#wc marketplace

[comatosebunny09]

and they were roommates | sylus

sum: sylus responds to an online ad for a roommate. you suddenly have this tall, well-spoken, handsome man living in the attic, playing classical music, tinkering with things he built, and humming off-key while he makes you pancakes in the morning before disappearing for weeks at a time. cw: modern au, roommate au, reader implied to be femme, reader’s shorter than sylus, slice of life, slow burn, mild language, mentions of blood & injury, mutual pining, cannibalism joke, romantic & sexual tension, jealousy, this part’s a series of flashbacks, period comfort & talk, ~5k wc tracklist: nothing - milena fig. 1 | fig. 2 | fig. 3 | fig. 4 | fig. 5

“Here?”

He eyed the twins in the rearview mirror through expensive, tinted lenses, lifting a dubious brow from the backseat. 

Through years of employing them, he learned to read their silence, having held them closer than anyone else in the syndicate he constructed from blood, corruption, and deceit. 

He picked up on every micro-shift of their muscles—the flex of Luke’s fingers on the steering wheel, Kieran’s breath catching like he was holding something in. 

They exchanged a look, their intentions hidden behind beaked masks. It was as if they were communicating telepathically, quietly poking at their boss’ plight. 

Sylus didn’t need X-ray vision to know they were stifling their laughter. 

“Here,” Luke parroted, his amusement as evident as the sky stretched an obnoxious shade of blue overhead. 

Kieran turned in the passenger seat, leaning back on the dash and flourishing his fingers like he’d just presented macaroni art to a parent. 

That didn’t bode well.

When would he learn to stop letting the twins pick out places for him to lie low?

Sylus had experienced a lot of things in his existence—the worst of men, rot, hellfire. He’d seen more red than a morgue. Was well acquainted with the smell of burning bodies and carbon crowded beneath his nails. 

What he wasn’t prepared for were the washed oak fences, the sprawl of vibrant grass, and quaint, polychrome houses huddled together in a neighborhood that was the very definition of suburbia. 

Sylus released a slow, steadying breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. The beginning of a migraine crept into his temples.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he said more to himself. 

This had to be a dream. A nightmare. A joke that he would surely make the twins pay for.

Luke turned, wrist lax on the steering wheel. “C’mon, bossman. You can’t deny it’s the perfect place for someone like you to disappear.”

Kieran nodded his assent over crossed arms. 

“No one’d suspect a devil of moving into a Zillow special. I can smell the neighbors baking cookies now.” He whiffed the air, resulting in a nudge and chuckle from his brother.

“I’ll eat them,” Sylus flatly returned. A double entendre that made the twins swallow.

He grabbed the rear door handle, already exhausted as he scanned the window. Steeling himself, he made his grand exit, falling into the cool arms of fall, his coat sleeves fluttering theatrically in the breeze from his shoulders.

The SUV idled at his back.

He looked out of place. A stark cutout of black, expensive textiles and power. He moved over the sidewalk like a wraith, hands stuffed in his pockets. 

A bird sang in a maple tree overhead. Somewhere far off, a sprinkler system sprang to life. The scent of cut grass was like a provocation. Nostalgic. Still, it was too bright, too still, deceptively calm where he knew chaos and dread.

Hydrageneas greeted him when he walked up the driveway and onto the floorboards. A weathered bench was next, followed by a welcome mat speckled with leaves and stone vases housing drying plants. A sign reading ‘Stay Awhile But Please Leave By 9 PM’ hung in the middle of the door. 

A Facebook Marketplace ad led him here—standing on the porch of a stranger, too tall and intimidating to call this place a temporary home. 

Seeking roommate. Preferably male. Smoke-free home. Must be clean and cool with occasional loud music and terrible singing. Rent is cheap. Message me for more details. 

He’d lived in fortresses secured with biometrics and enough tech to have NASA knocking at his door. Penthouses with ceiling-high windows, peering out over neon-lit cities. He owned villas in off-grid locales that would put the most notorious drug peddlers to shame.

The most intimidating things here were a wind chime and dogs barking on the horizon. 

Rolling out the kinks in his neck, he poised his knuckles over the door, prepared to knock. He wasn’t granted the chance as it crept open like he willed it to. 

A Ring camera. Of course. 

He glimpsed it with a rigid jaw. He’d have to invest in something more secure—a child could hack one of those things. 

Lavender and linen spilled from within, enmeshed with the scent of cooked food. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. But when his eyes flit down to take in the home’s owner, it surely wasn’t…you. 

You stood halfway in the doorframe, barefoot, a faded sweatshirt slipping off one shoulder. Your hair was swept into something haphazard, and your lashes brushed against lenses that overwhelmed your face. The whole look suited you. The house suited you. 

Your smile was cautious. As was your voice. “Hi. Can I help you?”

His chest pulled. 

He could crush you. Yet something in the hulls of his psyche wanted to roll you into a ball and tuck you into his coat for safekeeping.

Remembering his purpose, Sylus cleared his throat, taking off his shades and tucking them into his shirt pocket.

He tried not to sound as disinterested as he initially felt. Tried to contain the rough gravel of his voice, figuring it would scare you off. This arrangement was growing more interesting by the second. He wanted to see it through, never one to shy away from a challenge. 

“Good afternoon. My associate reached out to you a few days ago about the room you had for rent. Is it still available?”

You squinted up at him. Eyed him warily, sheepishly scratching your cheek. He couldn’t blame you for being suspicious—he didn’t very well scream slow suburban life. 

Resigned, you huffed out a nervous laugh. “Sure is. Wanna take a look?”

You pushed the door fully open once he nodded, stepping aside.

Sylus squared his shoulders as if he were about to enter a meeting room teeming with jackals. He shouldered past you, flowing into the house like the steady crawl of smoke.

The aroma of lavender was thicker here. It smelled clean. Looked tidy.

He followed behind you, one of his steps equating to two of yours. He took stock of your home, committing its humble, lived-in layout to memory. Every plant, every frame on the wall. Knowing its setup would come in handy later.

“Sorry,” you said from your shoulder. You gave him your name, apologizing for foregoing formalities. Joked you didn’t usually let strange men into your home, so he wouldn’t have to worry about nightly visitors. 

“Hope you don’t get nosebleeds easily.”

You slowed at the foot of wooden steps, patting the handrail. Turned that endearing half-smile on him, expectant. Warmth crept into his chest as he watched you. You were so unintentionally charming that he felt his lips tilting into a smirk. 

“Not at all.”

“Good. Follow me. Room’s up top, Mister—”

He fed you his name without much thought. It was too easy to. 

It could prove to be a problem in the future. It’s not like you knew you were inviting The Boogeyman into your home—Luke and Kieran assured him they’d done a thorough scrub of your history. The worst you’d gotten was a parking ticket.

He wouldn’t put it past you, but you seemed too oblivious to be well-versed in the inner workings of the underworld. 

You’d make a good cover.

“Sylus,” you echoed as if weighing his name on your tongue, disrupting his thoughts. He found himself enjoying the way it sounded on your lips. “You look like a Sylus.”

He should’ve been insulted. Should’ve asked what the hell that meant. But as you led him up the stairs to the second landing, he could only focus on the bow of your shoulders. How your hair curled around your nape. The stale perfume dotted behind your ears. How you shook with that infectious laugh as he responded to your dry humor in kind.

Perhaps the twins hadn’t done such a shoddy job finding a safe house this time around. 

He wouldn’t tell them that—their egos were inflated enough.

—

Wordlessly, he slid into the leather seat of the SUV, shutting the door and smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt. 

He didn’t need to see behind their masks to know their grins were shit-eating. He turned his eyes to the window, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of being right.

Luke was the first to break the charged silence, shifting the vehicle into drive. “How’s that for low-profile?” 

Kieran tilted his beak up at his boss in the rearview, equally smug. 

Sylus’ jaw shifted. He perched his elbow on the doorframe, chin in palm, face an impassive mask, your house blurring in and out of focus. “Don’t get ahead of yourselves. I haven’t made a decision yet.”

An embellishment as apparent as the greenery streaking behind the window as Luke eased out of the slumbering neighborhood. Sylus had already made his choice the moment you answered the door, all short and unassuming. He gave you his business email to send the contract to.

The house was in a convenient location—far enough from his manor to conduct business without drawing suspicion. Close enough to the airport for him to disappear if it came down to that.

You living a floor below was a bonus.

—

Sylus knew you were fine. He had Mephisto keeping watch over you in his absence. 

So far, the most interesting thing on your plate during his three-day disappearing act was a drunken bout of karaoke in your living room—he had a good chuckle at that as he thumbed blood off his cheek.

Still, you were radio silent at the close of Day 3, where the other two, you bombarded him with memes and videos you swore he’d get a kick out of. 

He had an inkling of what was up, having memorized your habits like the deckled pages of a grimoire. 

Sylus had your patterns down to a science—the routes you took to and from work. The cafes you frequented during your criminally short lunch breaks. He knew your favorite spots for leisure, knew when you’d come home from a taxing day, and sit in the driveway for a bit to breathe. 

In the three months he inhabited your attic, he read you as well as he could disassemble a pistol and reconstruct it blindfolded. 

He was well-versed in how you liked your coffee—he always gave you shit for it, because could it truly be considered espresso with all that cream and sweetener? He knew how you liked your bacon—toeing the line of crispy and soft. Your preferred temperature of the house was practically encoded in his head. That laundry detergent you enjoyed so much? He made sure the cupboard above the dryer remained stocked with it.

The man studied you so much, he even had your cycle down. Filed that away in his mind three weeks into living under the same roof. 

It wasn’t weird. Not at all. Call it self-preservation. He knew better than to get between a woman and her favorite confectioneries when Mother Nature came knocking, though he did make a point to eat your ice cream whenever he could. 

What? You were lactose intolerant. He was doing you a service.

Was it concerning how well he could deconstruct your life in the short time he was your housemate? Perhaps. 

Maybe the background checks on your coworkers and neighbors were a bit excessive. And, yeah, he had to admit having the twins drive through the cul-de-sac twice a day could be considered borderline stalking. But he reasoned those were all precautionary measures. He wasn’t exactly your run-of-the-mill, blue-collar man. You had been so gracious as to take him into your home, minimal questions, no qualms. The least he could do was protect an asset.

He had to be sure you kept good company. That you were good company. 

Sylus grew to value your presence, honestly. He found himself searching for traces of you in every foreign locale he visited for his negotiations. He bought keychains and faux charms from street stalls that reminded him of you. Hoodies from various states he was sure you’d wear to threads. Made a point to snag some native snacks he knew you’d devour in one sitting. Buying you things was second nature. 

To him, he was maintaining positive relations. Deep down, you were growing on him. And people rarely grew on Sylus. 

Seated in his private jet, he scrutinized his phone with slightly pensive brows as the engines whirred to life and the pilots did their pre-flight checks. 

The last message he sent to you, alerting you to his resurgence, remained delivered since last night. Odd, but not uncommon. You had your phone virtually glued to you, unless you were at work. But given the time of the month, the harsh glare of blue light was the last thing you probably wanted to see.

Again, he assured himself you were alright. Didn’t make his blood pump any slower or his jaw any less tight. There was no telling which of his adversaries kept tabs on him from the shadows. He was a master at covering his tracks. Erasing his existence like a fleeting blip on a radar. But an occasional misstep wasn’t impossible.  

He inadvertently dragged you into his tumultuous life. You were none the wiser; he’d done an immaculate job shielding you from it thus far. But he would kick himself if anything happened to you under his watch, his protection. 

Suffice to say, he’d miss that smile. That snort when you laughed too hard. The way your face scrunched up in concentration while you hunkered over your laptop, parsing through coding for work. 

When the co-pilot eased through the aisle towards him, a courteous smile in place, letting him know they were prepared for takeoff, Sylus breathed a little easier.

“Please make it quick,” he pressured, exhaustion threading through his tone. 

The co-pilot gave him a curt nod, promptly returning to the cockpit, leaving Sylus to his own devices. 

Sylus loomed over his phone, clutched in his palm, watching you flop in a pained heap on your couch via Mephisto perched on a bookshelf.

He’d have to make a pit stop before he made it home.

—

The sun began its descent towards the horizon, bathing the neighborhood in splashes of orange and gold. The soft hush settling over the cul-de-sac was common—not much happened in your sleepy slice of serenity. A spike of urgency still propelled him over the lawn, up the steps, and to the front door. 

After scoping out the perimeter of the house, he unlocked the door and cautioned himself inside. 

The lights were off, the primary source of illumination bleeding through the slits of the blinds, signaling the day nearing its end. 

He toed off his loafers and shrugged out of his coat, neatly positioning them by the door. A telltale black bag rustled at his side as he maneuvered through the house to find you.

For a moment, his stomach dropped, a glacial drip of dread pooling low. You were facedown on the couch cushions, motionless. Mephisto roosted on your head, preening your hair like feathers.

Sylus relinquished a steadying breath from the living room’s threshold. Didn’t know why he was so worked up in the first place. The possibility of someone discovering your affiliation with him always hung overhead like a bloodied veil. It sometimes resided in the back of his mind that he would one day come home to an empty house or your lifeless husk positioned like some cruel marionette on the sofa.

But for now, you were fine. No need to worry. He allowed his lips to tug into the customary cant. Covering what distance remained, he placed the bag on the coffee table as if it were rigged to explode with the slightest pressure. 

He knelt beside the couch, shooing Mephisto away with a waggle of his fingers. For a moment, he held his breath, taking in the steady rise and fall of your back. 

Still breathing. Good. 

You were so dramatic. A mess of hair and limbs, still clad in your work attire. He raised his hand, fingers twitching with an urge to draw your hair back. You groaned, voice muffled by a throw pillow.

“If you’re here to claim my soul, take it.”

Trepidation shot white hot through him. Did…did you know?

“But only if you take my uterus, too. This shit’s busted.”

Ah. 

The panic gave way to a warm wash of relief. He flicked the back of your head, evoking a sound of protest. 

“Soul-collectors don’t normally bring gifts,” he answered, directing his attention to the table. At least, this one didn’t.

Meticulously, he began unpacking the black bag’s contents, laying them out on the glass top like a breakfast spread—dark chocolate, sushi, magnesium water, Midol, muscle relaxing cream, and ginger tea. The last to emerge was a heating pad, warmed in the car ride from the airport, lavender wafting from within. 

He positioned it over the small of your back like a peace offering. You exhaled a relieved sound, body deflating, and you turned your head from the pillow to take him in with a cracked-open eye.

“You’re home early. I take it everything at work went well.”

This time, he did sweep some hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. His fingers hovered, but he retracted them. Lips tilted into something playful. 

“Sure.” He reached out to poke your forehead center mass. “Had someone been paying attention to her messages, she would’ve noticed I wrapped things up early. But I guess she was too busy being at odds with her uterus.”

You snorted half-heartedly. “You’d understand if you had one. Like, why am I being punished for not being pregnant?”

A silver, humored brow quirked. 

You stiffened. Rolled your eyes when you recovered. “Don’t start.”

Shrugging, the spread of his lips still wolfish, he leaned against the couch on the floor. He began opening the bottle of Midol, poking through the foil, and dumped a couple of tabs onto his palm. He uncapped the water bottle next, holding both out for you to take over his shoulder.

After a few beats of silence—you swallowing down gulps of water and sighing like you’d broken through the surface tension of a pool—you sat up slowly. Fully. 

Your roommate was occupied with opening the bag of chocolates when you next spoke. 

“Do you, like, keep track of my period or something? Because that’s hella psychotic if you do. You always somehow know when I’m bleeding to death.”

Sylus scoffed. If only you knew. Or perhaps you did know more about him than you let on. He had to do a better job of running a tighter ship.

He peered at you from over his shoulder. “You’re usually quiet on the first day. You barely eat. You curl into a pathetic ball, and you bare your claws more than usual. It’s pretty easy to tell when it’s your time of the month.”

You nudged his back with your toe. He didn’t need to look to know you were pouting.

“Am I really that predictable?”

“Like rain.”

“Shut it,” you admonished, crossing your arms.

He joined you on the couch thereafter, handing you the remote and dropping a few cubes of chocolate onto your palm. As you queued up a crime documentary with a suspiciously high male body count, he took his time appraising you. 

You were definitely growing on him, taking root in his mind like a stubborn redwood. You were cute, all huffy like that, trying to pretend that his arm slung across the couch’s backrest suspiciously close to your shoulders didn’t make your skin tingle. Trying to act like you didn’t notice him watching you, your eyes fastened to the television screen, the line of your jaw rigid.

The hard lines of his face slackened the slightest bit. His chest felt lighter.

You were the break in the disorder of his life he didn’t know he needed. A reason to tie up loose ends quickly and come back.

And he was completely fine with that. 

—

Of the many threatening things Sylus had ever encountered in his life, he found you to be the most dangerous. 

This, coming from someone who modified weapons and constructed bombs like Lego sculptures. 

It was early evening when you roped him into accompanying you to a Korean market. You only needed a few things, you urged with that chest-tightening little smile. Of course, a few things always turned into a cart full of junk food. And a seemingly harmless endeavor to one place always resulted in you ending up somewhere other than what was initially planned. 

He knew how things would conclude. Yet, he always tagged along, anyway. He was starting to enjoy this domestic pocket of monotony. A break from a world that bled red. 

Besides, tonight, it was imperative that he join you.

Why?

Because you were dressed to kill in a sundress that boasted the devastation of your body. And he knew, if he were looking, throat constricting as your sandals clicked over gleaming tiles, hips swaying, back bare, he knew someone else was just as shameless.

It was borderline criminal how amazing you looked. Oblivious, you perused the aisles, rattling off things you needed under your breath. 

He followed from a comfortable distance, eyes flitting back to the shelves when he caught himself ogling you for too long. 

You had to know. Had to know how you wielded seduction like the serrated edge of a blade, and had he known any better, he’d swear you were an assassin sent to bring him to his knees. 

Your dress clung to you like snakeskin. Black, sleeveless, a slit up the back—his favorite.

Earlier, you’d been out with a few of your friends, shopping and catching up over lunch. You didn’t think to change when you came home and guilt-tripped him with those puppy eyes, coaxing him out of the house.

He should’ve said something. Should’ve brought a coat to cover you. It was five months into your acquaintanceship, and he was already fretting over your state of dress like an overbearing father. Mainly because he was a man, and he knew exactly how other men thought. 

Gratefully, the store was barren, save for the occasional older woman shuffling by with her cart. 

Nothing could’ve prepared him for when you bent down in the canned vegetable aisle, your dress riding up and boasting the backs of your knees before him. He straightened, a strained sound rending from his throat. 

To you, it was innocent as you reached towards the back of the shelf for a jar of kimchi. To him, you were temptation on legs, and had he not been a man of principle, of maddening patience, he would’ve done much more than appreciated the view.

Sylus cleared his throat, preparing to admonish you for being so clueless. But then, he felt them—heard them. Three men at the opposite side of the aisle, punks in their twenties, whispering, smirking, elbowing each other with less than savory thoughts on their breath.

He didn’t need to utter a word. He never was one to yell. Never one to beat on his chest, to gnash his teeth. Instead, he positioned himself between you and your greasy admirers, blotting out your frame with his larger one. 

He faced them with a hand stuffed in his pocket, stance lax, yet exuding a wordless threat. He wore an emotionless mask, yet his eyes gleamed like heated steel as he stared them all down. 

Their leers melted away, replaced by apprehension. Sylus didn’t flinch. He knew how to silence a room with a look alone. Three punks with their heads up their asses didn’t startle him in the slightest bit. 

Sensing their impending demise, the men scattered, comically shoving against each other to be free of that iron-clad stare. 

You turned as the last of them fled from the aisle, a question between your brows. Just in time for Sylus to face you, peering down into those round eyes, studying those puckered lips, the alluring slope of your neck.

“Are we finished here?” he pressed, plucking the jar from betwixt your fingers, and depositing it into the handbasket dangling from your wrist. 

“Almost. Why? In a hurry?” 

Your smile was ruinous. You were ruinous with your hands on your hips like that. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed, shutting his eyes as if a headache was building on the horizon. 

He pressed past you, taking the basket with him, the curl of your perfume like knockout gas to his already crowded sense.

“Because I’d rather not fight everyone here for you,” he muttered. 

You toddled curiously behind, still in that dress, still on those wedges. Still igniting every possessive synapse in his brain. Still slowly dismantling the steel wall built around the reservoir of his self-control.

He’d burn that dress when you made it home. 

—

Laundry day. 

You offered to wash a few of your roommate’s things after he returned from another real estate conference—one day, you’d fully catch on. You were already asking why he hadn’t consulted HR about how inconvenient these things were becoming.

As much as he insisted on handling his clothes himself, you pushed right back. 

He looked like shit, eyes rimmed purple, shoulders coiled. You reasoned it was the least you could do to help lighten his load. He discovered it difficult to refuse—you were more tenacious than a man at the edge of his life, begging Sylus to spare it.

Rounding the kitchen, he padded into the laundry room, the last article of clothing for wash slung over his shoulder. He stilled in the threshold, stifling a chuckle amid the scent of sun-dried linen and the soft rock of the dryer. 

You were on tippy-toe, fingers barely grazing the edge of the overhead cabinet. A glance inside revealed a box of dryer sheets just out of reach. You caught his amusement from your shoulder, eyes pleading, annoyed, calves straining.

“You just gonna stand there staring, or are you gonna help?”

He was behind you without much prompting. Close enough for static to prickle, for the sweep of your hair to barb his collarbones. You exuded warmth, the fragrance of your body wash wafting off your skin.

A hand perched on the dryer’s edge precariously close to your hip, Sylus plucked the box down, setting it on the dryer’s surface. He tensed when he realized he was caging you between the hot press of his body and warmed metal. 

Sylus stood there longer than necessary, his mind short-circuiting. Of course you wore one of those oversized sweaters, a sleeve spilling off your shoulder, bearing pretty skin beneath. His mouth watered, lids shuttering. It would’ve taken nothing to press a little closer, to angle himself down, and to blister the nook of your neck with a kiss. It’s not like he hadn’t entertained the idea before.

You cautiously turned in the breath of space between your bodies. Static spiked, electrifying the hairs littering your bodies. 

Your mouth spilled slightly open. You propped your hands on the dryer behind you, so achingly close to his. Your eyes dropped to his mouth, shrouded by bowed lashes, and he mirrored you. The world shaved itself down to this tense, pheromone-fueled point of time, the sounds attributed to your home fading into obscurity. 

He discovered himself panning in, tempted to feel the suppleness of your mouth beneath his. You drew him to you like the gravity of an accretion disk surrounding a black hole. He was sinking past your event horizon, threatening to be swallowed in your vantablack abyss and rended to atoms at your singularity.

It didn’t help that you weren’t fighting him. Weren’t shoving against his chest, not working your mouth into an excuse, not pleading for space with your eyes. 

With but an exhale of space between your quivering mouths, the universe reminded you of its existence.

It swelled back in like a tidal wave in the form of your Roomba chiming that obnoxious sound and startling to life. 

You both eyed it with varying degrees of surprise as it mechanically swept over the tiled floor, unaware of the moment it dispelled. Sylus would have to modify it again. The thing had infuriating timing.

As if remembering yourselves, the pair of you sprang apart, excuses sloping off your tongue. You swept shaky hands over your hair, lips pulling into something anxious, and Sylus stepped back to ground himself.

“Sorry,” he rasped, swiping his tongue over his lips. 

He threw the last of his clothes into the washer while you fought to bring your pulse down. Retreating from the laundry room, his skin still hummed from the pressure of your body so close. From the prospect of him almost kissing you.

He didn’t want to stop. And from the looks of it, neither did you. Tension was piling between you lately like a powdery blanket of snow.

For now, he couldn’t afford to let go. Not yet. Not until he was sure he could keep you safe and blind to the world he erected himself, brick by bloodied brick.

tags: @secretkiseki @beesin03 @animecrazy76 @blessdunrest @peascribbles @thirstblogforaparchedgirl @raginginferno267 @dyeinsomniadontwake @satansdaughter123 @nerezzaworlds-blog

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[sixeyesonathiel]

warmth waits here

artic fox hybrid satoru x bunny hybrid reader, fluff, 1.4k wc.

a/n: ik artic foxes are small but i promise i did this on purpose. he’s simply got that tall frame that makes the whole cute, fluffy hybrid thing a little more fun. honestly, the contrast is what makes it work! i just can't picture him as a super serious snow leopard—he's too silly and mischievous for that for me :P

the marketplace buzzes with early chatter, snow crunching under the boots of villagers wrapped in thick wool and fur, faces flushed with cold and laughter. the scent of spiced bread, pine sap, and roasted chestnuts curls in the winter air, curling through stalls adorned with ribbons, baubles, and hand-carved trinkets that shimmer under the pale sunlight. garlands of dried berries and leaves twist around the beams of merchant stalls, the gentle flicker of lanterns fighting against the crisp morning.

but satoru—tail high and white as new snow, ears twitching with every rustle of fabric and step—isn’t interested in trinkets or tarts. no, his pale blue gaze has already locked onto something far sweeter.

there you are.

nestled beneath a thick cloak two sizes too big, arms bundled with soft herbs and neatly folded cloth, your nose pink from the bite of the cold. bunny ears droop with the quiet exhaustion of someone who hasn’t quite woken up yet. your steps are soft, barely lifting from the ground, the pads of your feet muffled in plush boots. you move like a drifting snowflake, light and almost hesitant to land, the frost clinging to your lashes like sugar dusted on bread.

his prey.

“you always look like you’re about to collapse,” satoru calls, voice slow and syrupy like warm syrup, echoing slightly from his perch atop the wooden railing near the frozen fountain. one leg dangles, the other propped up lazily, and his fur-lined coat flutters just slightly in the breeze, pale strands of hair catching the golden morning light.

his words hang in the air, little clouds of teasing warmth.

you jump a little, surprised, then glance up, hugging your bundle tighter. cheeks puffed with embarrassment, ears twitching low. your eyes widen, lashes already dusted with frost. “i’m okay...” you mumble, voice thick with sleep, soft and small. your fingers tighten their grip on the herbs as if they might anchor you.

he grins wide enough to flash fang.

“mmhmm. you sure you didn’t dream-walk here?” he leans forward dramatically. “say, wanna trade your bundle for a pastry and a scandalous rumor about the florist’s cat?”

you blink up at him, bewildered. “…what?”

he’s already leaping down, landing with a fox-like bounce, snow scattering around his boots. his white tail flicks with satisfaction, brushing against the hem of your cloak in passing.

“too late. i insist. i, as your future husband, demand you rest those dainty arms before you crumple like a croissant.”

“you’re not—” your voice pitches up slightly, flustered. “you’re not my husband...”

“yet,” he chimes sweetly, already plucking the bundle from your arms with careful fingers. he sniffs it. “mmm. rosemary. calming. you sure you don’t make these just so you can be the softest thing in the square?”

