elle

a/n: feeling sad and missing xavier so have some comforting fluff :P

you always seem to feel relieved after talking to xavier. his soft voice and gentle eyes help take the weight off your shoulders as you talk to him, even if it isn’t about whatever is bothering you. his reassuring words always seem to land right where they need to, making your heart race slightly in the best way possible. his soft touches and fun anecdotes make you smile until your cheeks hurt.

xavier always manages to coax you out of your home, even on days when you don’t want to. especially on days you don’t want to.

“the weather is really nice, wanna join me on a walk?” he sounds hopeful over the phone, your chest hurts as you pull your blanket tighter around yourself.

“I’m really tired today, sorry xav,” you mumble, tears pricking your eyes as you try to end the conversation quickly.

“that’s okay, we don’t have to walk much. there’s a nice bench under a tree we can sit at?” Xavier’s voice is just as gentle as always as he speaks, a hint of hope still tinging his tone.

summary: beaten down by the world, you thank zayne for being the only one who does the opposite instead. pairing: zayne x non!mc reader tags: angst, fluff, comfort!!!!, self deprecation, insecure!reader, non!mc fem!reader, domestic, emotional turmoil taglist: @xinghuisknight, @hirayalia, @violasepals, @snowyfishes, @mrsqins, @txtworlddom @thewrldx a/n: this is a request made by my lovely snowcrow anon! and also first work after hiatus. i sincerely hope it delivers. as i was done writing i realised it wasn't in the conventional format but this is the snowypi special so i hope you enjoy regardless! also the cologne is canon; versace pour homme dylan blue

The faucet leaks gently onto the sink, a rhythmic tap-tap-tap echoing off of the walls. Your knuckles are turning white with how tightly you're gripping the porcelain. The stone digs into your palms almost painfully. You still don't let go. The bathroom mirror is fogged over. Your silhouette is a cloud of colours under texture, blending with the smooth monotone tiles of the walls. It looked like how you felt: a swirl of hues lacking detail and vigour, not clear enough to see. Not clear enough for anything, really. Just not enough. Never enough. You bite your lip as saltine droplets pool over your lash line. The steady sink slips from under your grip and you stumble, stepping back just in time to avoid a fall.

Stupid. 

Stupid stupid stupid-

A loud ringtone resounds in your ear right as you close the bathroom door. The phone is heavy in your hands, your footfalls even heavier. Sliding up against a couch pillow, you clear your throat and muster something other than a tear-streaked scowl as you glance at the Caller ID.

…Zayne?

The dam nearly breaks twice. There's a dull throb in your head as you hold back the sobs, throat constricting painfully. These tears were different, though. You could count on one hand the number of people in your life who had ever made you feel like you were someone worth more than an afterthought. Someone worth more than being categorised as a simple existence in a sea of mediocrity dubbed by social conventions.

Someone worth more than being thought of as less, if thought of at all.

You watch as the melody from your phone ebbs away and your screen darkens— before brightening almost immediately, ringtone louder than ever.

You're quick to swipe on green this time.

Zayne's dulcet voice is laced with concern. "You didn't pick up my call. Are you upset?"

Trying to mask the roughness of your vocal chords, you reply softly. "Don’t worry about it. There’s, um, there’s something I need to tell you, though."

"I'm on my way home. If it is serious we should talk about it in person." 

“O-oh,” you stutter, deftly wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. Hold it together. “Okay.” 

“See you soon, my love.”

"See you soon, Zaynie."

Barely ten minutes pass before you hear the mechanical clicks of your front door unlocking. You wave from the couch, lips stretched in a smile. Zayne beelines straight for your general direction, shrugging off his coat while pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. You can’t help but giggle when you feel him nudge a warm drink into your palm.

“Coffee at 10PM?”

He sidles up beside you, holding an identical paper cup. “This is hot chocolate from that French bakery you like.”

“Did you get this before or after you assumed we were going to have a serious talk?”

