Vibe: fantasy AU, monster romance, kitsune AU, tropical island, eplayful jealousy, possessive fox instincts, vacation romance, protective boyfriend, cozy cuddles, hidden kisses, soft domesticity, scent marking, wholesome romance, beach date, "don't tease me", summer love 🦊🏝️☀️❤️✨
For: @jakiicomics
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The very first time Ace saw you in a bikini, he froze completely for a few long seconds. It was as if his brain had decided to just shut down the exact moment he laid eyes on you.
"...That's not fair," he blinked quietly, letting out a barely audible sigh.
He tried to act like absolutely nothing had happened. However, his fox ears gave him away instantly, twitching nervously, and his multiple fluffy tails began to flick restlessly from side to side. It was all too easy to tell that he had lost every bit of his usual confidence.
But a few seconds later, that familiar, cocky smirk crept back onto his face.
"You know you just caused a few heart attacks, right? Mine included," he said lightly, almost amused, as if he were completely unfazed. He wasn't.
And his mood shifted even more the moment he noticed other people starting to look your way. He didn’t say a word.
He simply stepped right next to you, acting as if it were a total coincidence. After a moment, he slipped off his colorful Hawaiian shirt and, without a single word of explanation, draped it over your shoulders.
"The sun is brutal today," he stated, as if it were a matter of fact.
"...Ace." You looked up at the overcast sky and raised an eyebrow, amused.
"What?" he asked, acting completely innocent.
"It’s cloudy," you said, pointing at the sky. He hesitated for a fraction of a second.
"...So what?" He shrugged.
Both of you knew damn well it had absolutely nothing to do with the sun. He just didn't want anyone else looking at you.
"You wore this swimsuit on purpose," he muttered, narrowing his eyes suspiciously when he noticed that his jealousy was amusing you rather than annoying you.
"...Maybe." A tiny smile played on your lips.
"Ha! So I was right!" He grinned triumphantly.
From that moment on, he took every single opportunity to hold your hand, wrap an arm around your waist, or just casually lean against you.
Of course, he claimed it was pure coincidence every single time. No one believed him, least of all you.
On the deserted island, his kitsune instincts were much stronger than usual. The moment you two settled down, he was already disappearing into the palm trees.
Before long, he returned with an armful of tropical fruit, a few coconuts, and the expression of a man who had just solved the world's biggest problem.
Before you even had a chance to look around, he had built a simple shelter, as if he’d been doing this his whole life.
In the evening, you sat side by side, listening to the rumbling of the ocean. It was quiet for a while. Then, one of his fluffy tails sneakily slid in your direction.
"Don't get used to it," he said without looking at you. You glanced at him but remained silent.
"...Fine, you can," he sighed after a few seconds.
Smiling, you leaned against the soft tail. It was unexpectedly fluffy and warm. Ace did everything he could to look completely indifferent, but the faint blush on his cheeks made it obvious he was hyper-aware of every single second.
The next day, you went out to explore the island. Along the way, he picked a few vibrant tropical flowers without saying a word. When you asked him why, he just shrugged.
"I was bored," he shot back.
Yet a few minutes later, he stepped up behind you and, with surprising gentleness, began to weave the blossoms into your hair. When he finished, he took a step back and just stared at you in silence for a moment.
"...Pretty," he said with satisfaction, like an artist admiring his masterpiece.
"Do you mean the flowers?" You smiled. He froze for a second.
"...No," he replied.
Only when he realized what he had just blurted out did he quickly look away, a soft crimson flush creeping into his cheeks.
That evening, you went for a swim. The sea was calm, the surface shimmering in the light of the setting sun. You slowly started to wade out a bit further from the shore when he suddenly caught you gently by the wrist.
"Where are you swimming to?" he asked.
"Just a bit further out," you shrugged.
"No." He shook his head.
"Ace."
"There are sharks," he argued.
"No, there aren't," you laughed.
"And what if you get a cramp? Or something else?" He cast his eyes down for a moment. "...I don't want to lose you."
The words were barely audible, but they were more honest than anything he had said all day.
Later, while the others thought you had just gone off to look for more fruit, you were sitting hidden under the tall palm trees, far away from the camp. The air smelled of the ocean and tropical flowers, with only the rustling of leaves surrounding you.
Ace pulled you closer, gently wrapping his arms around your waist. He rested his forehead against yours, falling completely still for a moment.
"Do you have any idea how hard it is to act like I'm perfectly fine when you look like this?" he murmured.
His thumb slowly slid down your hip, stopping right where the string of your bikini ended, brushing against it just lightly. On purpose. Just for a split second. Then, his signature provocative smirk returned.
"You should stop teasing me," he grinned.
"Me?" You looked at him, amused.
"Yeah." He nodded.
"And who's the one holding me this whole time?" you smirked.
"...That's not an important detail." He let out a short laugh.
He let silence settle between you before slowly leaning in. He kissed you deeply and without any rush, as if nothing else in the world mattered.
Above your heads, the palms rustled softly, the sea lazily lapped against the shore, and for a few rare moments, it felt as though the entire world had stopped.
Kitsune Instincts
When he's jealous, his fluffy tails puff up all on their own, giving him away long before his face does.
He loves marking you with his scent by hugging you, letting you borrow his shirt, or casually brushing his shoulder against yours.
He instinctively keeps you away from other people and will always step between you and anyone who stares at you for too long. Especially when you're wearing a bikini.
In the evening, when you fall asleep together, he wraps one of his tails around you like a soft blanket and refuses to let go.
He absolutely adores it when you play with his ears or stroke his tails. Even though he claims he doesn't care, the happy wagging of his tails betrays him instantly.
The moment he kisses you and sees you blush, a smug grin spreads across his face. "This is way better than any vacation."
Vibe: fantasy AU, monster romance, werewolf AU, cursed scholar, castle romance, protective Faust, mutual trust, slow burn, hurt/comfort, caretaker reader, first full moon, gentle monster, acceptance, healing together 🐺🌕🏰🤍✨
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You sat by the tall window in the castle’s west wing, watching the mist congeal in the courtyard alongside the fading afternoon light. The glass pane was cold, despite the warmth of the fireplace reflecting off the polished floor like spilled honey.
At this hour, the castle held a peculiar silence. Not a peaceful one, but rather a tense stillness, as if the ancient stones were waiting for a sound that always arrived too late.
Faust should have been back long ago. He’d mentioned stopping by the orphanage, said he had things to check on, that the children needed medicine, and that the headmistress was reportedly skimping on bandages again.
He… he simply couldn’t let it be. He’d used that specific tone that meant "don't try to talk me out of it," even though you never had to persuade him to be kind. Usually, you were just trying to persuade him to at least eat something.
You paced the salon back and forth, wondering when he’d return. Especially now, with warnings posted everywhere for people to stay indoors because of something dangerous lurking in the dark. Leaning against the back of an armchair, you felt your heart leap at every distant footfall in the corridor, only to sink again when the steps belonged to someone else.
Finally, a sound echoed through the castle that you recognized instantly. It wasn't entirely steady. It was hurried, as if someone were forcing themselves not to stumble while walking. The door swung open. Faust stepped inside, and the first thing you noticed was blood.
He was clutching his arm to his chest, fingers clamped around his wrist, with crimson seeping through his grip. One sleeve of his coat was darker, as if the fabric had soaked up something more than just the dampness of the mist. His eyes held that familiar, stubborn composure, but beneath it flickered something nameless. He looked exhausted.
"Faust!" you gasped, reaching him before you even realized you’d stood up.
"It’s nothing," he said too quickly. "Just… a scratch."
"A scratch," you repeated, taking his wrist as delicately as if he might shatter if you held him too firmly. Even so, you could feel his pulse thrumming erratically beneath his skin. "Let me see."
He resisted for a moment, then, as if overcome by fatigue or pain, he let his fingers loosen. He hissed as his palm opened, and you saw deep teeth marks across the back of his hand. It looked as though some animal had bitten him.
"What happened?" you asked, leading him toward the sofa. "Sit down."
He obeyed, but only halfway. He sat on the very edge, back straight and chin tilted up, as if pain were something that could be ignored through sheer posture. You fetched the medical kit from the side table. There was never a shortage of those in this castle and pulled out bandages, a clean cloth, and disinfectant.
"In the alley behind the orphanage," he said finally. His voice was calm, yet there was a tautness to it. "Someone… or something… was moving there. I thought it was a dog. The children said a stray had been seen around the area."
"And you went alone," you said softly while soaking the cloth. There was reproach in your voice, but the kind born purely of fear.
"I didn't want to wake anyone." He attempted a faint, ironic smile. "You would have forbidden me."
"Yes," you answered without hesitation. "And I would have been right."
You pressed the cloth to the wound, and Faust hissed again. He didn't flinch, but the muscles in his jaw tightened. Blood blossomed into the fabric. You applied the disinfectant. Faust remained motionless, though a bead of sweat appeared on his temple and his muscles strained.
"It was fast," he said, looking somewhere over your shoulder as if replaying the moment. "A shadow. Too tall for a dog. And… the eyes. They were yellow."
When he spoke the word, something inside you froze. They were just stories, everyone was whispering about a werewolf in town, blaming it for all the recent disappearances and deaths in the area.
"Faust," you said, tying the bandage around his hand. "You need to rest. And I… I’ll ask the others if anyone saw anything."
"No," he said, sharper than necessary, then immediately took a breath as if reigning himself in. "I'm sorry. I don't want to cause a stir. They’d be frightened for nothing."
"I’m already frightened," you admitted quietly.
Faust looked at you. There was something in his gaze that always disarmed you. Not tenderness in the usual sense, but a concentrated attention, as if you deserved to be understood down to your last thought.
"I don't want you to have a reason to be," he said, his voice suddenly softer. "I’m here."
He was here. And yet, you felt that along with the bandage on his hand, he had brought something else home, something unseen.
The first night was almost quiet. Faust slept in the room across from yours. You’d left the doors ajar, as if that could ward off nightmares. You often heard his footsteps in the library late into the night, but this time he didn't stay up. As soon as he lay down, he fell into a heavy, almost unnatural sleep.
You, however, couldn't sleep. You lay there listening to the castle, the distant creaking of wood, the wind whistling in the chimneys, and occasionally… something like a low moan. You turned onto your side, but sleep remained elusive. It was late, yet the weight of your worry wouldn't lift.
You got up and walked across the cold floor barefoot. You crept into his room to check on him. Faust lay on the bed, his blanket kicked aside. His shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, and the skin on his chest glistened with sweat. It looked as if he were being consumed by an internal fire. As you drew closer, you could feel the heat radiating from him.
"Faust," you whispered, placing a hand on his forehead. He was burning up. He opened his eyes, and for a moment, it seemed he didn't recognize you. His pupils were dilated, his gaze sharper. Then his expression broke, as if he had returned to himself.
"What's happening?" he exhaled tiredly.
"You have a fever," you replied.
"It’ll pass," he muttered, trying to sit up, but he wavered.
You sat beside him and supported him. You felt his weight, the tension in his body. His hand, the injured one was trembling. The bandage was soaked through, as if the wound were bleeding again.
"We have to check it," you said, reaching for the lamp. But Faust caught your wrist. His grip was firm, firmer than usual. Not painful, but startling.
"No," he said again. Softly this time. "It’s… something strange."
"What do you mean?" you asked, confused. He closed his eyes, his throat working as if he were swallowing words that tasted bitter.
"I hear… sounds," he finally admitted. "I hear the clock in the hallway, even though… it’s so far away. And I can smell Vlada’s flowers all the way in here, as if I had them on my tongue..."
"That’s not normal." You went still.
"I know," he breathed, a shadow of a smile, bitter and weary, appearing on his lips for a moment. "Believe me, I know."
You pulled the water pitcher toward him and poured him a drink. He drank greedily, as if he’d been thirsty for days. Then you soaked a cloth in cold water and placed it on his brow.
"Try to sleep," you said. "I’ll stay here."
"You don't have to…"
"I do," you interrupted gently, smoothing his damp hair from his forehead. It felt softer than you remembered. Or perhaps you were just more aware of it now. "If you get worse, I want to be able to help you as quickly as possible."
Faust watched you for a long time. There was gratitude in that look, but also fear. Not for himself, but for you.
"You are too good," he whispered.
"And you are too stubborn," you replied, trying to smile.
The next morning, Faust woke with clearer eyes. He sat at the desk in the small laboratory he had established in the castle. A room filled with vials, papers, and notes written in a tiny script. The air smelled of alcohol and herbs. You brought him tea and a plate of pastries and ham, but he hardly touched them.