“...this isn’t how people court,” you murmur, your hands hovering awkwardly, the absence of the bundle leaving your arms oddly empty.

“elaborate schemes. dramatic entrances. feeding you things with frosting. and occasionally stealing your laundry to return it folded with a single flower tucked inside. classic wooing.”

you don’t know what to say to that.

he pauses, this time his voice dipping lower, his teasing smile gentling as his ears lower just a fraction. “you look like you didn’t sleep again. nightmares?”

there’s something about his tone—soft, aware—that makes your ears twitch.

you swallow. the dreams had been full of shifting forests and dark water, thorns under your feet, voices calling out in languages you couldn’t understand. things that linger like smoke even after waking.

“…yeah,” you whisper. “just... dreams.”

“don’t make that face,” he murmurs, adjusting the bundle in his arms carefully like it’s something precious. he tucks it neatly into the crook of his elbow, one hand splaying protectively over the folded cloth before offering you his free hand. his claws are tucked in, his fur warm against the blue cuff of his sleeve. snowflakes melt instantly where they touch.

“c’mon. i know a place. it’s sunny. quiet. no nosey villagers. i won’t even flirt.” he pauses, tilts his head. “much.”

you hesitate. the chill nips at your ankles, the bustle behind you feels too loud, and he’s watching you with that look—playful, yes, but not insincere. he jingles the bundle lightly like a promise.

“…okay,” you say softly.

you take his hand.

his fingers curl around yours immediately, warm, protective. the pads of his hand brush yours, and you shiver, not from the cold. your ears flush pink. he says nothing.

he just walks with you, tail swaying in rhythm beside your boots, the snow crunching under every step. he holds your bundle with absurd grace, adjusting it when the breeze tries to nip at the fabric, fingers brushing a bit of frost from the top. the walk takes you beyond the village’s edge, to the lake where bare trees arch like sleepy sentinels. a crooked birch stands alone near the edge, its bark ghost-pale, branches catching the gold-thread light.

“tada,” he says, tone grand. he kicks snow off a flat rock, then shrugs off his coat and spreads it out with a practiced flourish. “for her highness, the sleepy bunny.”

“you’re ridiculous,” you whisper, but your lips twitch.

you sit. the rock is cold, but his coat is thick and still carries the scent of him—snow, cedar, something faintly sweet like frozen berries. he places your bundle beside you with a precision that borders on reverence.

he sits beside you, close enough to share warmth. shoulder to shoulder. then, without a word, he wraps his tail around both your laps, plush and snowy, a gentle shield. your bundle rests neatly at your side, exactly how you held it, herbs tucked safe under the folded cloth.

this time, you really don’t complain.

the world seems to hold its breath. even the wind softens, rustling only the tips of brittle grass peeking through the snow. somewhere in the distance, a single bird sings—low and tentative, like it, too, is unsure if it’s safe to speak.

you lean into him slowly, unsure at first, like a leaf settling on water. your head finds his shoulder, ear brushing against the fur of his collar, and stay there. he stiffens for the briefest second—he always does when touch surprises him—but then exhales, long and low. a curl of white mist leaves his mouth and fades into the cold air.

your weight is so slight, it’s almost imagined. but he feels every bit of it.

your lashes flutter, your eyes barely open now, lips parted in the kind of drowsy calm he never quite understands—how someone so soft can still make him feel like his chest is being split open.

he turns his head, just a little. enough to catch the way your nose scrunches faintly in the cold, how the tips of your ears twitch even as sleep edges close. the white fur of his tail flicks once, then settles again across both your laps like a quilt.

“you know,” he murmurs, his voice nearly lost to the hush of winter, “most prey run from foxes.”

his breath stirs a few strands of your hair. he doesn’t know why he says it. maybe because silence is dangerous when his thoughts start pressing too close. maybe because he’s a little afraid of how quiet his heart becomes when you’re near—like even that part of him pauses to listen to you breathe.

your answer comes slow, slurred with sleep. “maybe i’m just too tired.”

your head tilts more fully into the crook of his neck. the warmth of your breath blooms faint against his skin, like thaw spreading across frost. it lingers, and so does the thud of his heartbeat against the cage of his ribs.

he lets out a small huff of laughter—barely there. his grin softens into something quieter, more real. something that would slip away if anyone else looked too long. “lucky for me,” he says, almost under his breath.

he doesn’t move. not even when his arm goes numb beneath you. not even when snow begins to fall again, soft as powdered sugar. he just sits there, holding still like the world might shatter if he disturbs it. if he disturbs you.

and as your breathing evens out, warm and close, satoru finds himself watching the clouds shift above the lake—quiet, unhurried.

for once, he thinks, he doesn’t mind staying still. not if it means you’ll be here when he does.

[never-rxne]

─── put it straight

content warnings: heavy angst, substance abuse (shimmer), violence, brief suggestive descriptions - read at your own discretion

summary: you break up with sevika. she falls apart.

wc: 1.7k

"i don't think love can change, how could all that passion change? you must be lying, but if you're not tell me you don't love me now if you leave me, i'll end up like this could you still leave me, even if i end up like this?" — (G)I-DLE. “Put It Straight (Nightmare Ver)"

Sevika tells herself she doesn’t need you. And if she ever did, she never will again. 

Forget everything. She’s good at forgetting. Since a tender age she’s become an expert at burying unwanted memories in the bottom of a bottle. 

Seven days since you left. Seven things to forget. 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The first thing is the sound of your voice. 

She hears it everywhere. It's the hardest thing to escape. In crowded marketplaces, on the harbor, in her dreams. 

The last thing you said to her before you walked out the door. The words like stones sinking into water, disappearing into the murky depths, never to be retrieved. 

“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t save you from yourself.”

When Sevika heard this, she had only laughed. What was it supposed to mean? Who said she needed to be saved? 

You were the one who didn’t understand. 

Your anger. The fear in your eyes whenever she stumbled home with the pink blaze in her pupils. She didn’t get it. She didn’t get the way your voice grew tight, the way your hands shook as you bandaged her injuries, wiped the blood from her face. 

If you were afraid of her, it would have been different. But it wasn’t that. You were afraid for her. 

She can’t eat, the food sticks in her throat. She can’t sleep, you return to her mercilessly, and sometimes you’re angry at her the way you were when you left, sometimes she wakes up with the ghost sting of your palm against her cheek or the sound of your voice still ringing in her ears. 

You said, “I can’t save you from yourself.”

In her dreams the words change. Now you’re laughing at her, hysterically, feverishly. 

You’re saying, “I don’t love you. I never loved you. I should’ve seen this coming.” 

She wants to tell you not to leave. Over and over again she watches you walk out the door, but she can’t say a word. Not a single fucking word. 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The second thing is your touch. 

The way your tongue felt between her legs, the way you dug your nails into the muscles of her thighs as she ground herself against your open mouth, making sounds that she would have been ashamed to hear from herself if she weren’t so far gone. 

The way you kissed her, clung to her like she would save you. The way you wrapped your legs around her waist and planted kisses along the scars on her body, the way you whispered of her beauty into her skin, making her shiver. 

The tender way you held her at night, the way she lay her head in the pillow of your lap and let her eyes close as you stroked her hair. 

The feeling of your grip on her arm when you walked through the streets to keep up with her long strides. As if you needed her. As if you couldn’t stand to let her go. 

Sevika doesn’t look for it anywhere else. She doesn’t go anywhere near Babette’s. She can’t. Every face is loathsome because it isn’t yours. The very thought of another woman on her skin makes her nerves burn. 

She wants you, damn it, she misses the warmth of your back against her stomach when you were curled up against her. 

The silence of an empty apartment, the chill of an empty bed, is there anything worse than that? 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The third thing is the rain. 

It was pouring in torrents the first night she had to sleep without you. The wind howled between the buildings and the thunder roared with a vengeance above the silent neon city. 

Sevika listened to the sheets of rain hurling against the grimy glass of the windows and wondered where you were sleeping. If you were thinking about her at all. If you had been caught in the rain, or if you were safe somewhere warm and dry. 

She tried not to think about the way you’d towel her hair dry if she was caught in a storm on the way home, saying sweet nothings, nagging that she’d catch her death even though both of you knew Sevika does not get sick. The laughs you shared as you ran the hot baths for her after a grueling day of shipments and warehouse checks for Silco. 

You would say with a smile, “Where would you be without me? Hmm?” 

Sevika doesn’t know. She genuinely doesn’t know. 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The fourth thing is Shimmer. 

Before she met you, Shimmer meant nothing more to her than a necessity, a tool. Rip it through her bloodstream, make everything more efficient. 

When you were with her, it was the subject of every fight—she couldn’t understand why you were so hellbent on keeping her from using it, why you pleaded with her time and time again not to use it, why you insisted that anyone else could fuck themselves over with Shimmer for all you cared, just as long as it wasn’t her. 

“It’s killing you,” you would say. “I can’t lose you. You’re all I’ve got.”

After you leave, it becomes a lifeline. She keeps the capsules in a belt slung over her shoulder. Takes them with complete abandon. Three at a time in every fight just to feel like she was somebody, just to feel invincible the way she had before you came along and unravelled her, made her fall to pieces, then left the fragments on the floor. 

When she fights on Shimmer, she can leave herself for a little while. Never mind the comedown. Blood, everything is drenched in blood now. Blood on her hands, blood under her nails, blood staining her clothes, the tang of it in her mouth, the vivid blaze of it in her eyes, roaring in her ears. 

She becomes the monster you told her she was not. 

Without you, there is nothing to keep her human. Nothing tying the fragile organ of her heart to something real.  

 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The fifth thing is pain. 

Maybe she’d gotten used to having you patch her up. Maybe she’d grown to take it for granted that there’d be someone to look after her when she stumbled in bloody and broken, head reeling with the comedown from Shimmer. Someone to force her to slow down. 

Now as she leans against the wall in the darkness of an alley, breathing through broken ribs, as she fumbles for the syringe of Shimmer that will mend the bones even as it poisons her blood, she tries not to think of you. She tries not to think of what you’d say, how you’d look at her. 

You were so kind. You were so kind to her. 

No one will ever care about her like that again. 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The sixth thing is the loneliness. 

It doesn’t hit her as hard during the day, when she’s on her feet from the crack of dawn to nightfall, running jobs for Silco and keeping the goons at the harbor in check. 

Only when she finds herself on the floor of the apartment surrounded by empty bottles and hollow Shimmer capsules, only when she catches glimpses of her reflection, the haggard eyes and unwashed hair, does it sink in that you have left her and she is alone again. 

Have you moved on? Over and over again she wonders. Have you moved on already? Have you forgotten her already? 

Her devotion to you had always frightened her a little. The way you looked at her and seemed to see her. You saw her for who she was, you peeled back the layers of toughened skin until she stood bare and vulnerable before you. You saw beyond her roughness, her silence. You saw her—the cracks in her skin, the broken parts, the ugly parts, the hidden parts. Yet you stayed. 

She had driven you away, and she knows this. Back then it had seemed so easy. She had seen you as a distraction from the cause, she tried to tell herself that it was a good thing you left. 

Why, why, then, does it feel like something vital has been torn out of her insides? 

Why does it feel like something in her snapped when you shut the door behind you, why does it feel like she is constantly bleeding internally? 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The seventh thing… The seventh thing is you. 

She needs to erase you, wash you away in the cruel waves of time. 

Even if it means leaving it all behind. The soft moments, the tender moments, the moments where she felt, even for a brief while, that she was something worthy of love. 

She works harder than ever. She doesn’t let herself sleep. She doesn’t go near the places she used to go with you—she doesn’t even walk through the Last Drop anymore, because that’s where you met her—she reaches Silco’s office by the back stairs. 

She drinks to forget, until your face begins to blur in her memory like a ruined watercolor portrait. She drinks to swallow the sound of your voice. 

I can’t do this anymore. I can’t save you from yourself. 

DON’T LEAVE. DON’T LEAVE DON’T LEAVE DON’T LEAVE, FOR JANNA’S SAKE DON’T LEAVE. 

She fights to feel something, taking on Silco’s assignments with cold, grim eagerness. The heat of Shimmer rippling in her veins. She becomes something else. Her vision distorts, her throat scraped dry from the yells of rage, her mech arm like a separate creature, insatiable in its bloodlust. 

I can’t save you from yourself.

Who said you had to? Who said who said who said? All you had to do was stay. 

This is all your fault. 

I don’t love you, I never did.

Don’t leave. Please, don’t leave. 

The body falls at her feet. The Shimmer drains from her arm. As it powers down she feels her body crumple. She sees the corpse, she sees the hollow eye of the moon above the buildings, watching her without comment. As she sinks down against the wall, as her consciousness begins to slip from her, she finds herself mumbling your name. 

She can’t forget. She will never forget.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

end note: i swear this was gonna end well but then it turned into a monstrosity of angst.. i'm so sorry. blame (g)i-dle. i've been listening to this song on repeat

[eelnoise]

currents

roronoa zoro x gn!reader cw: fluff. giving zoro some much needed validation. established relationship wc: 3.2k an: it's been a while, hasn't it? ao3 link

beneath the safety of a sea cave large enough to house the thousand sunny, the straw hat pirates dock on a modest island, its location far from the nearby village to remain unnoticed. the cavern’s towering rocky walls cast long shadows, shielding the crew from view, while the sea carries the scent of damp stone and salt, mingling with the faint echo of waves crashing against the it’s mouth.

eager to stretch their land legs, the crew wastes no time in disembarking. they split up almost immediately, each drawn to their own interests—some head to the market, some to the beach, and the rest scatter to explore the town’s hidden corners. zoro starts to wander off on his own, one hand lazily resting atop the swords at his side and his expression focused, but makes it no more than five feet away from the others before a hand gently wraps around his wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

“not so fast,” you say, touch still resting lightly on his arm as his gaze tilts down to meet yours. “where to? i’ll come with ya.” while your tone is light, it’s a firm one that leaves no room for argument—you're tagging along with him, though happy to let him lead the way, whatever that looks like. 

zoro grumbles something about “not needing a babysitter”, but he doesn’t protest. instead he gestures vaguely toward the path ahead and starts walking, his pace slow to allow you to keep up.

the village is a vibrant mix of tropical greenery and a lively marketplace, its narrow streets bustling with midday activity. merchants call out to passersby, their stalls overflowing with colorful fruits, handmade trinkets, and the occasional exotic spice. the air is thick with fresh produce and salty sea breeze, joined by the sounds of the day-to-day clientele. it’s the kind of place that just feels alive, every corner teeming with energy and life.

he leads you through its winding roads, his sense of direction as unreliable as ever, but eventually, you reach a quiet spot near the edge of town where the bustling markets give way to dense forest. the clearing he finds seems perfect for training—shaded by tall trees, with enough room for him to swing his swords without worry.

silently, he shrugs off his green coat and tosses it in your direction, trusting you to catch it before unsheathing two of his three swords. he begins with a series of fluid, precise strikes, the blades cutting through the thin nothing with a whistle. even without anything to land blows upon, his focus is unwavering, his body moving with the kind of practiced ease that comes from years of discipline.

you settle nearby, draping his coat over your lap as you lean against a tree. the rhythmic sound of his movements blends with the distant hum of the town. for a moment, you wish you had brought a book along—something to pass the time while he trains. but then again, watching him isn’t exactly a hardship. 

as the sun climbs higher in the sky, the watch on your wrist chimes softly, signaling that it’s time to regroup with the crew. you glance over at zoro, who’s mid-swing, his movements precise and his focus unshakable.

“time to head back for lunch,” you call out, holding up your wrist to show him the watch, though you know he doesn’t need proof. “unless you’d rather keep training?” you add, a teasing lilt to your tone.

zoro pauses mid-swing, his blades freezing as he turns to look at you. his brow furrows for a moment, and you can almost see the internal debate playing out in his head—training versus food. but then his stomach growls loudly, betraying him, and he lets out a grunt, sheathing his swords with a practiced flick of his wrists. “food first,” he mutters, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “i can come back to this.”

you can’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you stand to hand him his coat. “thought so.”

—--

the walk back into town is quiet, the two of you navigating the maze of streets side by side, your steps falling into an easy rhythm. the sound of laughter and clinking dishes spills out into the street as you push open the door of the tavern, and the warm, inviting atmosphere quickly envelops you. the rest of the crew is already gathered around a large table, their voices rising and falling in animated conversation.

the bar is lively and ripe with the clatter of dishes, the hum of conversation, and the occasional burst of laughter. zoro slides into a seat across from you, his swords propped against the wall beside him. he grabs a tankard of ale from a passing server, taking a long drink before setting it down with a satisfied sigh. you settle into your seat, your own drink in hand, content to listen to the chatter around you.

already halfway through a mountain of meat, luffy’s enthusiasm remains undiminished by the sheer volume of food in front of him while sanji flits between the table and the kitchen, much to the visible annoyance of the tavern staff. he’s not cooking this time, but that hasn’t stopped him from swooping in to carry plates to the table, adjust the presentation of dishes, and interrogate the chefs about their seasoning choices. 

franky and robin are seated nearby, their heads bent together as they discuss something in hushed tones, though robin occasionally glances up to watch sanji’s antics with an amused smile.

the meal is in full swing, the table alive with chatter and clinking dishes, when nami’s voice cuts through the noise, sharp and pointed. “—and don’t think i’ve forgotten about the 10,000 berries you owe me, zoro,” she says, her tone dripping with mock sweetness as she leans forward, her eyes glinting with mischief. “you know, for that incident with my ledger last week.”

zoro, who had been mid-bite, sets his chopsticks down with a clink, his scowl deepening. “i already told you, i didn’t ruin your stupid ledger. you left it on the deck. that’s on you.”

nami’s eyes narrow, her smile turning dangerous. “oh, so it’s my fault you decided to drink like a maniac and spill sake all over it? typical.” she crosses her arms, leaning back in her chair. “face it, zoro. you’re just bad with anything that doesn’t involve swinging a sword or napping.”

zoro rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “whatever, witch. just add it to my tab.”

sanji, who had been setting a plate of food in front of robin, immediately turns on zoro, his face red with anger. “don’t you dare call nami-swan a witch, you brute!”

zoro doesn’t even look at him, his tone dismissive. “shut the hell up, love-cook. no one even asked you.”

nami, seeing an opportunity to twist the knife, smirks and leans forward. “you sure you’re any better than he is, zoro? at least sanji’s obvious about it. you think we don’t notice how you act when someone’s around?” she tilts her head meaningfully in your direction, her grin widening. “you’re softer than a marshmallow, and it’s almost worse because you don’t even realize you’re doing it.”

the two burst into laughter, their voices ringing out above the noise of the tavern. the rest of the crew, engrossed in their own conversations, barely notice the exchange. zoro’s face darkens, his scowl deepening into a face of sudden rage as he slams his chopsticks down on the table.

he stands abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the wooden floor, and storms out of the tavern without another word. the table falls silent for a moment, the crew exchanging uneasy glances, before the chatter slowly resumes.

you scowl, pinching the bridge of your nose as you glance between them. “you three are going to be the fucking death of me,” you mutter, your voice low but strong enough to cut through their laughter. they pause, looking at you with a mix of amusement and guilt, but you don’t give them a chance to respond. pushing your chair back, you stand and follow zoro, ignoring the curious looks from the rest of the crew.

the cool afternoon air hits you as you step outside, and you scan the bustling street for any sign of zoro. it doesn’t take long to spot him—his green hair and imposing figure being hard to miss in a crowd. he’s already halfway down the street, his shoulders tense and his fists clenched at his sides.

you call out to him, quickening your pace to catch up. he doesn’t stop, but he doesn’t tell you to leave him alone either. you fall into step beside him, matching his long strides as he leads you toward the edge of town. the sounds of the port fade behind you, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the distant call of seabirds. you don’t say anything, giving him the space he needs, but your presence alone is a quiet reminder that you’re not going anywhere.

the two of you walk in silence until you reach a quiet spot near where the forest meets the sea, where the bustling streets give way to a small, secluded clearing. a large, flat rock sits nestled under the shade of a towering palm tree, and zoro heads straight for it, dropping onto the surface with a heavy sigh. you sit down beside him, close enough to offer comfort but not so close that it feels intrusive. for a while, neither of you speaks. the only sounds are the rustle of leaves in the breeze and the distant crash of waves against the shore.

zoro’s shoulders are still tense, his teeth clenching as he stares at the ground. you don’t push him, letting the silence stretch between you. finally, after what feels like an eternity, he huffs and runs a hand through his hair. “am i really like that?” he asks, his voice low and gruff, like the words are being dragged out of him against his will. he doesn’t look at you, but you can hear the frustration in his tone. “do i really… act different when you’re around?”

you glance at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his question. “different how?” you ask gently, giving him the space and time to explain himself.

he hesitates, brow furrowing as he struggles to find the right words. “i don’t know. softer. like i’m… like i’m not as strong as i should be.” his voice trails off, and he clenches his fists, clearly frustrated with himself. “i don’t want to be seen as weak. i can’t afford to be weak. not when i’ve got a promise to keep.”

you frown, turning to face him fully. “caring about someone doesn’t make you weak.” you reach out, brushing your fingers lightly against the back of his hand, a small but deliberate gesture to ground him. “it just makes you human, and i think it’s a sign of strength to realize that being human can be a boon.” 

you let the words hang for a moment, watching as his mouth tightens and his gaze flickers to yours before looking away again. “and who cares what they think anyway?” you add, your tone condensed but not unkind. “they're just trying to get under your skin. they don’t get to decide what you are or aren’t.”

he doesn’t respond right away, his gaze fixed on the ground. you can see the conflict in his expression, watching as he wrestles with his thoughts. finally, he lets out a frustrated breath and shakes his head. 

“but i don’t even know how to be a… a—” he pauses, and you can hear him swallow hard, like the words are stuck in his throat. “—whatever this is,” he finishes, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. his voice is quieter now, almost uncertain.

you tilt your head, studying him carefully. “what do you want it to be?” you ask, your voice soft but steady. “this thing between us—it doesn’t have to fit into some box. we get to decide what it means.”

zoro lets out an intense exhale, his shoulders slumping slightly as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “that’s the problem. i don’t know what it means. i don’t even know how to—” he cuts himself off, his jaw tightening as he struggles to articulate his thoughts. “i’ve never had to think about this kind of stuff before. it’s… hard.”

you smile faintly, your hand still resting lightly against his. “you don’t have to have all the answers right now. but you can’t just ignore it, either. not if it’s bothering you this much.”

he looks at you then, his gaze searching yours for a moment before he looks away again. “it’s just—,” he mutters, but there’s no real bite to his words. “i don’t want to mess this up.”

“you won’t,” you say simply, your voice firm. “not if you’re honest with yourself.”

zoro is quiet for a long moment, his fingers flexing against the rock beneath him. the silence between you is comfortable, though, and you don’t push him to fill it. instead, you sit there beside him, your presence a quiet reminder that you’re not going anywhere. eventually, he lets out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. 

“i’ll figure it out,” he says finally, his voice low but resolute. “just… give me some time.”

you nod, squeezing his hand lightly before pulling away. “take all the time you need. i’m not going anywhere.”

he glances at you then, his expression softening just enough for you to notice. “you’re stubborn, you know that?” he says, his tone dry but with a hint of amusement.

you grin, leaning back on your hands. “takes one to know one.”

zoro huffs out a laugh, the sound rough but genuine, and for the first time since you left the tavern, the tension in his shoulders seems to ease. the two of you sit there in silence for a while longer, the weight of his unspoken thoughts hanging in the air. but for now, it’s enough just to be there with him, offering the quiet reassurance he needs.

—--

a week and a half passes, and they find themselves hastily docking at another island to allow franky to work his magic on the patch-job after an unexpected storm damages part of the thousand sunny’s rigging, a few insist on taking the opportunity to top off their stores and supply.

in the days since your conversation with zoro, things between you have remained the same—comfortable, familiar, and unspoken. he hasn’t pulled away or acted differently, and neither have you. if anything, there’s a quiet understanding between you now, a sense of patience as he works through his thoughts. 

the ship is quiet with most of the crew either asleep or still in the village, enjoying the island’s nightlife. you’re on your way back to your room after helping sanji organize the pantry when you pass by zoro’s door. just as you’re about to walk past, the door slides open, and a strong hand grabs your shoulder, pulling you inside before you can react.

“zoro—?” you start, but the words are cut off as he pulls you into a tight bear hug, his arms wrapping around you with a firmness that leaves no room for escape. you can feel the warmth of his chest against yours, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, and the faint scent of steel and sweat that always seems to cling to him.

you don’t hesitate, wrapping your arms around him in return and hugging him just as tightly. you know better than to question when zoro initiates physical affection. instead, you let the silence speak for itself, the quiet understanding between you filling the room.

“zoro?” you ask again, your voice muffled against his shoulder. “you okay?”

he doesn’t answer right away, just holds you there for a moment, his grip unyielding but not uncomfortable. finally, he lets out a quiet breath, his voice low and rough. “yeah. just… happy you’re here.”

after a moment, he loosens his grip slightly but doesn’t let go. you can feel the tension in his shoulders, the way he’s still wrestling with something he can’t quite put into words. 

“i’m happy too,” you murmur, your thumb brushing lightly over his cheek before cupping it in your palm gently. zoro leans into the touch almost unintentionally, his features softening under your hand. “really happy.”

zoro’s brow furrows slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. instead, his hands rest loosely on your hips. “happy, huh?” he asks like he’s still trying to wrap his head around the idea.

“yeah,” you say softly, your voice steady and sure. “being here with you, like this… it means a lot to me. more than i can really put into words.”

he looks at you for a long moment, his gaze searching yours as if looking for confirmation. you can see the conflict in his eyes, the way he’s still trying to reconcile his feelings with the image he’s always had of himself. but then, slowly, his expression softens, and he lets out a quiet breath, his shoulders relaxing under your touch.

“you make it sound so simple,” he mutters, his tone dry but without any real bite.

“because it doesn’t have to be complicated,” you reply, smiling faintly. “whatever this is,” you add, waving a hand in the space between the two of you.

zoro looks at you for a long moment, his hands tightening slightly on your hips while a grin plays at the corners of his lips. then, without a word, he leans down, closing the distance between you. his lips meet yours in a kiss that’s soft, deliberate, and a quiet affirmation of everything he hasn’t been able to say. you kiss him back without hesitation, your fingers sliding into his hair as you pull him closer.

the kiss is tender, unhurried, and full of the understanding that’s always been between you. it’s not the first time you’ve kissed him, but it feels different this time—deeper, more intentional. like he’s finally letting himself be fully present in the moment, without the walls he usually keeps up.

when you finally pull back, zoro rests his forehead against yours, his breathing slow and steady. “you’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” he says, unable to hide his fondness. 

you laugh softly, your hands still resting against his face. “takes one to know one.”

he huffs out a quiet laugh, his arms tightening around you as he pulls you into another hug. this one is less intense than the first, but no less meaningful. you can feel the tension in his shoulders easing, the way he’s finally starting to let go of the weight he’s been carrying.

for a moment, the two of you simply stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the quiet of the room wrapping around you like a blanket. but then zoro shifts, his hands sliding up to cradle your face as he leans in again, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s softer, deeper, and far more confident than before. this time, there’s no hesitation, no unspoken question hanging between you—just the quiet certainty that this is where you’re both meant to be.