A small smile plays on his lips. “Before, of course.”

You laugh. “Of course.”

There is a peaceful silence that follows, broken momentarily by the soft shuffle of the paper cup as you bring it to your lips. The dense chocolate bursts on your tongue, thick and gooey. It warms you from the inside out like a tender caress, easing the soreness of your throat and the cold that had settled in your chest.

Sinking deeper into the couch, you catch Zayne's expectant gaze.

"Right, so...I just…I just wanted to say thank you, you know?" You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. "Thank you for always being so… appreciative. So affectionate and so kind to me. You love me in a way that's like— like this warm hug I can just melt in— and I'm so thankful, Zayne. It means everything to me."

You mean this so sincerely that you can feel the return of the waterworks. Blinking away the intruders, you bite your lip to focus on a different sensation.

“It just… It just always feels like everyone around me thinks I’m this…substandard sort of person. And maybe I am?”

Zayne gazes at you with all the softness of the world, listening intently.

“I feel like I'm bad at everything I do, if not terrible, and I don’t know if I’ve even been like more than average at anything but when I’m with you, it’s like none of that even matters." Cradling the paper cup, you thumb at the protective lining, feeling the seams of the fragile cardboard. “You’re the only one who makes me feel this way. And– and I just wanted to say thank you for that. Thank you so much, Zayne. That's all.” Pursing your lips, you take a nervous sip of the hot chocolate. It's lukewarm now. You feel the softer tendrils of warmth ebb away to a quiet frost. You steal a look at the man beside you, only to be met with an expression that's utterly unreadable. The soft smile he was sporting prior is absolutely wiped from his face. Did you do something wrong? You shift your gaze to the paper cup, and then to the TV console. Hell, you could hear the cicadas outside. This silence, characteristic as it was, felt more like an anvil being dropped on your chest than anything.

There's one thing left to do. Damage control.

You mentally gear up, ready to dismiss the depth of your confession and repackage it's message— but Zayne beats you to it.

"Y/N,"

Uh oh.

"Yeah?"

His voice is laced with a sternness you don't often get to hear. "How long have you been carrying such a fallacious belief?"

"I...uh, I wouldn't say it's a just a belief? This is how it's always been, Zayne."

He quietly slips his slender fingers into your own, thumb rubbing along the backside of your palm. You lean in by habit, shoulders brushing, head falling to rest on the arch of his shirt-clad shoulder.

"You are wrong." Zayne states.

"What?" "Some say the odds of running into your soulmate are 1 in 10,000, however..."

You fail to hold in your giggle. "Soulmate, huh?"

Zayne clears his throat. You smile, feeling his cheek press on the top of your head as he continues. "However, if we factor in the size of the global population, age ranges, geography, and mutual attraction, the probability of crossing paths with that exact, single person in our lifetime is mathematically considered near impossible. In addition, we had special circumstances, so I'd argue it truly was intended to be impossible."

You hum in thought. "So against all odds, I met you."

"Correct. Against all odds, I met you."

"So you're saying that I'm an anomaly?"

"I'm saying that you're extraordinary. That you're the antonym of everything you just described yourself as. That you're not defined by the words of people who are blind to your incredible character. That you're one in a billion, Y/N, and there is nothing in this world that could prove me otherwise."

If Zayne was facing you right now, he'd definitely glimpse the rosy blush that had powdered itself across your cheeks. You're left gaping like a fish out of water, a familiar warmth blooming in your chest. Great. Now you're hyperaware of how close you two are. You're leaning on his shoulder and his chin is resting tenderly on your head, hands laced together with one free to hold your respective cups. He smells good, you think. Like antiseptic and an earthy kind of cologne.

Zayne squeezes your hand. "I am as appreciative as my sincerity allows me to be. I should be thanking you, Y/N."

He pauses.

You don't see the tips of his ears redden, or the timid smile that involuntarily shapes itself on his lips. But you do hear his voice shift to an almost-whisper, slow and careful. "I can no longer imagine a life without you by my side." Zayne confesses.