"The wound looks… different," you said, pointing to his hand.
You removed the bandage and noticed the wound was almost entirely healed. It wasn't natural. It was eerie, and it sent a chill down your spine. Faust stared at the wound with his usual scientific detachment, but a twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his nerves.
"If I saw this on anyone else," he said slowly, "I would say it’s… impossible."
"And on yourself?"
"On myself, I still don't want to say it out loud." He looked up at you.
"Faust… what bit you?" you asked. He was silent for a while. Then he took a breath, his voice dropping to a whisper as if speaking it would make it a reality.
"A werewolf," he said.
"Those are… just legends," you breathed.
"I thought so too." Faust gave a short, humorless laugh. He stood up and walked to the window. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. You noticed his nostrils flare slightly, as if he were catching a scent.
"I can smell the forest," he said softly, more to himself. "Even though it’s far. I smell… wet earth. Fur. And blood."
"Faust, that’s…" You gasped.
"I know," he interrupted. "I don't want to scare you."
You stepped up behind him and placed your hands on his back. You could feel how tense he was, like a bow pulled to the breaking point. Beneath your palms, his muscles were hard and hot.
"Don't run away from me," you whispered. "Please."
Faust turned around. For a moment, his eyes glinted as if a golden thread had flashed through them. You flinched, but you didn't step back.
"See?" he said hoarsely. "It's already happening."
"I see," you confessed, your fingers gripping his shirt as if you could anchor him with the gesture. "But it’s still you." His expression softened slightly.
"And what if it isn't?" he whispered. "What if it… rewrites something inside me?"
"Then I’ll hold onto you," you said quietly. "Until you come back." Faust laughed, but this time it was soft. Something warm, almost fragile, appeared in his eyes.
"That is the most dangerous sentence," he said.
"Why?"
"Because I believe you," he replied simply.
The following days were filled with subtle changes. Faust heard when a needle dropped in the hallway. He knew who was coming up the stairs just by the rhythm of their steps. When you handed him tea, he smelled the herbs before the liquid even touched his lips.
And sometimes, just sometimes, something wild emerged. In those moments, you would take his hand in yours and lead him to the garden where the air was fresher. You walked the gravel paths between the bare rosebushes until his breathing slowed. You kept his pace, even when he walked faster, as if something were pulling him forward.
One night, when the moon hung over the castle like a silver coin, not yet full, but close, you found him in the empty ballroom. He stood in the center, barefoot, shirt unbuttoned and hair disheveled. He was breathing quickly, his hands clenched into fists.
"I can't sleep," he said when he heard you. You approached him. The floorboards were cold, but his skin was hot. The moon reflected in the windows, casting sharp shadows across his face.
"Then we won't sleep," you said softly. Faust looked at you as if expecting you to vanish, or to recoil. Instead, you reached out and placed your hand on his cheek. You were careful, but firm. His face trembled slightly under your palm.
"You’re here," he whispered, closing his eyes as if the word were a prayer.
"I am," you replied. "And you’re here, too." Faust breathed in and rested his forehead against yours. The proximity made your head spin, but not from fear. It was a tenderness so potent it ached.
"When it gets worse," he said quietly, "promise me you’ll run."
"No," you answered.
"That isn't a request," he exhaled, urgency coloring his voice. "It’s… a plea." You raised your head and looked into his eyes. They were dark, but a light still held fast in the depths.
"Then you promise me," you said gently, "that you won't lose yourself. That you’ll give me a sign when it comes." Faust hesitated. Then he nodded.
"Alright," he said. "I will."
And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he took you in his arms. His hands were strong but cautious. He pressed you to him as if he feared that if he let go, something inside him would snap.
"You smell like home," he whispered so softly it sent a shiver down your spine.
"And you smell like… Faust," you replied, laughing weakly because you didn't know how else to say it.
Faust smiled for a moment. Then he led you slowly across the floor, no music, just the rhythm of your steps. You danced in the silence while the moon watched through the windows, and for once, the castle around you finally felt… peaceful.
When the night of the full moon arrived, you both knew it instantly. He had been restless since the afternoon. His movements were quicker, his eyes sharper, and when he touched your hand, his fingers lingered for a second as if he were fighting something inside.
"It's coming tonight," he said quietly as you stood in the library. It was cold among the shelves, but he radiated heat like a glowing coal.
"I know," you replied, though your throat was dry. "Are you ready?"
"No," he admitted. "But… I don't want to be alone." That was all you needed to hear.
You took him to a small room adjacent to the lab, one with heavy curtains and thick walls. You brought water, clean bandages, and herbs used for calming, not that you believed they would help, but you needed to have something in your hands that made sense.
Faust sat on the floor, leaning against the wall with his hands on his knees. He breathed slowly, as if meditating. You sat beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"If you start to lose control," you whispered, "tell me." Faust looked at you. There was darkness and light in his eyes. Fear and tenderness.
"If I were to hurt you…"
"You won't," you interrupted, pressing your forehead to his temple. "Not if you know I’m here." His breathing quickened. Faust closed his eyes, his fingers digging into the fabric of his trousers as if holding onto reality. And then, it happened.
Faust shuddered as if a current had surged through him. A muffled sound, almost a growl tore from his throat, and you felt your heart hammer against your ribs. Dark fur began to sprout on his face and across his body. His limbs twisted into strange positions, his joints popping. When the transformation finished, he finally opened eyes that looked as if they had been flooded with gold.
You were frozen, but you didn't pull away. His gaze slid to your throat, and you felt the hair on your skin stand up. Faust squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away, as if trying to save himself.
"Faust," you said, your voice steadier than you felt. "I’m here with you." For a moment, nothing happened, just his breath, your breath, the castle around you, and the moon outside.
Even as a wolf, he looked exhausted. His massive body trembled. And to your surprise, he collapsed into your arms as if his strength had simply run out. You held him tightly, feeling his body shake.
"It's going to be alright," you whispered, kissing his fur. "You aren't in this alone."
His breathing gradually slowed. You heard it in his chest like a distant tide, deep and heavy, but no longer frantic. The fur beneath your fingers was warm and soft. He raised his head. Slowly, carefully, as if he feared a single sudden movement might injure you.
Those golden eyes met yours. There was no hunger in them. No darkness. Only a painful focus and something you recognized instantly because you knew it from his human face.
A plea. He couldn't speak, you knew that. But he tried nonetheless. His forehead touched your shoulder, then slid higher until he rested against your neck. It wasn't the instinct of a hunter, it was the instinct for closeness.
His heavy muzzle stopped just shy of your skin, his breath barely brushing you. As if he were asking, without words. You raised your hand and placed it firmly on the nape of his neck. With certainty.
"You may," you whispered.
In response, a low sound escaped him, not a growl, but a deep, broken howl held back in his chest. A sound no one else would understand, but you did. It held fear, relief, and something he had carried inside for a long time and never said aloud.
Then he did something unexpected. His paw moved slowly across the floor toward you. He didn't touch you immediately. He stopped just short of your hand. Waiting. You placed your palm in his.
It was a simple touch, but in that moment, the tension broke. Faust bowed his head and pressed it against your chest, right where he could hear your heart. He closed his eyes.
"I'm here. I love you..." you whispered, stroking his head.
He stayed with you all night. He guarded you, even though it was he who needed watching. When the moon finally began to sink and the light in the window grew pale, his body slowly settled.
In the morning, you found Faust beside you, exhausted, human, his hand still resting upon yours. When he opened his eyes, he didn't have to ask if you had stayed. He saw it. And that was enough.
A heavy thud shook the door, so violent that the jars of dried herbs on your shelf rattled. It was already dark, and river fog was rolling past the windows, the kind that loved to creep toward the edge of town under the cover of night.
Your small cottage smelled of woodsmoke and the remains of a dinner you’d been trying to finish, but a nagging restlessness in your chest forced you to stand.
When you pulled the door open, you thought you were dreaming. Corazon was sprawled right across the threshold as if he’d been tossed there. He was breathing heavily, his coat shredded, and blood shimmered beneath the fabric. A jagged wound stood out on his chest, still bleeding freely.
"Rosinante!" you gasped before even thinking to look around.
The edge of town was desolate at this hour, people stayed safely tucked away inside. For days, there had been whispers of a beast roaming the outskirts. Whispers of people vanishing into thin air or returning home bloodied and half-dead.
You knelt beside him, immediately checking his vitals.
"You’re… here," he rasped, forcing a ghost of a smile.
"I am," you nodded.
To the rest of the town, Corazon was just an eccentric man with long legs, a wide grin, and a habit of doing things his own way. To some, he was a harmless klutz, to others, a suspicious stranger.
To you, he was everything you’d never dared to want. Your relationship was a secret kept in the quiet spaces when no one was watching, tender touches, shared silences, and those beautiful stolen moments at your cottage.
Setting your teeth, you hooked your arms under his and dragged him inside. He was heavier than you remembered, and the floorboards groaned as if protesting the burden you were bringing into your sanctuary.
Once the door was shut, you locked it and shoved a chair against the handle. You didn't know why, perhaps just for a fleeting sense of security.
You laid him on the sofa, it was far too short for him, his legs dangling over the edge. His coat was soaked, clinging to his skin. Carefully, you unbuttoned his shirt and let out a sharp breath when the wound was fully revealed.
It was deep, a mess of teeth marks that looked as though they were already trying to knit together at the edges. Yet, blood continued to seep out.
"What happened to you?" you whispered. Even if you hadn't believed the tall tales about the beast before, they felt terrifyingly real now. Corazon moved, his fingers trembling as they caught your sleeve.
"Caught me off guard…," he tried to chuckle, but it dissolved into a cough.
"You’re a fool," you breathed, your voice cracking. Anger and fear swirled so violently inside you that your eyes stung. "Where were you? Why did you go out alone?"
His eyes met yours for a moment. There was exhaustion there, but also a tenderness that pierced your chest like a needle.
"I had to," he whispered. "There was a little boy… in the alley. If I… if I hadn't pulled him out…" Of course. Corazon could never just stand by.
You didn't waste any more time. You grabbed a bowl of warm water, clean cloths, and pulled sachets of medicinal herbs from the shelf. You weren't a healer by trade, but you knew the basics. More importantly, you knew him. You knew his silent pleas, his stubborn silences, and the way he pretended pain didn't exist.
"This will sting," you said softly. As you washed the blood from his chest, he flinched.
"You… sting more," he mumbled with a hint of a smile, trying to make the moment feel ordinary.
"If you weren't in this state, I’d sting you to death," you tried to joke back, though your hands shook with the terror of losing him, the only person who brought light and laughter into your life like no one else.
How many nights had you spent like this, curled on the sofa or in the bed upstairs, hidden from the world? His coat on the floor, your laughter muffled by the pillow so no one would hear. How many times had you traced his scars with your fingers, as if you could rub them away?
You mixed the herbs into a paste, adding a bit of a silver-infused tincture that accelerated healing. When the paste touched the wound, Corazon jolted, hissing as if it burned. His fingers clamped around your wrist so tightly it hurt.
"Breathe," you said firmly.
"I am," he lied.
You let him hold your hand. It was better than the silence that would have otherwise fallen between you. But when you went to tie the bandage, he had to let go, grabbing a handful of your shirt instead.
As you tightened the knots, your mind raced through every theory, wondering if it really could be a werewolf, just as the townspeople speculated.
When you finished, you leaned against the table and closed your eyes. For a second, you allowed yourself to just be. To feel the fear pulsing in your throat.
"I don't… want you to be afraid," he was the first to speak.
"Well, you failed at that." You opened your eyes.
"Sorry," he smiled apologetically.
"Don't say sorry," you said, quieter than you intended. "Not now."
He would have stood up if he could. He always had the urge to fix everything, even when he was the one broken. You leaned over him, tucking a stray lock of hair from his forehead. It was damp with blood and sweat.
"You’re staying here," you decided. "You’re not going anywhere tonight."
"And tomorrow?" he whispered, as if to tease you.
"We’ll see about tomorrow," you replied.
You brought him water. He pushed himself up on his elbows to drink, but his hands shook immediately. You placed a palm on his forehead. He was burning up.
"You have a fever," you said, your stomach knotting.
"Maybe… just… stress," he tried to joke.
"I highly doubt that," you snapped, but instantly regretted how harsh it sounded. You swallowed and moved closer. "You need to sleep."
"If I sleep," he drifted, "and I wake up… different…" The words hung in the air like a dark spiderweb.
"No," you said quickly, too quickly. "No. You won't be different."