[honeyhaeya]

I was up all night thinking about a wonwoo fic. Bunny hybrid x Wonwoo. it just fits wonwoo more cus like, he's a nerd, and a computer kind of guy, going to the dark internet just to explore some sht or for fun then he comes across a bunny hybrid for sale in the marketplace. Please notice. Ily and thankyou <3 (ps. i chose to request this to you cus i love your fics sm)

Lean On Me - 내게 기대

Jeon Wonwoo x F!Reader

genre / tags: fluff, smut, hurt/comfort, hybrid AU, bunny!reader x human!wonwoo, gentle dom!wonwoo, breeding Kink (mild undertones), cockwarming (i will never shut up about wonwoo cockwarming), aftercare, established feelings warnings: NSFW (18+ only): explicit smut, detailed descriptions of sexual acts, hybrid characteristics (reader has bunny ears, slight animalistic instincts), mentions of past mistreatment/trauma (handled with care), overstimulation, clingy/intimate dynamic due to reader’s heat cycle, emotional vulnerability during aftercare. smut warnings: fingering, oral (f. receiving), penetration (piv), breeding kink implications (no pregnancy mentioned), cockwarming 9it's just so wonwoo), unprotected sex, sensual dominance from wonwoo, consensual and soft tone throughout. wc: 10,379 a/n: i think i've been writing wonwoo fics too much. i'm in love with jeonghan pls come back. (honestly, i love wonwoo sm too). DON'T LIKE DON"T READ please wtf this is animal play. seventeen taglist: @archivistworld <33 (no pressure, but if you want to be added on my taglists, there's a form i made (check my pinned post and click on "join taglist".) Preview: "Wonwoo’s fingers traced along the edge of your thigh, moving with a patience that made you ache even more. The heat within you pulsed stronger with every gentle touch, every whispered reassurance. ‘Wonwoo... please,’ you whimpered, burying your face in his chest as your tears soaked into his shirt. His voice was low, soothing, as he kissed the crown of your head. ‘I know, bunny. Let me take care of you.’ When his fingers slipped inside you, the relief was instant yet fleeting. The heat still burned, demanding more. And as his lips brushed against your own, you knew you were in safe hands, even as your instincts screamed for something primal.In the aftermath, with his shirt draped over you and his scent everywhere, you curled into his chest. Wonwoo's fingers lazily stroked your ears, his quiet promise lingering in the air. ‘I’ll keep you safe, always.’”

Wonwoo sat in the dim light of his apartment, the soft hum of his computer the only sound in the room. The clock on the wall ticked past 2 a.m., but sleep was the last thing on his mind. He leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping rhythmically against the keyboard as he navigated a hidden marketplace on the dark web.

The site's interface was crude, with grainy images and glitchy text. He wasn't here for anything specific—this was just something he did when he was bored. It wasn't about breaking laws or finding trouble. For Wonwoo, the dark web was a rabbit hole of bizarre curiosities: forums about conspiracy theories, marketplaces selling counterfeit antiques, and coded discussions he'd never understand. Tonight, however, something caught his eye.

A new listing had appeared at the top of the page:

"Hybrid Companion for Sale - Limited Edition, One of a Kind."

The thumbnail image showed a woman, or at least, what looked like one. She had delicate bunny ears that drooped slightly, pale white skin, and wide, doe-like eyes that seemed to stare right through the screen. Her hair was soft and silvery, cascading over her shoulders like freshly fallen snow.

Wonwoo furrowed his brows, unsure whether to laugh or close the tab. "What the hell?" he muttered under his breath, leaning closer. It had to be a hoax, right? Some twisted art project or a desperate scam. But the listing's details were oddly... thorough:

"Bunny Hybrid #1438 Condition: New, untested. Perfect for companionship. Compliant and affectionate. Warning: For indoor use only. Price: 0.15 BTC (approx. ₩5,850,300 KRW - 4,000 USD) Delivery: Discreet, within 48 hours."

Wonwoo's skepticism grew. Untested? Indoor use? The phrasing felt clinical, like she was some kind of product. A chill ran down his spine, but curiosity gnawed at him. He clicked the listing.

The description expanded, revealing more photos. They showed her sitting on a minimalist chair in an empty white room, her ears twitching slightly. She wore a simple white dress, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The closer he looked, the harder it was to dismiss her as a mannequin or a clever CGI creation. She looked alive.

Wonwoo's hand hovered over the keyboard. This was insane. Why was he even considering this? But something about her expression in the photos stopped him. She didn't look scared or sad—just... empty, like she didn't know she was being sold.

"It's fake," he told himself. "It's probably fake."

But the listing had a countdown timer. "Auction closes in 10 minutes."

Before he knew it, Wonwoo had opened his crypto wallet. His fingers moved on autopilot, transferring the required amount to the provided address. The process felt surreal, like he was watching someone else make the decision for him. When the transaction confirmed, he stared at the screen, half expecting the site to crash or for the listing to disappear.

Instead, a message popped up: "Purchase Confirmed. Delivery instructions will follow shortly."

His stomach twisted. What had he just done?

Minutes later, an encrypted email arrived with a single line of text:

"Pick-up location: [Redacted]. Arrive at 11 p.m. tomorrow. Alone."

Wonwoo closed the laptop and pressed his palms against his face. This was either the biggest mistake of his life or the start of something he couldn't quite name.

The next night, Wonwoo pulled his hoodie tighter around himself as he approached the location—an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. The air was damp, and the faint sound of dripping water echoed in the distance. His heart raced, every instinct screaming at him to turn back.

Inside, the space was dimly lit, with a single crate in the center of the room. No guards, no people. Just the crate.

He approached cautiously, his footsteps echoing against the concrete floor. The crate was wooden, with slats that allowed him to see inside. He crouched down, peering through the gaps.

You were there, curled up and motionless. Your bunny ears twitched slightly, the only sign you were alive. Up close, you looked even more delicate. Your pale skin seemed to glow faintly under the dim light, and your breathing was soft and steady. You wore the same white dress from the photos, now slightly crumpled.

Wonwoo swallowed hard, unsure of what to do. He tapped lightly on the crate.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you sat up slowly, your gaze locking onto his. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, you tilted your head, your bunny ears perking up slightly as if studying him.

"Hey," he said awkwardly. "I'm... Wonwoo."

You didn't respond, your expression unreadable. Slowly, you reached out, pressing your hand against the slats of the crate. Your fingers were slender, your nails neatly trimmed. Wonwoo hesitated before pressing his own hand against yours, the wood separating you.

"I'm here to take you home," he said, his voice soft.

You blinked, your ears twitching again. And for the first time, your lips parted.

"Home?" you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wonwoo sat on the couch, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. You sat on the floor near the coffee table, your posture tense and ears twitching as you took in your new surroundings. You hadn't said much since leaving the warehouse, only responding with short nods or quiet murmurs when he asked if you were okay.

The silence was suffocating. Wonwoo cleared his throat. "Uh, are you hungry? Thirsty?"

You blinked, tilting your head slightly. "Thirsty... what's that?"

His eyebrows shot up. "Thirsty. Like... do you want water?" He stood and walked to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it from the tap. "Here."

You hesitated before taking the glass from his hands. Your fingers brushed his, and he noticed how cool your skin felt. Bringing the glass to your lips, you took a tentative sip, your nose wrinkling slightly at the taste.

"It's... plain," you muttered, setting the glass down.

Wonwoo chuckled softly. "Yeah, it's just water. I guess you're not used to it."

You shrugged, your ears flicking forward. "I don't remember what I'm used to."

That caught him off guard. He crouched down to meet your gaze, his tone careful. "You don't remember anything? Not even where you came from?"

You shook your head, looking away. "Just... flashes. Bright lights. Voices. Nothing else."

Wonwoo frowned, a pang of guilt settling in his chest. Whatever you'd been through, it wasn't normal. He couldn't shake the feeling that you'd been treated more like an object than a person.

"Hey," he said gently, "you don't have to figure everything out right now. Just... take it one step at a time, okay?"

You looked back at him, your wide eyes softening slightly. "Why are you being nice to me?"

The question hung in the air for a moment. Wonwoo rubbed the back of his neck, unsure how to answer. "I don't know," he admitted. "I guess I felt like I couldn't just leave you there."

Your lips curled into the faintest smile, and for the first time, your shoulders relaxed.

Later that night, as Wonwoo set up a makeshift bed for you on the couch, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone—or something—was watching him. He double-checked the locks on the windows and doors, his paranoia rising. It didn't make sense; no one had followed him, and the pickup had been clean.

"Wonwoo?" Your voice broke his train of thought.

He turned to see you standing by the couch, your bunny ears drooping slightly. "Yeah?"

"Are you... afraid of me?"

The question hit him like a truck. "What? No! Why would you think that?"

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress. "Because... they were. The people before you."

Wonwoo's stomach twisted. He approached you slowly, hands raised as if to reassure you. "I'm not afraid of you," he said firmly. "Whatever happened before, it's over. You're safe here."

You studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Okay."

But as you lay down on the couch and he retreated to his room, he couldn't shake the unease creeping over him. Something wasn't right.

The apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator. Wonwoo lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, but sleep refused to come. His thoughts kept circling back to you—your hesitance, your fragility, and the way your ears twitched slightly every time he spoke.

A soft creak pulled him from his thoughts.

He turned his head toward the door, catching sight of your silhouette in the faint glow of the hallway light.

"Can't sleep?" he asked, his voice low.

You hesitated before stepping further into the room. "I don't think I've ever slept on a couch before."

Wonwoo sat up, rubbing his face. "Oh. Sorry about that. I should've—"

"It's not bad," you interrupted, your voice soft. "It's just... quiet."

The words made his chest tighten. "Do you want to sit?" He patted the edge of the bed.

You hesitated, your eyes darting to the floor before you shuffled closer, perching on the edge of the mattress. The tension in your shoulders was unmistakable.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked gently.

You glanced at him, your ears twitching slightly. "Talk about what?"

"Whatever's on your mind."

A soft, humorless laugh escaped your lips. "You really want to hear it?"

He nodded, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. "Yeah. I do."

You sighed, your gaze fixed on your hands. "I don't know who I am. I don't know why I was there or what they wanted from me. All I know is... every time I think about going back, it feels like my chest is caving in."

Wonwoo's hands clenched into fists. He hated the thought of you being scared, of someone putting you in a position where fear was all you knew.

"You're not going back," he said firmly.

Your head snapped up, your wide eyes meeting his. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because I won't let it happen," he said, his voice steady. "I don't know how or why I ended up finding you, but I'm not going to let anything happen to you now that you're here."

The weight of his words hung in the air. Your ears lowered slightly, and for the first time, he saw a glimmer of relief in your expression.

"Thank you," you whispered.

Without thinking, Wonwoo reached out, his hand brushing against yours. Your fingers twitched but didn't pull away. It was a small gesture, but it felt monumental.

"You're not alone anymore," he murmured.

For the first time, the tight knot in your chest loosened.

The next morning, Wonwoo woke up to the smell of burnt toast. Groaning, he stumbled out of bed, rubbing his eyes as he made his way to the kitchen.

There you were, standing by the toaster with a frown, a slightly charred piece of bread in your hand.

"Uh, what's going on?" he asked, stifling a laugh.

You turned, your cheeks flushing pink. "I thought I'd try to... cook. But it's harder than I thought."

He walked over, taking the toast from your hand. "You're supposed to set the timer, not just guess."

You crossed your arms, your nose scrunching in frustration. "Well, no one told me that."

Wonwoo couldn't hold back his laughter this time. The sound startled you, and before you knew it, you found yourself laughing too. It was small and hesitant at first, but then it grew, bubbling up from somewhere deep inside you.

It was the first time he saw you smile.

And damn, it made his heart stutter.

After breakfast—well, what could be salvaged from your experimental cooking—Wonwoo sat across from you at the small dining table. He had insisted on making the second round of toast himself, and now the two of you sat in companionable silence, nibbling on toast and sipping coffee (or, in your case, a very sugary cup that he'd adjusted after seeing you gag at the first sip).

"So," Wonwoo said after a moment, breaking the silence. "Do you have a name?"

You froze mid-bite, your ears perking up. "A name?"

He nodded, his eyes soft. "Yeah. What do people call you? Or... did they call you anything?"

You frowned, the question pulling at a thread of memory that seemed just out of reach. "I... think it's Y/N," you said slowly, the name feeling both familiar and strange on your tongue.

"Y/N," Wonwoo repeated, testing it out. He smiled slightly. "It suits you."

A blush crept up your neck, and you quickly looked down at your plate. "It's just a name."

"It's your name," he corrected gently. "That makes it special."

You glanced at him, your chest tightening at the sincerity in his gaze. No one had ever spoken to you like this—like you were a person, not a thing.

"But," he added, leaning back in his chair with a playful smirk, "I think I'll call you Bun instead."

"Bun?" You blinked, your nose wrinkling slightly.

"Yeah," he said, his smirk widening. "You've got bunny ears, and it's cute. Just like you."

Your ears twitched furiously at the compliment, and you couldn't stop the blush from spreading across your cheeks. "You can't just—say things like that."

"Why not?" he teased, his voice light. "It's true."

You glared at him, though the effect was ruined by the way your lips twitched upward. "Fine. Then I'm calling you Woo. See how you like it."

He chuckled, the sound warm and rich. "Woo, huh? I think I can live with that."

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a genuine warmth blooming in your chest—a feeling you didn't quite know how to name.

That evening, the two of you ended up on the couch, a random movie playing in the background as Wonwoo showed you how to navigate the TV remote. You had leaned closer to him, your curiosity outweighing your usual cautiousness.

"And this button changes the volume," he explained, his voice low.

You nodded, your face scrunched in concentration as you tried it out. The sound of the TV grew louder, and you quickly pressed the button again to lower it, a triumphant smile lighting up your face.

"See? Easy," he said, his lips quirking up as he watched you.

You turned to him, your smile fading slightly as you realized how close you were. His face was only inches from yours, his dark eyes steady and unreadable.

"Woo?" you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"Yeah?"

"Why are you so nice to me?"

He tilted his head, his gaze softening. "I already told you. You deserve to feel safe."

"But why do you care so much?" you pressed, your eyes searching his face for answers.

He hesitated, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. "I don't know," he admitted finally. "Maybe because you remind me that... not everything in this world is as cold as it seems. You're... different, Bun. And I want to protect that."

Your breath caught in your throat. No one had ever spoken to you like that—like you were something worth protecting, worth caring for.

Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his. It was a small gesture, but it felt like the world had shifted.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice trembling.

Wonwoo's hand turned, his fingers curling gently around yours. "You don't have to thank me," he said softly. "Just... stay. That's enough."

Your heart ached at the raw honesty in his words. And for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you had found a place where you truly belonged.

The night deepened, the warm glow of the living room casting soft shadows on the walls. Wonwoo had stepped into the kitchen to grab some water, leaving you curled up on the couch with a blanket draped over your shoulders.

You tugged the fabric closer, your thoughts swirling. For the first time in forever, you didn't feel like you had to be on guard. You didn't have to hide or brace yourself for what might come next.

But that didn't stop the memories from creeping in.

"Bun?" Wonwoo's voice broke through the fog. He was standing in front of you now, holding out a glass of water. "You okay?"

You blinked, quickly nodding. "Y-Yeah."

He didn't look convinced. "You sure? You've been quiet for a while."

You hesitated, your fingers clutching the edge of the blanket. "I was just... thinking."

"About what?" he asked, sitting down beside you.

You swallowed hard, debating whether to tell him. But something in his gaze—steady, patient, understanding—made you feel like you could.

"It's about... me," you said slowly, your voice barely above a whisper. "What I am."

Wonwoo stayed quiet, giving you space to continue.

"I'm not like you," you said, your ears flattening against your head. "I don't just... exist like a normal person. There are... things about me—about my body—that I can't control."

He tilted his head slightly. "Like what?"

You took a deep breath, your cheeks burning with shame. "Like when I go into heat."

Wonwoo's eyes widened slightly, but he didn't say anything, waiting for you to explain.

"It happens every few months," you continued, your voice trembling. "It's... painful. And if it's not treated, it gets worse. But..." You paused, your chest tightening.

"But?" he prompted gently.

Your voice broke as you said the next words. "But the people who used to 'treat' me... they didn't care about the pain. They only cared about using me for themselves."

The silence that followed was deafening. You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, too afraid of what you might see in his eyes—disgust, pity, or worse.

But when Wonwoo finally spoke, his voice was calm and steady. "That's not going to happen again."

You blinked, glancing up at him. "What?"

He shifted closer, his expression firm. "No one's ever going to hurt you like that again. I promise."

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you quickly looked away. "You say that, but... what if it happens? What if I can't control it, and you—"

"Stop," he said, his tone gentle but firm. He reached out, his hand resting lightly on yours. "I'm not like them. I'd never take advantage of you."

The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache. For the first time, you felt like someone saw you—not as an object or a tool, but as a person.

"Do you... do you really mean that?" you whispered.

He nodded. "Every word. And if you ever feel like it's too much, we'll figure it out together. On your terms."

You couldn't stop the tears from falling now, the weight of his words breaking down the walls you had built around your heart.

Wonwoo reached out, his thumb gently brushing away a tear. "Hey. It's okay. You're safe here, Bun."

For the first time, you believed him.

Wonwoo watched as you nodded off on the couch, your breathing evening out, though your grip on the blanket was still tight. Even in your sleep, it seemed like you were holding onto years of fear and mistrust.

He sighed softly, standing to grab the glass you'd left on the coffee table. The sound of his footsteps was faint, careful not to wake you as he moved to the kitchen.

It wasn't like him to get involved in something so... complicated. He usually preferred simplicity—quiet evenings alone, a book in hand, the hum of his PC in the background. He didn't go out of his way for people, not because he didn't care, but because people rarely gave him a reason to.

But you? You were different.

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed as he stared at the glass. There was something about you that tugged at his attention, something beyond the strangeness of finding you on a marketplace. You were guarded but vulnerable, sharp but soft. It made him want to protect you, even if he wasn't sure why.

When he returned to the living room, you were awake, your wide eyes watching him from beneath the blanket.

"Did I wake you?" he asked, his voice low.

You shook your head, your ears twitching slightly. "No. I just... I couldn't sleep."

He sat down on the armchair across from you, his movements slow and deliberate. "Something on your mind?"

You hesitated, your fingers curling around the edge of the blanket. "It's just... strange," you admitted. "Being here. With you."

He tilted his head slightly, waiting for you to elaborate.

"I'm not used to this," you said quietly. "Not used to... feeling safe."

Wonwoo's gaze softened, though his expression remained neutral. "You don't have to get used to it all at once," he said after a moment. "Take your time."

Your lips parted slightly, surprised by his words. Most people didn't give you time—they expected things from you, demanded things you weren't ready to give. But Wonwoo? He was different.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugged, leaning back in the chair. "I don't know. Maybe I just like rabbits."

A small, breathless laugh escaped you, and his lips quirked into a faint smile.

"I mean it," you said, your tone soft but insistent. "You don't even know me."

"You don't know me either," he pointed out. "Maybe I'm just trying to get on your good side so you don't eat all my snacks."

You laughed again, the sound lighter this time. "I don't think that's how this works."

He shrugged, his eyes glinting with quiet amusement. "Maybe not. But if it makes you laugh, I'll take it."

For a moment, the room was quiet again, but it wasn't the heavy, suffocating silence you were used to. It was... comfortable.

"Wonwoo?" you said softly.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you," you said, your voice barely audible.

He didn't respond right away, his gaze steady as he looked at you. Then, with a small nod, he said, "You don't have to thank me, Bun. Just get some rest."

You smiled faintly, your heart feeling a little lighter as you settled back into the couch.

And for the first time, you felt like maybe, just maybe, things could be different.

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the living room. You stirred awake, stretching slightly under the blanket. Wonwoo was already up, sitting at the dining table with his laptop open, headphones on, and a cup of coffee in hand.

His attention was glued to the screen, his expression calm but focused. You watched him for a moment, feeling a strange sense of peace.

"You're up early," you said, your voice soft.

He glanced over at you, pulling one side of his headphones off. "Couldn't sleep much," he replied. "Thought I'd get some work done. How about you? Did you sleep okay?"

You nodded, sitting up and clutching the blanket around you. "Better than I expected. Thanks for... everything."

He gave you a small nod before returning his attention to the screen.

As you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, you realized something: you hadn't had a proper bath in... well, you couldn't remember how long. Your ears twitched slightly at the thought, and you stood, glancing toward the hallway.

"Wonwoo?" you called hesitantly.

"Hmm?" he replied, not looking up.

"Where's the bathroom?"

He pointed down the hall without breaking his focus, but when you hesitated, he finally looked at you. "Everything okay?"

"I..." You fidgeted with the hem of the blanket, avoiding his gaze. "I don't really... know how to do it myself."

That caught his attention. He blinked at you, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. "You don't know how to... take a bath?"

You shook your head, your cheeks warming. "I always had someone help me before," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stared at you for a moment, processing your words. Then he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Alright. Come on."

"What?" You looked at him, wide-eyed.

"You said you need help, right?" He stood, closing his laptop. "Let's figure it out."

Your ears twitched nervously as you followed him down the hall, clutching the blanket tightly around you.

When he opened the bathroom door, you peeked inside. It was clean and simple, with a glass shower and a bathtub on one side. Wonwoo turned to you, his expression unreadable.

"Alright," he said, crossing his arms. "What do you need me to do?"

You hesitated, your cheeks flushing. "I don't know... maybe just show me how it works?"

He nodded, stepping into the bathroom. He turned on the faucet, adjusting the temperature and letting the water fill the tub. "It's pretty straightforward," he said. "You just..."

He trailed off when he noticed you still standing by the door, fidgeting nervously. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"It's just... a little overwhelming," you admitted. "I'm not used to doing things on my own."

He sighed again, softer this time. "Okay. Look, I'll help you get started, but you're going to have to trust me, alright?"

You nodded, biting your lip.

He grabbed a fluffy towel from the rack and handed it to you. "Here. Wrap this around yourself and let me know when you're ready."

You stepped inside, closing the door halfway before wrapping the towel around you. "Okay," you called out nervously.

Wonwoo stepped back in, careful to keep his eyes on the faucet. "Alright," he said, his voice calm. "You can sit on the edge of the tub for now. I'll show you how to use the showerhead and the soap."

You followed his instructions, perching on the edge as he adjusted the water. He handed you a bottle of soap, explaining how to lather it and rinse it off. His voice was steady, patient, and somehow soothing.

When you fumbled with the soap, he caught your hand gently, guiding you. "Like this," he said, his fingers warm against yours.

You glanced up at him, your heart skipping a beat. For someone so quiet and reserved, he had a way of making you feel... safe.

"Got it?" he asked, his eyes meeting yours.

You nodded, your cheeks flushing. "Yeah... thanks, Wonwoo."

He gave you a small smile, standing up. "I'll give you some privacy now. If you need anything, just call me."

As he left the bathroom, closing the door behind him, you couldn't help but feel a strange warmth in your chest. Maybe, just maybe, this new chapter in your life wouldn't be so bad after all.

It started out small.

You didn't even notice it at first—just a faint, restless warmth in the pit of your stomach. It was subtle, ignorable even, as you moved through the rest of the day. Wonwoo had gone back to working on his laptop while you explored the apartment, your curiosity keeping you distracted for a while.

But as the hours dragged on, the warmth grew. It wasn't just in your stomach anymore; it spread through your chest, your arms, and your legs, like an itch just beneath your skin that you couldn't quite reach.

By evening, you found yourself sitting on the couch, knees pulled up to your chest, biting your lip as you tried to focus on the TV. But it was impossible. The sensation was overwhelming now, and your ears twitched uncontrollably as you fought to keep your breathing steady.

"Hey," Wonwoo's voice pulled you out of your thoughts. He stood in the doorway, his brow furrowed as he looked at you. "You okay?"

You didn't trust yourself to look at him. Your cheeks burned as you nodded quickly. "I'm fine," you mumbled, your voice tight.

He didn't look convinced. Wonwoo stepped closer, his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. "You don't look fine," he said. "What's wrong?"

You shook your head, curling up tighter. "It's nothing," you insisted. "I just... need a minute."

But he didn't leave. Instead, he crouched down in front of you, his dark eyes scanning your face. "You're warm," he said, his voice soft but concerned. "Do you have a fever?"

You flinched as he reached out, his hand brushing against your forehead. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, and you jerked back, your ears flattening against your head.

"It's not a fever," you said quickly, your voice trembling.

Wonwoo tilted his head, his gaze narrowing. "Then what is it?"

You hesitated, your cheeks burning as you tried to find the words. "I... I think it's my heat," you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Your heat?"

You nodded, burying your face in your hands. "It's normal for hybrids," you explained, your voice muffled. "It happens every few months. But I didn't think it would happen so soon..."

Wonwoo was silent for a moment, and you dared to peek at him through your fingers. He looked... surprisingly calm.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked, his voice steady.

Your heart skipped a beat at the question. You hadn't expected him to take it so seriously. "I don't know," you admitted. "It's usually... manageable. But it's worse when I'm alone."

He nodded, standing up and holding a hand out to you. "Come on," he said.

You stared at his hand, confused. "What?"

"You said it's worse when you're alone," he said simply. "So don't be alone."

Your cheeks burned as you hesitated, but eventually, you reached out and let him pull you to your feet. He led you to the couch and sat down, patting the spot next to him.

You sat down tentatively, your heart racing as the warmth in your chest seemed to grow even stronger. Wonwoo didn't say anything, but he placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding.

"Better?" he asked after a moment.

You nodded, leaning into him slightly. "Yeah... a little."

As the evening went on, you found yourself growing more comfortable in his presence. The warmth was still there, but it was less overwhelming now, tempered by the steady rhythm of his breathing and the gentle weight of his hand.

For the first time since the heat had started, you felt like you could breathe again.

Your whole body was burning. It wasn't just the heat in your stomach anymore—it was a desperate ache that throbbed with every passing second, pooling low in your core. You squirmed against the couch, trying to find some relief, but it only made it worse.

Wonwoo's hand was on your head, his fingers lazily stroking through the fur at the base of your ears. The slow, comforting rhythm sent shivers down your spine, but instead of soothing you, it only stoked the fire inside you.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore it, trying to focus on anything else. But the longer you sat there, the harder it became. Your thighs pressed together involuntarily, your body instinctively searching for some kind of release.