You feel him press a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, and then another.

"You complete me. There is no story, no universe I would rather be in than this one... with you. And only you."

© snowypi 2026 do not steal, repost or translate

warnings- mature themes, swearing, spoilers (obviously)

fluff! zayne taking care of reader who has pmos (this request has been in the drafts so long the name has changed from pcos to pmos, oopsie)

this request is severely overdue (i'm so sorry anon!) but i hope this is going in the direction that you wanted <3 (please talk to your trusted healthcare provider for medical advice, and don't rely solely on the internet like me!)

in the case where zayne does not know you have pmos, and you tell him, i personally think that he is going to treat you like the world's most precious jewel (as if he didn't already). of course, there are times where you want to be independent but your comfort is his number one priority.

first line of action for zayne would be: asking if you have a trusted gynaecologist. he knows that pmos is a condition that has many side effects and his knowledge as a cardiologist can only get him so far. if you do, perfect! if not, he is using his connections to get you an appointment with the most trusted one in all of Akso.

second line of action: get you an appointment with him immediately. pmos can put people at higher risks of heart issues, and that is something he can fix!

third and most important line of action: cuddles. he may not have all of the answers to the questions that you do have, but he will do his absolute best to assure you that he is always by your side. expect sweet pastries (within moderation) and kisses that are even sweeter <3

chapter two: an unexpected visitor

arctic hare!xavier, river otter!rafayel, timber wolf!caleb, snow leopard!zayne, lynx!sylus x snowshoe hare!female reader

↳ warnings: sfw, world building, mentions of blood/gore, mentions of animal death

4.5k words

Eventually, you succumb to exhaustion, the comforting weight of your bedcovers lulling you back into a deep slumber… but it’s fitful, tainted by Caleb’s blood-soaked skin and feral violet eyes. You sleep through the morning, waking only when the day is well underway, the hustle and bustle of the lively little town square a distant murmur in your ears.

It’s with great difficulty that you finally peel your eyelids open, sleep crusting in the corners and blurring your vision. Beneath your soft patchwork quilt and nestled amongst the many pillows you keep piled against the headboard, the world feels fuzzy and warm. Dust motes dance and swirl in the air, tracing lazy, aimless patterns in front of your window. It’s as if the bed intends to swallow you whole, your limbs heavy and body pliant in its pleasant embrace. You feel so content you nearly drop back off into sleep, but the call of your daily responsibilities is one you can’t afford to ignore. So, instead of giving in to the temptation, you begrudgingly emerge from your safe little cocoon, blankets pooling around your waist as you sit up. Your joints pop and crack as you stretch, sleepy yawn parting your lips as you work out the kinks and knots from your tired muscles. It’s only when you finally manage to pull yourself out of bed that you realize how sore your legs are, a sharp pain shooting up your spine and radiating from your tail bones with each step you take.

Wincing, you wonder briefly what you could have possibly done to injure yourself in such a way before it all comes rushing back… Caleb… the forest… the blood… falling.

Memories of your encounter with the wolf flood your mind, nasty visions of the deer—neck snapped nearly in half—and the gore of its demise swimming behind your eyelids.

How strange it had been… to find him there. Though you’ve never interacted with him much outside of casual pleasantries, as is customary for unmated females such as yourself, you’ve never known Caleb to be anything other than friendly and good-humored. Caleb is a beloved member of the community, well respected as a dependable and capable provider. As far as you know, he is unwed and unmated, brushing off the constant nagging he receives from the Elders with lighthearted laughter and the promise that he’ll take a mate when the time is right. He visits your shop just once a week—usually early in the morning—to trade his meat for baked goods, always smiley and charming… a stark contrast to the beast of a man you’d met in the woods. The Caleb you’d stumbled upon this morning was not the lovable neighborhood butcher who tussled with pups and younglings in the fields or snuck extra meat into expecting mothers’ baskets. No, the Caleb you’d met in the woods was practically unrecognizable… more animal than man.