Corazon looked at you as if searching for the truth in your voice. You decided right then to give it to him, even if you had to make it up.
"You’re my Rosinante," you continued softly. "The man who laughs when he should scream. The one who saves a stranger's child even if it breaks his ribs. The one who…" your voice broke and you took a breath to keep from crying, "who came to see me in secret because he was afraid the world would hurt me."
His fingers moved again, gently this time. He touched your hand on his forehead, as if confirming you were real.
"You are the home," he exhaled. "The place… where no one sees me… except you."
His words moved you deeply. You leaned down and kissed his forehead. Softly, almost timidly.
"Will you stay… with me?" Corazon closed his eyes.
"Yes," you answered without hesitation. "I'll stay."
You sat beside him on the floor, leaning against the sofa, letting his hand slide into yours. His fingers were scorching but firm. Outside, the fog thickened, and somewhere in the distance, a dog howled, or something that sounded like a dog or a wolf.
You held your breath and listened. The silence at the edge of town was different from the noise of the center. Here, the sounds were closer to nature, wilder. Every rustle of leaves sounded like a warning.
And then you heard it, a muffled scratch, like something dragging across the wooden fence.
Your body went rigid. You looked toward the window. The curtain fluttered slightly, though there was no draft inside.
"It’s… here," he whispered. Corazon opened his eyes. Despite the fever, a flash of recognition sparked in his gaze.
"Who?" you breathed, though you already knew the answer.
"The one who bit me." His lips tightened.
Your heart pounded in your throat. Instinct screamed at you to run, to hide, to lock yourself in the cellar. But then you looked at Corazon, at the bandage on his chest, the blood on your hands, his fingers intertwined with yours and you knew you weren't going anywhere.
"I won't leave you," you said with sudden resolve.
You stood up and, without a word, moved to the fireplace and grabbed the iron poker. It wasn't a sword or a magic weapon, just a piece of metal. Yet, in that moment, it felt like your best hope.
From outside came a deep growl. Not human. Not animal. Something in between.
The fog pressed against the windows like fingers. For a split second, a silhouette flickered in the glass, tall, hunched, with long arms. Then it vanished, as if mocking your fear.
This time, there was a loud crack as something heavy slammed against the side of the house. The wood groaned, and dust drifted down from the beams. You gripped the poker tighter and stepped between the window and the sofa, trying to make your own body a barrier.
"Don't go closer…," Corazon rasped.
But it was too late. The window glass exploded inward. Shards flew across the room, and something massive hit the floor with a heavy thud. The beast straightened up, taller than any man, its body covered in dark fur, its eyes yellow and hungry. Blood dripped from its maw.
It snarled. You stepped forward before you could talk yourself out of it.
"Leave him alone!" you screamed, swinging the poker.
It was a desperate move. The metal struck the monster’s shoulder, but it barely flinched. With one swipe, it tossed you aside. You hit the wall hard, the breath knocked out of your lungs, and the world blurred for a moment.
You heard a cry. Not yours. His. Corazon contorted on the sofa, his fingers digging into the upholstery. The bandage on his chest began to soak through with fresh blood, and then something changed.
His body tensed unnaturally, bones snapped and crunched as if breaking and reforming. The fever turned into a searing heat.
"Rosinante…?" you whispered. An agonizing sound tore from his throat, half-scream, half-howl. The beast turned toward him, its growl deepening.
Corazon rose from the sofa… but he was no longer just a man. His frame elongated, his shoulders broadened, his fingers twisted into claws. Fur erupted through his skin, dark and shimmering. When he turned, his eyes glowed with the same predatory light as the monster by the window.
Two werewolves. The air between them was thick with lethal tension. And then, they lunged.
The impact shook the entire house. The wall by the fireplace cracked as one of them slammed into it. Claws flashed, teeth snapped, and blood splattered the floor and your clothes as you tried to crawl away.
But you didn't stop. Your eyes fell on the bowl of leftover paste. Silver. Your heart hammered as you dipped the tip of the poker into the thick mixture.
"Corazon!" you screamed desperately. "Listen to me!"
For a heartbeat, just a fraction of a second, his head turned. His eyes met yours. And you didn't see a monster.
You saw him. The man who brought you wildflowers, who could make you laugh, and who was always there for you.
"I have a plan," you said, your voice trembling, gesturing slightly with the poker. He hesitated, but it was enough.
The other beast lunged at his back, but Corazon spun and caught it. This time, he was faster. Stronger. More ferocious.
You seized the moment and drove the poker into the monster's flank. It let out a piercing, terrifying howl. The silver worked.
The beast began to thrash and retreat, its body convulsing as if it were falling apart from the inside. Corazon pinned it, his teeth tearing into its throat, and with one last guttural cry, the body slumped to the floor.
Silence. Only your ragged breath and the crackle of the fire remained.
Corazon turned toward you. He was still a werewolf, fur, claws, fangs. Blood stained his muzzle. You took a step toward him, and he took a step back.
"I know it’s you," you said softly. "I recognize you."
He stopped. Slowly, he lowered his head. He approached cautiously, as if afraid he would terrify you.
His forehead touched yours. You closed your eyes and finally exhaled in pure exhaustion.
As he began to shift back, you caught him before he could fall. Naked, spent, human once more. His breath was weak, but steady.
"Did we… win?" he mumbled. You smiled through your tears and pulled him close.
Vibe: fantasy AU, octopus merman, true form reveal, forgotten transformation potion, ballroom romance, emotional vulnerability, body insecurity, mutual trust, comfort and reassurance, soft Azul, hurt/comfort, slow burn, healing emotional scars 🐙🎭🩵🫧🤍✨
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In the halls of Night Raven College, the air shimmered like champagne in crystal flutes. Golden garlands swayed beneath the ceiling, and the candles in the chandeliers cast a soft glow over the uniforms, dresses, and masks of classmates who laughed, danced, and pretended this night was merely innocent fun, rather than another test of who could be the most charming.
You felt strangely calm amidst the hum. Not because the ball left you cold, or because you were particularly fond of galas, but because Azul had invited you. He had promised a dance, and more than that, he had promised an unforgettable evening.
As for him, he felt more tense than ever. He hadn't felt this way even during his first or most important contract negotiation. He stood at the edge of the dance floor in a perfectly tailored suit, and when he caught sight of you, his eyes lit up in a way that made your heart tighten every single time. It wasn't just the practiced poise of a social butterfly, it wasn't that "public-facing" smile. This one belonged only to you.
He approached with an elegance rehearsed down to the last gesture. Even so, you noticed his fingers falter for a split second at his cuff before he tucked them into his pocket.
"You look… stunning," he exhaled. You laughed, because with Azul, compliments sometimes sounded like clauses in a contract, but this time, there wasn't a shadow of calculation in his voice.
"And you look like someone about to sell off the entire gala," you teased. His laugh was quiet and a little surprised.
"Tonight, the only thing I’m selling is…" the word caught on his tongue as if he were afraid to say it, "…my time with you." He held out his hand. "May I have this dance?"
At that moment, the orchestra began a gentler piece. The floor cleared slightly as couples moved into a circle to make room. You smiled and were just about to rest your fingers in his palm when Azul’s expression shifted minutely.
His pupils narrowed, his lips parted slightly. He nodded, but instead of leading you to the dance, he gave your hand a fleeting squeeze and let go.
"Forgive me. I’ll be right back," he blurted out.
"Azul-?"
He was already turning away. He stepped off too quickly, his soles skidded on the polished floor, and you saw him stumble, nearly tripping. Yet he recovered with a forced elegance, acting as if nothing had happened, and vanished between the pillars toward the side corridors.
You stood there with your hand halfway in the air, feeling that peculiar void he always left behind when he donned his "everything is under control" mask. But today was different. Today, the mask had cracked.
You didn't wait long. You couldn't. The gravity in his voice had cut through you like a silver thread. You were worried.
You slipped past a group of students laughing by the punch table and escaped the hall into the cooler silence of the corridor. The music muffled behind you until only a dull thrumming of bass remained. The carpet here was dark, and portraits of former headmasters watched you from the walls with eternal disapproval.
"Azul?" you called out softly, not wanting to cause a scene.
The only answer was a distant rustle of fabric. You followed the sound. The hallway curved, the lantern light thinning out. And then, at the end of the hall, you stopped short.
You saw him. He was sitting in… something that looked like a wheelchair. Or at least a metal frame with armrests that glinted in the gloom. His back was to you, his shoulders tense and strangely hunched. His head was bowed, as if he were trying to make himself as small as possible.
"Azul…?" You took a cautious step toward him.
In that instant, there was a soft, almost wet rustling sound. Not like fabric, more like something smooth and supple shifting position.
"No!" he gasped. "Don't come any closer!" Azul lurched as if struck by a needle.
That alone was enough to make you freeze. Not because he had shouted, but because there was no reproach in that "no." There was panic. A plea. Fear.
"I just… I wanted to make sure you were alright," you said quietly. "I’m sorry if I… if I disturbed you."
Silence hung for several seconds, thick enough to raise goosebumps. Azul slowly straightened his back. And then you noticed a detail that took your breath away. On his neck, just above his shirt collar, something black was shimmering.
"You shouldn't have followed me," he said shakily. His voice was no longer that smooth, rehearsed tone.
It was the voice he sometimes showed you at night, when you laughed quietly over textbooks or when he rested his forehead against your shoulder and allowed himself to just be for a moment.
"I couldn't just let you run off," you replied. "You almost fell."
There was that rustling again, clearer this time. And then, from beneath his coat, the end of a tentacle curled out. Dark, sleek, with tiny suckers that caught the lantern light like mother-of-pearl. Your heart skipped a beat.
Azul froze as if he had just committed an unspeakable error. His hands shook as he tried to pull his coat lower to hide it. But the coat shifted further, and you caught sight of another tentacle coiled unhappily over the metal armrest.
It wasn't that he couldn't walk. It was because his body… was changing.
"Azul…" you whispered, no longer a question. Just his name, filled with tenderness, shock, and concern.
"Don't look," he whispered.
Those words stung. You realized then that this wasn't a fear of judgment. It was the fear that you would see something he himself deemed unworthy of love.
"Can I… can I stay?" you asked, as if simply asking for the seat next to him in the library, and slowly took a step closer.
Azul moved again, but he didn't flee. This was the first time he had allowed you to be near something he had kept locked in his darkest drawer for years.
"I shouldn't have… today…" he began, his voice breaking. "I… I forgot."
"The potion," you finished for him before he had to say it aloud.
You knew he took one. He never told you the details, only that it was "necessary" and that he "wouldn't fit into the school without it." Now, that word "necessary" had turned into reality right before your eyes.
Azul nodded so slightly you weren't even sure he’d moved.
"I was looking forward to it," he exhaled, and it sounded so achingly human it made your chest hurt. "I was looking forward to the ball. To… asking you to dance. To us enjoying ourselves. To being… normal for you."
"You are normal," you said automatically.
"Don't say that, please." His laugh was short and bitter. An old shadow lingered in his voice. Something that didn't belong to this night, the light of the chandeliers, or the laughter of classmates. Something cold, like the depths of the past.
"Azul," you said gently, walking around so you could see his face. "Will you look at me?"
He struggled for a moment. His eyes were pinned to the floor, his lashes trembling. Then, he lifted his head.
His face was the same, though his skin had a slightly ashen tint. But below his neck, you could see his skin turning black. The fear in his eyes was so raw you had to take a deep breath to keep from pulling him into an embrace right then and there.
"I didn't want to show you," he admitted, barely audible. "Not like this. Not… at all."
"Why?" you asked. Azul took a breath, but it hitched deep in his chest. His shoulders pulled in, trying to shrink away.
"When I was little…" he started, his voice a faint tremor, "…I wasn't like the others." You swallowed hard, not because you feared his words, but because you could feel how much it still hurt him.
"I was… fat," he breathed the word out like it carried the weight of an anchor. "Soft. Slow. I had too many tentacles and too much body. The other merfolk teased me." He gave a hollow laugh.
His fingers moved restlessly, one tentacle pulled closer to his body as if trying to hide.
"They laughed at me," he continued quietly. "They said I was bloated. Slimy. That I didn't move fast enough. That… I should stay at the bottom where no one would see me." Your heart constricted with pain.
"So I learned to be smart," he said bitterly. "If I couldn't be handsome or admired, I could be indispensable. I learned to calculate, to negotiate, to control others before they could control me."
"Azul," you said, "I’m dating you because of you. Not because of how you… look. And certainly not because of contracts."
"You’re lying." His lips trembled.