Wonwoo noticed.

"You're fidgeting," he said quietly, his deep voice cutting through the haze in your mind. "Are you okay?"

You froze, your ears twitching at the sound of his voice. "I-I'm fine," you stammered, even though you weren't.

He didn't buy it. His hand moved from your ears to your shoulder, gently turning you to face him. His dark eyes searched yours, and the concern in his gaze made your heart ache.

"You're not fine," he said softly. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

You bit your lip, looking away. How could you possibly tell him? How could you explain this unbearable, shameful need that was consuming you?

"It's... it's my heat," you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's bad this time."

His eyes widened slightly, but he didn't pull away. If anything, his grip on your shoulder tightened, grounding you. "How bad?" he asked.

Your cheeks burned as you avoided his gaze. "It hurts," you murmured. "My body... it's aching. I feel like I'm going to explode."

Wonwoo was silent for a long moment, his hand still resting on your shoulder. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm and steady, but there was an edge of something else—something you couldn't quite place.

"Have you ever... had anyone help you before?" he asked carefully.

You nodded, your throat tightening at the memory. "Other hybrids would help sometimes," you said. "But it was never... gentle. They only cared about... breeding."

His jaw tightened, his expression darkening slightly. "And the men?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

You hesitated, your ears flattening against your head. "They didn't care about me either," you admitted. "They just used me for their own pleasure."

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with unspoken anger and something else—something softer, more tender.

"You deserve better," Wonwoo said finally, his voice firm. "You deserve to be cared for."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. "Wonwoo..."

His hand moved to your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. "If you'll let me," he said softly, "I want to take care of you."

Your breath caught in your throat. The heat in your body flared at his touch, but it wasn't just physical anymore. There was something deeper, something that made your chest ache just as much as your body did.

"Are you sure?" you whispered, your voice trembling.

He nodded, his dark eyes holding yours. "I want to help you," he said. "But only if you want me to."

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding, your cheeks burning. "Okay," you murmured.

Wonwoo's lips curved into a small, reassuring smile. "Good," he said. "Just tell me if it's too much, okay?"

You nodded again, your heart racing as he leaned in closer, his warm breath brushing against your skin.

Wonwoo's hand stayed on your cheek, his touch impossibly gentle. His thumb grazed along your skin, grounding you even as your body trembled. The ache inside you was unbearable, but somehow, his presence made it a little easier to endure.

"I'll go slow," he murmured, his voice low and soothing, as if he could sense your nerves. "Just trust me."

You nodded, swallowing hard as his other hand came to rest on your waist, pulling you closer. Your knees pressed into the couch on either side of him, and you felt his warmth radiating against you. It was overwhelming, but it wasn't bad. It was... comforting.

His fingers slid to your ears, brushing over them in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn't help the small, breathy sound that escaped your lips, and his eyes darkened slightly at the sound.

"Does that feel good?" he asked, his voice soft yet weighted.

You nodded, biting your lip as your hands instinctively gripped the fabric of his shirt. "Yeah," you whispered, your voice shaky.

His lips curved into the faintest smile. "You're sensitive," he murmured, his fingers continuing to trace along your ears. "I'll be careful."

The way he spoke to you, the way he looked at you—like you were something precious, something worth protecting—made your chest ache almost as much as your body burned.

"Wonwoo..." You didn't even know what you were asking for, but his name slipped from your lips like a plea.

"I know," he murmured. "I've got you."

His hands slid down your back, pulling you flush against him. Your forehead rested against his shoulder as his fingers traced small, soothing circles along your spine. It wasn't enough to stop the heat, but it was enough to make you feel safe.

Slowly, he tilted your chin up, his dark eyes searching yours. There was no rush, no impatience. Only warmth and care.

"Is this okay?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, your breath hitching as his lips brushed against yours—tentative at first, testing the waters. But when you leaned into him, he deepened the kiss, his hand sliding to the back of your neck to hold you steady.

The heat in your body flared, but this time, it wasn't unbearable. It was electric, sparking to life with every touch, every movement.

His lips left yours to trail along your jaw, down the column of your neck, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. You couldn't stop the small, breathy noises that escaped you, and you felt him smile against your skin.

"Still okay?" he asked, his voice rougher now, laced with something deeper.

"Yes," you whispered, your fingers curling into his hair. "Please... don't stop."

He didn't. His hands explored your body with a gentleness you'd never experienced before, his touch careful and measured. He was patient, never rushing, always watching your reactions to make sure you were comfortable.

Your body moved instinctively against his, searching for relief, and he guided you through it, his voice a soothing constant in your ear.

"You're doing so well," he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. "I've got you. Just let go."

And for the first time, you did.

Wonwoo's gaze softened, his fingers gently retreating from your trembling body. He leaned closer, cupping your flushed face with his hand. "You're lying," he murmured, his deep voice steady yet filled with concern. "Your body's still burning up."

You avoided his eyes, embarrassed by how the heat in your core seemed to intensify again, worse than before. It wasn't something you could control, and you hated feeling this vulnerable in front of him.

"It's... just how it is," you whispered, your voice shaky. "I'll be fine. I don't want to bother you—"

"Stop that," he interrupted, his tone firm but still gentle. "You're not a bother, and I told you I'd take care of you."

His words made your chest tighten, a strange warmth blooming there, different from the feverish heat that raged through the rest of your body. You looked up at him, your ears twitching slightly as his thumb brushed over your cheek.

"But... I've never done this with anyone I trust," you admitted, your voice barely audible. "I don't know what to do."

Wonwoo's lips quirked into the faintest smile, his hand moving to gently stroke your ears again, as if to soothe you. "You don't have to do anything," he reassured you. "Just tell me what feels good, and I'll handle the rest. Okay?"

You hesitated for a moment before nodding, your fingers clutching onto his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling back to meet your eyes. "Let's try to make this a little easier for you," he said, his hands moving to carefully lift you into his lap.

The shift in position sent a jolt of warmth through your body, and you instinctively buried your face in his shoulder, your arms wrapping around his neck. His hands settled on your waist, holding you securely as he whispered against your ear.

"Just relax," he said softly, his breath warm against your skin. "Let me take care of you."

His hands began to move again, trailing down your sides, his touch firm yet unhurried. The contrast of his cool fingers against your heated skin made you shiver, and a soft whimper escaped your lips as he dipped lower, tracing the curve of your thighs.

"Wonwoo..." His name left your lips in a breathy plea, and he responded with a low hum, his lips brushing against your temple.

"I'm here," he murmured, his voice steady and comforting. "I've got you."

As his hands worked their way back to your aching core, you felt your body tense in anticipation, your breath hitching when his fingers slid between your folds once again. He was slow, deliberate, as if he was determined to learn exactly what made you feel good.

You couldn't stop the soft moans that spilled from your lips as his movements grew more confident, his thumb circling your clit in a way that made your entire body tremble. He watched you carefully, his dark eyes filled with a mix of concern and fascination, as if he couldn't get enough of the way you responded to his touch.

"You're so beautiful like this," he said softly, his voice laced with something deeper, something that sent a shiver down your spine. "Don't hold back. Let me hear you."

His words broke through the last of your hesitation, and you let yourself fall into the sensation, your head tilting back as waves of pleasure rolled through you. But even as your body tensed and finally released, you could feel the heat building again, stronger than before.

You let out a shaky breath, your forehead resting against his shoulder as your ears drooped slightly. "Wonwoo... it's not stopping," you admitted, your voice trembling with frustration and embarrassment.

He tightened his hold on you, his fingers gently brushing through your hair. "Then we'll keep going," he said simply, his tone unwavering. "I'll stay with you until it's over."

You looked up at him, your eyes wide and filled with uncertainty. "You... you'd really do that for me?"

He smiled, the kind of soft, reassuring smile that made your heart ache. "Of course. I'd do anything for you."

The desperation in your voice, the way your trembling body clung to him—it was enough to make Wonwoo's self-control unravel. He brushed your tears away with a gentle hand, his dark eyes meeting yours, searching for any hesitation. When he saw none, only the pleading desperation in your gaze, he nodded softly.

"You sure, bun?" he asked, his voice thick with restraint, but the nickname rolled off his tongue like honey.

You could only nod frantically, your hands gripping his arms. "Please," you whispered, the ache too unbearable to handle any longer.

Wonwoo moved carefully, lowering himself between your legs, his broad shoulders holding your thighs apart. His fingers slid down to spread your folds again, his touch deliberate, making sure you were still ready for him. The sight of you, wet and needy, made him groan low in his throat, his cock straining against the last layer of fabric between you.

He pulled his underwear down in one swift motion, his length springing free. You gasped at the sheer size of him, the heat in your core only intensifying as you realized what was about to happen.

"I'll go slow," he murmured, positioning himself at your entrance. The tip of his cock teased your slick folds, and you whimpered at the sensation, your hips bucking instinctively.

The moment he started to push in, you moaned loudly, your body arching as the stretch sent a wave of pleasure and pain through you. He froze halfway, giving you time to adjust, his hand stroking your side in soothing circles.

"You're doing so well," he murmured, his voice a mix of praise and restraint. "Relax for me, bun. I don't want to hurt you."

His words melted into your ears, and you tried to relax, focusing on the way his hands steadied you. Slowly, he pushed in further, filling you inch by inch until he was fully seated inside you. You let out a breathy moan, your hands clutching at his shoulders as the overwhelming fullness consumed you.

"God, you're so tight," he groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder. "So perfect."

The heat in you was relentless, but the way he stretched and filled you brought a strange sense of relief, as if he was the only thing that could soothe the ache. When he started to move, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in, your body reacted instinctively, your hips lifting to meet his.

"Wonwoo... faster," you begged, your voice trembling as the pleasure began to overshadow the pain.

He didn't hesitate, his thrusts growing faster and deeper, each one hitting a spot inside you that made you cry out his name. The sounds of skin against skin filled the room, along with your soft cries and his low, guttural groans.

"You're so good for me," he rasped, his lips finding your neck, kissing and biting softly as he pounded into you. "Taking me so well."

Your ears twitched at the praise, and your hands slid up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. Every movement, every thrust seemed to push you closer to the edge, the heat in your core intensifying until it felt like you might explode.

"Wonwoo, I—I'm close," you whimpered, your nails digging into his back as your body tensed beneath him.

He nodded, his pace quickening as he held you tighter, determined to bring you over the edge. "Let go, bun. I'm right here. Let go for me."

His words were all it took to push you over, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave. You cried out his name, your body shaking as the heat finally broke, leaving you breathless and trembling in his arms.

Wonwoo followed shortly after, his thrusts growing erratic as he buried himself deep inside you, groaning your name as he came. The feeling of his warmth filling you made your body relax completely, the last remnants of your heat fading away.

He stayed there for a moment, his forehead resting against yours as you both caught your breath. His hand came up to stroke your ear gently, his touch soothing as you leaned into him.

"You okay?" he asked softly, his voice laced with concern.

You nodded, a small, tired smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah... I feel so much better now. Thank you, Wonwoo."

He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You don't have to thank me. I'll always take care of you, bun."

Wonwoo's arms stayed wrapped around your waist as you sat perched on his lap, your legs straddling him. His forehead rested lightly against yours, and he let out a soft hum, his thumb tracing gentle circles over your lower back. You were still catching your breath, your body trembling slightly, but the closeness between you was soothing.

"You're adorable," he murmured, his lips brushing against yours in a soft kiss, as if testing the waters.

Your hands slid up his chest instinctively, clutching at his hoodie for balance. "Says the guy who just—" you paused, cheeks warming, "—made me feel things I didn't think were possible."

Wonwoo smirked faintly, his hands resting on your hips. "Well, I guess we both learned something new today," he teased, leaning in to capture your lips again.

The kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, like he was savoring the taste of you. His hand wandered to the small of your back, holding you securely in place as you pressed your body closer to his. The warmth between you both was intoxicating, and for a moment, it felt like the world outside didn't exist—only the two of you tangled together on the couch.

You broke the kiss, panting softly, your forehead resting against his. "Wonwoo..." you whispered, voice shy yet yearning.

His eyes searched yours, filled with a tenderness that made your chest ache. "What is it, bun?"

You smiled softly, your fingers brushing against the nape of his neck. "I feel... safe with you," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

His heart swelled at your words, and he pressed another kiss to your lips, gentle and reassuring. "You'll always be safe with me," he said firmly, his hand stroking your ear affectionately, earning a soft whimper from you.

As the heat of the moment lingered, Wonwoo shifted slightly, careful not to move too much and overwhelm your still-sensitive body. The weight of the intimacy between you felt heavy but comforting, like a quiet promise unspoken.

"You're really something, y'know," he muttered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

You let out a quiet giggle, your cheeks flushing. "And you're not so bad yourself," you teased, nuzzling against him, your ears twitching slightly from the affectionate strokes of his fingers.

He let out a quiet laugh, his chest rumbling beneath you. "Guess we make a good pair then."

The two of you stayed like that, wrapped in each other's arms, sharing soft kisses and whispered words. The tension from earlier was gone, replaced with a warm, unspoken connection that neither of you wanted to let go of.

Wonwoo let out a soft groan, his hands firmly gripping your hips as you shifted slightly on his lap. The motion sent a jolt through both of you, and you gasped, your body still sensitive from earlier. His length was still buried deep inside you, and the intimate connection left your cheeks flushed and your heartbeat erratic.

"Careful," he murmured, his voice low and strained, the warmth of his breath brushing against your cheek. "I'm trying to take it slow, but you're making it hard."

You bit your lip, your hands braced on his shoulders for balance. "I-I wasn't trying to do anything," you whispered, your voice shy yet laced with a tinge of mischief.

He smirked at your flustered state, his hands sliding up to your waist to hold you steady. "Sure you weren't," he teased, leaning in to kiss the corner of your lips.

Your ears twitched slightly at the sensation, and you couldn't help but let out a soft whimper, your body instinctively clenching around him. The reaction drew a deep groan from Wonwoo, his grip on you tightening as his self-control teetered on the edge.

"You're going to drive me insane," he muttered, his forehead pressing against yours.

You giggled softly, a shy smile playing on your lips. "Maybe I like seeing you like this," you teased, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wonwoo's eyes darkened slightly at your words, a playful smirk curling at the corners of his mouth. "Oh, is that so?" he asked, his tone dripping with mock challenge.

Before you could respond, he shifted his hips slightly, the movement sending a spark of pleasure through your body. You gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your breath hitched.

"W-Wonwoo!" you stammered, your cheeks burning.

He chuckled softly, his hands guiding your hips to keep you steady. "Relax, bun," he said gently, his tone soothing yet teasing. "I've got you."

The way he looked at you—like you were the only thing that mattered in the world—made your heart flutter. You leaned in, capturing his lips in a tender kiss, your body instinctively responding to his touch. The warmth between you was overwhelming, yet you couldn't bring yourself to pull away.

As the two of you stayed locked in each other's embrace, the world outside faded away. It was just you and Wonwoo, connected in a way that felt deeper than words could ever describe.

Wonwoo's hands slowly roamed up your back as you remained seated in his lap, the warmth between your bodies making you feel like you were melting into him. His lips brushed against yours in a slow, lazy kiss, and the intimacy of the moment made your ears twitch slightly.

"You okay?" he asked softly, his thumb brushing soothing circles on your hip.

You nodded, nuzzling into his neck, but your body betrayed you. The heat still lingered, subtle but growing again, your sensitivity making you squirm slightly. Wonwoo's hands tightened their hold on you, sensing your restlessness.

"Still not enough, huh?" he murmured, his voice low and filled with understanding.

"I-It's not..." you trailed off, too embarrassed to finish your sentence, but he tilted your chin up, his eyes meeting yours with a gentle, reassuring gaze.

"I'll take care of you," he promised, his lips brushing yours softly before his hands gripped your hips. With a slow movement, he adjusted your position, and the subtle shift made you moan quietly.

Wonwoo leaned back on the couch, guiding you to move at your own pace, letting you take control. You slowly lifted yourself before sliding back down, and the stretch had both of you exhaling in unison. The intimacy of it—the closeness—made your chest tighten with an overwhelming mix of emotions.

You began moving with his help, finding a rhythm that had you both panting softly. The warmth of his hands on your waist, his whispered words of encouragement, and the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered made your heart race.

"Wonwoo..." you moaned softly, your hands braced on his chest as you moved.

"You're doing so good," he praised, his voice strained but tender. His hands guided your movements, his thumbs brushing over your skin in soothing strokes as he watched you lose yourself to the moment.

The pace gradually increased, your movements becoming more desperate as the pleasure built higher and higher. Wonwoo met you with soft thrusts, his control evident in the way he moved to match your rhythm perfectly.

When you finally reached your peak, your body trembled in his arms, and he held you close, whispering soothing words as you rode out your release. He wasn't far behind, his grip tightening as he followed you over the edge, his groan muffled against your shoulder.

You both stilled, panting heavily, and Wonwoo's arms wrapped around you to pull you into his chest. The weight of exhaustion mixed with relief settled over you, and you nuzzled into him, feeling safe and cherished.

"I think you're trying to kill me," Wonwoo joked softly, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

You giggled, your ears twitching slightly as you leaned into him. "Sorry," you mumbled, though your tone was anything but apologetic.

He chuckled, his hands gently stroking your back. "Don't be. Just... don't move for a while. Let's stay like this," he whispered, his voice filled with affection.

And for a moment, everything felt perfect. But as the heat of the moment faded, the reality of your situation began creeping back in. The two of you had crossed a line, one that could never be undone.

Still, you stayed curled up in Wonwoo's arms, savoring the peace before the world outside the walls of his apartment could interfere once more.

The soft sunlight filtered through the curtains, warming your skin as you stirred awake. You blinked sleepily, the ache of last night still lingering in your body. The weight of his arm around your waist was grounding, protective. Wonwoo was still fast asleep, his chest rising and falling steadily, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to admire him. His face looked softer in the morning light, his sharp features relaxed into something impossibly gentle.

Your bunny ears twitched as his grip tightened slightly, pulling you closer even in his sleep. It was... cozy. Too cozy. You weren't used to this—waking up somewhere that felt safe. You almost didn't want to move, afraid that it would shatter whatever fragile bubble the two of you had formed.

But the warmth between your legs made you squirm slightly, a reminder of everything that had happened the night before. Your face flushed at the memory. You'd never been cared for like that—never had someone look at you like you were more than just... something to use. And yet, there he was, holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

Your ears perked up when you felt him stir. His hand flexed on your waist before his eyes fluttered open. His gaze was hazy, still heavy with sleep, but it softened immediately when he saw you.

"Morning," he mumbled, his voice deep and gravelly.

You nodded shyly. "Good morning."

His thumb traced lazy circles on your skin, and you could feel the heat rushing to your cheeks again. "How are you feeling?" he asked, his eyes searching yours.

"I'm okay," you murmured, though your voice wavered slightly. "A little... sore, maybe."

Wonwoo's brows furrowed slightly. "Did I hurt you?"

You shook your head quickly. "No, no! It's not that. I'm just... not used to it. To... someone being gentle."

He didn't respond immediately, but the way his hand tightened on your waist said enough. "You deserve gentle," he said quietly, his tone firm like he wanted to make sure you believed him.

Your chest tightened at his words, and you looked away, unsure of how to respond. This was all so new—too new. And yet, you didn't want it to stop.

The moment was interrupted by the sound of his phone buzzing on the nightstand. Wonwoo sighed, reluctantly letting go of you to grab it. His eyes scanned the screen, and you saw his expression shift slightly—his jaw tightening.

"What's wrong?" you asked softly, your ears drooping slightly at the sudden tension.

He hesitated for a moment before setting the phone back down. "Nothing," he said, though his tone betrayed him. "Just... work stuff."

You tilted your head, unconvinced, but you didn't push. Instead, you sat up, pulling the blanket around you. "Do you have to go?"

"No," he said quickly, sitting up to meet your eyes. "I'm staying right here."

His hand reached for yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. The look in his eyes was steady, reassuring. But you couldn't shake the feeling that whatever was on his phone wasn't just "work stuff."

Still, you smiled softly, letting yourself believe him for now. "Okay."

"Why don't we get some breakfast?" he suggested, his tone lighter now. "I'm sure you're starving."

You nodded, your stomach rumbling at the thought of food. As the two of you got up and started moving around the apartment, you couldn't help but wonder—what exactly was he hiding? And how long would this little bubble of safety last before reality came crashing in?

Wonwoo's lips brushed against the crown of your head as you curled up in his lap, his arms wrapped securely around you. The soft blanket he had draped over your shoulders kept you warm, but it was his steady heartbeat under your ear that gave you real comfort.

"You're awfully quiet now," he murmured, his hand absentmindedly stroking between your bunny ears, earning a soft hum from you. "Is something on your mind?"

You tilted your head slightly, meeting his gaze. His expression was gentle, almost serene, but his dark eyes held an intensity that made you feel bare yet safe all at once.

"It's just... I don't know how to say it," you admitted, chewing on your bottom lip.

"Try me," he coaxed, his fingers shifting to lightly pinch your ear, a smirk tugging at his lips when you squeaked.

You hesitated, feeling heat creep up your cheeks. "I... don't think I've ever felt this safe before. Like... you actually see me as me. Not just some... hybrid with—"

Wonwoo silenced you with a soft kiss, his lips lingering just long enough to melt away your worries. "You're not just anything, Y/N," he said quietly, his forehead pressing against yours. "You're you. That's what matters."

Your heart swelled at his words, and before you knew it, your arms were wrapped around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. "Thank you, Wonwoo," you whispered.

"For what?"

"For being... this," you said, leaning back just enough to gesture at him, though you didn't really have the words to explain.

His lips quirked up in that understated smile of his, the one that made your stomach flip. "I guess you're welcome, then."

The moment felt too perfect to break, but your stomach had other plans, growling loudly enough to make you both pause.

Wonwoo chuckled, his chest rumbling against you. "Hungry?"

"...Maybe," you mumbled, your ears drooping slightly in embarrassment.

"Well, let's fix that." He shifted, preparing to stand up with you still in his arms.

"Wait! I can walk!"

He raised an eyebrow. "And miss the chance to carry my cute bunny to the kitchen? Not a chance."

You couldn't fight the grin that spread across your face as he carried you bridal style toward the kitchen, his teasing making your heart feel lighter than it had in years.

After a warm meal that left you feeling full and happy, Wonwoo guided you back to the couch. The evening air had turned cooler, and your soft pajamas were still in his room, far away from where you wanted to be—next to him.

"Here," he said, reaching into the basket of clean laundry he had yet to fold. He pulled out one of his shirts—a soft, oversized black one that smelled distinctly like him, that comforting mix of woodsy cologne and something warm, like coffee.

You blinked up at him, tilting your head. "That's... yours?"

"Yeah." He shrugged, holding it out to you. "You'll be more comfortable in this for now."

"But it'll smell like you."

"And that's a problem because...?" He gave you a lopsided grin, clearly enjoying the slight pout on your lips.

"It's not a problem," you muttered, cheeks warming as you tentatively took the shirt from his hands.

Wonwoo turned away to give you some privacy, though he couldn't help sneaking a quick glance over his shoulder as you slipped into the shirt. It draped over you like a dress, the hem brushing just above your knees, the sleeves far too long for your arms. You tugged at the collar nervously, your bunny ears twitching as the fabric enveloped you in his scent.

"Cute," he said simply, his voice soft but filled with affection.

You froze, your cheeks heating up. "Y-You think so?"

Wonwoo stepped closer, his hands gently landing on your shoulders before he tugged you into a hug. "Of course," he murmured, his chin resting lightly on the top of your head. "You smell sweet, like always. But now..." He took a subtle inhale, his arms tightening slightly around you. "Now you smell like me too. I like it."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help but snuggle closer, your head pressing into his chest. "I... like it too," you admitted shyly, your voice muffled against him.

He leaned back just enough to tip your chin up, his dark eyes meeting yours. "Good," he said softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "You should get used to it."

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you couldn't stop the small smile that tugged at your lips. "You're so smooth sometimes, you know that?"

He chuckled, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Only with you."

The warmth of his shirt enveloped you like a snug cocoon, and with the soft scent of him lingering on the fabric, you couldn't help but feel a little dazed. Wonwoo's shirt was oversized on you, the hem brushing against your thighs as you shifted your weight on the couch. The mix of his scent and the subtle sweetness you naturally carried made the air feel warm and comforting.

He pulled you close again, his large hands gently resting on your waist as he settled back into the cushions. You melted into him effortlessly, his solid chest a perfect pillow. Wonwoo's heartbeat was steady under your cheek, grounding you in the peaceful silence.

"You smell like me now," he murmured, his deep voice low and laced with affection. His lips ghosted against your temple, lingering there in a gentle kiss. "I like it."

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, your cheeks flushed from his tender words. "That's unfair," you teased, voice soft as you traced a finger along the line of his jaw. "You keep saying things that make me weak."

A chuckle rumbled in his chest, and his lips quirked into that small, crooked smile that made your heart flutter. "Only because it's true. You look perfect like this." His arms wrapped around you tighter, pulling you into his lap effortlessly.

You let out a happy sigh, curling up against him, your legs draped over his as he rested his chin atop your head. "I don't think I've ever been this comfortable," you admitted, your voice muffled against his chest.

"Good," he replied simply, his hand finding yours and intertwining your fingers. The gesture felt as natural as breathing, his thumb idly stroking your knuckles as the two of you relaxed into each other's warmth.

Sleep was tugging at your eyelids now, the day's tension melting away with every gentle kiss he pressed to your forehead, your hair, and even your bunny ears. You nuzzled closer, letting out the smallest, most content hum, which made Wonwoo's heart skip a beat.

As your breaths evened out, he couldn't resist murmuring, "I'll keep you safe, always." He didn't know if you were awake enough to hear it, but it didn't matter. The words were true, and they hung in the quiet air like a promise.

His shirt wrapped around you, his scent lingering on your skin, and his strong arms holding you tight—it was a kind of peace you hadn't known existed.

And as the night stretched on, the two of you stayed that way—wrapped in each other, hearts beating in perfect rhythm.

a/n: let's all thank anon for the request, especially if you liked it (hope you did) mwa's

[mixolya]

ᓚᘏᗢ — eternal echoes. rin itoshi.

synopsis: in which it doesn't matter which year it is, you and rin itoshi would always find back to each other.

warnings: death (it's a semi-happy ending). wc: 5,7k

note: i enjoyed writing this too much aaa!! sad letters are my thing 💔💔

year 1858. emperor and empress.

the first time you met him, you were royalty.

rin was the emperor of a vast, sun-drenched kingdom in ancient japan, his rule as unyielding as the mountains that bordered his lands. you were the daughter of a powerful daimyo, your marriage to him a strategic alliance meant to unite your families and bring stability to the region.

you did not expect to fall in love with him. but the moment you saw him standing at the altar, his eyes meeting yours, you felt it. that pull. that magnetic pull.

the wedding was a grand affair, held in the imperial palace. the air was thick with the scent of cherry blossoms, the sound of traditional instruments filling the courtyard. but all you could focus on was him. rin. the way his hand felt in yours, the way his voice sounded as he recited his vows, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room.