The sound of cheerful conversation and the thump of footsteps outside pulls you from your thoughts, a much-needed reminder to return to the task at hand. You're already woefully late, and if you don't open shop soon, nosy customers will come knocking. Sighing, you shake the memories of Caleb from your mind. No matter how odd an encounter it had been, life continues on, and your duties take precedence over unexpected jaunts through the woods and deer hunts. Besides, the world always seems less scary in the daylight hours… perhaps you'd overreacted, fear clouding your judgement.

Determined to go about your routine as usual, you hop over to the small wash basin and mirror in the corner of your bedroom, but every other step feels torturous thanks to the sting in your ass, air hissing through your clenched teeth. A splash of cool water against your sleep-warmed cheeks has you feeling refreshed and looking a little less rosy. Examining your hazy appearance in the polished metal, you do your best to make yourself presentable, brushing through the tangles in your hair and smoothing the mussed fur of your rabbit ears. Unable to help yourself, you spend an extra minute or two admiring how beautifully they sprout from beneath your hair to stand tall and proud atop your head, tracing the delicate curve with your fingertips. Right now, the fur that lines them is a lovely shade of brown, dark and rich, but it won’t be long before it begins to molt, shedding to make way for a brilliant, snowy white. The same will happen to the fluffy tail that protrudes at the base of your spine, just above your behind. Snowshoe hares like yourself, along with many other furred mammals, undergo a seasonal molt at least twice a year, hormones affected by the loss of daylight and impending change in weather. Soon, most people in your village will match their wintery surroundings, coats doubling and blending seamlessly with the snow-covered mountain peaks.

After slipping your apron down over your head and knotting it behind your back, you make your way down the hall and into the main room that serves as your storefront, albeit slowly.

Situated in the corner is the large open-mouthed oven with which you bake all your goods, made from heavy stone and tightly packed cob, worn and weathered from generations of use. In front of it is your work station, a sturdy table built from thickly cut cedar wood, already dusted with flour for today’s kneading. The dough you’d prepared the previous evening waits patiently beneath their damp cloths in circular little bowls, having risen as you slept.

Every moment spent dawdling is precious time your oven could be heating, so you hurry to build a fire. The crack of steel against flint sends leaping sparks of light into the rough pile of kindling, eating away at the tinder until the heat swallows it whole. Only for a minute do you admire the dancing flames, poking and prodding at them occasionally to make sure they're catching properly. Once the fire in the oven has grown to a fierce roar, you round the shop counter, quickly pushing the top half of your stable door open to air out the stuffy little bakery. Soon, the mouthwatering smell of freshly baked bread and pastries will drift from your cottage, beckoning passers-by to take a peek inside, curious to glimpse whatever your baker’s peel might pull from the gaping oven mouth today.

It’s a gloomy sort of day outside your door, sun occasionally peaking from behind the fast-moving clouds that blanket the sky in grey. Though the fog has burned off, the weather is no less dreary, a twinge of cold cutting through the last breath of summer. Great winds blow in from the east, carrying with them the promise of rain and cold.

Summer has finally turned over its dominion to the hands of autumn, trading warmth and sunlight for cooler temperatures and shorter days. It won't be long before the changing of the leaves begins, deciduous trees dressing in their finest shades of orange and red as a last farewell before dropping their foliage altogether. The rows of juicy tomatoes and cucumbers that line Farmer Jeremiah’s gardens will soon boast a variety of colorful squash and cauliflower instead, their seeds dutifully sown by the good-natured wood mouse throughout the last months of summer.