"I’m not." You carefully reached out your hand, moving slowly so he could choose. "May I?"
He stared at your palm as if it were a trap, as if he expected that touching you would burn him. And yet, after a long second, he raised his hand and rested his fingers against yours. His skin was cooler than usual. Like water at night.
"What if… you find me repulsive?" he whispered.
"Then I’ll only find the people who told you those things repulsive," you answered without hesitation.
A tear shimmered in the corner of his eye, which he wiped away immediately. This wasn't like him. Your fingers tightened slightly around his palm, steady, certain.
From beneath the coat, a tentacle moved again, slower this time, as if growing bold. The tip brushed tentatively against your sleeve. Azul went rigid, tense as a wire.
But you didn't move back. You just looked at the tentacle and then smiled so gently you weren't sure it was even possible.
"It’s… beautiful," you said.
"What?" he breathed, genuinely bewildered.
"Your tentacles. They look like… something from a fairy tale." You leaned in closer, your voice low and warm. "And I like fairy tales. Especially the ones where I’m with you."
Azul gasped as if he were finally getting air for the first time in a long while, and his cheeks flushed a faint blue. Then he closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, the fear was no longer alone. There was a glimmer of hope, cautious as the first light beneath the surface.
"I… I don't have the potion here," he admitted. "I left it in my bag. In…" he hesitated, because it sounded so ridiculous compared to everything else, "…in the office at Monstro Lounge."
"Then that’s where we’ll go," you said.
"But- I can't just walk through the halls," he hissed. "Someone will see me."
"I’ll push you in the chair. Hide your legs- your tentacles, under the coat, and no one will know," you said, gently adjusting the fabric covering his lower body to ensure everything was concealed.
"But the ball… you were looking forward to it," he protested.
"I was looking forward to an evening with you," you replied softly. Azul shifted in the chair, his cheeks darkening to a deep blue.
"You are incredible…" he murmured.
Azul remained silent as you began to push him down the corridor. The chair creaked softly beneath your hands, and the lanterns drew long shadows on the walls that swayed to the rhythm of your steps.
Every rustle of fabric reminded you that the tentacles beneath the coat moved occasionally, no longer in panic, but with a nervous energy, as if getting used to the fact that they weren't alone.
When you finally reached the office at Monstro Lounge without being stopped, the place was empty. The silence here was different from the hallway, soft and safe. You closed the door and turned the key, just to be sure.
"Here," Azul gestured weakly toward his bag. His hands were still shaking as he pulled out a vial of dark blue liquid. He stared at the glass for a moment, as if he suddenly didn't want to drink it.
He drank the potion slowly. You waited, unhurried. Gradually, his breathing evened out, the tentacles retracted, and the skin on his neck lightened. When it was over, he looked once more like the elegant Azul everyone knew. Only you knew that wasn't the whole picture.
"I’m sorry," he said after a while. "For the ball. For the chaos. For promising you something and then…"
"Azul," you interrupted, taking his hand. "This evening was unforgettable. Just not in the way you planned." He laughed softly.
"Perhaps…" he tilted his head, "I could still ask you for that dance. Here. Without the audience."
The orchestra was far away. The music reached you only as a distant echo. Nevertheless, you stood before him, resting your hands on his shoulders, and he drew you into a careful embrace. You danced slowly to your own rhythm, closer than you had ever been before.
You set out for the village early that morning, before the mist had even lifted from the rice paddies and while the bamboo paths still held their cold, damp breath.
Law had asked you for "essentials", a few bags of rice flour, clean gauze, disinfecting alcohol, but above all, herbs. Mugwort, sage from the stone wall near the temple, and dried wisteria petals which, in these parts, were valued more than gold coin.
He told you that wisteria could keep evil at bay. You found it strange that he said it so calmly, but then again, Law was always calm. Even when dealing with things that would terrify anyone else. Law was the local doctor. The best in the region. And, to your great fortune, he was also your fiancé.
You stayed longer than planned. An old merchant delayed you with tales of "shadows by the mountains" and whispers of people vanishing lately. For a moment, you didn't believe him.
Villages thrive on stories, but when you saw the sheer terror in the herbalist’s eyes as she wrapped the wisteria in paper, a chill ran down your spine.
On the way back, the sky bled into crimson, then deep ink. The forest fell silent the moment the sun dipped behind the ridge. No birds called. Even the crickets seemed to be holding their breath, waiting to see if it was safe to breathe.
You gripped your basket tighter and quickened your pace. The house you shared with Law sat on a hill above the village, tucked against the whispering bamboo grove.
It was the anchor of your world, usually glowing with warm light when you returned late. But this time, there was no light.
As you scrambled up the final bend, your blood turned to ice.
The house looked as though it had been savaged. The door hung on broken hinges, part of the wall was splintered, and the lantern at the entrance was torn to shreds. A dark, glistening trail of blood smeared the threshold. It was fresh, still reflecting the last glimmers of the evening.
"Law...?" you breathed, but the forest swallowed your voice. You lunged inside.
Everything was in shambles. Shelves had collapsed, glass vials of tinctures lay shattered, and the sharp sting of alcohol mingled with the metallic scent of blood. Your eyes searched frantically for his silhouette, his white coat. Nothing.
Then came a growl. Low and vibrating, like something waking deep within the earth that was never meant to be disturbed. You spun around as fast as you could. In the gloom of the hallway, something moved. A figure you knew, yet didn't recognize.
Law stepped out of the shadows. His eyes glowed a piercing gold with slit pupils. Curved horns, looking as though they were carved from midnight stone, sprouted from his dark hair.
Demonic marks, dark, pulsing lines crawled across his face, heaving with every breath. Fangs peeked from his mouth, and there was blood on his lips.
And yet... it was him. The same features, the same jawline, the same gaze, only twisted by something hungry.
"No..." you whispered. "It can’t be."
The demon moved. Too fast. Before you could even draw air, your back hit the floor. Herbs spilled from your basket, dried wisteria petals fluttering down like purple snowflakes.
A weight pinned you down, heavy and unbreakable. Law’s fingers dug into the floorboards beside your head. His golden eyes burned into yours so closely that you could see your own terrified reflection in them. He growled, the sound vibrating through your very ribs.
"You smell..." he hissed. His voice was Law’s... but harsher, deeper, with an alien resonance. "...sweet."
Your heart hammered against your chest. You tried to squirm away, but he was far stronger. Cold radiated from his skin, a dangerous, inhuman chill. He moved his face close to your neck, and you felt his breath.
"Law, please..." you gasped, because what else is there to say when your world is collapsing? "It’s me. Y/N."
For a split second, his eyes flickered. Something flashed in them, as if deep beneath that golden surface, a memory still existed. But then his lips curled into a smile that wasn't kind.
"I’m going to eat you," he murmured, his fangs grazing your skin.
Panic surged. You had nowhere to run. Instinctively, your hand clawed at the floor, feeling through the wreckage and spilled supplies for anything any chance at all. Your fingers hit a hard, smooth piece of bamboo.
You grabbed it like a lifeline. Before Law could sink his teeth in, you jammed the bamboo into his mouth, shoving it between his teeth as deep as you could to gag him. The demon snarled and gagged, his golden eyes widening in shock.
Seizing that single second, you shoved him off. The demon stumbled back, the bamboo protruding from his mouth like a muzzle. It gave you just enough time to breathe.
His hands curled into fists, his horns glinting in the dark. He growled something unintelligible through the bamboo. You scrambled to your knees, trembling, and clutched your basket like a shield. A thousand thoughts raced through your mind.
"What happened to you?" you choked out. "Who did this to you?"
His golden pupils narrowed. Then, his gaze slid to the wisteria scattered on the floor. He froze. It was as if he had hit an invisible wall. His nose twitched, and his face contorted in pain, like someone leaning too close to an open flame. He took a step back. Then another.
You didn't move. You just stared at the purple leaves between you as if they were a miracle. Wisteria.
"Law..." your voice was soft. "Does this... hurt you?"
The demon growled again, but this time it wasn't a threat. It was... frustrated. Angry. Like he was trapped inside something suffocating him.
The bamboo still prevented him from speaking, but you saw his fingers twitch and the tendons in his neck tighten. He raised a hand toward your face, and you instinctively flinched. He stopped his hand in mid-air. It was shaking.
It reminded you so much of the Law you knew, the man who, before your engagement, had carefully tended to your scraped knee after you slipped in the mud. How he had scowled as if to scold you, only to quietly apply a bandage and tell you to be careful. That same touch was still in him... just buried under something dark.
Slowly, with a shaky breath, you reached out. Not for his horns. Not for his eyes. For his wrist.
"If you're still in there..." you whispered. "Please. Stop."
The demon jolted as if your voice had physically struck him. Those golden eyes locked onto yours. You noticed the demonic marks on his face were pulsing faster, like a second heartbeat.
Then, something shifted. His expression broke for a second. His brow furrowed in agony, and his fingers gripped the bamboo as if he wanted to rip it out. But he didn't. Instead, his shoulders slumped, as if they had suddenly grown heavy.
He grunted through the bamboo and looked at you. That one look was enough, you saw your Law again.
"It is you," you breathed, tears finally welling up. "It’s you."
The demon took a step and then faltered, because the wisteria was still between you. He hissed, clenching his jaw.
You looked around frantically. In the back, in your small study, was an old drawer where Law kept things "just in case." He never told you what was in it, only that he hoped you’d never have to open it.
You ran to it now, your heart in your throat. You pulled the drawer open and found a bundle of wisteria tied with string, a few parchment notes, and other things you didn't have time to examine.
Another growl echoed from the hallway, sharper this time. Law was clearly fighting something inside, hunger, rage, pain. But he didn't cross the line.
You took the bundle and quickly scattered more leaves in a semi-circle, creating a larger barrier. Then you returned to him.
"Law," you said more firmly, though your voice shook. "Listen to me. I don't know what happened. I don't know who changed you. But I know you don't give up. You’ve never given up."
His eyes narrowed. You were almost certain you saw a glimmer of hope or desperation. You pulled the ring from your finger and held it out.
"When we got engaged," you continued, "you said you would protect me. Even if you had to stand against the whole world. So now... now fight. Please. For us."
At that moment, his body went rigid, as if a spear had been driven through him. A sound tore from his throat, half-roar, half-pained exhale. The demonic marks on his face flared and then faded. His horns looked sharper for a moment, then receded... and his gaze cleared, like clouds breaking after a storm.
His golden eyes were still on you. But they weren't purely hungry anymore.
"...You," he finally gasped, as the bamboo fell from his mouth as if he’d simply let it go. Law wiped his hand over his mouth, as if he couldn't believe he could control it again. "You shouldn't have come back alone."
You stood there, unable to move, your brain trying to catch up to the fact that he sounded... like Law. Broken, exhausted, but him.
"I... I thought that..." your voice trailed off. His gaze slid to the blood by the door, the ruined house. Guilt flickered in his eyes.
"They came," he said quietly. "Demons..." He didn't need to explain more. It was clear.
You looked at him, the marks, the golden eyes. Fear still danced in your gut, but beside it, something else spread, something warm and stubborn. You took a step toward the wisteria barrier. You stopped just before it.
"And you?" you asked in a whisper. "You... you wanted to eat me." Law closed his eyes. His jaw tightened.
"I did," he admitted, and you noticed his fingers trembling as if he loathed himself for it. "And at the same time... I recognized you. I knew who you were every single second. It was just like screaming underwater. I couldn't tell my body to stop..." Tears rolled down your cheeks, and this time you didn't try to hide them.
"Then keep screaming," you said, your voice breaking into a tenderness stronger than fear. "I'll hear you."
Law opened his eyes. Golden, with pupils narrowed like a serpent’s. And yet, there was something so familiar in them that you took a breath, feeling like you had found home for the first time in a long while.
"You're insane," he murmured.
"Maybe I am," you nodded, a small smile touching your lips through the tears. "But I’m yours."
For a moment, his expression shifted, as if that word had struck him directly in the chest. He took half a step back, not out of disgust, but out of caution.
"Don't come near me," he said softly. "Not until... until it's safe."
You looked at the wisteria, the purple barrier between you. Then you looked around the broken house and imagined a night without him, without his voice, without his presence. That image was far worse than horns, teeth, or golden eyes.
"Fine," you agreed. "I won't. But I'm staying here."
Law looked at you for a long time. Then he sat on the floor on the other side of the barrier, accepting the rules you had just set. He took a deep breath, and you saw the marks on his face glow briefly again.
"You're staying," he repeated, his voice quiet, almost disbelieving.