"do you think we shall be reincarnated as a married couple as well?" you asked him one night, as you stood on the balcony of the palace, the moon casting a silver glow over the gardens below.

he didn't answer right away. instead, he reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. "perhaps," he said finally. "in another life."

you didn't know if he meant it, but it didn't matter. because in that moment, you knew you'd follow him anywhere.

your life together was full of challenges. political intrigue, wars, the weight of ruling an empire. but through it all, you had each other. and that was enough.

until it wasn't.

the war came suddenly, like a storm that had been brewing on the horizon for years. rin led his armies to the front lines, his determination as fierce as the fire in his eyes. you stayed behind, ruling in his absence, but your heart was with him.

when the news came, it was like the world has stopped.

rin had been gravely injured in battle.

you rushed to the battlefield, your heart racing. the sight that greeted you was one of chaos, smoke and blood and the cries of the wounded. but all you could see was him.

he was lying on a wooden bunk, his armor stained with blood, his face pale and fatigued. but when he saw you, he smiled. a smile, a faint smile, but it was enough.

"you have come," he said, his voice weak but filled with warmth.

"how could i have stayed away?," you asked, your voice breaking as you knelt beside him.

he reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. "forgive me," he whispered.

"do not," you said, tears streaming down your face. "do not apologize. only stay with me."

silence stretched between you before he spoke. instead, his eyes locked onto yours, searching for an answer. "in another life," he said finally. "in another life, i shall seek thee out and find thee once more."

and then, as the tears fell and the world faded away, he was gone.

you held him in your arms, the weight of his body a cruel reminder of what you had lost. but even as the pain threatened to consume you, you held on to his words.

"and i shall find thee too," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper.

year 1898. true fate.

the second time, you were philosophers.

you met in the bustling streets of kyoto, the city alive with the energy of scholars and seekers, all drawn to the ancient capital in pursuit of wisdom. you had come to study under a renowned master, your heart set on unraveling the mysterious of existence. but it wasn't the teachings of your mentor that would change your life. it was him.

rin.

he was standing on a wooden platform in the heart of the marketplace, his voice flowing smoothly over the crowd’s murmurs. rin's words were sharp, thougtful, cutting through the noise with an intensity that demanded attention. you stopped to listen, drawn not just by the sound of his voice but by the way he carried himself.

"the universe is not confined to our understanding," he said, scanning the crowd. "it exists beyond our perceptions, beyond our fears, beyond our desires. to seek truth is to acknowledge that we may never grasp it."

the crowd murmured, some nodding in agreement, others shaking their heads in dissent. but you stood there, mesmerized and fascinated.

when the lecture ended, you approached him, your hands clutching the scrolls you had been carrying. "your words," you began, your voice trembling slightly, "they have struck a chord within me."

he turned to you. "did they truly?"

you nodded, your throat suddenly dry. "indeed, i have long held that truth is not an object to be possessed, but a pursuit we must forever follow."

a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "you are different," he said.

"what is it you mean?"

"most people come to these debates with the intent to prove their righteousness," he said. "you, however, came to listen."

you felt your cheeks flushed, but you held his gaze. "i believe there is more to be learned from the questions we ask than from the answers we claim to have."

he studied you for a moment, his eyes, those beautiful eyes, searching yours. then he nodded, as if he had found something he was looking for. "come with me," he said.

you followed him to a quiet spot by the kamo river, where the water reflected the lanterns that lined the banks. the night was cool, the air filled with the soft chirping of crickets and the distant sound of laughter. you sat beside him on the grass, the silence between you comfortable, almost familiar.

"do you believe in fate?" you asked after a while, your voice soft.

no answer from him. instead, he looked out at the river, his expression thoughtful. "i believe in choices, yes," he said finally. "but i also hold that some things are simply inevitable."

"like what?"

he turned to you, his eyes meeting yours. "like this," he said.

your breath caught in your throat. "what do you mean?"

"i mean," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "it is as if i have known you before. as though we have spoken these words a thousand times, across a thousand different lives."

"do you think such thing is possible?" you asked, your voice trembling. "to find one another again, in another life?"

"yes."

year 1924. poetry lives forever.

the third time, you were writers.

you met in a small, dimly lit café tucked away in the heart of milan. the air smelled of coffee and old books, and the sound of rain tapping against the windows filled the silence. he sat at a corner table, his hair falling into his eyes as he scribbled furiously in a notebook.

you noticed him immediately. not just because he was beautiful, though he was, but because there was something about him that felt familiar.

you didn't mean to approach him. but when you dropped your pen and it rolled to his feet, he looked up, and your eyes met. for a moment, the world stopped.

"yours?" he asked, holding up the pen.

you nodded. "thank you."

he handed it to you, his fingers brushing against yours.

"i am rin," he said, his voice low.

you told him your name, and he smiled.

that was the beginning.

you started meeting at the café every day. he was working on a novel, and you were writing poetry. at first, you talked about your work, his characters, your metaphors, the way words could build worlds. but soon, the conversations turned deeper. you talked about life, about dreams, about the things that kept you up at night.

"do you ever feel, as though you are endlessly searching for something, though you cannot name it?" you asked him one evening, as the two of you sat by the window, the rain still falling outside.

he looked at you. "all the time," he said. "yet i do not know what it is."

you didn't know either. but you knew that being with him felt like coming home.

one day, you showed him a poem you had written. it was about reincarnation, about the idea that souls find each other again and again, across lifetimes.

"i'll find you in another life," you read aloud, your voice trembling slightly. "no matter where you are, no matter who you become, i'll find you."

when you finished, you looked up at him, scared of his reaction. he was silent for a long time. what did he think?

"how beautiful," he said finally, his voice low.

you felt your cheeks flush. "thank you."

he reached for your notebook, his fingers brushing against yours. "may i read it once more?"

you nodded, handing it to him. he read the poem slowly, his eyes scanning the words as if committing them to memory. when he finished, he looked up at you.

"how curious. i, too, write of reincarnation," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"you do?"

he nodded. "it speaks of two souls bound by an eternal pull, always finding one another, lifetime after lifetime. they do not always recall their past encounters, but the connection that never fades."

your breath caught in your throat. "do they ever uncover the reason?"

he looked out the window, his demeanor reflective. "i believe it is because they are destined to be together," he said finally. "though first they must release all that holds them apart."

you felt your chest tighten. "do you think such thing is possible?"

he turned to you, his eyes meeting yours. "i do not know," he said. "but i believe it is worth seeking, with all that i am."

year 1941. childhood best friends.

the fourth time, you were childhood friends.

it was 1941, in a calm, tiny city. the world was on the brink of war, but in your small corner of the world, life was simple. rin and you grew up next door to each other, your lives intertwined from the moment you could walk.

you spent your days exploring the woods behind your houses, building forts out of fallen branches, and chasing fireflies as the sun dipped below the horizon. rin was quiet, even then, but he had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the world.

"do you think we will always be friends?" you asked him one summer evening, as the two of you lay on the grass, the stars stretching out above you.

he reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours before answering.

"i think we will always be more than friends," he said finally.

as the war loomed closer, the atmosphere in your small town grew tense. boys you had grown up with began to enlist, their faces filled with a mixture of fear and determination.

rin, however, stayed behind. at least for a while.

"are you not going? why?" you asked him one evening, as the two of you sat on the porch swing, the sound of crickets filling the air.

he looked out at the horizon. "i don't know," he said. "i just feel like i am supposed to be here."

but eventually, the call to duty became too strong to ignore. the day told you he was enlisting, the world seemed to stop.

"i have to go," he said, his voice steady but his eyes betraying the weight of his decision.

you felt your chest tighten. "i will write to you," you said, tears slipping. "every day."

he smiled. "i will write back," he promised.

the letters started almost immediately.

rin's first letter arrived just a few weeks after he left. it was short, just a few lines scribbled on a piece of paper, but it was enough to make your heart soar.

"dear y/n,

i miss your voice. the nights here are too quiet, and i hate it.

are you doing okay? tell my parents i am fine, even if it is a lie. tell me about home, about anything. just write to me.

i miss you. more than i should.

rin."

you wrote back immediately, pouring your heart onto the page.

"beloved rin,

thank you for keeping your promise, but it feels so empty without you. the town is the same, yet it feels like a ghost town - maybe it is just me. there are more women than men, though. did they all enlist, too? i do not remember. i only remember you.

school is dull without you. who should i tell about the stars now? i don't even know what is happening in the world anymore. only that you are not here.

every night, i look at the stars and wish for you to come back.

promise me you will.

please come back. i miss you. so much.

sincerely,

y/n"

his letters became your lifeline. they were filled with stories of the other soldiers, of the places he had seen, of the things he had learned. but they were also filled with something else. something deeper, something that made your chest ache.

"dear y/n,

i dreamt of you last night. even though my nights are restless, i forced myself to sleep for a few minutes, and there you were - just like always. we were home again, lying on the grass, watching the stars. you were talking, but i do not remember what you said.

i only remember the way you looked at me, the way the night felt warm, like nothing in the world could do anything to us.

it felt real. too real. like we had done it before, maybe in another life. maybe in a life where i never had to leave.

i miss you too. more than i can say. more than i should.

i will come back.

rin."

you wrote back, your hands trembling as you held the pen.

"my beloved rin,

i dreamt of you too. maybe it is fate. maybe we were always meant to find each other, in this life or another. i like to think that no matter where we go, no matter how far, we will always find our way back. don't you think so too?

i can not wait to see you again. but you did not promise me you would come back. you almost did, but not quite. do it next time, okay? you would not want me to be sad, would you?

i love you i miss you more than words can hold. some nights, it feels unbearable.

sincerely,

y/n"

but then, one day, the letters stopped.

at first, you told yourself it was just the mail being delayed. but as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, the silence became unbearable.

you wrote to him every day, your letters filled with hope and fear and longing. but there was no response.

"my beloved rin,

it has been weeks since your last letter, and every passing day feels like an eternity. i tell myself that you are just busy, that the war keeps you from writing, that the mail is slow. but the silence is louder than any excuse i can make for you. and maybe, just maybe, you have chosen it.

i tell myself a thousand little lies just to keep my heart from breaking, but i think it is already shattered.

i do not know if you are safe. i do not know if you are cold or hungry, if you have enough to eat, if you have made friends or if you are alone. i do not know if you still think of me. if, in the quiet moments between gunfire and marching orders, you close your eyes and see my face the way i see yours every time i close mine.

i miss you. i miss you in ways that feel unbearable, in ways that make it hard to breathe. i miss your voice, the way it could turn the worst days into something softer. i miss your laugh, the one you used to hide behind your hand when i said something ridiculous. i miss the way you used to hold me, like i was something precious, something you could not bear to lose. and yet here i am. lost. left behind. abandoned to empty nights and unanswered letters.

i still look at the stars, rin. every night. just like we used to. i try to find the constellations you loved, the ones you traced with your fingers against the sky, whispering their names like a prayer. and sometimes, for just a moment, i let myself believe that maybe you are looking at them too. that maybe, somewhere across this vast, war-torn world, you remember me.

but what if you do not? what if the war has changed you? what if the boy i love has been swallowed by something i will never understand? what if i am writing to someone who no longer exists?

i want to be angry with you. i want to scream and curse your name for leaving me behind, for choosing this war over me, for breaking every promise you ever made. you once swore you would never leave me, do you remember that? do you remember pressing your forehead against mine and whispering, "always. no matter what."

was that a lie, rin? or did you just not think i was worth staying for?

i know you wanted to be someone great. i know you thought enlisting would make you a man, that it would give your life purpose. but what about our life? did it ever hold any meaning for you? or was i just a quiet part of a life you were always meant to outgrow?

i try to be strong. i try to go about my days as if i am not coming apart at the seams. but everything reminds me of you. the sounds of boots against the pavement. the scent of fresh rain on the earth. the way the wind moves through the trees.

i wish i would have told you my feelings i hold for you. i wish i would have told you how much i love you and how you should not go to the war. that you are walking into death.

i have to ask. do you miss me at all? or has the war taken even that from you?

i do not know how much longer i can do this. how much longer i can keep waiting for letters that may never come, for a love that may no longer exist, for a boy who may already be gone. i do not know if you are alive, and that uncertainty is eating me alive, rin.

but if you are alive. if you are still out there, still breathing, still the same boy who once swore we would always be together. please. please write back. even if it is just to tell me that i no longer have a place in your heart. at least then, i will know to stop waiting.

with all the love i have left,

y/n"

but there was no response.

"do you think he is okay?" you asked your mother one evening, your voice trembling.

she didn't answer right away. instead, she reached for your hand, her fingers intertwining with yours. "i don't know, dear," she said finally. "but i think he would want you to keep living."

you didn't know what to say to that. but as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, you began to understand.

one night, as you lay on the grass, it felt like rin was laying right beside you.

"i will find you," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper. "in another life, i will find you again."

and as the tears fell and the world faded away, you knew it was true.

year 1997. poetry truly lives forever.

the fifth time, you were desk mates.

the world felt both vast and small at the same time. you were both in high school, sitting in a classroom that smelled like chalk dust and old books. the desks were arranged in neat rows, and you found yourself seated next to him. rin itoshi. he was quiet, always scribbling in a notebook, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he focused on whatever he was writing. you didn't know much about him, but there was something about him, but it seemed like you couldn't figure that out.

the teacher stood at the front of the room, holding a worn anthology of poetry. "today," she said, her voice crisp and clear, "we will be analyzing a poem by y/n l/n, a poet from the 1920s. y/n, since you share her name, why don't you read it aloud for us?"

of course you have to read it a loud. you were named after the poet. your mother loved her since she was a kid. still, your heart skipped a beat. you weren't used to being called on, especially not in front of the whole class. but you stood up, clutching the book in your hands, and began to read.

"i'll find you in another life," you read aloud, your voice trembling slightly. "no matter where you are, no matter who you become, i'll find you. across lifetimes, across oceans, across the stars. i'll find you."

the room was silent when you finished. you glanced up, your eyes instinctively finding rin's. he was staring at you, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes, almost unsettling.

"thank you, y/n," your teacher said, breaking the silence. "now, let's discuss the themes of the poem. what do you think the poet is trying to convey?"

the class erupted into chatter, but you couldn't focus. you kept glancing at rin, who was now scribbling furiously in his notebook. when the bell rang, you gathered your things, but before you could leave, rin stopped you.

"that poem," he said, his voice low. "it's familiar."

you blinked, surprised. "familiar?"

he hesitated, then opened his notebook and handed it to you. inside were pages filled with his handwriting. lines and lines of poetry, all about reincarnation.

"i dreamt of you last night," one line read. "not as you are now, but as you were before. in another life, in another time, i knew you."

your breath caught in your throat. "you're writing about reincarnation too?"

he nodded, his dark eyes searching yours. "yeah. i don't know why, but it's like i can't stop thinking about it. about the idea that we've lived before. that we have met before."

you didn't know what to say. the poem you had just read, the words rin had written. it all felt too coincidental, too real.

"do you think it's possible?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "to find someone again, in another life?"

"i don't know," he said. "but if it is... i think i would find you."

your chest tightened, your heart pounding in your chest. "and if you did?"

he smiled. "i'd tell you the same thing i'm telling you now."

"what's that?"

"i'm glad i found you."

from that day on, the two of you became inseparable. you spent hours after school in the library, analyzing poems and sharing your own writing. rin's notebook became a treasure trove of stories about lifetimes and love, and you found yourself drawn to his words - and to him.

one day, as the two of you sat under a tree in the school courtyard, rin turned to you, his expression serious.

"would you try to find me in another life? if i would die today?" he asked.

you looked at him, surprised. "why would you say such things?"

"would you?" he ignored your question, his gaze unwavering, determined to get an answer out of you.

the weight of his question hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting. you hesitated. but then you looked into his eyes - those dark, intense eyes that always seemed to see right through you - and you knew your answer.

"yes," you said, your voice firm despite the tremor in your chest. "yes, rin, i would."

for a moment, he didn't respond. he just stared at you. then, without warning, he leaned in, his hand cupping your cheek as his lip met yours.

the kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if he was afraid you might pull away. but when you didn't, when you leaned into him instead, your hands gripping the front of his shirt, it deepened. deepened, becoming something more. something desperate, something aching, something that felt like it had been building for lifetimes.

when he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

"good," he whispered, his voice rough. "because i'd find you too. no matter what."

you didn't know what to answer, but you didn't need to. because in that moment, under the shade of the tree with the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves, you knew it was true.

no matter how many lives you lived, no matter how many times you had to start over, you would always find each other.

you thought.

year 1978. strangers.

the sixth time, you were strangers on a train.

it was a cold winter morning, and the train was packed with commuters. you sat by the window, your breath fogging up the glass as you stared out at the blur of snow-covered buildings rushing past. the rhythmic clatter of the train on the tracks was soothing, almost hypnotic, and you let yourself drift, your thoughts wandering.

that's when you saw him.

he was sitting across the aisle, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he stared down at a book. there was something about him - you feel like you know him, but this was your first time seeing him.

who was he?

you found yourself glancing at him more than once, your heart skipping a beat every time he turned a page or adjusted his scarf.

you didn't know why, but you felt drawn to him. like a magnet pulling you closer, even though you were sitting perfectly still.

days turned into weeks, and you began to notice him every morning. he always sat in the same spot, always reading, always quiet. you never spoke, but sometimes your eyes would meet, and for a brief moment, it felt like you knew each other for decades.

one morning, the train was unusually empty. you sat in your usual seat, and to your surprise, he sat down across from you.

"mind if i sit here?" he asked, his voice low and smooth.

you shook your head, your heart racing. "no, not at all."

for a while, neither of you spoke. he went back to his book, and you pretended to focus on yours. but then, out of nowhere, he looked up and said, "do we know each other?"

you blinked, surprised. "i don't think so, why?"

he hesitated, then closed his book and set it aside. "i don't know, i feel like we know each other from somewhere."

"oh," you said, as the train neared your station. "i have to leave. i'll see you around," you smiled at him before hurrying out the train.

the next morning, he wasn't there.

you waited, your heart sinking as the train pulled into the station and he didn't appear. the days turned into weeks, and still, there was no sign of him.

you didn't know why, but it felt like a piece of you was missing.

year 2025. bury your feelings.

the seventh time, you were his manager, though neither of you was happy about it.

rin itoshi was a force of nature on the soccer field, a prodigy who had no patience for rules, authority, or anyone telling him what to do. he'd gone through managers like water, firing them one after another, until his mother - a woman as formidable as she was elegant - decided enough was enough.

that's where you came in.

you were the daughter of a close family friend, a rising star in sports management with a reputation for being as stubborn as you were brilliant. when rin's mother assigned you to be his manager, you knew it wouldn't be easy. but you also knew you couldn't say no.

your first meeting was a disaster.

rin stormed into the sleek, modern office of the team's headquarters, his dark eyes blazing with barely contained fury.

"i don't need a manager," he snapped, his voice low and dangerous.

you didn't flinch. "good thing i'm not here to ask for your permission, then."

he glared at you, his jaw tightening. "you think you can handle this just because you're oh-so-brilliant?"

you met his gaze without hesitation. "i know it."

from that day on, your interactions were a battlefield. you pushed him harder than anyone ever had, demanding perfection in every drill, every practice, every match. he resisted at every turn, his pride bristling at the idea of someone telling him what to do.

"you're not my boss," he stared at you after one particularly intense practice session.

"you're right," you shot back, your voice sharp. "i'm the person who's going to make sure you don't waste your talent. whether you like it or not. i promised your parents."

he didn't respond, but the look he gave you could have melted steel.

despite the tension, there were brief moments when you saw something beneath the surface. like when he stayed late after practice, perfecting a shot until his hands were raw and his breath came in ragged gasps. or when he quietly helped a younger player with his technique, his usual arrogance replaced by something softer. every time, you were there, watching him.

one night, someone knocked at your apartment door.

you didn't want to open the door. it was late. too late for anyone to be standing in front of your door. but when you peeked through the peephole and saw rin standing there, you knew it was going to be one of those nights.

you took a deep breath and pulled the door open, ready for another round of heated arguments, only to freeze when you saw him.

he was leaning against the doorframe, his duffle bag hanging loosely from one hand, his other clutching his phone. his usually perfect hair was a mess, dark strands sticking to his forehead, and his pale face looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"what?" you asked, crossing your arms, though you couldn't help but noticed how his eyes, usually sharp and focused, were dull with exhaustion.

"i forgot my keys," he muttered, voice hoarse and rough. "can't get into my place, and i have no one to call."

you narrowed your eyes at him. "you expect me to let you in? just like that?"

rin's lips twisted in a familiar, defiant smirk, but it didn't reach his eyes. "what's the alternative? i sleep in my car?"

you felt the familiar flare of irritation rise up within you. you hated the way he always seemed to get under your skin. the way he acted like he was always one step ahead. but when you took a second look at him, pale, tired, and standing in your doorway like he was too exhausted to even be annoyed with you anymore, you felt a sudden, unwanted pang of sympathy.

"fine," you said, stepping aside reluctantly.

he stepped inside, shoulders sagging slightly as he dropped his bag by the door. there was a strange tension between you both as he stands there, not making eye contact, like neither of you knew what to say next.

the silence stretched, thick with the usual animosity, but there was something else hanging in the air, something you couldn't quite place.

"i didn't think you'd actually let me in," he muttered, looking at the floor.

you shrugged, turning toward the kitchen. "i didn’t think you’d show up at all. it’s not like we’re best friends, rin.”

you both knew it’s not the full truth. you had fought tooth and nail from the moment his mother handed him over to you as his manager, but somewhere along the way, the constant bickering had turned into something else. a little more tolerance. a little more understanding.

still, you couldn't let him off the hook that easily.

“you really should’ve called sae,” you added, tossing a bottle of water his way.

he caught it, staring at it for a second before his lips quirked upward, just a little. “are you teasing me?”

you almost smiled at that, despite yourself. “no.”

he sank into the couch, closing his eyes and leaning back, his exhaustion finally catching up with him. you could see it now. the way his shoulders were tense, the way his hands were trembling just a little as he took a sip of water.

it was almost strange, seeing him like this. the usual confident, untouchable athlete is gone, replaced by someone who looked human, vulnerable even. it made the usual anger between you feel a little more fragile, like it could break at any moment.

“do you need anything else?” you asked, trying to hide the slight softness in your voice.

rin shook his head, not opening his eyes. “just don’t make me go back out there. i don’t know where else to go.”

there was a heaviness in his words. and for the briefest moment, you thought about it, about how much of him had been buried beneath the mask of a football star. but you didn’t dwell on it.

you stepped back, pretending not to hear the vulnerability in his tone. “don’t get comfortable. you’re only staying for the night. i have a ton of work to do, and i'm not babysitting you.”

rin huffed out a laugh, even though it’s weak. “babysitting me? despite you being my manager, i'm still older than you.”

the tension between you two simmered beneath the surface. but for the first time, there was a flicker of something else in his eyes. it was fleeting, barely noticeable, but you caught it.

it was something like trust. or maybe need.

you couldn't tell.

but for now, you let him stay. and when you finally turned away to leave the room, you thought about how this felt like there was something the universe tried to tell you both.

[siempre-bucky]

not a senator.

Qimir x Senator!Reader

Summary: On the run after a failed assassination attempt, you run into a peculiar apothecary owner

WC: 1.7k

Warnings: Mentions of blood

A/N: For the Anon that requested a senator!reader meet cute <3

You weren’t sure how long you’d been running through the outskirts of Olega, it felt like as soon as you left your ship you were being followed, hunted. The branches of the trees rustled in warning, and the whispers of threats danced along your ears. You picked up the bottom of your cloak, the last thing tethering you to your former self, and ran. It was a gift from the Senator elected before you, a soft navy blue velvet with matching metallic fiber woven into seams. You treated it as a reminder of who you once were. 

 The state of exhaustion had set in, hunger squeezed your stomach, but the adrenaline kept you going. 

Get to safety, get far from here, the terrified guard told you in the dead of night, an assassin lying dead at the foot of your bed in a pool of crimson that glowed in the bright lights of the Courscant nightlife outside the large windows of your room. It was an assassination attempt, a group of assassins hired by political rivals to remove you from the Senate—permanently. Supposedly, it was an era of peace but you soon learned how fleeting peace was. 

“Get the Senator!” a man seethed, pointing his knife in your direction as you disappeared into the bustling crowd of the marketplace, his other hand had the collar of his henchman clenched tightly in his fist, pulling the man in with a look of sudden fear in his eyes. The market had made good cover so far, the people of the planet were barely paying any attention to you running for your life. They went about their business, loitering on rust ridden buildings and eagerly bartering for goods. 

You heard someone mention an apothecary as you passed them. Your eyes hastily searched for it, just make it there. There’d be plenty of places to hide inside. You slid the dirty red door open and walked inside cautiously, the patrons paying no mind as you stepped through the doorway. Your eyes scanned the apothecary noting that it was a rather small place. A few people examined the various items on the shelves while a couple of others stood by the window beside you. It was a mess, you thought as you caught your breath. 

In front of you, stood a tall slender man behind the small counter. He paid you no mind as his eyes narrowed at the glowing yellow tile in the center of the counter, his hands tinkering with some broken parts that illuminated in the small light. You thought he was peculiar, the way he watched his work so intensely. 

“In there,” you heard the same voices from earlier shouting from the other side of the window, “check in there.” 

You were out of time to make a getaway, and in this small space, you didn’t have many hiding options. Taking in the lack of hiding spots, you ran towards the apothecary's owner, jumping and sliding behind the counter, his scraps falling in all directions with various clinking sounds. 

The man looked down at you with wide eyes and a shocked expression while you made yourself as small as you could, bringing your knees to your chest and pressing your back to the counter, your shoulders hunched over. Panic was setting in. “Hello,” he said lightly, clinging the two metal bottles in his hands together. If you weren’t so scared, you would have thought he was handsome this close up. Cheekbones carved especially by the Maker and disheveled black hair that covered his dark brown eyes. He was beautiful and in desperate need of a good shower. His loose but tattered green and brown clothes made him fit in with the rest of the place, a little dirty and run down.

“There are men trying to kill me out there. Please don’t let them find me!” you pleaded with him, skipping the pleasantries. He just stared at you blankly, and you assumed he already made up his mind. This was the way that the galaxy worked, you were too sheltered on your home planet and then sent to Coruscant where it was no better in the Senate. Things weren't perfect, people were not good like Jedi Masters told you they were.

He smirked playfully down at you, “Was that a pickup line?” he asked with a chuckle. Your face fell, lips falling to an annoyed grimace. 