You’ve always loved autumn and everything that comes with it… the buttery pies and roasted pumpkin seeds, the fallen leaves crunching beneath your boots, the smell of fresh apple cider wafting from the tavern windows… but the thing you love most of all is how your village seems to come alive with anticipation. Though the summers in the mountains are typically mild, the promise of cooler temperatures is like catnip to Snow Dwellers, a call none can—or wish to—ignore. Sure, you can withstand the heat well enough, but your people are made for the cold, bodies better suited to polar habitats and climates thanks to your animal genetics. Snow Dwellers typically boast larger physiques, have thicker hair, and experience autumn weight gain. These attributes often leave you sweaty and disgruntled during the warmer months of the year, but they allow you to thrive during the snowy blizzards that plague your mountain range.

In fact, the ability to withstand harsher conditions is what differentiates you Snow Dwellers from the other people groups that dot your region. Though you’ve never interacted with them yourself, having never ventured very far from home, you've heard tales of communities that live very differently from your own… different species, customs, and lifestyles.

According to those who’ve traveled down the mountain, just east of your village lies a settlement of Grassland Dwellers. The animals that live there are far better equipped for temperate climates. Because of this, they choose to occupy the fair-weathered rolling hills and plains rather than the rocky outcroppings and plateaus on which your people make their homes.

You once heard whispers of Burrower colony in the lands to the south. Supposedly, it’s comprised entirely of rabbit hybrids who live simplistic lives almost exclusively underground in intricate tunnel systems called Warrens. Rumor has it that despite their ability to easily reproduce, they still struggle to survive, afflicted by unusually short lifespans. Without the natural strength of predators, manual labor is far more demanding, and their development as a society has been slow… Your village is lucky to house both predator and prey alike.

Occasionally, your village plays host to nomadic travelers passing through on their way to higher altitudes as well, but they arrive few and far between and never stay in town for long. Once, a scruffy mountain goat wandered into your bakery. His speech was limited, but with a few simple words and a game of charades, you managed to give him directions to the gorge he was headed for, along with a seed loaf to keep him fed along the way. Typically, Nomads prefer to live by animal instinct alone and ignore their humanity altogether. They often appear more “wild” and look closer to their animal counterparts than those who live in civilizations. Nomads almost always travel alone and tend to avoid others if they can help it.

Needless to say, different hybrids have different needs, and the winter months meet your people’s almost entirely.

But, unfortunately, the arrival of autumn doesn’t just bring tasty treats and warm socks, it also brings extra responsibility. Despite how hard your animal genetics work, they still have human ones fighting against them, and you are not immune to the cold, much less starvation. With the threat of frost and ice looming mere months away, your village will have to kick preparations into overdrive if you wish to survive the winter.

For you, that means the doubling of recipes, hours spent slaving in the heat of the oven’s glow, and more time in the forest foraging for herbs. The days ahead would be busy, not only for you, but for other village providers as well. As a pillar of the community, your labor is vital to the survival of your people. Without food, you will not make it through the winter months, a weight that sits heavy upon yours, and so many others’, shoulders. So heavy, in fact, that you sometimes fear it will topple you. You are young and inexperienced, only freshly come of age, and this shall be your first year as the primary keeper of the hearth. Though you are only one part of a much larger operation—a tiny cog in a great machine—the people look to you for sustenance. They rely on you to provide what is needed when food is scarce, and the crops grow dormant.

You need only to make it to the Harvest Festival, a town-wide celebration marking the end of the fertile period and the beginning of the inactive months your town calls Hibernation. The remainder of each crop will be gathered and a grand feast prepared, the last of its kind before your village hunkers down to wait out the winter. Only when a large, steaming plate of fresh pumpkin bread sits upon the long table to be enjoyed by townsfolk—young and old alike—will you finally be allowed rest.

It is with these expectations in mind that you work today, gently kneading dough into beautifully scored loaves, dutifully filling your shelves and stores with pretzels and pastries.

A few customers make their way in over the next few hours, one of whom is your good friend Tara, a mountain goat. She is the village chandler, and while you know she comes to trade candles for this week’s rations, her reputation as storyteller and town gossip means she will provide you with more than just wax goods.