"I’m staying," you confirmed. "And we’ll find a way. You’re a doctor, Law. You always find a way."
A faint, tired smile appeared on his lips, not a demonic one, but his smile: familiar, slightly ironic.
"Your faith is dangerous," he muttered.
"Then keep an eye on me," you replied. "As you always do."
For a while, there was only silence, broken by the creak of wooden beams and the rustle of bamboo outside. Fear still lingered beneath your skin, but it no longer controlled you. You were here. And so was he.
Slowly, you sat down on the other side of the wisteria, directly across from him, as close as you could get without bothering him. Between you lay the purple leaves a thin line between a nightmare and hope.
Law reached out his hand, stopping it just above the wisteria because he could go no further. His fingers shook. You reached your hand toward his, a mirror image, and your fingers stopped against his, just inches apart.
"Law," you whispered. "I'm not afraid of you."
He closed his eyes as if that hurt more than the wisteria.
"You should be," he replied softly.
"Maybe," you admitted, your voice as soft as a bandage being applied to a wound. "But I loved you even on the days when you were cold and distant. I loved you when you worked into the night and forgot to eat. I loved you when you told me to stay away from danger... and then went into it first yourself. So yes. Maybe I should be afraid. But instead... I'm here."
Law opened his eyes. The golden light in them was calmer now, almost silent. It was as if the demon within had settled for a moment, not because it was gone, but because it had stopped screaming.
"All right then," he exhaled. "Stay. But listen to me. Tonight... it's going to be hard."
You nodded, even though your lips trembled.
"Then we’ll get through it together," you said.
And in that haunted house, amidst the broken furniture and dried blood, you noticed something for the first time since you arrived that felt like a miracle: Law's hand remained reached out toward you. Not as a threat. But as a promise.
The night outside thickened, darkness pouring over the hills like a black sea. And yet, between the two of you and that purple barrier, a quiet light was born, not from a lantern, but from the decision that you wouldn't give up on each other.
Whether he had horns, golden eyes, or marks, he was still Law. And you were still his.
Vibe: fantasy AU, oni AU, hidden identity, friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, first confession, alcohol-induced honesty, domestic evening, cozy apartment, protective demon, sarcastic banter, soft Law, acceptance, trust, romance with humor, hurt/comfort 🖤👹🍶🕯️✨
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It was unusual to get a message from Law. Even more so to be invited to his place. You wondered how long you’d known him, realizing you hadn’t stepped foot there even once.
"Stop by my place. We’ll have a drink."
You arrived at his "spot," which in Law’s terms meant a quiet apartment in a back alley of the port town, tucked away above a shop selling medicines and surgical tools. When he opened the door, he was wearing his black coat, hat, and the mask over his nose and mouth. As always.
"You’re late," he muttered, though a glimmer of amusement danced in his eyes.
"Your messages aren't exactly precise maps, and they don’t mention time either," you shot back, squeezing past him inside. "Besides, you always act like time only runs according to your schedule."
"Correct," he said without blinking. "Time runs according to whoever holds the blade." You rolled your eyes and reached for the first thing you saw, a small stand with a bottle and two glasses.
"So, was this an invitation for a drink, or a lecture on anatomy?" you smirked at him.
"Depends on how much you drink," he replied, closing the door.
His apartment was surprisingly... cozy. Not in a "cute" way, but in his way, everything was tidy, yet not sterile. Books with scribbled marginalia, maps held up by pins, a mug of tea that looked like it had been brewed out of pure habit. Gloves lay on the table, and a folded black shawl rested on a nearby chair.
And in the corner, a small wooden altar with candles and dried wax, engraved with a symbol you didn't recognize. You paused for just a second.
"What’s that?" you nodded toward it.
"Decoration." Law didn’t even look.
"It looks like... something meant to be worshipped."
"Maybe I worship my peace and quiet," he said dryly, clearly ending the topic. "Sit down."
You obliged and sat on the small sofa. Law took the armchair opposite you and poured the promised drink for both of you.
Your eyes drifted back to the mask covering his mouth. It had seemed intimidating at first, but you’d grown used to it. He wore it always, even when it was just the two of you. Even when he was tired, wounded, or once even on the brink of death. Even your first kiss, shared in the heat of the moment, had been through that mask.
"So," you asked after taking a sip. "What's the occasion?"
"Nothing," he answered.
"That sounds like your favorite lie," you smirked.
"It’s actually my least favorite lie. My favorite lie is that I don't care about things," he countered in the same tone.
"So something does matter today." You laughed.
"No," he said, faster than you expected, and then took a drink to avoid further elaboration.
For a while, you talked about everything and nothing. The crew, the lousy accommodation in the port town, and the merchant you saw selling "guaranteed anti-curse talismans" that were clearly just painted buttons. Law pretended not to care, but the corners of his eyes twitched with suppressed amusement.
"Did you buy one?" he finally asked, as if taking a medical history.
"Of course," you said solemnly. "Two. One for me and one for you, so you’ll stop scowling. It cost me three Berries and a chunk of my dignity."
"I'm wondering which was more expensive," he muttered.
"My dignity is worth at least ten Berries," you declared. "So I actually made a profit."
Law turned his back to you to lower his mask and take a drink. He drank so sharply that the alcohol went down the wrong way. He started coughing, and you instinctively leaned forward.
"Are you okay?" you asked, patting him on the back.
"Yes," he wheezed, waving a hand. "I just... nearly choked on your mathematics."
"It's an art form," you grinned. He just snorted and shook his head.
As you went through drink after drink, you noticed him starting to relax, he even started tripping over his words a little. He spent a long time trying to adjust his mask, fumbling as if he were having trouble getting it to sit right.
"You’re... drunk," you stated triumphantly.
"No," he protested.
"You are." You didn't let up.
"I’m not," he huffed.
"You are," you smirked, and Law gave you the look he usually reserved for people who weren't going to see the next sunrise.
You laughed again, and when he took another drink, you followed suit. Except this time, he drank more. And then even more. Finally, as if he’d grown tired of the effort, he propped his elbow on the table, rested his chin in his hand, and his mask slipped slightly.
"Hey," you said automatically, "it's..."
"I know," he mumbled uninterestedly.
"It's crooked," you noted. It was the first time you could see a piece of the face he kept hidden.
"It doesn't matter," he murmured.
"What?" You blinked.
"You said I’m never fun." Law watched you over the rim of his glass. His pupils were slightly dilated.
"I didn't say that," you protested. "I said you’re only fun for people who like death and silence."
"That’s me," he said emotionlessly. "Death and silence."
"And me?" the question slipped out. You were curious now. You were sure that under the influence of alcohol, he might be more honest than ever.
"You are..." he started but didn't finish. Instead, he took another drink. And then, something happened that never happened with Law. He forgot.
He didn't turn away to hide his face. He stayed exactly as he was, pulled the mask down, rested his hand on his leg, and took a sip.
You watched him in shock. It was the first time you’d seen him without the mask. His real face. But beneath the mask wasn't just his usual pale skin and sharp features. He had... horns. How were they visible now? The mask hadn't been covering that area before.
And when his lips left the glass, you saw a flash of fangs. Sharp. When he closed his mouth, his lower canines overlapped his upper lip. You stared at him. Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it too.
Law licked his lower lip. And then... he blinked. His expression shifted so fast you almost missed the "aha" moment the second he realized what he’d done. He froze. Silence flooded the room like spilled water.
"..." He opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out. You realized you didn't know what the "right" reaction was. Scream? Run? Ask? Laugh? Ignore it?
"So..." you breathed nervously, "you... have horns." You finally spoke just to break the silence.
"No," he snapped automatically, then realized how that sounded. "...Yes."
"And... fangs..." you continued.
"They are..." he started, then paused as if searching for an excuse that sounded less absurd than the truth. "...genetics."
"Genetics." You raised an eyebrow.
"Yes," he replied, sounding both reluctant and defeated. He looked at you hesitantly. "Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?" you whispered.
"As if..." he swallowed. "As if I’m a monster."
"I-!" You didn't know how to respond. You could see how much the thought hurt him.
Law pulled back, straightened up, and reached for his mask. His movement was quick, almost panicked, but clumsy. The alcohol had stripped him of his usual precision.
"Wait," you said before he could pull it back up. He stopped. You felt like if you took one wrong step, you’d lose everything.
"I’m not afraid of you," you said softly, surprised by how steady your voice was. Law’s hand remained suspended in the air. His horns caught the dim light from the altar candles.
"You should be," he muttered.
"Why?"
"Because..." he exhaled. "This look isn't for show."
"I figured that much," you replied, trying to keep your voice from trembling. "But I know you."
"You know me," he repeated, a bitter edge to his tone. "You know the version of me I chose to show you. You know my mask," he growled.
"And what’s so terrible about this?" you asked gently. Law looked at you. Really looked at you. Without the barrier of the fabric. Without the mask.
"This," he said, gesturing to his face, "is why people make up their minds quickly. Too quickly."
"I’m not 'people.' Besides, how long have I been with your crew? Do you really think something like this would drive me away?" For a second, the corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. Almost.
"You’re worse," he muttered. "You make up your mind slowly. And then there’s no taking it back."
"That’s..." you laughed nervously. "That’s a strangely romantic insult."
"I don't do romance," he said immediately.
"I noticed," you nipped back, but then your voice softened. "Law... what are you?" He winced at the name. As if it were too intimate. As if someone had touched him right under the ribs.
"Oni," he said after a while. The word hung in the room with the weight of legend. A demon. Not in the Western sense. A nightmare or a protector. It all depended on who you asked.
"You... are an Oni," you repeated slowly.
"Yes," he breathed out, as if waiting for a sentence to be passed.
"So... the mask was..." Instead of recoiling, you leaned back and studied him thoughtfully.
"To look normal," he interrupted. "To not attract attention. And so-"
"So no one would fall for you just because of your cute fangs?" you couldn't help yourself. Law froze. Then he gave you a look that could have burned you on the spot.
"Did you say cute?" he hissed.
"I did," you nodded. "And I stand by it."
"This is exactly the problem," he muttered, pressing his fingers to his forehead. "You aren't taking this seriously."
"I am," you said. "It’s just... when it’s you, it’s hard to stay solemn. You have an expression like you’d be correcting people's posture at your own funeral."
"No one would listen to me at a funeral," he snapped.
"I would listen to you." The words were out before you could think. For a moment, there was silence.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because you're my friend," you answered simply. "And because..." Because you liked him.
For a long time. Foolishly. Sincerely. With all his moodiness, his sarcasm, and the way he once silently draped a coat over your shoulders when it rained. Because once, when he thought you were asleep, he fixed the bandage on your wrist as carefully as if you were something fragile.
But that "because" got stuck in your throat. Law understood anyway. Or he read it on your face. His gaze softened.
"Can I?" you asked quietly, nodding toward his horns. He tensed.
"You shouldn't," he said automatically.
"But...?" you tried hopefully.
"..." He took a breath. His eyes flicked to your fingers. "If I bite you, it’s your own fault," he grumbled.
"I’ll take my chances," you replied, and your heart skipped a beat.
Slowly, you ran the tip of your finger over one of the horns. It was smoother than you expected. And Law... he shivered. Only slightly. But you noticed. You noticed everything.
"You’re sensitive," you teased.
"I’m not," he breathed, but it was a blatant lie.
"You are," you smiled. "I can see it."
"Don't look," he grunted, but this time it didn't sound like an order. It sounded like a plea.
"Then hide," you suggested, "or give me a reason not to look." Law laughed. Short. Sharp. Then he stopped, as if surprised by his own laughter.
"You are... a problem," he murmured.
"I know," you nodded proudly. "But I'm your problem." Something shifted in his eyes. Something soft. Something he usually kept under lock and key.
"I don't want you to be mine," he said quietly.
"That’s good," you replied. "I’m not an object." He raised an eyebrow.
"I want you to be with me," he corrected himself faster than you expected. And then, as if it cost him all his strength: "At least... for tonight."
"Tonight," you repeated, raising your glass. "And tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow I’ll be sober," he muttered.
"So tomorrow you’ll spend five hours explaining it away and deny saying anything at all three times over," you smirked.
"Yes."
"Sounds like fun."
"You have a strange idea of fun," he snapped, but his voice was softer. Almost... tender.
"I do," you admitted. "And one of those ideas is that the mask stays off for the rest of the night." Law looked at the mask as if it were a living creature that might betray him. Then he took a deep breath.
"Just for tonight," he said.
"Just for tonight," you agreed.
It was strange how quickly the fear vanished once you decided not to listen to it. How quickly the horns changed from a "terrifying truth" to just "a part of him."