“Maker,” you cursed, accepting your fate The door was suddenly ripped from its hinges, the earth-shattering thunk caught everyone's attention. You jumped, clasping your hands over your mouth to muffle any kind of fearful cry. 

The man looked at you and then back to the two burly men who barreled into his apothecary. They strolled up to the bar with confidence, the owner's eyes fixated on them. “Hello!” he greeted with the same light tone, “how can I help you?” 

The taller of the two bounty hunters leaned on the bar, his eyes narrowed. “We’re looking for a Senator,” he informed plainly, “Got a high price on that pretty head— we could cut you in for any relevant information.” The man pulled a hologram from his pocket and placed it on the table, turning it on. The owner looked at your official portrait that was slowly rotating in front of him and narrowed his eyes, he was taking it all in. He probably thought you looked more put together in the photo than you do now. Dirt covering your cheeks, strands of hair stuck to your sweaty forehead. 

He chuckled, “You sound a little desperate if you’re offering a cut to someone like me.” 

You looked up at him worriedly, you could see how his jaw clenched but his body remained light at his tone of voice. Your heart pounded against your chest, the men were about to offer a large sum and the owner was about to take it, you were sure of it. 

The bounty hunter snarled, but the other man stood still and held his ground. “I should have your head for that.” 

The man put his hands on the counter and nonchalantly turned off the hologram. His face was stone, unreadable as he continued to make eye contact with the bounty hunter. They stared at each other in silence, the background noise of the apothecary began to get increasingly louder in your ears. It was almost deafening, the clanking of jars and whirling of mechanical tools screamed at you. You moved your hands from your lips and slid them up towards your ears. 

But you stopped when the bounty hunters began to speak lifelessly, almost as if he was in a trance

“There is no Senator here, we will leave,” the bounty hunters spoke in unison, reaching into their pockets and retrieving two brown sacks of credits. The owner smiled as they placed it on the counter and exited without another word. 

You waited until you heard their footsteps fade to cautiously rise from the floor, your eyes frantically scanning the room to make sure it was safe. “They left,” you breathed as if it was the first time. 

“See,” he beamed, “Not so bad.” He took the two sacks in one hand, and your shaky one in the other. Your eyes met as he put the bags in your hand, “This should probably be enough to get you started if you choose to stay.” 

He let go and made his way to the back entrance, leaving you there staring at the bags in pure shock, “Thank you-,” you whispered before swiftly following him to the back alley. It suddenly dawned on you that you didn't know his name, he saved your life and you didn’t even ask. 

“Qimir!” he called back as if he knew what you were thinking. Strange.

You followed close behind him, but once you started to think, your steps became slower and separated the two of you. How was he able to change their minds so quickly, they were dead set on killing you. They were bounty hunters, the most relentless creatures in the galaxy. 

You paused, clenching the two bags in your hands tighter. “How’d you get them to leave like that?” You asked sternly, the Senator in you coming out. “Are you—” you paused. You had only seen methods like that from a select few, “—Jedi?” 

He stopped, blood running cold in his veins. You saw how his body tensed up then he stood up straight, pushing back his greasy hair, the strands falling perfectly into place. Qimir slowly turned to you and everything abruptly seemed off. His face was no longer filled with meek eagerness, he was secure and held himself with such poise. A whole shift in personality you noted. He slowly strode over, his eyes darkening as he moved. His whole presence felt dark. 

A chill ran down your spine as he approached you. Was he about to kill you? 

“Quite the opposite, Senator,” he spoke lowly with a slight rasp to his tone, his head tilting to the side, looking up at you. Another chill went through you. 

 His face was so close you could see every freckle on his face, every shade of brown in his eyes. 

You heard the stories of those who practiced the ways of the Force outside the Jedi Order, they had a name but you couldn’t recall what it was. The Council didn’t like to talk about them, another senator you became acquainted with once said they didn’t mention it purposely for it would “dampen the era of peace in the galaxy.”  You were too busy staring at the man in front of you, unsure if you wanted to run or kiss him, “N-not a Senator,” you swallowed, you couldn't call yourself that any longer. 

“‘I’ll make you a deal.” You nodded. “Tell no one of what happened here,” and I’ll spare your life, “and anything in the apothecary is yours for free.”

You smirked, “Deal,” you said, taking a step back and holding out your hand, “Thank you again, Qimir.”  Qimir nodded and shook your hand, his skin tingling at the sensation of your hand in his. Was this desire? He pulled away and began to walk back towards the apothecary, before he reached the door he looked at you with a smirk on his chiseled face, “You’re quite welcome, Senator. I hope to see you soon.”

[malsmind]

more than we thought

a bsf!mat xbsf!reader series by @ 𝓂𝒶𝓁𝓈𝓂𝒾𝓃𝒹

chapter 1

warnings: swearing, slight flirting

wc: 1.5k

chapter 2

english is not my first language!

unexpectedly, you and matt met on the east coast, where you both lived a few years back, making your first actual and geniuine bond of friendship with the triplets when you were fifteen and they were seventeen. you got along with his brothers, then they inroduced you to matt. it just clicked. the both of you got along instantly, the same interests you shared along with your and matts mental health, dealing with similar problems just made you feel understood, and he felt the same.

who would have thought that about four years later, you guys would share a bond thats even stronger, a friendship that you'd never want to lose.

creating content on the internet, making youtube videos.. it was a job that wasn't your cup of tea, but your closest friends loved it. you always supported them, every step of the way til this day, you were happy for them, it made you happy to see them so happy about it.

even when in 2022, when you were seventeen, and they were nineteen, they moved to Los Angeles.

they came to visit, obviously because of their family and friends. it was weird at first, not hanging out with them during the summer, not getting to go for late night drives with matt when school was draining you again, but it wasn't the worst. you knew you'd join them soon after you graduated, that's how you always planned it to be. when that day finally came, you were beyond excited, and so were nick, matt and chris. eventually, you did find your passion in making content on social media. not fully commited to it, but you still did your occaisonal little vlog, posted tiktoks, instagram dumps and appeared on your friends youtube channel every now and then. it was safe to say, you were happy in life. highschool sucked for you, you had friends, sure, but none that you'd actually feel happy around. no real friends, no friends that'd actually have you feeling like you had someone you could trust, laugh with, share memories with. so moving to LA to where your real friends were, getting your first own apartment, growing independent felt like a dream come true.

you were currently sat on matt's bed, looking for some decoration and furniture for your apartment. you moved in almost a year ago but you didn't get the chance to fully furnish and decorate your apartment yet. decisions on what you want and the various options making it harder than it needed to be.

"i can't find a good coffee table. they all just look the same." you sighed, throwing your phone aside and flopping down into matt's pile of pillows.

he turned around from where he was sat at his desk, playing fortnite with chris, taking a look at your phone display layed out with pictures of coffee tables. they indeed all looked the same. "well, you got any idea what you want specifically?" matt asked you, turning back around to face is screen. "anything that doesn't look like those right there. they look too modern and it's just not for me." you picked up your phone again, trying your luck on facebook marketplace, vinted, and other second hand places. vintage was always your way to go. the aesthetic fitting your personality just right. at the end of the day, your apartment was like your safe space, so your goal was to make it look cozy and feel like it too.

noticing you were now back into focusing on your deep dive on furniture, matt didn't say anything more. you scrolled for what felt like ages until you finally found your dream coffee table for your living room, a perfect match for the couch you had bought two months ago. you apbrubtly got up from matt's bed, holding your phone for him to look at your find. "oh my god. tell me this isn't the most PERFECT coffee table you've ever seen" matt turned his head, shoving his headset off on one side to be able to pay you more attention, his eyes squiting at the picture in front of him. "how much is that?"

"$200" you smiled, happy with your find.

"$200 for that old thing??" matt frowned at you as if trying to ask you if you were seriously going to spend that much money on it. "it's a fair price, dude." you returned his expression, turning your phone off and shoving it into your pocket. matt shrugged "you gonna go pick it up?"

"yup, you wanna come along?" you asked him, fixing your hair from laying on it for the past two hours. "yeah, lemme just finish this game" matt said, putting his headset back on, letting chris know too. you made your way out of matt's room, sitting down on the couch next to nick while waiting.

"nick look" you squealed, proud and happy of what you're about to pick up. nick looked up from his laptop, grabbing your phone and swiping trough the pictures. "oh my god, that's PERFECT for your living room!" nick exclaimed, matching your excitement. "literally what i said. i think plants by the wall next to the couch would look SO good with that coffee table in the room." you said, picturing it. nick agreed, handing you your phone back. "you wanna come along with me and matt and pick it up?" you asked nick, typing out a message for the seller to let him know you'll be on your way soon. "i gotta edit our friday video, sorry. but i'll come by when you got it!" nick offered and you nodded. "no worries."

matt's door opened and he walked up to you and nick, stretching. "you ready to head out?" he asked, nodding his head at you. you got up with a yes, waving goodbye to nick and making your way downstairs, matt following close. matt had picked you up earlier today, so your car was back at your place. he drove to the location put into the gps of the car, bobbing his head along to whatever song you put on aux. you were restless with excitement, admiring the pictures of the piece of furtniture that you were soon to call your own.

you arrived at the sellers place after about 15 minutes of driving, getting out of the car with a slight jump of happiness. matt shook his head with a chuckle, locking the car and following you. the coffee table looked just like it did on the photos, just perfect. after getting it into the car and driving to your place, you and matt carried it up into your apartment, placing it down on the rug in your living room. just how you imagined it, it looked perfect. you loved it. "it's so fucking perfect i'm gonna cry!" you chirped excitedly, hugging matt's side tightly. he hugged you back, matching your happiness. "still can't believe you spent $200 on it though."

"one hundred precent worth it and you know it" you smiled, proudly looking at your finally fully furnished living room area.

...

the soft sound of your spotify playlist coming from the TV filled the room, along with conversation between you and your friends. you were laying between matt's legs on the couch, the back of your head resting against his chest while talking to nick and chris. "i mean, it's technically the same fuckin' thing, no?" matt huffed, shrugging. "kid, no. a TV show takes so much more effort to like, get trough." chris spoke. "not really to be honest. if you fuck with it it's not gonna feel as dragging like it would when you don't, obviously."

"nah but still, i'd rather just watch a movie than dedicate a whole day to grinding episodes. like you fully plan your day out around watching a whole season of a TV show" chris argued.

you and nick both exchanged looks, trying to hold your laughter at the meaningless conversation between the other two. the argument about what's better to watch kept going on for a little while longer until it eventually died down.

for the late evening, all of you decided on doordashing some food, eating it while watching a movie. when the movie finished, everyone got up, matt tapped your shoulders that his hands were rested on, urging you to get up so he could too. you got up, stretching, matt matched your movements. "i'll probably be out tomorrow but i can swing by later on." you let them know and they nodded, making their way to the front door of your apartment. hugging you goodbye, nick and chris made their way to the car. matt hugged you, "text me when you guys get home" you mumbled into his hoodie, hugging him back.

you said your goodbyes to matt for the night, closing the door and making your way into the living room, cleaning up the empty cartons of pizza and cans of sodas.

finished with your nightly routine, wiping off your makeup and doing some skincare, you got into bed, picking up your phone.

series link (everything you need to know)

taglist

@grace-sturnz @rcklessheavn @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @chrissturniolossidebitch

[diamonddaze01]

golden promises

pairing: xu minghao x reader | wc: 5.6k genre: angst angst angst! failed soulmates au | warnings: none a/n: this one goes out to my 8stars @ylangelegy & @haologram // thank you to @gotta-winwin and @haologram for the beta i adore you both! // my second attempt at trying to make my writing more poetic lol recommended listening 🎧:  raanjhan - parampara tandon | bin tere - vishal-shekar | samjho na - aditya rikhari | khairiyat - arijit singh | ek tarfa - darshan rawal | judaiyaan - darshan rawal & shreya ghoshal | dill tutda - jassie gill | jhol - maanu & annural khalid | humnava mere - jubin nautiyal  the angst olympics are live! check out all the amazing authors <3 join my taglist here

summary: And so it began. Minghao, who believed in fate, and you, who didn’t.

The first time Xu Minghao saw you, his timer hit zero.

There are moments in life that split time into before and after. Moments that settle deep in your bones, rewriting everything you thought you knew. Moments where the air thickens, where the world rearranges itself, where your heart stops—not in fear, but in recognition.

He’d heard stories about this. How the second you meet your soulmate, the universe exhales, and suddenly, everything makes sense. How the colors brighten, how your name must already be written somewhere inside him, waiting for his mouth to speak it into existence.

And for him, it did.

The summer air was heavy with the scent of ripe mangoes and jasmine, the marketplace humming with the kind of easy chaos that made everything feel alive. He wasn’t looking for anything—just wandering, just passing through, just existing—until he saw you.

You were standing in front of a small stall, the kind draped in delicate trinkets and woven bracelets, spinning one between your fingers. Sunlight poured over you like melted gold, catching in your hair, glinting off the curve of your smile.

Something cracked open inside him.

Dhadkan tak tainu rasta diya, sajna

His heart had shown him the way to you.

Minghao looked down at his wrist.

Zero.

The numbers, the ones he had watched his whole life, had disappeared. The silent countdown, the seconds that had ticked through his childhood and whispered promises into his dreams, were gone.

No fireworks. No divine chorus. Just this—his heart a steady, unshaken certainty.

It’s you.

His feet moved before he could think, drawn forward by something older than reason, stronger than doubt. He was going to say something—what, he didn’t know. Maybe your name, as if he had known it all along. Maybe something simple, something mundane, just to hear the sound of your voice.

But then, his gaze flickered to your wrist.

And there it was.

Numbers. Still ticking.

His breath left him all at once.

It was as if the earth had shifted beneath him, tilting the universe off its axis. The relief, the elation, the quiet wonder—shattered. His fate was sealed, but yours was still unraveling.

The wind tangled in your hair as you laughed at something your friend said, a sound so light it felt like it could lift off the ground and drift toward the sky. You didn’t notice him. You didn’t feel what he felt.

Minghao had spent his whole life waiting for this moment. But now that it had arrived, it didn’t belong to him the way he thought it would.

He could have called out to you. Could have walked forward, told you his name, told you that he knew. That he knew.

But fate had played its hand, and it was not kind.

So he stayed where he was, watching as you tied the bracelet around your wrist, as you moved through the market, as you disappeared into the crowd.

His heart, once so certain, now a quiet war between longing and restraint.

He had found you.

But you hadn’t found him.

The second time Xu Minghao saw you, you were at an art gallery. 

It was a quiet evening, the kind where the world outside felt muffled, softened by the hush of a setting sun. The gallery was nearly empty, save for a few patrons lost in the language of brushstrokes and shadowed frames. The air smelled of old paper and fresh paint, of something delicate and fleeting, like a memory slipping through fingertips.

And there you were.

Standing in front of a canvas, your head tilted ever so slightly, eyes tracing each careful stroke. It was an abstract piece—colors bleeding into each other, shapes unraveling into something intangible. The kind of painting that felt like a secret, like it was whispering something just out of reach.

Minghao should have walked away. Should have kept his distance, let you exist in that moment without the weight of his knowing.

But he had spent days—weeks—thinking about you.

So he found himself saying, “Do you think the artist believed in soulmates?”

You turned at the sound of his voice, eyes catching his. Startled at first, but then—recognition flickered, not of him, but of something in his words, something worth answering.

“I doubt it,” you said, lips curving into a thoughtful smile. “Do you?”

Minghao hesitated. He could have lied, could have said something lighthearted, something easy. But standing here, in the quiet weight of oil and canvas, in the space between past and present, the truth pressed against his ribs like a caged bird.

“I think… sometimes you don’t get a choice.”

You laughed, soft and warm, like a silk ribbon unraveling in the wind. The kind of laugh that made things feel lighter, even when they weren’t.

“That’s tragic,” you murmured. “I’d rather choose.”

Minghao swallowed.

Tu taan saare dil 'te hi kabza karke beh gaya

You had already taken over his heart, even if you didn’t know it.

He studied you then—the way your fingers hovered just slightly in front of you, as if reaching for the meaning behind the painting. The way your eyes held galaxies, waiting to be charted. He wanted to memorize this moment, carve it into his bones before time stole it away.

He thought about telling you. About turning his wrist to show you the truth written on his skin. About how his world had stopped the moment he saw you, how the universe had already chosen for him.

But then your wrist shifted, the timer still ticking down. Still leading you to someone else.

The universe may have chosen for him, but for you, fate was still unwritten.

So he didn’t say anything.

Instead, he turned back to the painting, letting silence stretch between you like an unfinished story. And maybe that’s all he would ever be to you—a passing presence, a stranger in an art gallery, someone whose name you might never think to ask.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said finally, voice quiet. “Maybe choice is better.”

You smiled again, the kind that lingered even after you turned away, moving to the next painting.

Minghao stayed behind, staring at the colors on the canvas.

Wondering if love, when unreturned, still counted as love at all.

It should have ended there. A fleeting moment, a brush of time that barely left a mark. 

He told himself it would. That he would walk away, that he would let fate take its course, even if it didn’t bend in his favor.

But you didn’t let him.

You let him in.

It started small. A conversation stretched across an evening, then another. Then a name exchanged at a café a week later when he ran into you by accident—except it didn’t feel like an accident at all.

"Xu Minghao," he said.

You repeated it, testing the syllables on your tongue, making them something softer. Something dangerous.

After that, you existed in his life like a watercolor painting—gradual, spreading into all the empty spaces, impossible to contain.

It was raining the first time you talked about soulmates again.

You were both in a café, your fingers wrapped around a warm cup, the city humming outside in blurred headlights and water-streaked pavement. Minghao watched you, the way you always seemed lost in your own world before pulling him into it.

“The thing about soulmates,” you mused, tracing a finger along the rim of your cup, “is that they take the romance out of it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You think so?”

You nodded, thoughtful. “It’s too easy. Too neat. Love should be a choice, don’t you think?”

Minghao hesitated. His wrist had already made its choice. But you hadn’t.

“So you don’t believe in soulmates,” he murmured.

You exhaled a quiet laugh. “No. I think it’s just another story we tell ourselves. Something to make the world feel a little less lonely.”

He wanted to tell you, then. Wanted to turn his wrist over on the table, let you see the blank space where the numbers had disappeared, let you understand what had already been decided for him.

But you had a timer still ticking down, still leading you somewhere else.

So he just smiled, soft and unreadable. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Like—what if it’s all just biology? A trick of the mind? The idea that we’re all predestined for one person seems… sad.” The way you said it made Minghao’s heart clench in his chest.

Minghao had watched you carefully, fingers tightening around his cup. “Sad?”

“Well, yeah.” You glanced out the window, watching the rain smear the city into soft, indistinct colors. “It means you could love someone with everything you have, and if they aren’t ‘the one,’ it doesn’t count.”

But it does count, he had wanted to say. It counts for the one who loves, even if it’s not returned.

“I don’t know,” he had murmured instead, watching the way the light framed your face. “Some people don’t get a choice.”

You had hummed, considering. “I’d still rather choose.”

And Minghao—Minghao, whose timer had hit zero the moment he saw you—wanted, for the first time, to believe in choice too.

It didn’t stop at coffee.

You became a presence in his life, slipping in like a poem written in margins, like a song hummed under breath.

It was the bookstore, where you ran your fingers along spines like they held secrets meant only for you. Minghao had asked what you were looking for, and you had grinned, mischievous.

“Something tragic,” you had said. “Something that’ll ruin my week.”

Minghao had laughed, shaking his head. “Why do you want to be ruined?”

You had met his gaze, something unreadable in your eyes. “Because at least then I’d know it meant something.”

It was the late-night walks, where the world shrank to just the two of you, city lights flickering like fireflies in the distance. You had spoken about dreams, about places you wanted to see, about how the concept of forever never sat right with you.

“Nothing lasts,” you had said, kicking a stray pebble down the sidewalk.

Minghao had tilted his head toward the sky. “Maybe not everything is supposed to.”

You had smiled at that, a small, quiet thing. “See? Now that’s tragic.”

It was the mornings where you sat across from each other, the clink of ceramic cups filling the space between easy silences. It was the stolen moments where he caught you laughing at nothing, where you tilted your head against his shoulder when you were tired, where you let him trace shapes into your palm absentmindedly as you talked about anything and everything.

The next time, it was late at night, both of you lying on a rooftop under a sky thick with stars. The city pulsed below, neon lights flickering like distant fireflies. You had dragged him up here, claiming it was the best place to think.

And Minghao would follow you anywhere.

You turned your head to look at him. “You ever think about what you’d do if your timer hit zero at the wrong moment?”

Minghao stared up at the sky, at the endless black, at the constellations that had burned for thousands of years and still hadn’t figured out how to stay together.

“It’s not supposed to be wrong,” he said eventually.

You laughed, but it was a quiet, almost sad sound. “But what if it is?”

He turned to look at you, to the slight crease between your brows, to the weight behind your question.

He thought about telling you. About the way his timer had gone silent the moment he saw you, how his world had stilled in a way he hadn’t even realized was possible.

But then you rolled onto your side, elbow propped up, fingers tracing absent patterns against the rooftop.

“Love should be terrifying,” you murmured. “It should be something you have to fight for, something that could break you.” You glanced at him then, eyes gleaming in the dark. “Wouldn’t that be better than some numbers on a wrist?”

Minghao swallowed. “Maybe.”

You smiled, satisfied, and turned back to the sky.

Minghao turned back too.

And said nothing.

It was like this for months.

Conversations that drifted too close to the truth. Fingers brushing and lingering before pulling away. The quiet intimacy of something unspoken, something fragile, something too good to last.

Minghao knew he was losing you before you were even his to lose.

Because your timer kept ticking.

Because fate had not chosen him for you, even though it had chosen you for him.

Because love, when unreturned, still felt like love—but it also felt like drowning.

And someday soon, the clock would run out.

You said you didn’t believe in soulmates.

You said it with certainty, with fire in your eyes, with conviction carved into every syllable.

“That timer is just a cruel game the universe plays,” you told him once, voice steady, fingers curled around your own wrist like you wanted to crush the numbers beneath your grip. "Love isn’t about some stupid numbers on your skin. It’s about choosing someone."

And then you had looked at him—really looked at him—like he was something inevitable. Something certain.

"I choose you, Minghao."

Ab na Heer kade dil da yaqeen kar paayegi

How could he not believe in you when you said it like that?

Minghao had spent his whole life believing in fate.

Believing in the weight of the numbers, in the invisible thread that wove two people together across time and space. His timer had been a promise. A quiet, patient thing ticking down with purpose, with certainty.

Fate had called your name, but it had not whispered his.

And yet, here you were—standing in front of him, eyes searching, hands trembling slightly at your sides, offering him everything despite the ticking clock on your wrist. Despite the fact that your soulmate was still out there, waiting.

Minghao should have walked away. Should have been noble. Should have let you go before you could regret this, before you could realize that love, without fate behind it, could still crumble.

But he had spent months loving you in silence. He had spent months letting you fill the spaces between his ribs, settling into his bones like a song he could never forget.

So he stepped closer.

“You can’t take it back,” he murmured, barely above a whisper.

You frowned. “What?”

“If you choose me, you can’t take it back. Not when your timer runs out, not when—” his voice broke, but he forced himself to continue—“not when you meet them.”

Something in your expression shifted. The way the light flickered across your face, the way your breath hitched like you suddenly realized what you were doing.

But then your fingers reached for his, slow, deliberate.

“I don’t care,” you said, voice shaking but firm. “I don’t care about a timer, or some stranger I haven’t met. I care about you, Minghao. And I choose you.”

It was everything he had ever wanted.

It was everything he had feared.

Because love was never just a choice. Love was cruel. Love was fate and timing and inevitability. Love was a thief, and it stole from him the moment your words settled between them like a vow.

Because one day your timer would run out.

And when it did—when you met the person you were supposed to belong to—Minghao knew you would leave.

Not because you wanted to. But because some things were stronger than words. Because fate always won in the end.

So he exhaled shakily, pressed his forehead against yours, and closed his eyes.

“Okay,” he whispered.

If this was all he would ever have of you, then he would take it.

Even if it destroyed him.

For a year, Xu Minghao believed he had conned fate. 

He convinced himself that love could exist outside of destiny. That the universe had miscalculated, that your hand in his was proof that numbers meant nothing.

And for a year, you were his.

Judi hai rahein saari tujhse meri

Every road, every path, every turn—somehow, they all led back to you.

It was in the mornings when he woke up to find you tangled in the sheets, your breathing slow, the weight of your arm draped over his chest like a quiet claim. Minghao never moved right away. He just lay there, memorizing the shape of you against him, the way the early light painted soft gold across your skin.

It was in the afternoons, where laughter spilled between you like an unspoken promise. The two of you existed in a world of inside jokes, of coffee shop debates over which pastry was superior, of whispered conversations in libraries where you barely managed to keep your voices down. You stole fries off his plate, he stole sips of your drink, and every moment felt like something infinite.

It was in the nights, when time folded in on itself, and there was only you. Only your voice, a quiet murmur against his shoulder. Only your hands, threading through his, pulling him deeper into a love he shouldn’t have had.

A love that shouldn’t have lasted.

Because your timer was still ticking.

Some nights, when the world was too quiet, he would trace patterns over your wrist with featherlight fingers, his touch lingering just long enough to make you ache. You would see it then—that fleeting sadness, the way his eyes darkened as if trying to memorize the numbers before they could betray him. Before they could betray both of you.

And so you would do the only thing you knew how to. You would curl yourself around him, press your lips to the hinge of his jaw, to the soft curve beneath his ear. You would kiss him until he forgot about it, until he forgot about everything but the way your body molded against his, the way your hands tangled in his hair, the way you whispered his name like he was the only future you could ever want, like he was something worth staying for.

So he loved you recklessly, desperately, like a man who had borrowed time and dared to believe it was his own.

For a while, it worked.

For a while, he let himself believe that your love was louder than fate.

And then—

Then your timer hit zero.

The day your timer hit zero, Minghao was at your apartment, waiting. The scent of your favorite takeout filled the space, boxes neatly stacked on the counter. He had set the table the way you liked—your favorite glass, extra sauce on the side, a pair of chopsticks resting beside his own. A quiet offering of comfort, a piece of him saying I know today was hard, but I am here.

When he heard the sound of your keys turning in the lock, he turned toward the door, ready to greet you with warmth, with open arms.

But the moment you stepped inside, something was different.

Your smile faltered, just barely. Your breath caught, almost imperceptibly. Your fingers hovered at your wrist, pressing into the skin as if trying to hold something in place, as if trying to stop time from moving forward.

Minghao had always been good at reading between the lines. He didn’t need to ask.

“It happened, didn’t it?”

His voice was too calm. Too steady. A whisper against the quiet, like speaking too loudly would make the walls collapse around you both.

You swallowed, your throat tight. “At the café,” you admitted, barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t expecting it.”

