Compared to Ni-ki, you were definitely the goody-two-shoes. You’d never done anything illegal, reckless, or even mildly dangerous—while Ni-ki had practically checked off every wild thing you could name.

Tattoos were one of them. You hadn’t known he had any until recently—turns out there was one inked along his ribs and another on his arm. The only thing you’d ever noticed was his lip ring, which suited him perfectly. But learning about the tattoos… that gave you a whole new perspective on him.

“You should get a tattoo too,” he said suddenly, the words slipping out casually as you both sat on the living room floor, Netflix flickering on the TV.

“Really? Why out of nowhere?” you asked, turning your head toward him. His face was only inches from yours, his hand lazily tracing circles on your thigh where your legs rested over his.

He just shrugged. “Matching tats would be cute, wouldn’t they?” He rolled his lip ring between his teeth, smirking when you murmured, “A rib tattoo is painful.”

“Can’t handle it?” His tone was teasing, not mocking. “I’m sure you could take it—just like I did.” And honestly, he wasn’t wrong. You could handle a little needle pain.

“Seriously though? Matching tattoos? What if we break—”

He cut you off before you could even finish the thought, his tone firm but steady. “Don’t say that. It’s not going to happen. You’re the one I’m marrying.”

Two years together, and there wasn’t a shred of doubt in his mind. You were complete opposites in almost every way, yet somehow, he carried a softness for you that no one else ever got to see.

Instead of going for a rib tattoo, you’d opted for a belly piercing—and in Ni-ki’s eyes, that was even better. He hadn’t realized how much it would amplify your charm—maybe it was the way you carried yourself with a boost of confidence whenever another girl complimented you in a crop top, or how it suddenly motivated you to hit the gym and work toward defined abs.

Either way, he thought it was adorable.

Tonight, you were dressed down in matching pajamas (the kind you’d picked out together), sitting cross-legged in the living room as you lazily crocheted.

Ni-ki wandered in after a late night out with his friends, running a hand through his messy hair—left down, just how you liked it. Without needing to ask, you shifted to make space, letting him settle behind you so your back could rest against his chest.

He grabbed the remote, scrolling before landing on Disney+. A crime documentary about missing kids and the dangers of strangers began playing—his guilty pleasure—and you found yourself just as hooked.

The whole thing should’ve felt grim, but somehow, Ni-ki made the moment feel soft and romantic. Maybe it was the way his fingers idly massaged your scalp and shoulders, or the occasional brush of his lips against the top of your head.

Halfway through the episode, his hands slipped beneath your pajama top, fingertips brushing over your skin until they found your belly piercing. He toyed with it lazily, giving it a gentle tug like it was his new favorite thing in the world.

“God, I love this,” he murmured, almost to himself, his voice low with a mix of admiration and contentment.

He was so caught up in playing with your belly piercing that the documentary on the TV faded into nothing more than background noise.

“Is it really that nice?” you asked, not looking up from your crochet work.

He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “It’s perfect.”