“Good morning- or should I say good afternoon,” she quips, leaning across your counter as if she owns the place, “Care to tell me why when I came by this morning, the door was shut and the lamps snuffed? It’s the least you can do after depriving me of my morning scone… my tea was so bland without it.”

You sigh, dusting your hands on your apron before you make your way over to her, pulling two fresh scones from the tray to offer as an apology, “I’m sorry. I had trouble sleeping last night… strange dreams. Before I knew it, the day was half gone.”

Tara takes the sugar-covered sweets without complaint, plucking them from your hands with the entitled attitude only a best friend could afford to have.

“Hm, you know… they say dreams serve as omens for something to come. Hopefully a handsome man was present.”

As Tara pops a piece of the pastry into her mouth, you think back to your brush with Caleb. He is certainly handsome, well built and a fine face… but the manner in which he’d appeared…

“Nope, only monsters and ghouls.”

Tara makes a disappointed sort of noise, mouth full of the delicious sweet and pouty lips covered in crumbs and sugar crystals. You can’t help but laugh at her childish behavior, grabbing a nearby cloth to carefully wipe away the mess on her face. As soon as she’s swallowed her bite and you've finished cleaning her chin, she’s back to her endless chatting, something you find both endearing and a bit impressive.

“Speaking of-”

“What? Monsters and ghouls?”

“No, silly,” she pins you with an exasperated look to which you raise your hands in surrender, “Handsome men, obviously. I’ve heard whispers that Gideon intends to court Simone this mating season.”

You pause at that, eyebrows shooting up into your hairline, “Gideon? Gideon wants to mate with Simone? Our Simone?”

“Yup,” Tara pops the ‘p’ playfully before she’s back to her scone, shoveling another large piece into her mouth, nearly choking on it.

“She’s gonna eat that boy alive,” you lament, shaking your head as you do so.

Your friend Simone is a wolverine and seamstress. She’s blunt and straightforward, never one to shy away from expressing her opinion—even to those superior to her. Village Elders, who so many respect and heed without question, often find themselves the subject of her harsh critique. More than once, you’d been intentionally poked with a sewing needle during a garment fitting, Simone chastising you for speaking badly of yourself, loudly insisting that your shape was perfect and any man would be blessed to bear witness to it. She is a wonderful girlfriend, but she remains largely unimpressed with the men in your village and rarely extends to them the same kindness she freely offers women. Her maneater reputation wards off potential suitors like the plague.

Gideon, on the other hand, is a bit of a lap dog… literally. He’s a Bernese Mountain Dog, a herding species known for their gentle and affectionate disposition. He maintains the town’s cattle, carefully shepherding the herd while managing dairy production and slaughter selection. You like Gideon well enough; he’s friendly, good-looking, and loyal to a fault, but you have to admit… he’s a bit naive, always in over his head when it comes to women. If you didn’t know any better, you might think that he’s become a little desperate with the passing of each unsuccessful mating season, but you’ve long since realized that’s just who Gideon is… a hopeless romantic through and through. You haven’t talked with him much, but you found his head to be in the clouds the few times you have.

You hate to say it, but the poor man doesn’t stand a chance with your feisty friend.

“I dunno,” Tara muses, clapping her hands together to rid them of crumbs before picking out the baked goods she wants for the week, “Lovable Gideon might yet thaw our Simone’s frozen heart… or at least his muscles might.”

“He has gotten rather big this summer, hasn’t he?”

“Not nearly as big as Sylus,” Tara argues, to which you nod your head in agreement.

Sylus, the village blacksmith, is easily the largest man in town, years of labour at the anvil strengthening his back and shoulders. Every unmated woman (and even a few mated ones) has caught themselves ogling the lynx while he pounds away at hot metal once or twice, watching his beefy bicep ripple with each heavy strike of his hammer.

“Either way,” your friend’s words yank you from your daydreams, mouth a little dryer at the memory of Sylus’ impressive form, “I think they’d make a cute couple. Don’t tell Simone, but I'm secretly rooting for him.”