The words cut through the air, sharp and irreversible. Minghao exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting to the untouched meal he had laid out for you, as if the smallest details of your shared life could somehow keep you tethered to him. As if love could be measured in cups of jasmine tea and takeout containers.

“Do you love them?”

The question came quietly, but it landed like a blow. You flinched, your fingers curling into fists. “Minghao, I love you.”

He smiled, soft and broken. A tragedy dressed as tenderness. “But you met them.”

Silence.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. The truth sat between you, thick and heavy, an inevitable thing. Minghao felt his world shift, splintering like glass beneath too much weight.

He had always known this was coming.

He had spent a year looking at your wrist in the dead of night, feeling the pulse beneath his fingertips like a countdown to an ending he could not stop. He had spent a year memorizing you, loving you, hoping—God, hoping—that maybe you would never reach zero. That maybe love could defy mathematics.

That maybe, just maybe, you would choose him.

But here you were. And here he was. And fate had finally caught up.

You took a step toward him, hesitant. “Minghao, please—”

“Don’t,” he said, so gently it hurt.

Because he had promised himself he wouldn’t make this harder for you. Because he had sworn he would let you go with grace, no matter how much it tore him apart.

He forced a breath, blinking up at the ceiling, willing his voice to stay steady. “Did it feel like the universe sighing in relief?”

You let out a shaky breath. “Minghao—”

“It’s okay.” His hands clenched at his sides before slowly, deliberately, he let them go. “It’s okay,” he repeated, even though nothing about this was okay.

Because he had always known he was just borrowing time.

And then—

Your hand reached for his.

Not out of hesitation, not out of guilt, but with purpose. With conviction. And when he finally looked at you, your eyes were burning. Steady. Unwavering.

“No,” you said, and your voice was stronger than it had ever been. “It didn’t feel like relief. It felt like the end of the world.”

Minghao’s breath hitched.

“I met them,” you continued, stepping closer, pressing your palm against his chest, where his heart was unraveling. “And I felt it, that shift, that pull. But it wasn’t you.” Your voice wavered, but you held on, gripping his hands like a lifeline. “It wasn’t the person who knows how I take my coffee. It wasn’t the person who stays up with me on my worst nights, who makes me laugh when I think I’ve forgotten how.”

His fingers curled around yours, tentative, as if he was afraid to believe it.

You swallowed hard. “I know what fate says. I know what the universe wants. But I—” You exhaled shakily, eyes searching his, pleading for him to understand. To believe you. “I chose you, Minghao.” Your voice broke, but you kept going. “I choose you.”

You brought his hand to your lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, to the hands that had held you through every storm. “And I will keep choosing you.”

Minghao didn’t realize he was crying until you reached up, brushing the tears from his cheeks with your thumbs. His chest ached, torn between disbelief and the quiet, unbearable hope blooming in its place.

For a year, he had believed he was running on borrowed time.

He so desperately wanted to believe that time had never mattered at all.

Tu bhi kya yaad rakhega

Minghao wished he could forget. Wished he could peel every memory of you from his skin, let them slip through his fingers like grains of sand, like something never meant to be held onto in the first place.

But he knew he wouldn’t.

He would remember.

He would remember the way your laughter curled into the spaces between his ribs, how your touch had been an anchor, how every late-night conversation had felt like stitching his soul to yours.

You had carved yourself into him, written your name into the marrow of his bones, and there was no undoing it. No rewinding, no erasing. Only this—only the ruin you left behind.

You were crying. He wished he could hate you for it, wished he could feel something other than this unbearable ache, but all he wanted was to hold you, to wipe your tears away, to tell you that it was okay even when it wasn’t.

You tried to explain. You needed him to understand.

“It doesn’t change anything,” you whispered, voice trembling, breaking over the weight of the moment. “Meeting them—it doesn’t make my love for you any less real. It’s just… it’s different. It’s not stronger. It’s not—” Your breath hitched. “It’s not fair.”

It wasn’t. It never had been.

Tears streaked down your cheeks, and you gripped his hands like you were afraid he would slip away, like you could hold him here, with you, if you just held on tight enough. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Minghao exhaled, slow, steady. He looked at you—really looked at you. The person he had loved in a way that defied reason, the person who had turned his life into something softer, something worth waking up to.

And yet, fate had taken that love and cracked it in half.

Judi hain raahein saari tujhse meri

"My paths are tied to yours."

You said it like it was a promise. But it felt like a wound.

Minghao pulled his hands from yours, gently, like he was untying a knot that had held for too long. Like if he did it softly enough, it wouldn’t hurt as much.

“You say that,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “but your wrist says otherwise.”

Your face crumpled, and something inside him shattered.

Because love wasn’t supposed to be a war against destiny. Because love wasn’t supposed to be a choice between what you wanted and what the universe had written for you.

But here you were. And here he was. And the universe was still waiting.

You left anyway.

Not right away. At first, you fought it. You fought it because you loved him, because you chose him—or at least that’s what you kept telling yourself. You tried to pretend, tried to act as though nothing had shifted beneath the surface.

But Minghao was always watching, always noticing, even in the moments you thought you’d hidden the truth. He saw the quiet distance between your fingertips when you reached for him. He saw the way your eyes would glaze over, distant and lost, as though you were somewhere else, with someone else. He saw how your voice cracked when you mentioned them—their name—like it was nothing.

It was a betrayal he didn’t know how to describe, but he felt it all the same. The way the rhythm of your heart had started to slip out of sync with his, like the song that once belonged to both of you was now missing its key notes.

Your laughter, which once felt like home, was no longer his.

You didn’t want to hurt him, not really, but you couldn’t ignore what had happened.

“Minghao,” you said one night, your voice trembling as it fell from your lips. "I don’t want to hurt you."

He didn't answer right away, but the silence between you was as loud as a thousand storms crashing together.

Sona tha tera ve jhootha

Your gold-dipped promises had been false, empty, but it didn’t matter because he still loved you.

"Go," he said, his voice steady, almost cold in the dim light of the room. His heart was a hurricane, but his words were a calm before the storm. "You’re already halfway out the door."

The words were a punch to his own chest. They weren’t born out of anger, but out of this quiet, painful truth. He could feel the space between the two of you growing wider with every passing second, and he couldn’t force you to stay when your heart wasn’t there anymore.

He didn’t want to let go. He couldn’t let go. But he already felt your absence creeping into the corners of his mind, into the small, delicate spaces where you had once existed as his everything.

You froze at the door, the silence between you thick with the weight of what had come to pass. You knew it, too. The finality in his voice, the way he saw through every excuse you tried to tell yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, choking on the words that burned in your throat, words that had no place in this story, not anymore. "I never meant for this to happen."

Minghao didn’t move. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t beg you to stay. He couldn’t be the one to break and shatter everything when you had already made your choice.

“Go,” he repeated, quieter this time, but somehow that made it even worse. The absence of anger, the quiet surrender to what was inevitable.

The door clicked shut behind you, and Minghao stood there for a long time, staring at the space you once occupied.

But in the hollow silence, he heard your heartbeat, still tangled with his, still beating somewhere, even if it was no longer in sync with his own.

Lakh samjhaun main taan, dil samajh nahi paata

He told himself it was for the best. That this was the only way. He couldn't hold onto someone who was meant for someone else, someone who had already found their place, their soulmate. He kept repeating it in his head, like a mantra, like it was a truth he could believe in. But even the strongest words felt weak against the tide of his emotions.

But his heart, that damn heart of his—it didn’t listen. It never listened.

He couldn’t make it stop. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how many times he told himself that this was what was right, what was logical, the truth always bled through—the truth of how much he still loved you. How much he always would.

And so he sat in the silence of his empty apartment, a place that used to feel like home, but now felt like a stranger’s house. The emptiness gnawed at him, not because of the space you’d left, but because of the parts of him that had vanished with you.

Rang do dinon mein chhoota

The color of your love faded faster than he could comprehend. The once-vibrant moments of tenderness between you two were now dull, drained, leaving behind only the cold ache of what could have been. What should have been. He could almost hear your laughter echoing in the silence, but it was distant, like a song on the wind that he could never quite reach.

How quickly it all fell apart. How quickly the thing he had fought for, the thing he had clung to with every part of himself, was slipping from his grasp, like sand through his fingers. His chest ached with it, a sharp, gnawing pain that refused to leave.

You were the one. He had known it. Fate had made that clear, even if fate had played some cruel game with him. How could something so perfect feel so incomplete now?

He didn’t hate you. He could never hate you. Not when you were the one his soul had always craved, the one he had always sought in his dreams, in his waking moments, in every fleeting thought.

But the bitterness lingered.

It lingered at the edges of his heart like a stain that wouldn’t wash away. He hated the universe for showing him something so beautiful only to rip it apart. He hated the fact that he had loved you so completely, only to be forced to let you go. He hated the feeling of emptiness that came with that love—empty but full of everything he would never get to have.

He sat there, in the dark, the silence louder than any words could ever be. He didn’t know when it would stop hurting. Maybe it never would.

Maybe he would just learn to live with the ache.

Years later, he saw you again.

It was at a bookstore, the kind where the scent of old paper clings to the air like nostalgia. Rain dripped from the edges of his umbrella, the soft patter against the pavement a soundtrack to his every step. He wasn’t expecting it. He wasn’t looking for you. Yet, there you were.

You were standing by the window, flipping through a novel, your face bathed in the soft glow of the lights above. You didn’t notice him at first, lost in the pages, your brow furrowed in concentration. But when you looked up and your eyes met his, everything inside him stopped.

His heart twisted.

“Minghao,” you said, your voice barely a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would break the moment.

“Hi,” he replied. His smile was practiced, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It was the kind of smile that lived in the places where pain and love collided, only to become something unrecognizable.

There was so much left unsaid between you two. So much more than the weight of those two syllables could carry. But you only said, “I still don’t believe in soulmates.”

He laughed. It was hollow, like an empty echo in a quiet room. “You don’t have to. The universe does.”

Har koi yaar nahi hunda, ve bulleya.

Not everyone gets to be a lover.

The words felt heavier in the space between you two, like a truth neither of you had ever really wanted to face.

He turned and walked away, the rhythm of his footsteps mixing with the rain's quiet murmur. He left you standing there, by the window, where light met shadow and memories lingered in the air.

The world felt smaller now, smaller than the spaces between your heartbeats.

Jaa, Raanjhan, Raanjhan, Raanjhan Go, Raanjhan. Go, the one I loved. Tu bhi kya yaad rakhega? What will you even remember? Jaa, Heer ne tainu chhod diya Go, for Heer has let you go.

tagging: @ottersmind @blvenote @kyeomsworld @cookiearmy @armycarat2612 @rjea @xylatox @flwrshwa

@christinewithluv @headlockimnida @letwiiparkjay @cherr-y-eji @codeinbelle @baguette-atiny @whoa-jo @noiceoofed @thestraybunny @smiileflower @gam3bo17

[castielscaplan]

Haunted Passings (vampire!Jefferson)

Summary: You see the monster that haunts the fairy tale castle hidden in the woods.

Warnings: slight angst, vampire jefferson

WC: 540

Read on Ao3!

--

The townsfolk spoke of a castle deep in the woods, shrouded in mist and shadow. It stood atop a lonely hill, its towering spires silhouetted against the ever-dimming sky. Whispers in the marketplace claimed it was abandoned, haunted by the ghosts of its past, and that none who entered ever returned.

You had never put much stock in such tales, yet as you wandered deeper into the forest, the gnarled trees seemed to lean in, their skeletal branches curling as if to dissuade your passage. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving only the dim glow of twilight to light your way. A foolish decision, perhaps, to have ventured so far so late. And yet, something in the air—something more than just the crisp scent of damp earth and pine—called to you.

Then, you saw it.

The castle, an imposing figure in the distance, loomed like a relic of another era. It should have been lifeless, yet you swore you saw movement—something flickering past a high, arched window. A trick of the light, surely.

Or so you told yourself.

A rustling in the underbrush to your left made you stop in your tracks. Your breath caught, your heart drumming in your chest. Slowly, cautiously, you turned.

And there he stood.

A man, draped in shadows, his form lean yet powerful. He leaned against a tree, watching you with an intensity that sent a chill down your spine. His dark coat blended into the night, and beneath the brim of his hat, piercing blue eyes glowed with an otherworldly light. He was not merely handsome—no, he was striking, unnerving, his presence almost unreal.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured, voice smooth as silk yet edged with something ancient, something knowing.

Your lips parted, though no words came forth. Every instinct screamed for you to run, but your body remained rooted in place, ensnared by his gaze.

He tilted his head, a slow, deliberate motion, as though amused by your silence. “The people in town tell stories, don’t they? Of this place. Of me.”

His smile revealed a glimpse of something sharp. Something fanged.

Your breath hitched. “You live here,” you whispered, half question, half realization.

He stepped forward, the space between you vanishing in the span of a heartbeat. You hadn’t even seen him move. “Call it that, if you wish.” His gloved fingers brushed against your wrist, light as a feather, but the touch sent a shiver through you. “And you… You are quite brave, wandering so close to the den of a monster.”

Monster. The word echoed in your mind, yet you did not recoil. Instead, you found yourself searching his face, studying the sharp angles, the air of tragic elegance about him. A predator, yes. But not mindless. Not cruel.

“Are you?” you asked, your voice softer than you intended. “A monster?”

Something flashed in his eyes—surprise, perhaps. And then, that knowing smile returned. “That depends on what you consider monstrous.”

The wind howled through the trees, whispering secrets only the night could understand. And still, you stood before him, drawn to the shadows, drawn to him.

Somewhere deep inside, you knew you should flee.

And yet, you did not.

//\\

reblogging this would make my day!

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[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

Billy x thief reader 👀 she tries to pick pocket billy without knowing his reputation which only leads to a flirty confrontation. Love your writing smm 💕

Takes two to tango || Billy the Kid x reader

A/n: i love this request, keep them coming!!!!! and thank you anon <333

Warnings: none?

Wc: 673

Billy the Kid masterlist

Divider by @pommecita

Santa Fe's sun dipped low on the horizon, casting golden hues over the terra cote streets. You, adorned in a vibrant red dress that swayed with each sway of your hip, glided through the lively crowd. Your h/c hair framed an innocent smile that could charm even the sternest of faces, a charming and strikingly beautiful young woman whose smile hid secrets, a façade concealing the nimble fingers of a pickpocket.

The people of Santa Fe were oblivious to the danger that walked among them. No one suspected a pretty lady like yourself with a twinkle in your eyes, adorned in jewelry, to be a master of the unsavory art, pickpocketing.

Your charm, your grace that rivaled even the most high status ladies in society was your greatest weapon. Your targets were carefully chosen, and you would distract them with a captivating smile, witty banter, flirtatious charm, and the subtle dance of your nimble fingers.

One fateful day, the town buzzed, a cloud of dust announced the arrival of a lone cowboy. He had an air of mystery about him that drew your attention, a charm that rivaled your own. His rugged features were hidden beneath the brim of his worn hat, his piercing blue eyes surveyed the vibrant scene, taking in the sights and sounds of Santa Fe with a cool confidence.

Unable to resist the lure of a new challenge, you sauntered over to him with a coy smile, your hips swaying subtly with each step. "Well, hello there, stranger. Santa Fe welcomes you," you greeted him, your voice as sweet as honey.

Billy, drawn in by your beauty and charisma, reciprocated with a smile that revealed his dimples, tipping his hat. "Thank you, ma'am. Quite a lively place you got 'ere," his gaze locks on you. "Santa Fe is quite something, I agree." You softly chuckle, your eyes scanning him.

"What brings you here," You tilt your head, letting charm take center change. One corner of his lip tips up, his eyes drifting to the side for a fleeting moment as you inch closer to him.

You engage in conversation as Billy responds with equal enthusiasm. As you spoke, your fingers moved with practiced precision, exploring the edges of his pockets. The marketplace provided the perfect cover, its chaotic ambiance camouflaging your subtle movements.

You reveled in the thrill of the heist, confident that your charm would keep him blissfully unaware. Billy, though new to Santa Fe, was no stranger to the art of survival. His instincts kicked in as he felt the subtle graze of your fingers, and with a swift motion, grabbed your delicate wrist with a slight smirk.

Surprise flashed across your features, but you quickly composed yourself, turning the encounter into a playful interaction. "Well now, what do we have 'ere?" Billy's voice was low and velvety as he spoke. "A charming lady with a mischievous side."

You chuckled, feigning innocence. "Oh, you caught me. I must admit, you're quite perceptive, cowboy. Maybe I just couldn't resist the allure of a handsome cowboy like yourself," Billy's gaze lingered on you, a spark of amusement in his eyes.

Billy chuckled, releasing your wrist. "Well, darlin' you've got nerve I'll give you that, most folks 'round here just tip their hats and move on," You tilt your head coyly to the side at his words.

"I'm not like most folks, and you're not like most cowboys," you arch and eyebrow at him. "Tell me, darlin', what would drive a lady like you to such daring efforts?"

With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you responded, "Survival, perhaps," You shrug, Billy's laugh resonated through the air, a deep and hearty sound.

"Well, you've certainly made my day more interesting, ma'am. But I reckon you should find a more honest way to make a living," A challenge flickered between you and the handsome outlaw, an unspoken understanding that there was more to both of you than met the eye.

"They say there are two paths that a women can take; marry, or whore yourself," You began, looking around before you fold your arms. "Tried whoring," Billy's lips part, "but that only made me realise my self-worth more," Your eyes fall down onto the grown at your feet where you kick a rock.

"Oh I know you're worth more than that, sweetheart." Billy steps closer to you, taking your chin in between his fingers which catches you off guard. The air crackled with a tension that transcended mere flirtation. The dance between pickpocket and cowboy had just begun.

"Seems you've got a talent for lightening a man's pockets," Billy remarked, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as you mirror him. You raised an eyebrow, "it's just a little something I picked up along the way. Keeps life interesting, wouldn't you say?"

Billy leaned against a wooden post, his gaze never leaving yours. "Interesting is one way to put it," he swallows, his eyes watching a family walk past, "most folks call it risky business, though," you lock eyes with him once again.

"Oh, but where's the fun without a bit of risk?" you replied, a playful glint in your eyes. "Besides, I've got a knack for it." Billy chuckled, shaking his head, "Well, ma'am, you've certainly added a twist to my day. Never thought I'd meet a pickpocket so......" he trails off, his eyes swept over you, a heat evident in the way his eyes drank your details, from head to toe before wetting his lips, "charming."

You stepped closer, the little space between you filled with an electric energy. "And I never though I'd such a handsome cowboy with keen instincts. Caught me fair and square." Billy's gaze softened, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

"So, what's a charming lady like you doing in a place like this? There's gotta be more to the story." You sighed, as if revealing a secret. "Life's not always as pretty as it seems. Sometimes, a girl's gotta do what she can to get by."

His expression grew more serious, a subtle understanding passing between you. "We've all go out ways of surviving in this world." He sharply inhales, his hands resting on his hips. "Would you like somethin' to drink, ma'am?" He questions you with a subtle smirk on his lips as you bite your lip lightly, "Though you'd never ask," Billy cracks a smile.

[withlove-xixi]

— LACE LATTICE LULLABY: spike spiegel x reader

KINKTOBER DAY TEN: LINGERIE ᥫ cw: nsfw, lingere, blood/injury mention ᥫ wc: 1019 ★ never posting for this guy again ever because i hate him i hate him he is my arch nemesis and i want him dead (he is my all time favorite husband wawa he makes me light headed and gives me a stomach ache and i hate him) cross posted on ao3 — MINORS DNI! —

— YOU WERE JUST FULL OF SURPRISES WEREN’T YOU?

[♡]: spike hates surprises. what? half the time they were stressful, more than anything. they ruined his good mood and only ever made his bad moods worse. and you? you were full of surprises. honestly, the way you’ve wound spike so tightly around your finger is surprise enough. hell, if anything, it’s the most surprising thing you’ve done! but every now and then, you try to outdo yourself, whether you know it or not.

GOD, TODAY WAS SHIT.

It had started off shit, from the moment he woke up and slipped on some unfolded dirty laundry and hit his head against the ground to the moment Ein jumped on his lap causing him to spill hot coffee all over himself. Faye made sure to remind him of the incidents throughout their day together chasing after a decent bounty, making sure to rub into his face how today was just not his day. Especially when he had nearly crashed the Swordfish II into a building after failing to maneuver away from a flock of birds or when a car had hit him when they had chased the bounty on foot or when a door had suddenly flung open and whacked him directly in the face. At least someone was having a good time.

And after all that trouble, they had lost the bounty. One of Spike’s many misfortunes had caused them to get too far ahead for them to chase and hide within a crowded marketplace. And despite going through almost half the trouble, Faye was still gleefully giggling about everything, going as far as calling Spike on their comms to tease him about it, because as much as her day was bad, Spike was definitely having a far worse one. Needless to say, the flight back home to the Bebop was excruciatingly torturous.

Every bone in Spike’s exhausted body screamed and pleaded for rest, begged to lay on his old mattress and sleep for the next two days. His muscles ached and his wounds seared in pain at every moment, every step that took him closer to his room. Though his room was in a sorry state (perhaps in an even worse one than Spike was), it was far more favorable to sleep away his aches than to be awake even a second longer to feel every ounce of pain that surged through his body.

He was grateful at least that Jet hadn’t found out yet that he and Faye had lost the bounty, otherwise he’d be getting an hour-long earful of a lecture on how little funds they had left and how much they needed if they wanted to have a decent next meal. And at least Ed and Ein didn’t crowd on him too much for stories or souvenirs or other such antics, though he was half-certain the pissed off look on his face was enough to care the two away for even a couple of hours. Because really, at the end of a terribly shitty day, all Spike wanted to do was sleep or drink his troubles away. And the Bebop had recently run out of its supply of alcohol (he knows because he was the one to have depleted it), sleep was the best option. He could get some decent shut-eye before he had to get up for a disappointing dinner and to be patched up for his wounds.

With a groan he slides open the door to his room, a brief moment of relief washing over him when he’s met with the familiar sight of a messy, dimly lit, cramped bedroom. Briefly because as soon as he swings the door open, he’s punted in the face with something forceful and soft. Spike lets the pillow thud onto the ground, his body going rigid partly because he was so desperately trying to keep his cool and because, again, several times today he had been hit in the face, he’s pretty sure his nose was somewhat broken and he’s certain that a pillow to the face was only going to make the pain sting a bit longer.

You fail to notice the tired expression on his face or the dried up blood or his tattered clothes when you sit up on his bed and begin lecturing him, and honestly, he’s a bit too tired to register what you’re saying. Something, something, what took you so long, something, something, it was freezing. He only sighs deeply as you get up, he assumes to supposedly jut your nagging finger at his chest, but he watches as you suddenly freeze and your expression changes almost instantaneously.

Suddenly you’re nearly crying, hurriedly and panickedly yelling apologies and gingerly running your hands over his wounds. “What the hell happened to you?” You cry out, your frustrated tone long shifted into one of pure worry and concern. “Oh my God, I am so sorry. I didn’t know— I-I didn’t mean to yell at you—”

He lets you run your mouthful of apologies, sighing through his nose as his hands find purchase in your hips. Spike was meant to rub circles onto your skin, a way to calm you down and soothe himself of his worries, but his hands feel something unfamiliar, the tips of his fingers brushing against something soft and thin. He spares a perplexed glance down at you as you’re rambling away on how you were going to patch him up as soon as possible, and his eyes widen almost instinctively at what you’re wearing.

It’s some thin thing that barely covers your body, a pretty, little, lacey black number that graces your skin so beautifully Spike’s body instantly tenses at the sight, which only causes you to panic really because suddenly he’s stiff as a board. His mouth hangs ajar, saliva pooling inside it and threatening to drip down the corners of his lips.

“Sp-spike? What’s wrong? Does something hurt? Are you—”

Words die in your throat when you feel his fingers play at the hem of your lingerie, boldly tracing against the patterns of the lace with an almost feather-light touch. A shiver runs down your spine as his fingers slowly dip beneath the fabric, wedging them snugly against the garter and your flesh. He leans down, against your ear and he can’t even form the words to speak to you so he pants heavily into the shell of your ear. Spike’s quickly rewarded with a soft whimper from your lips.

“Spike…” Your voice is like heaven, so needy and quiet like it were something sacred.

Today was worth all the trouble.

[nina-ya]

Happy Birthday - Law Edition

A/N: this is single-handedly the most self indulgent fic Ive done in a while so uh yeah anyways bye Pairing: Law x Reader CW: None WC: 2k

“Happy Birthday!” 

The joyful shout rang through the room, jolting you awake from your mid-day nap. Your eyes fluttered open to the smiling faces of your crewmates who gathered around your figure with infectious grins. 

You blinked, trying to make sense of the scene before you. Streamers in vibrant shades of various colors draped from the ceiling, balloons bobbed merrily in the corners, and confetti showered down on you, all combining to paint the room in a riot of colors.

“What–?” you began, your voice thick with sleep, but your words were swallowed by the laughter and sound of a party horn. The atmosphere was alive and filled with excitement, the joy emanating a celebration that was crafted only with love and care.

Bepo, with his furry face beaming, bounced on his toes, eyes sparkling as he spoke, “We couldn’t wait for you to wake up on your own,” he said, voice filled with eagerness. “We’ve been planning this for weeks!” 

Ikkaku handed you a steaming cup of coffee as she said, with a grin stretching across her face, “We just wanted to make sure you felt celebrated.”

“And it looks like Law is waiting for you with your first gift,” Shachi said, excitement evident in his tone.

The mention of Law piqued your curiosity, and you quickly set down the mug, eyes darting around the room for him. “Law? Where is he?”

Penguin sat on your bed beside you, nudging your leg playfully. “He’s been waiting for you to get ready. He should be somewhere on the deck.”

Surprised flitted across your face, and you scrambled out of bed, dashing to the small bathroom of the Polar Tang to quickly toss yourself together. A few hurried adjustments later, you made your way to the deck, spotting Law standing near the railing. He turned as you approached, a shadow of a smirk playing on his lips as he watched your excited figure approach.

“Hey,” he greeted, voice as steady as ever. “I wasn’t sure what to get you, so I thought it would be best if you picked something out yourself. How about we spend the day shopping?”

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the idea, “Really? You didn’t have to do that, but I would love to!”

Law nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. “I figured it would be more enjoyable if you chose something you really like. Plus, I thought it would be nice to spend some time together.”

With a nod, you fell into a step beside him as you left the Polar Tang, and made your way into the inner city of the island. The marketplace of the island was alive, filled with stalls that offered various trinkets and items. You meandered through the endless rows of vendors, each presenting their products with enthusiasm. Street performers drew crowds to their lively performances, the smell of the street food wafted through the air making you salivate with an eagerness to try everything. As you explored, you found yourself drawn to a smaller shop brimming with trinkets and Law watched as you admired all the handcrafted figurines and jewelry. 