You sat closer than you should have. At first by accident, then less so. You toyed with your glass, and Law, half-drunk, began to tell you about how he once got his horns stuck in a doorframe as a child and pretended he did it on purpose so no one would see he was in pain.
"You were such a proud child," you laughed.
"I was a realistic child."
"Lying again," you nudged him gently.
"No," he snapped.
"Lying."
"...Maybe," he sighed.
Later, when the bottle was nearly empty and a quiet, warm dusk filled the room, you noticed Law’s gaze drifting to your lips. Just for a moment. Every time you noticed, he’d look away quickly, as if he were offended by the impulse.
"What?" you finally asked.
"Nothing," he mumbled.
"You’re looking." You smiled.
"I’m not." He cast his eyes elsewhere.
"You are," you said softly. "Do you want something?" Law closed his eyes, as if choosing between two bad options.
"I want..." he started, his voice cracking almost imperceptibly. Then he looked at you. Without the mask. Without the wall. And he said it so simply it nearly took your breath away. "I want you to stay."
You smiled, reached out, and placed your palm on his cheek. You felt the warmth of his skin. Felt his breath hitch.
"I stayed a long time ago," you whispered. Law was silent. Then slowly, tentatively, like someone learning a new skill he placed his hand over yours.
His thumb brushed over your fingers. Gently. Almost cautiously. And you realized that this was his greatest magic. Not the demonic horns. Not the fangs. Not the mysterious altar in the corner. But the fact that even though he was something people feared... he could touch you as if you were the safest place in the world.
"If you hate me tomorrow," he muttered, his voice sounding rough, "I’ll pretend this never happened."
"And if I want to do it again?" you asked. Law looked at you, and that familiar, annoying spark returned to his eyes.
"Then you’ll have to..." he leaned in closer, "...survive my sober self."
"Sounds like a challenge." You laughed.
"It’s a warning," he corrected.
"I’m taking it as an invitation."
"You’re impossible," he sighed with a smile.
"And you’re an Oni," you reminded him with a grin. "So we’re even."
And then, in the silence that was no longer uncomfortable, just full of something new and soft, you leaned in just a little more.
"I’m going to deny this tomorrow," he whispered with a raspy, almost amused exhale, resting his forehead against yours.
"Sure," you whispered back.
"And you?"
"Tomorrow," you smiled, "I’m bringing another three-Berry talisman. And ten Berries worth of extra dignity." He just laughed at that. He loved you, but he was still too sober to share that secret with you just yet.
Vibe: fantasy AU, oni AU, snowstorm survival, protective oni, masked Shanks, slow burn, hurt/comfort, caretaker Shanks, warmth in the cold, soft demon, traveling companions ❄️👹🔥🏔️🤍✨
— ✧ — ✧ — ✧ — ✧ — ✧ — ✧ — ✧ — ✧ — ✧ —
The wind lashed against your face like a handful of needles, and snow forced its way into your sleeves and under your scarf. In these lands, winter didn’t behave like a season, it was a beast.
It nipped at your fingers, tugged at your hair, and forced you to stumble in circles until the world dissolved into a single, endless wall of white.
"Just reach the next marker..." you whispered into the fabric of your scarf, though you had long since lost track of whether you were moving forward or simply pacing around your own tracks.
Ice crystals clung to your eyelashes. Every breath burned, and your head hummed with a hollow emptiness, as if the blizzard were swallowing your very thoughts. Then came a short, ominous crack. The ground gave way beneath you.
You screamed, but the sound was instantly devoured by the wind. You fell into a white darkness, a void that wasn’t empty, it was a steep slope of jagged rock and frozen earth.
You slammed onto your side, tumbled over, and felt something strike the back of your head. For a heartbeat, there was only pain. Then, nothing. Silence. Blackout.
You woke to a warmth that didn't belong to this world. First, you caught the scent of smoke and resin, then a coarse softness against your skin. Furs. Goatskins, heavy and warm, draped over you like protective hands.
In the distance, a fire crackled, orange and vibrant. Its light danced across the walls of... a cave? A low shelter? And somewhere in that light sat a man.
His hair was red, looking almost blood-colored in the firelight. He sat with his elbows on his knees, steady as a mountain. When you moved, he lifted his head, and his gaze fixed on you with a strange intensity, cautious, as if you were something fragile that mustn't be startled.
"You’re awake. Are you alright?" he asked.
The first thing you noticed was a terrifying red mask covering his nose and mouth. It wasn't cloth or metal, but something in between like lacquered wood or bone, smooth and solid with fine ridges. It looked ancient, ritualistic. You swallowed hard, your throat felt like it was full of glass.
"Where... where am I?" you breathed, your voice trembling.
"Safe," he answered simply. Then, as if worried that wouldn't be enough, he added, "I found you at the bottom of the ridge. The blizzard would have killed you."
You tried to sit up, but the world spun. The man moved faster than you thought possible. He didn't scare you, he simply held your shoulders to keep you from collapsing.
"Slowly," he said. "You have a bump on your head. And a lot of luck."
His touch was surprisingly warm. It wasn't just from sitting by the fire, there was a peculiar vitality to him, a heat that the fire only seemed to complement.
As the furs shifted, you realized someone had stripped away your frozen layers, dried your hair, and dressed you in a clean shirt.
"Did you... change my clothes?" you asked, more suspiciously than you intended. A flicker of amusement crossed his eyes. Even through the mask, you could tell he was smiling.
"I changed you," he nodded. "And it didn't kill you, so it must have been the right call."
You flushed red but lacked the strength to argue. Besides, his voice was calm. Grounded. There was no hunger in it, no mockery. Instead, it felt like something trying to anchor you.
"What is your name?" you asked softly.
"Shanks," he finally replied. "And yours?"
"I'm Y/N," you introduced yourself.
"Good," he said. "Well then... Y/N," he smiled. Those few simple words warmed you more than the furs ever could.
Outside, the blizzard howled. The wind slammed against the rocks as if trying to tear the cave open. Shanks tossed a log into the fire, which hissed in response, and handed you a mug. Steam rose from it in delicate spirals.
"Drink," he urged. "It’s broth. Some ginger in there. It’ll help."
You held the mug with both hands, your fingers still tingling. You took a sip, and the heat traveled down to your stomach like a miracle. The ginger nipped at your tongue, but pleasantly so.
"Why are you wearing a mask?" you blurted out before you could stop yourself.
Shanks paused for a moment. The flames cast shadows through his hair, and the mask gleamed darker.
"In these parts," he said quietly, "questions are only answered when one is ready to hear the truth."
"And am I?" you asked. His gaze drifted to your hands, to the slight tremor you could no longer hide. Then he looked back into your eyes.
"Perhaps," he said. "But not today." You sighed and nodded, sensing that pushing him would be useless.
"Then... why did you save me?" you tried a different way. Shanks tilted his head as if the answer were obvious.
"Because you fell," he replied simply. "And I was nearby."
"That's not an answer," you protested weakly.
"It is," he countered. "You just don't like it."
"In this land, people don't usually help strangers." You pushed yourself up a bit further, wrapping the furs tighter around you.
"I am not a person," slipped out of his mouth.
Silence settled between you like another layer of fur, heavy and warm at the same time. Shanks didn't move, he just watched you. You felt your heart give a single, irregular skip.
"What do you mean?" you asked cautiously. Shanks sighed, his fingers tracing the edge of his mask as if considering whether to remove it. Ultimately, he didn't.
"I am an Oni," he said softly.
The word sent a chill down your spine like cold water. In fairy tales, Oni were demons with horns and fangs, nightmares born of the dark. Children feared them, adults spoke of them in whispers to explain things that made no sense.
And yet... Shanks sat by the fire, watching your breath, making you broth. There was no cruelty in his movements. Only a strength he held on a tight leash.
"So... the mask," you whispered.
"To keep from tempting the world," he replied. "And to keep the world from tempting me."
You looked at him longer than was safe. There was something ancient in his eyes. Not tired, just... deep. Like lakes where you cannot see the bottom.
"Do you fight it? The world?" you asked.
"Every day." Shanks was silent for a moment, then nodded. And in that nod, there was something so human it made your throat tighten.
The night dragged on. The blizzard showed no mercy, and time in the cave dissolved into the crackle of the fire and your own slow breathing. Shanks placed a cold compress on your forehead when your head began to throb again. When you shivered from the cold, he moved closer, not touching you, just offering his warmth as an option.
"You shouldn't be so close," you remarked, trying to sound brave, though it came out more like a plea.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because... the Oni," you reminded him. Shanks laughed so softly it was almost lost to the fire.
"You think I'm going to eat you," he said.
"I don't know what to think," you admitted.
"Think this then," he said, his voice thickening as if leaning on something solid within himself. "If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it long ago. I wouldn't have waited for you to wake up." It was a terrifyingly logical truth.
"Then why do you act like you're dangerous?" you asked, nodding toward the mask.
"Because I am." Shanks stared into the flames. Then he added, more quietly: "But not to you."
That sentence lodged itself in your chest. Not as a promise, but as a decision he had already made. You watched his hands. They were strong, scarred, but careful with every movement around you. When he adjusted your furs, he did it as gently as if he were afraid you might break.
"Does it hurt?" you asked before you could think better of it.
"What?" He looked up.
"Being constantly... on a leash." Shanks went quiet for a while. Then he shrugged, but there was no lightness in the gesture.
"It hurts," he admitted. "But you get used to it."
"That sounds terrible."
"It’s better than the alternative," he said. And in his eyes, something wild flickered, something dark that the mask only confirmed, rather than hid.
"Aren't you alone? Don't you have... a clan?"
"I do. But most of them have their own tasks around the area for now." Shanks smirked.
Toward morning, the blizzard finally began to break. The wind no longer roared, it only groaned. The snow outside still swirled, but the violence was gone. Shanks stood up and stretched. In the flickering light, he seemed taller than you had realized. He turned to you.
"Can you stand?" he asked.
You tried to get up. Your legs buckled, but Shanks was there instantly. Again, he didn't catch you roughly, he just gave you his arm, firm and steady. His palm was warm as an ember.
"I'm fine," you muttered, even though you were leaning on him more than you wanted to admit.
"You're not," he said without judgment. "But you will be."
You stepped outside. The world was still white, but no longer blinding. Dark ridges loomed in the distance. The sky was grey, but a sliver of lighter sky was appearing at the horizon.
Shanks walked beside you, his mask glowing against the snow like a beacon. Occasionally he stopped to check a trail, occasionally he offered an elbow when your foot slipped. You were grateful for it.
"Where are we going?" you asked as you passed a lonely tree encased in frost.
"Anywhere where no one wants to put me in a cage," he replied. "And you?"
"I was supposed to reach the town past the pass," you said. "To catch a caravan. I probably won't make it in time now."
Shanks stopped for a moment and looked at you. Then, quite naturally, as if it were nothing special, he took his pack off his shoulder and handed it to you.
"Then I'll take you there," he said.
"Why?" You blinked.
"Because you fell," he repeated. Then he added, a little more softly: "And because I like that you weren't afraid of me when I told you what I am."
Your heart jumped, this time not irregularly, but clearly, loudly. You felt ridiculously caught off guard.
"I... I was afraid," you confessed.
"But you stayed," Shanks said.
You pushed on. The snow crunched under your boots, the air was sharp and clean. Shanks walked silently, but his presence was as solid as the path he was making for you.
When you shivered again a short while later, without even looking at you, Shanks took off his cloak and draped it over your shoulders.
"Shanks," you breathed in surprise.
"Don't argue," he grunted. "If you want to prove something to me, prove that you can make it the rest of the way."
"You're terribly bossy," you mumbled, but the corners of your mouth lifted.
"I'm an Oni," he retorted. "Did you expect tenderness?"
You lifted your head, looked at him, and this time you allowed yourself to speak the truth, even as it felt frozen on your tongue:
"Maybe... yes."
Shanks stopped for a heartbeat. The wind caught a lock of his hair, and the cloak fluttered around your hips. Then he did something that warmed you more than any fire ever could. He leaned in so close you could feel his breath on your forehead, even through the mask.
"Then prepare yourself for it," he said quietly.
"For what...?" you whispered. Shanks reached out and lightly, almost imperceptibly, tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.
"For me taking care of you," he finished. You walked on together, the blizzard left behind, with a second demon by your side.
