her alpha gives her, no back talk, no stubborn behavior, just unrestrained submission.

Student council president Ni-ki! Who looms over you at your locker every day after school, a smug smirk on his face as he enjoys the way the entire hallway whispers about how the school's youngest president is wrapped around your finger.

Student council president Ni-ki! Who has you on your knees during council meetings—eyes red and glossy, lips wrapped around the base of his length, being extremely careful not to make a single noise while his board members sit just 5 feet away.

Student council president Ni-ki! Who forces you to study in the council's conference hall while he "works," resting his long legs on the table and watching you struggle to focus, clearly more interested in your reactions than the paperwork in front of him.

Student council president Ni-ki! Who signs club suggestion forms with one hand while the other is buried deep in his pocket, fingers tangled in the lace of your used panties. He'd occasionally bring them to his nose, the murky scent engulfing his senses while he maintains effortless eye contact with a faculty member.

Student council president Ni-ki! Who calls your name over the intercom with a voice far too deep, summoning you to his office for a "disciplinary matter"—only to trap you against the door the moment it locks, stealing a breathless kiss before sending you back to class, accusations of not focusing on your work, falling from his plump lips (they're the reason you can't focus 💔).

Student council president Ni-ki! Who uses your favorite movies as theme options for prom; so regardless of the majority vote, he makes sure you'll be attending the prom of your dreams.

Student council president Ni-ki! Who drags the rest of the student council—the other members—to all your games, debates, and recitals, cheering you on with a loud, prideful energy no matter how hectic his day was.

Student council president Ni-ki! Who hugs you in public with the sole purpose of letting you feel how hard you made him just by existing, his bulge twitching against your stomach as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear.

Student council president Ni-ki! Who motivates you before every exam with promises of hot pot slipping from his tongue. (Though he feeds you regardless of your grade, just to see you smile.)

Student council president Ni-ki! Who has your wet heat warming his length at the end of each day. Your exhausted figure lies across his mahogany desk, walls clenching and throbbing for relief—but he loves the power of making you wait, clicking his pen rhythmically until he decides he's finished for the night.

Student council president Ni-ki! Who loves you beyond measure and puts your needs before his responsibilities, because making you smile is the duty he assigned himself long before he ever took office.

It’s totally unfair. Anytime you have some form of discourse with Niki, it leads to you lost for breath, incoherent and soaking up his fingers. It doesn’t matter what time it is nor where you are if Niki feels like it, he’s gonna slide a finger or two inside you, no questions asked. It happens so abruptly that you barely have the time to prepare.

Just the other day, you’d been lazily straddling his thighs as he quietly played games on the PC. This was kind of routine for both of you.

He plays games on off days, and you occasionally settle on top of his lean figure, scrolling through your instagram feed. Only difference was whenever a loading screen appeared —even if it’s for a mere second— Niki’s fingers would already be innocently tapping at the rim of your shorts. Lightly tugging at the waistband, snapping it on to your bare skin. You would feel the repetitive harsh sting at your core, leaving your stomach sensitive to the motion.

If the screen—for whatever reason—took longer than expected then surely his fingers would already be placed inches deep inside your walls.

He doesn’t think twice about it. Barely even acknowledges it. If he does talk to you —despite being fully aware of how far gone your mind is in times like this— it’s never a topic related to the situation. In fact you presume the boy would much rather chew on glass than address his new found habit.

Preferring to question you on precipitation chances that day, over what his body is doing to yours.

You’d try to move at his pace. Attempting to hold conversation to the best of your ability, yet the pleasure gets so overwhelming, the only thing you can do is slur your words and moan half-thought-out responses. Can anyone blame you? The heat feels too good. Mind-numbing even. The shaking in your thighs, twitching in your fingers, rolling of your eyes. It all feels too good like a fever dream of some sort.

“Baby? You not gonna talk back?” Niki would question absentmindedly, eyes glued to the screen, fingers thrusting at that one spot with practiced precision.

He’d do this knowing you’re close. knowing your brain’s fucked out, knowing you’re overstimulated, knowing you can’t form words.

The only answer he gets is a muffled, gurgling scream, as your body curls in on itself, fingers clutching at any last shred of sanity left. your vision goes pale white.

“Calm down baby… already doing so good f’me, just want a little more, ya?, is that okay with you sweetheart?”

‘This man is insane.’ He’s pushing you right to the edge with nothing but his words. He knows you can’t verbally answer.

He makes you burn at the seams with pleasure then asks you to burn a little more just for him. And you burn every single time.

Your body trembles uncontrollably, nerves screaming at the stimulant overload. You can’t stop. You’re shaking. No—convulsing. No— You’re neither.

You’re having a freaking orgasm. And you’re having one all over your boyfriend’s fingers. That concept alone is enough to get you high. Blindingly, dizzyingly high. The kind that takes a moment to come down from.

When your vision cleared out, you released the breath you’d been holding, your tear-stained eyes rested on his beautiful face. In that moment you’d realized just how much you loved the boy. the dumb questions he asked as he pumped into you, the arrogant smirk he gave you when your responses were lackluster, and most of all that spark in his eyes when he sees just how well he’s able to satisfy you.

His thumb would brush your wet cheeks, leaning forward to peck at your temple before quickly lapping at his messy fingers and returning to the fully loaded game. Ready to do it all over again

“Don’t wander off now, I might need you in a minute”

‘Oh my goodness, I absolutely adore him’