The hours passed, the sun already inching across the sky by the time you both made your way back to the Polar Tang. The day had been nothing short but delightful. You carried a small bag filled with a few selected gifts, all paid for by Law, of course. 

You inched closer to the ship and you noticed the crew’s unusually quiet demeanor. You were curious, but brushed it off as nothing more than fatigue from the day’s tasks. Law walked beside you, his expression unreadable, though there was something in his eyes that suggested he knew something more than he was letting on. 

Upon entering the ship, you were greeted by darkness, and as you descended deeper into it, the lights suddenly flickered on, and a chorus of voices erupted in unison yelling, “Surprise!”

The crew transformed the Polar Tang into a vibrant celebration space, adorned with those same streamers and balloons that you had woken up to, along with a large banner stretching across the ceiling, reading “Happy Birthday!” in bold letters. You spotted a table filled with nothing short of a feast, and music began to play as the festive atmosphere was cranked up to a maximum. 

The party got underway and laughter and conversation filled the air. You were swept up in the festivities, moving on from one group to the next. At one point, you found yourself pulled into a less-than-graceful dance with Bepo. The two of you twirled and spun around the submarine, your laughter ringing out over the music as your fellow crewmates clapped along. It was a moment of pure unfiltered joy.

Everywhere you turned, there were reminders of the thoughtfulness that had gone into the celebration. The party soon moved to the deck of the ship, now laughing and enjoying the festivities under the moonlight.

As the night wore on, you felt a gentle tug on your arm. You turned to find Law standing there, his expression softened by your unbridled happiness. ”Mind if I steal you away for a moment?” he asked, voice raised to carry over the lively chatter. 

You nodded, and Law gently tugged you away from the buzz of the birthday festivities, leading you to a quieter and more secluded corner of the ship. The lanterns that hung off the side of the Polar Tang enveloped the two of you in a warm, ambient light as the laughter and chatter of the party grew distant.

You glanced around, every nerve in your body alight with happiness. “This has been the best birthday I’ve ever had, without a doubt,” you began your voice becoming thick with emotion as you spoke. “I’ve never had anything like this before. It feels… It feels like a dream. I never knew how much I needed this, how much I needed all of this.” 

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions as you continued, “It’s overwhelming. I don’t even know how to put it into words. This whole day, everything… It’s been perfect.” Your voice had cracked slightly, and you wiped at the corners of your eyes, trying to keep those tears at bay. “It’s as if I was drowning, and being with everyone, with you, is just like coming up for a breath of fresh air. I-I don’t even need anything more. This has been just a perfect day.”

Law watched you, a soft, almost wistful smile on your lips. The sight of you so vulnerable and so emotional just pulled on his heartstrings. You were absolutely precious to him and he couldn’t help but want to protect this version of you. To keep you this happy forever. “I wanted to give you something,” he said, his voice quieter as he seemed to dive into something more personal.

You looked up at him, curiosity panging at you alongside the rest of the overwhelming mix of emotions that were about to spill over. “Wait, wait, I thought the shopping spree was your gift to me.” 

“Did you really think I wouldn’t get you a proper gift?” he asked, chuckling.

“I- You… you didn’t have to get me anything,” you whispered, your voice breaking. 

Law reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box wrapped in a red wrapping paper with your name inscribed right in the center. As he handed it to you, your fingers brushed slightly against each other, the contact sending goosebumps up your arms. The sight of the gift caused the tears to start falling, the dam of emotions finally bursting. 

“Hey hey,” he said softly, a chuckle escaping his lips as he watched you with mild concern. “You haven’t even seen the gift yet, and you’re already crying. Am I really that bad at this?”

You laughed through your tears, embarrassment evident in your response. “It’s not you. It’s just… everything. It’s too much”

Law’s grin widened, and he shook his head, urging you to unwrap the gift. “Well, I’m glad I could make you cry, I guess. Here-- open it before you become a total mess.”

You looked down at the box and your tear droplets had stained the wrapping paper a deep maroon. Carefully, you began unwrapping the gift at the seams, revealing a small, black box. You opened the box to reveal a bracelet, its delicate silver chain catching the soft light and shimmering against the velvet interior. 

Law took the bracelet from the box with careful fingers, and you extended your wrist towards him. He gently wrapped the bracelet around your wrist, the cool metal contrasting the warmth of his fingers as he fastened the clasp, the charms tinkling softly as they settled into place. “Everyone got to help pick out some charms,” Law said, holding up your wrist and gently rotating it to show off the bracelet. You looked closely and saw the array of charms, each one a gift from your found family. There was a polar bear, a whale, a penguin - each representing some of the members of the crew - and others that you realized reflected your personal interests.

“These I picked myself,” Law continued, pointing to three charms that lay by each other. He grew a bit shy as he started to explain their significance. “The national flower of the island where I first met you,” he said, pointing at a floral charm. “A firework, for the night at that festival where I took you because you begged for days on end,” he added with a small smile, pointing to the second charm. Finally, he gestured to the last one, a tiny depiction of a moon. “The phase of the moon when we first kissed.”

You looked up at him, sniffling as confusion overtook your teary features. “First kiss? What? I’m confused.”

Law glanced up at the sky, prompting you to follow his gaze. There, hanging in the night sky, was the moon in its waxing gibbous phase, mirroring the smaller charm on your bracelet. The pieces started to click in your head as you looked back at him, realization dawning.

He spoke up, his voice soft yet steady. “Tonight. If you’ll let me.”

You blinked, caught between disbelief and the rising emotions that made your heart race in your chest. The realization of what he meant – what he was offering – washed over you and it was as if the universe had aligned for this one moment. 

His eyes met yours and there was a vulnerability present, the unanswered question hanging between the two of you. You found yourself nodding, and without breaking eye contact, Law took a small step closer, the space narrowing until you could feel the heat radiating off his body and the scent of him overcoming your senses. His hand reached up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing lightly against your tear-dampened skin. 

Law leaned in slowly, giving you time to close the gap if you wished, but you eagerly met him halfway, your lips lightly brushing against his in a gentle touch that sent shivers down your spine.

The kiss was soft at first, a hesitant exploration of each other. But, as you leaned into him, your hand having found its way to the nape of his neck to tangle in his hair, it deepened, the initial hesitancy giving way to something more fervent.

The gift box in his hand dropped to the ground with a thud, and he circled his arm around your waist, pulling you close. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, time standing still, as the kiss unfolded. His lips were soft against yours, moving with a gentle insistence that left you breathless and demanding more, the taste of him intoxicating, making your head spin.

When you finally broke apart, the need for air becoming unignorable, you both lingered for a moment, foreheads resting against each other as you caught your breath. The night was alive around you, the sounds of the party fading back into awareness, but for that one moment, there was only you two.

“Happy birthday,” he murmured, a soft smile playing on his lips as he leaned in once again, capturing your lips in another kiss that was more heated than the last. 

This certainly was the best birthday ever. 

[bunji-enthusiast]

Hello! Can I request a 4kota romantic lancelot x reader with a jealous guinevere who tries to intervene when she can? Like lancelot and reader are on a date and she shows up to try and derail it and it doesn't work in her favor? Thanks! Have a good day/afternoon/night!

Summary || Guinevere was quite the interloper to say the least, but Lancelot was having none of it fortunately.

WC: 932

A/N: hello darlin! Have a good one too, thank you for waiting. This might’ve been kinda short but I hope you like it. Also trying a banner style, take it easy on me gang lol.

The sun hung low over the Kingdom of Liones, casting a warm orange glow across the bustling marketplace. The air was alive with the sounds of merchants calling out their wares, children laughing, and the occasional sound of a horse’s hooves on cobblestone streets. But amidst the usual noise, Lancelot and you had found a quiet corner of the town square, away from the crowds, for a rare moment of peace.

You were sitting across from Lancelot at a small outdoor table, the gentle breeze tousling his short blonde hair. His usual stoic expression was softened by a rare smile as he listened to your laughter, his magenta eyes sparkling in the fading light.

"I never thought I'd see you so happy," Lancelot remarked, his voice as soft as ever, yet filled with genuine warmth.

You smiled, resting your chin in your hands. "It's because I’m with you."

Lancelot's cheeks tinged with a faint pink, and he glanced away, clearly trying to hide his flustered expression behind his usual nonchalance. You chuckled at his reaction, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand gently. He squeezed back, the brief touch making your heart flutter.

But just as the moment seemed perfect, a familiar figure appeared from the edge of the square. You felt a shift in the air—an unmistakable presence that you had come to dread at times. Guinevere.

The princess, with her dark burgundy hair and radiant pink dress, walked toward you both, a confident smile on her face, though there was something sharp about her gaze as she locked eyes with Lancelot.

"Lancelot!" Guinevere called out brightly, her voice smooth and full of a strange familiarity. She approached with the grace of royalty, though her steps quickened when she saw the intimate setting of your table. "What a lovely surprise! I didn’t expect to see you here."

Lancelot’s expression immediately shifted to one of mild discomfort. You could feel his discomfort, too, but you stayed calm, not letting the situation ruffle you. He had already told you about his past interactions with Guinevere, the closeness they once shared. Still, it didn't stop the way her mere presence made your stomach tighten.

Guinevere stopped just beside the table, her gaze flickering between you and Lancelot. "I thought you would be busy today. But here you are… enjoying yourself." Her words held an underlying tone, one you couldn’t quite place—perhaps a touch of jealousy?

Lancelot shifted uncomfortably, giving you an apologetic glance before looking back at Guinevere. "It’s just a break, Guinevere. Nothing more."

But the princess wasn’t deterred. She smiled brightly, her eyes glinting as she placed her hand on Lancelot's shoulder, leaning in closer. "Well, since you’re here, why not join me for a walk? We could catch up... there’s so much we haven't talked about in so long." She tilted her head, her voice sweet as honey, though there was an unmistakable sharpness behind her words.

You didn’t miss the possessive way her fingers lingered on Lancelot’s shoulder, or the flicker of discomfort in his eyes. You felt your jaw tighten, but you decided it was best to remain calm.

Lancelot, however, didn’t miss a beat. He smiled warmly, though his tone remained firm. "Actually, I’m already in the middle of something." He gently removed her hand from his shoulder, his fingers brushing against hers for a brief moment before he stood and faced her fully. "I’m spending the day with [Name] today. Perhaps another time?"

Guinevere’s smile faltered for the briefest moment, but it was enough for you to notice. You saw her eyes flash with something that could only be described as jealousy, but her composure remained intact. "Of course, how foolish of me," she said, stepping back and straightening her dress. "I just thought..." She trailed off, her smile turning more forced now. "Well, enjoy your time then."

Lancelot didn’t respond, but his gaze softened as he turned back to you. You could see the gratitude in his eyes for your quiet support.

"You sure know how to make an exit, huh?" you teased softly, trying to lighten the mood.

Lancelot gave a small laugh, a genuine, relaxed sound this time. "Guinevere can be... persistent. But don’t worry, I’ve got everything under control."

You smirked, leaning forward and lowering your voice slightly. "If you ever need help handling her, just let me know. I’m good at keeping things... in check."

Lancelot’s eyes lit up with amusement, and he shook his head with a chuckle. "I think I’ll be alright for now. But I appreciate the offer."

As Guinevere retreated, her back straight and her steps more deliberate, you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of victory. It was clear that she had expected to disrupt your date, to claim Lancelot’s attention for herself once again. But her attempt had backfired.

Lancelot turned his full attention back to you, his gaze softening as he took your hand once more. "Thank you for being so understanding," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "I don't want you to feel like you're competing for my attention. You're the only one I want to be with."

You smiled, squeezing his hand. "I know, Lancelot. And I feel the same way."

He smiled back, his eyes warm with affection. "Good. Now, let's make the most of this time together."

And just like that, the rest of the evening was yours. Lancelot’s attention never wavered again, and Guinevere’s interference became nothing more than a distant memory.

This was your time, your love, and nothing—not even a jealous princess—could take that away.

[ma1dita]

Hiii. Can I get one ticket for "and they were brommates". Starring Remus Lupin with a popcorn 🍿 and a chocolate 🍫 please?

hungry like the wolf

[STARRING: REMUS LUPIN x reader ; “Just forget you saw this happen.” “Really? Now? God, you have terrible timing.”  wc: 1.5k warnings: none. remus is a weirdo just as god intended. no plot. he’s also a panty sniffer. kind of a crackfic i wont lie… muggle!reader; title like the duran duran song]

monster mash-terlist

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

You’re convinced your new roommate hates you. 

Honestly, it was just your luck that your apartment resident portal matched you with a rando that won’t tell you any details about his home life, the fancy boarding school he went to, or anything he does for work (he’s in law enforcement, he says—though you’ve thrown his worn laundry in the dryer for him before with no evidence of a uniform and he’s always been pretty frugal… maybe he’s a clerk?).

Totally not suspicious at all.

But rent is fucking expensive these days for you to not have a roommate, and he seems nice enough, for now. Remus plays Bowie on his record player in the evenings at respectable volumes, washes the dishes since you hate doing them and always leaves chocolate for you with little notes if he’s going out to see his mother who gets sick a lot.

Plus, he’s pretty handy around the apartment—so much so that a single woman like you can’t complain—he reaches for things on high shelves, carries all your groceries in from the car, and minds his business for the most part until his friends come over—which makes the million dollar question: why doesn’t he live with them? The boys come over and knock down your door, then Sirius and James always drag you out for a pint  instead of leaving you to work on your thesis while the other rat-faced one eats all your snacks and… Remus just sits there with his nose scrunched up not saying anything, always on edge. He just sits uncomfortably at the opposite end of the room all bunched up like he’s ready to run at any given moment.

Maybe he tolerates you at best, a few nods and soft ‘Hello’s are all you get throughout the week. Or maybe you have bad breath? Is that why in the half year you two have lived together you haven’t been together for more than 10 minutes?

What’s worse is that he’s painfully attractive. Like rugged, in a sexy, 2000s male lead in a rom-com sort of way, his thick brows always furrowed and an expression that makes you think that he has something to get off his chest, but he never says more than a handful of words. In short, the only possible reason for your roommate avoiding you is that Remus Lupin hates you with his entire being.

It has to be.

You’re convinced of the fact on a particular Friday night as you hop around the apartment with one boot on, your belt unbuckled, and hair still sopping wet. It’s a rare occasion for you to go out with your own friends and not hole yourself up at home, but the cabin fever is starting to make you itch. Remus has been watching your figure bob around your shared place, eyes bouncing back and forth like a ping pong ball. His scarred hands are gripping his mug tightly as he takes a large sip of tea, terrible posture evident in the way he’s draped over the settee.

“M’going out tonight,” you muse, smiling at him as you walk down the hallway, peeking at your reflection in the bathroom mirror before turning to him. Remus nods politely, “Right. That’s good.” You don’t think you’ve heard him say more than a sentence and so you shrug, leaning against the doorway, “You got plans tonight?”

“Staying in. Feeling a bit under the weather,” he gulps. Remus is tucked under the periwinkle throw blanket you got from TK Maxx for the sofa you both found on Facebook marketplace. He looks cozy, snuggling into the fleece and watching you brush your hair with his tired eyes.

“Aw, Remus. You gonna be alright?”

He sniffs, his face making that pinchy expression again as you come near, “S’all good. You should get going, don’t wanna be late for your…thing.” He doesn’t mean to be rude, but you’re too overwhelming the way you are, your scent permeating through the air even from his spot on the couch and it’s taking all of his willpower to tone down his furry little problem that begs for a taste. He looks away, physically biting his tongue as a reminder.

Now your face scrunches at his reaction, not understanding why he’s so detached from your niceties. Spinning around until your eyes flicker to the mirror and your form, you close the bathroom door gently, before inspecting yourself meticulously. Your outfit is new, and you’ve just sprayed on your favorite perfume earlier… maybe….

You raise an armpit and take a sniff.

Nope. 

What the fuck is this guy’s problem?

After a small pep talk, you swing the door open and step out. Surely, he’ll tell you what’s wrong if you ask him upfront. Sure, it might be ill-timed to get into a conversation that might make or break your living arrangement right before you go out to the club with your friends, but as you’re pacing down the hall you think there is no better time to do it. It would eat at you all night and ruin your fun, after all.

The living room is empty now, blanket folded over and draped on the ottoman and you swivel towards the other end of the hall, “Remus?” you call out meekly. So much for confidence. He’s probably went to bed, or again he just hates you. 

There’s a slight chill when you stick your hand out the window, so you make your way over to the laundry room where you left your leather jacket last, and when you go to flick the light on—-

There stands your lovely roommate, sniffing a black polka-dotted pair of your panties.

“WHATTHEFUCK?” “MERLIN!”

You’re pointing at each other, mouths gaping in shock as he backs towards the washing machine as he chokes on his spit, face as red as a tomato, “I can explain!’

“Oh you better! I….” you blurt, scanning the room for a weapon and swinging the bottle of detergent at his head, “Talk, freak!”

“I thought you LEFT ALREADY!”

The look on your face is more mortified than he thought it would be but how does he explain that every inch of this place smells of you? Your pheromones reek from your pores like a sultry perfume and he can’t get enough, unconsciously walking closer like a cartoon character hypnotized by the smell of pie. Stumbling over a discarded piece of clothing, he staggers back as you get in his face and whack him in the chest, once with your hand and then twice with your jacket you were looking for.

“You—fucking—weirdo!”

Remus flinches, raising his arms against your attack, “Godric, just forget you saw this happen, please—OW!” Eyes fixed in a glare, you stand in front of him with a finger prodding at his chest, “Give that back!”

“They’re clean!”

Your hands wrench the cotton out of his hands and hold them close to your chest, “They’re NOT! Lie to me again and I swear I’ll call the police!” The sandy-haired man throws his head back seemingly in laughter and you purse your lips, realizing that he is the police, in some sorts. Unless that’s a lie too.

“I can’t believe this is happening to me,” Remus grumbles as he takes a deep breath, “Let me explain, I… I can’t help it. You smell too good.”

What the fuck.

From the way your eye is twitching and how your chest is heaving as you clutch your panties, he knows it’s not a good enough response but fuck there’s a lot on the line here, and he doesn’t know where to start, “I…fucking hell, I’m a werewolf, okay?”

“Really? Now? God, you have terrible timing.” 

Remus blinks slowly, and you laugh at him, jaw still tense but at least you’re laughing at him, “I mean really, you have to come up with better excuses—I kinda had a hunch after our 3rd full moon and you left to go see your mom. Is she even really sick? You’ve giving the woman bad karma.”

He shakes his head, jaw gaping at how nonchalantly a muggle is taking this news. Shouldn’t you be running away in fear by now? Clearing his throat, “Um, yeah. So your pheromones,” he sniffs, “smell really, really good to me. Like a seven layer chocolate cake. I think our cycles are matched up.”

Is that his idea of a joke?

At least he doesn’t hate you, you reason, slowly closing the door to the laundry room behind you with a quirk in your lip, “I thought I smelled bad or something, with the way you look at me.”

“I think my face just looks like this. M’sorry. You’re not scared?”

He’s closer to you now, arms circling your frame like a predator on the prowl, waiting for you to make a move. But you step closer to him, baring your neck and giving him permission to eat you up if he wishes. Licking your lips, you whisper, “James almost blew up my cellphone with his wand last week when I tried to show him a Youtube video. You’re all weird ones, aren’t you?”

“That okay?” 

The silence in the small room feels reverent now, his fingers pressing against your wrists as he holds them at your waist—voice so low it makes you shiver.

“I didn't say it was a bad thing.”

Hopefully he can think of a way to make it up to you. But the way you let him graze his nose up your arm and back you against the door as he takes a big, deep inhale….is a good start.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

ma1dita's monster mash is closed for requests but ongoing for the rest of october!

[moonlight-records]

Secret Santa| MS36 (HAC #11)

pairing: ms36 x reader

summary: Mercedes is doing secret santa for their holiday party which is fine, typically. What happens when by some stroke of luck, you get your long time crush?

warning: fluff!

fc: none!

wc: 1.5k

a/n: day 11 of moonlight records holiday advent calendar!

day 1 | day 2 | day 3 | day 4 | day 5 | day 6 | day 7 | day 8 | day 9 |day 10 | current day | day 12

“...The limit for gifts is £100. Once again, this does not mean you need to spend £100 on a gift but if you want to buy something a bit more expensive you can.” Toto continues on. You, by some miracle, tune your boss out as you look back down at the folded piece of paper in your hand. It feels like it’s burning into your skin as you watch Toto drone on about the rules of secret Santa. 

“Finally,” you’ve never been more excited to hear those words leave your boss’ mouth, “do not share who you got for secret Santa!” Toto explains before staring at all of you and gesturing, “open them.”

You watch all your co-workers around you start opening their pieces of paper. All of them, in their own form, are tucking themselves away to read the name and you simply look down at yours before finally opening it. 

Mick Schumacher.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper with wide eyes looking at the paper. It was only your work’s secret Santa but you had to get it right. How else were you supposed to try and impress your crush if you didn’t nail Secret Santa right.

Sitting in the factory parking lot, you browsed your phone frantically searching for anything at this point. The party was tomorrow and everyone was raving about how good their presents were and you had nothing.

Somehow three weeks flew by and you still hadn’t bought your secret Santa present. You had found a lot of potential gifts but nothing really screamed Mick and it was driving you nuts since this was all you thought about when you weren’t at work. For fuck sake, you finished your holiday shopping for all your friends and family while trying to find the perfect Mick for gift but anytime you didn’t have money or the excuse, you could always find something for Mick. You were starting to accept the fact that you were going to botch this one attempt with Mick and make a fool of yourself in front of him.

Hitting your head gently against the headrest you sigh softly. Looking back at your phone, you refresh Facebook Marketplace and scroll through before seeing it. Your eyes widen as you read an ad before putting your phone into your cup holder. You start your car and you’re off. 

You manage to get to the location in 30 minutes. Getting out, you make your way into the building and talk to the first worker that’s available. You explain your situation and how your secret would absolutely love this and take such great care and has so many already but they’re with his family and how he’s been always talking about one. After a lot of paperwork and talking, you finally secure the gift. Getting your gift carefully in the passenger seat, you thank the worker once again before climbing into the driver seat and heading to the store to get a few last minute things to make a little basket for this gift before heading home.

You’re up late building your basket. Taking a step back, you smile at your hard work and how it’ll finally pay off. “Perfect.” You say aloud before laying down on the couch, too tired to make it to bed as you happily drift off to sleep, excited for tomorrow.

To say that everyone was more excited about the holiday party than anything else was an understatement. Honestly, it was a miracle that Toto didn’t get so annoyed at the entire company for horribly pretending they were working. It seems that the factory did annoy him enough that he had everyone go home early to get ready for the party. You thank Toto as you leave the factory before going home and changing for the party. 

You check yourself over and brush your red dress of little fuzzes that got on it. Putting your tights on, you slip some spandex on before your boots before gathering everything and packing the car. Coming back, you carefully grab your present and make your way back to the factory for the party. You park and grab your gift as you head inside, thanking a coworker who held the door open for you and find a table that’s tucked away closer to a corner and put your gift down, admiring how fast Toto and some workers decorated the factory. 

As more people arrive, the more lively it becomes before the party is in full swing. You have a drink in hand as you talk to some of your co-workers, occasionally glancing back at your gift that’s still resting on the chair. When you’re not overly anxious about your gift, your gaze finds its way to Mick and you can’t help but admire him. A stupid love sick smile appears on your face before his eyes meet yours and he smiles at you. You blink before smiling back, shyly waving before glancing away as your face burns in embarrassment. You look back and see Mick excusing himself from a conversation with Lewis and Bono as he starts making his way over to you.

Shit.

You brace yourself to embarrass yourself before Toto is loudly calling for everyone’s attention and everyone freezes to listen to Toto. You feel relief run through you but it’s short lived as he announces that dinner will be ready in a few moments so while everyone waits, they can finally exchange their gifts. You stand frozen as everyone erupts into chatter, zooming around to find their secret Santa. You turn to look at your gift before there’s a tap on your shoulder before turning and blinking. “Mick!” You were sure as hell he would’ve gone to find his secret Santa. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Mick smiles. He glances down at the box he’s holding, fidgeting with it slightly, “so um.” He offers the box to you a bit more rigid than he wanted and winces internally, “for you.”

“Me?” You ask, surprise, as you take it. “I–I was your secret Santa?”

“Yeah. Which–works because…” Mick’s voice trails off as you carefully untie the ribbon. You glance up seeing Mick shift anxiously before looking back down and opening the box slowly and gasping. Inside the box was a gold jewelry set. Simple gold hoop earrings along with a gold necklace that had your initials on a charm with hearts surrounding them. “Oh Mick,” you whisper after finding your breath again. Looking at him you’re smiling wide. “It’s beautiful. Oh–thank you so much. I’m. I’m truly at a loss for words with how beautiful it is–”

“Then go on a date with me? Please?” Mick blurts out.

“What?” You look at Mick. 

You’re both staring at each other with wide eyes. You’re staring in disbelief because you don’t think you heard Mick right and Mick’s staring at you with a sheepish smile because it seems that this wasn’t exactly how he wanted to ask you. “Me?” You point to yourself. “You.” Pointing to Mick, “a date?”

“Yeah. If you want, which I really hope you do. Though it’s totally fine if you don’t!” Mick says quickly, “might make things awkward. I don’t really want it to be but that’s also fine and–”

“Mick!” You finally cut him off. “I would love to go on a date with you!”

“Really?!”

Nodding excitedly, “yes!”

“Great!” Mick beams as he follows you to your seat. He’s rambling off date ideas before stopping when his eyes fall onto your gift basket. “Oh! Did you make this? This is so cute! Who’s it for?”

“You.” 

It’s Mick’s turn to be surprised as he points to himself. “Me? You had me for secret Santa?” He laughs when you nod, “Well, what are the odds of that?” He goes to pick it up but stops when you gently put your arm out and instruct him to just open it. He raises a brow but he does slowly before gasping and covering his mouth. “Oh my god. Y/N–are you serious?” He stares at you in awe before turning back to the sleepy Saint Bernard puppy who’s in the middle of a yawn as she looks up. She immediately wiggles in Mick’s gentle hold before cuddling into his chest and wagging her tail. “Y/N I–I don’t know what to say. How did you–”

“No kill shelter that was already overflowing. Someone had brought this litter in and given them away for free. I found the ad at the last second and the little girl was one of three left. It took a very long conversation and many pictures of you and your family dog for them to agree but they did. Completely free so I really spent all the money on stuff you’d need for her.” You gesture to the basket. 

“Y/N, this is the best present anybody could have gotten me.” Mick says earnestly, “I really don’t know what to say or how to thank you–”

“Maybe we could have dinner at your place and do some training with this girl,” you explain while petting the pup, “and we could call that our first date, yeah?” Mick looks up from his cooing and gushing over the pup. “Deal.”