Vibe: fantasy AU, monster romance, Cerberus AU, guardian of the underworld, lost in the forest, eerie atmosphere, mythological creature, protective monster, strangers to lovers, slow burn, mutual trust, intimidating but gentle, bridge guardian, dark fantasy, hurt/comfort 🐺🌫️🌉🖤🤍✨
— ✧ — ✧ — ✧ — ✧ — ✧ — ✧ — ✧ — ✧ — ✧ —
The mist swallowed you so quickly that the sound of your own breath startled you. The forest was silent. Not a peaceful silence, but the kind where every living thing holds its breath, waiting for you to make a mistake.
Pine needles muffled your footsteps, yet you felt as though your slightest movement was violating some ancient, sacred law. You were used to your walks, but this fog had rolled in so thick and fast that you no longer had any idea where you were.
You walked on blindly, one hand outstretched. The cold dampness clung to your eyelashes, your cheeks, and your lips.
When the sound of rushing water finally drifted through the trees, your heart steadied for a moment. A river. Something real. Something with a direction. It was the first thing you remembered from survival shows. Find and follow the water.
But the river you found was black, wide, and sluggish. It looked motionless, as if time itself had become snagged in its depths. Arching over it was a stone bridge, ancient and overgrown with moss. Beyond it, nothing could be seen but a milky shroud of fog.
You stepped onto the bridge. The stones were slick and freezing, as if they had just been hauled out of icy water.
Halfway across, the mist ahead thickened and then suddenly parted, like a door opening into a stranger’s room. You froze.
Three pairs of eyes glowed in the darkness. They were too symmetrical, too close together, and yet they moved approaching calmly, steadily, without haste. All three gazes pierced your chest like three cold blades pressed against your skin.
As the figure stepped within reach, you saw what it was. It looked like a man… and yet not.
A tall body, muscular and firm, with a human stance, but instead of a single head, there were three. Each possessed sharp features and canine traits: pointed ears and elongated fangs. Each head looked a different way, yet all three shared the same hungry intensity.
"You are not dead," the first head said, its voice deep and slow.
"You have no business here," the second stated with sharper, unerring authority.
"Go back to where you came from," the third snarled.
"I’m… I’m not dead… I’m lost," you breathed, trying to keep your voice from trembling. The words sounded ridiculously small against them.
All three heads tilted. The air around you changed, growing heavy and dense, as if the mist itself had become their breath.
"Lost," the first head repeated, a hint of something almost like amusement in its tone.
"People do not get lost here," said the second. "People are… brought."
"Souls of the dead," the third whispered.
Your heart thrummed against your ribs. You should run. You knew it with a certainty that hurt. But your legs were fused to the stone, and an icy knot had formed in your throat, swallowing both your words and your reason.
"Please," you tried again, "I just… I want to go home."
The three-headed man moved. Not like an animal, not with the jerky movements of a beast, but like a predator who knows his strength and has nothing to prove. He took one step, then another. He was so close now he was practically on top of you.
His human hands with nails just sharp enough to resemble claws gripped the bridge’s railing on either side of you. He caged you between himself and the mist without even touching you.
"Home," the first head said, and it sounded almost sad. "Home is a word for the living."
"And you are still living," the second added. "Which means you have time… to offer something."
"Or someone," the third whispered, his teeth glinting.
"I have nothing," you managed to choke out.
The silence that followed was worse than any snarl. The river below shifted or did you just imagine it? Ripples appeared on the surface, as if something had breached just below and vanished again.
The mist at the edges of the bridge curled into shapes resembling hands. Something in the dark woods began to claw at the bark of the trees.
And he… laughed. Three voices, three different shades of the same sound, skittered across your skin like frost.
"Then it is simple," the second head said.
"Simple things are often the most dangerous," the first countered.
"But the most delicious," the third concluded.
His right hand finally moved. He touched your chin, gently, absurdly gently. The contact was warm. Humanly warm. And yet, you couldn't help but imagine how that same hand could break you with a single squeeze.
"Do you hear that?" the first head asked.
You held your breath and listened. At first, nothing. Then… a whisper. Not from his mouths. From within the mist. Faint, urgent, like voices crawling under a door. Whispering, urging, wailing…
"That is not us," the second head said, its eyes narrowing.
"That is what drew you here," said the first.
"And if you want to go home," the third added, "you must go back."
"So you’ll… let me go?" you blurted out before you could think better of asking a monster for mercy.
The three heads looked at one another as if holding a silent council one that didn't involve you, yet decided your life. Then the second head looked back at you, sharp as a final judgment.
"I will not let you go," he said. The blood drained from your face. "I will escort you," he finished, and there was a power in that word that took your breath away.
"I don't want an escort," you forced out, though it sounded weak. "I want to leave."
"Leaving is a direction," the first head said, "but here, directions deceive."
"And you would only lose yourself again," said the second.
"And I do not like losing what is mine," the third added, sounding almost… jealous.
"What are you?" you asked, because when you cannot run, all you have left are questions. "Why are you standing here?"
The man straightened. The mist behind him tore for a moment, and you saw the silhouette of a massive gate in the distance, rusted, draped in chains, and etched with symbols that seared your eyes when you tried to focus on them. And near that gate, something was moving.
"I am the guardian," the first head said.
"I am the judge," said the second.
"And I am… hunger," the third whispered, making you flinch.
But then came something that didn't fit this image of horror. The second head, the strictest one, leaned closer to you. Its voice softened, steadied, became more human. It was as if beneath the fangs and fur, there was a discipline that had decided to be fair.
"My name is Rob Lucci," he said. "And if you have stepped onto my bridge, it means you are in danger. Not from me."
"Then from whom?" you whispered.
A rustle came from the distance, like a wet snake being dragged over stone. The mist began to contract toward you, and the whispering grew louder. They weren't words anymore, but something hungry and slimy, chanting your name without you knowing how it knew it.
Lucci's three heads turned simultaneously toward the fog. You noticed the muscles in his arms tighten, his fingers digging slightly into the stone railing. He wasn't afraid. He was… ready.
"Behind me," the second head commanded. You didn't have time to protest. With a single movement, he pulled you toward him until you were standing right behind his back.
Something emerged from the mist that shouldn't have had a shape. Something like a man, yet like a shadow, with fingers that trailed to the ground. Its head was nothing but a hole where the whispers gathered.
And Lucci growled. The sound vibrated through your bones, the sound of a hound defending its territory, and the sound of a man who had made his choice. His third head smiled, but this time it wasn't cruel. It was dangerously satisfied.
"Touch her," the second head said coldly into the mist, "and you will remain here, torn to pieces." The shadow wavered as if laughing soundlessly. Then it took a step closer.
In that instant, Lucci’s three pairs of eyes flared. Not with light, but with intent. The mist around you tore apart as if sliced. Lucci moved faster than you could follow. You heard only an impact, the crack of stone, and the sound of claws scraping against something you couldn't even fathom.
You stood rooted to the spot, gripping the stone railing. The whispering turned into a shriek.
When the wailing finally died down, the mist frayed and receded like a low tide. Only dark smears remained on the bridge stones, quickly soaking into the moss. No body. Nothing to suggest the danger that had been there.
Lucci stood calmly, his breathing only slightly deeper. The three heads turned to you. The first seemed to be inspecting you. The second was firm and focused. The third… the third looked at you in a way that made your stomach flip for a reason entirely different than fear.
"Are you alright?" the second head asked.
"I… I think so," you exhaled.
Lucci walked over and placed a hand on your shoulder, his fingers sliding down to your arm. The touch was still firm, but it wasn't just protective anymore. There was something cautious in it, almost… tender.
"You are stubborn," the first head remarked, as if making a diagnosis.
"And careless," the second added.
"And yet… I don't mind it," the third grumbled, and you flushed, even though you told yourself it was impossible to feel warm in such a chill.
"You… you really aren't the one who wanted to hurt me?" you asked softly.
Lucci was silent for a moment. Then the second head leaned down until his breath warmed your ear.
"I am Cerberus," he said. "I was created to guard, to ensure the living do not go where they shouldn't. And to ensure that which is there… does not return."
"Then why… why did you protect me?" you swallowed.
The three heads paused, as if even he were looking for the answer. Finally, the first spoke, more gently.
"Because you are alive."
"Because you are innocent," the second added matter-of-factly.
"Because you stepped onto my bridge… and I no longer consider you a stranger," the third said almost in a whisper.
Those words pricked you beneath your ribs. Not with pain, but with something you didn't want to admit because it was absurd. Because he was the guardian of the underworld. Because he had three heads and fangs. Because he could destroy you. And yet… he held you as if you were something that must not be broken.
"Will you escort me?" you asked before you could realize it was both a plea and a challenge. "At least… to the end of the bridge."
Lucci’s eyes narrowed, all three pairs. It looked as though he were deciding whether to let you get used to him. Then he nodded.
"I will," he said.
And then, almost imperceptibly, the second head brushed against your temple in a brief, careful gesture that felt like a kiss.
You began to walk. The stones beneath your feet no longer felt so slick. The mist still swirled ahead, but now it parted as if it were afraid to touch you.
"And if I get lost again?" you asked after a moment, just to make sure the moment was real.
"Then I will find you," the third head smirked.
"That doesn't sound very comforting," you mumbled, but the corners of your lips twitched.
"It should," the second head replied dryly.
"You won't be alone," the first added quietly, with a hint of something soft.
At the end of the bridge, the mist finally broke. Beyond it lay a forest, different from the one you had come from. Lucci still held you close. Not as a prisoner. As someone he had chosen to protect.
"So… home?" he asked, and this time his voice was only one, smooth, human, almost warm.
"Yes," you answered softly, looking up at him.
Lucci’s smile was brief, barely visible. His arm pulled you a fraction closer, and you found yourself leaning into his side as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Good," he said. "Then for now… stay with me."
And in that singular warmth in the middle of the cold woods, you smiled for the first time, truly.
The sea was calm, the ship swaying in a slow, soothing rhythm. The timber creaked softly as the salt air drifted through the corridors. But the ship’s doctor hadn't left his cabin for some time. You knew why. Marco was in his mating season.
He never spoke about it directly. He didn’t want to burden you or make you feel obligated. Even so, you’d noticed the subtle changes. His gaze had grown softer, his voice quieter, and his feathers more ruffled.
That evening, you decided to check on him. You knocked, but there was no answer. Carefully, you nudged the door open.
"Marco?" you called out softly.
The air inside was warm, not stifling, but radiant, as if you’d stepped into the sun's embrace. You spotted him on the bed, curled up tightly.
Blankets, pillows… and your clothes. The shirt you’d left with him after your last watch was pulled close to his face. Everything around him looked like a meticulously crafted nest.
His serpent tail was coiled around the mattress, scales shimmering faintly, with vibrant feathers quivering at the tip. His wings were partially spread, as if shielding his private sanctuary.
"Hey Marco, do you need anything?" you asked quietly.
His head snapped up. His grey eyes flashed, but there was a profound vulnerability in them.
"Yoi... you came," he breathed. "You didn't have to..."
"I wanted to see you." You took a few steps closer.
His tail moved, slowly, tentatively, as if he were afraid of scaring you off. Despite his hesitation, it looped around you and gently pulled you toward him, right into the center of the nest.
"Marco-" you gasped in surprise, though you felt no fear.
"Sorry..." he mumbled quickly. "I didn't want to drag you into this-yoi. I just... I don't want to be alone. But I don't want to force you."
"You’re not forcing me. I’m here because I want to be." You lay down beside him, resting your hand on his arm.
His breath hitched. His wings drew closer, one of them draping over you like a warm, soft, protective cloak.
"This time of year..." he began softly. "It’s hard-yoi. The instincts are strong, and I... I don't want you to think I expect anything from you."
"You don't," you whispered. "You're just letting me be here."
He was silent for a moment. Then, his tail eased its grip, shifting to support you, lifting you slightly. He pulled you closer, acting as though you were made of the finest porcelain.
"Thank you," he exhaled. "You’re... peace. My peace-yoi."
You leaned against his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heart. The ship rocked, and the world outside faded away. It was just the two of you in a nest built of silence and trust.
"Will you stay for a while... yoi?" he whispered. Marco ran his fingers gently through your hair, his touch cautious, almost shy.
"I’ll stay," you replied without hesitation.
He pressed a little closer, his wing enveloping you both like a heavy duvet. You felt his heat, his breath, and a sense of calm that slowly began to seep into you as well.
"I don't want to be a burden," he murmured once more. "But... thank you for being here-yoi." You smiled and closed your eyes. In his arms, you were safe.
When you opened your eyes, the first thing you noticed was the scent of sandalwood and an incredible heat, but it wasn't unpleasant, it felt like being wrapped in the world's softest, warmest blanket.
Marco was still asleep. His face, usually so focused and stern in battle, was completely relaxed. A few strands of blond hair fell across his forehead, and his breathing was deep and rhythmic.
His tail wasn't gripping you as tightly as it had last night, now it lay loosely over your legs, a sleeping assurance that you were safe by his side.
You shifted to see his face better, and at that moment, his eyelids fluttered.
"Yoi..." he grumbled hoarsely without opening his eyes. Instinctively, he pulled you a fraction closer, as if fearing you were just a dream. He slowly opened his eyes, taking a moment for his consciousness to sharpen.
When he realized you were actually there in his nest, amidst the heap of pillows and his wings, a faint flush crept across his face.
"Good morning," you whispered.
"Good morning..." he replied, his voice even deeper than usual. "I hoped you hadn't left, but at the same time, I was worried the heat would stifle you during the night-yoi."
He released his hold and sat up, running a hand through his messy hair. His wings tucked back against his shoulder blades with a soft rustle, though their blue iridescence still caught the morning light.
He looked around the cabin at the scattered clothes and the nest he’d built, his expression a mix of tenderness and slight embarrassment.
"Thank you," he said after a moment, looking you straight in the eye. The wild, instinctive fire was gone, replaced by a profound gratitude. "This time is... demanding. But because of you, it was different. More bearable."
He reached out and carefully stroked your cheek. His skin was still hot, but his touch was incredibly gentle.
"Shall we go for breakfast, or do you want to stay a while longer in this chaos I’ve made-yoi?" He smiled, that signature, slightly lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
You had been wandering the labyrinth for hours. The stone walls were cold and damp, and the torchlight flickered as violently as your trembling hands.
You had no idea how you’d ended up here, or why fate had led you to this place, but you knew one thing, you couldn’t stop. Not here. Not in the place they whispered about as the place where a monster lived at the very center.
In your pocket, you gripped the last thing you had left. A small bag of donuts you’d brought along simply because you’d had a craving for something sweet. Now, they seemed almost ridiculous. A tiny luxury in the middle of a stone hell.
Suddenly, the air shuddered. The ground beneath you shook so violently that you had to lean against the wall to keep from falling. A deep, resonant bellow echoed through the halls, vibrating through your body like thunder. Your heart hammered against your ribs, and your breath caught in your throat.
Something… or someone… was coming. You bolted down the corridor and ducked around the nearest corner, hiding behind a massive boulder, barely able to breathe.
The silence didn't last. Heavy footsteps approached, slow, but steady. Each one vibrated through the stone and into your very bones.
Then, you dared to peek out. Standing before you was a minotaur.
He was massive. His shoulders were as wide as temple doors, his body a map of powerful muscle and dark fur. Great horns grew from his head, curving slightly back. But his eyes weren’t filled with the mindless fury you had always imagined… they were deep and calm.
You held your breath. The minotaur stopped abruptly. He tilted his head and caught the scent in the air. Once. Twice. And then, he turned directly toward you.
You froze in terror. You pressed yourself deeper into the shadow of the stone, but he stopped just a few paces away. Instead of attacking, he slowly lowered himself to the ground and… began sniffing at the spot where you were hiding the bag of sweets.
"No… no, please," you whispered instinctively.
The minotaur couldn't have understood you or so you thought. Yet, he tilted his head as if he had heard. Then, with a quiet snort, he settled back on his haunches. A massive, dangerous creature… and yet, he seemed more curious than cruel.
Your fear slowly began to shift into something else. Carefully, you pulled out the bag and placed it on the ground in front of you.
"If you're hungry… you can have them," you whispered shakily.
The minotaur paused. His golden eyes met yours, and the look in them was surprisingly gentle. He reached out a hand slowly, as if afraid he might startle you. He took a single donut and, with a delicacy that defied his size, popped it into his mouth.
Then, his eyes lit up. He let out a soft, satisfied rumble. It almost sounded… bashful. You couldn't help but let out a small, faint smile.
"So, you have a sweet tooth," you breathed.
The minotaur made himself comfortable and finished the rest of the donuts with obvious delight. When he was done, he looked at you and slowly touched his chest.
"Katakuri," he grunted in a deep, gravelly voice.
"Katakuri, is that your name?" You blinked. He nodded.
"I’m…" you paused, then took a breath. "I’m just someone who got lost."
Katakuri stood up and carefully offered you his hand. It was enormous, but warm. There was no force in the gesture, only an invitation. You hesitated for only a second before placing your palm in his.
He led you through the labyrinth slowly, making sure not to frighten you. He shielded you with his body whenever the passages narrowed and stopped every time you needed to catch your breath. In his presence, you felt a strange sense of relief. He wasn't a monster. He was a guardian… or perhaps, a prisoner.
When you reached a quiet cavern bathed in soft light, he let go of your hand and sat a short distance away, as if respecting an invisible boundary.
"Thank you," you whispered.
Katakuri offered a faint, nearly imperceptible smile, but it was real. He reached out and gently touched the top of your head, a touch so careful it sent a shiver down your spine.
With his other hand, he pointed to a map of the labyrinth etched into the wall, marking the exit. This was only the beginning of your journey toward freedom.
The path through the labyrinth wasn't as silent as you’d first thought. The torchlight occasionally revealed small alcoves, ancient inscriptions… and bones.
It was then that you noticed something glinting between the stones near the wall. You knelt down and picked up a small, heavy key, cold and worn smooth by the years.
Katakuri stopped. His gaze slid to the key… and then to his own neck.
Only then did you notice the massive iron chain resting against his throat, partially hidden by his fur. It wasn't an ornament. It was a shackle.
"This…?" You held up the key uncertainly.
Katakuri slowly knelt so he was at your eye level. He didn't say a word, simply offering his neck to you. Your breath hitched for a moment.
Your fingers trembled as you slid the key into the lock. There was a soft click. The chain loosened… and fell to the ground with a dull thud.
Katakuri took a breath, deep and free. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if savoring the sensation. Then he looked at you. There was so much gratitude in that look that it made your heart ache. He leaned forward and gently pressed his forehead against your shoulder. It was a silent gesture, but one heavy with meaning.
Before you could say anything, however, a creak echoed behind you. You spun around to see an old chest sitting in the middle of the hallway. The wood was cracked, the lid slightly ajar… and far too tempting.
You took a step closer. Suddenly, the chest burst wide open. A long tongue lashed out from the darkness, and jagged teeth snapped at the air where you had been standing only a second before.
Katakuri yanked you back. He stepped in front of you before you even realized what was happening, his body forming a solid wall, horns lowered and muscles tensed. The Mimic tried to strike again, but this time it met a force far greater than its own. After a short, violent clash, silence returned.
Katakuri turned back to you. He looked you over from head to toe, checking to make sure you were unhurt. Only then did he finally relax. Without thinking, you leaned against his chest.
"I guess we're even now," you exhaled softly.
He gave a satisfied, low rumble. Placing one hand behind your back, he lifted you like a doll and set you onto his shoulder. You reached out to steady yourself by gripping one of his horns. There was no danger now, and he could move much faster.
The church was silent, unnaturally still. As you stepped inside, the old doors creaked, and the chill of the stone crept over your skin.
You weren't a believer, quite the opposite. To you, faith was a human construct, a crutch for those who feared the void. And yet, here you were. Perhaps out of curiosity. Perhaps because you wanted to see what it looked like inside and what everyone else saw in it.
Candles flickered quietly, and the air smelled of incense. You felt out of place, as if you didn't belong… and yet, you felt someone watching you.
Faust moved through the temple, contemplating what kind of experiment he might conduct this time. How to lead people, how to bend them, how far they could be pushed without even realizing it.
Boredom gripped him like an iron hoop, until he noticed you. In that moment, a smile touched his lips: slow, intrigued. He masked it instantly and made his way toward you.
You didn’t notice him at first. You stopped by one of the pews and ran your fingers over the carved wood.
"Strange," you muttered to yourself. "People actually believe someone is listening here."
"And you don't?" a calm voice asked from behind you.
Startled, you spun around. Standing there was a man in black robes. His dark blue hair was artfully disheveled, and his eyes were the color of old gold, framed by silver-rimmed glasses.
"No," you answered honestly. "I just… came to look."
"Honesty is a rare virtue. Especially here." He smiled and introduced himself as Johann Georg Faust, the priest of this church. His voice was steady, almost soothing. And yet, the intensity with which he watched you felt unsettling.
"I’m not a believer," you added, not knowing why. Perhaps you wanted to draw a line.
"That doesn't matter," he replied softly. "Faith takes many forms. Sometimes it hides where we least expect it."
You didn't know why your throat tightened at those words. You felt… seen. And you didn't like it. Not one bit.
Yet, you stayed. You talked for a long time. About the world, about people, about loneliness. He didn’t ask you about God. He asked about you. That was what confused you most. You expected him to try and convert you, but it never happened.
Faust watched you with growing interest. You weren't like the others. You weren't looking for salvation or comfort. Yet there was something in your eyes that drew him in defiance, clarity, life. It was… dangerous. For him.
"Do you think people need faith to be good?" you asked quietly. He paused. The demon within him smirked.
"No," he replied after a moment. "I think people are capable of both good and evil regardless of faith. Faith simply… gives their actions a direction."
"So God isn't necessary," you noted.
"Perhaps not," he admitted. "But sometimes the things we don't understand are closer than we think." His gaze darkened not with anger, but with something deeper.
"That sounds almost threatening," you laughed softly.
"Only if you fear the unknown," he answered gently.
Time passed with strange swiftness. When you finally prepared to leave, something made you hesitate. You turned back to him one last time.
"Thank you… for the talk, Father."
"Thank you. Come again." He nodded.
As your hand touched the door handle, you felt a strange warmth, as if someone were shielding you from the entire world for a brief moment. You had no idea it wasn't an illusion.
Faust watched you until you disappeared behind the doors. The smile returned to his lips, darker this time, more lingering.
"An atheist…," he whispered with amusement. "This will be interesting."
For the first time in centuries, he didn't feel boredom. He felt anticipation.
In the following days, you found yourself thinking of him more often than you liked. Not because you believed in fate or higher powers, you’d always laughed at such things, but something about him unsettled you. Like the silence just before a storm.
And so, you returned to the church.
This time you didn't look around, you knew he would be there. Indeed, he stood by the altar, hands clasped, head slightly bowed. When he sensed you, he turned slowly.
"You returned," he said softly, almost pleased.
"I suppose so," you shrugged. "Curiosity."
"Curiosity is the beginning of knowledge." He smiled in that peculiar way that made you feel as though he could see right through you.
"Or trouble," you shot back dryly.
"The two are not mutually exclusive."
You laughed, and the sound rang out with an out-of-place vibrance in the silent temple. Faust paused for a heartbeat. That laugh… it warmed him more than he was willing to admit. The demon in him recoiled, caught off guard by something resembling human emotion.
You walked among the pews, talking of small things. The world outside, human nature, the loneliness that sometimes weighed heavier than physical pain. You found yourself telling him things you’d never told anyone. And he listened. He truly listened.
"I don’t believe in God," you repeated quietly as you stopped by a stained-glass window bathed in light.
"I know," he replied gently.
"Then why do you talk to me as if you’re hoping I’ll change?"
"Because I don’t want to change you." He looked at you differently then. Softer. You took a step closer.
"And what if I’m just a coincidence? Or an experiment?" you asked under your breath, half-joking. You meant it as a philosophical question.
"I would never humiliate you like that." For a fraction of a second, his expression shifted. The darkness in his eyes stirred… and then vanished. His voice was calm, but something in it vibrated. Sincerity? Regret?
"Faust…" you addressed him by name for the first time.
The sound hit him deeper than he expected. He reached out his hand, slowly, as if giving you the chance to retreat. You didn’t. His fingers barely brushed yours. Gently. Almost shyly. And yet, warmth surged through your body.
"You shouldn't trust me so much," he whispered.
"A bit late for that," you answered softly.
His palm closed around yours. It didn't hurt. It wasn't terrifying. It felt… right. And in that moment, it felt as if the world around you had gone silent.
"If you knew what I am…" Faust leaned his forehead against yours.
"I don't care about that," you exhaled. "I care about who you are now."
Those words broke him more than any exorcism ever could. After centuries of manipulation and lies, he felt something forbidden: a longing to be seen… and accepted by you.
His lips touched your forehead. Softly. Reverently. As if he were afraid you might vanish. And you smiled.
"You know," you whispered, "I might not believe in gods… but I think I’m starting to believe in you."
Faust closed his eyes. For the first time in a very long time, he wished the moment would never end.
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