You laugh, busying yourself with wrapping Tara’s pastries before carefully placing them in her basket, “It would be nice to see his… attempts at flirtation succeed for once.”

“Agreed. Well, I’d better be off,” Tara takes her basket from you in exchange for a small pile of candles, still joined at the wick, which you store with your lamp oil for later use.

“I expect to see you bright and early tomorrow morning with my scones!” she calls back as she makes her way out the door, making you laugh with fondness. Oh, how you’ve spoiled her.

You return to your work as soon as she’s gone, your progress a bit slower than usual due to your injury, and your mind filled with distracting thoughts of the upcoming mating season and potential couplings. Perhaps you’ll participate this year… should you have time to.

Only when you are well into the afternoon does the door bell chime once again, announcing the arrival of another customer. Already, a friendly, welcoming smile is sliding into place as you turn to greet whoever has wandered in.

“Welcome in-“

The words die on your tongue when none other than Caleb steps over the threshold, stooping to avoid hitting his head on the low doorframe, though he’s unable to keep the tips of his fuzzy brown ears from brushing it. Your blood runs cold at the sight of him, the memories you’d been so successfully pushing away until now rising unbidden to the forefront of your mind.

He’s quite possibly the last person you’d expected to see today.

Caleb’s cleaned up in the few hours since last you saw him, linen shirt back to that off-white you know so well, not a trace of blood left on his chin. He looks… normal. Alarmingly so. So normal, in fact, that you briefly wonder if you’d hallucinated the entire encounter. In his right hand is not the neck of a mutilated deer, but rather, a small, neatly wrapped parcel, twine tied around it in a delicate bow.

Here, amidst the cozy atmosphere of your bakery, he’s nothing more than a man once again.

Caleb sends a warm smile your way, not quite meeting your eye as he wanders over to the counter, bending to inspect the loaves lining the shelves beneath it.

You watch him peruse the selection from the corner of your eye, unable to help your curiosity. Aside from this morning and his usual weekly visit, you haven’t seen Caleb much in recent days. He always seems to be cooped up in his butchery, likely getting ahead on his work, preserving what meat he can before winter arrives. Once, two weeks ago, you’d caught a glimpse of him from your window, headed in the direction of Zayne’s around dusk—whether to receive medical care or to simply pay the physician a visit, you don't know—but you hadn’t seen him since.

Caleb looks comedically large in your little shop, though most predators do. Your ancestors had built this cottage with rabbits like yourself in mind, never once considering how a wolf might have trouble navigating the small space. The difference between the two of you is jarring, but you’ve grown used to it living in this village. Predators are large, Caleb especially. He’s a big boy, the physically demanding nature of his occupation hardening his body, thick, corded muscle lining his large torso. He carries his weight well, his silhouette bulkier than most men you’ve known. Second only to Sylus, he’s one of the taller men in your village and easily towers over you, his bushy tail nearly as long as you are high.

You clear your throat awkwardly, attempting to bury the apprehension that lingers still. This is the Caleb you know… the Caleb you like. He’s nothing to be afraid of… you think.

“I have sweet loaves this week… I know you usually prefer the spiced ones, but…”

Finally, Caleb’s purple eyes find yours, quick to notice your discomfort, acutely aware of your hesitance. You're unsure of how to approach him, something that makes guilt twist in his stomach.

“No, um- well… uh-“ you’ve never seen Caleb struggle for words like this, fumbling like a newborn pup. He’s usually so talkative, carrying with him an air of confidence and an effortless charm that makes him popular amongst both men and women alike.

“I came to apologize,” when you don't respond, merely blinking at him, he clarifies, “…For earlier. I scared you.”

Oh.

Your bewilderment must show on your face because he rushes to fill the stunned silence, anxiously raking a hand through his bangs, pushing the chocolate strands back off his forehead, only for them to stubbornly fall back into place.

“You just surprised me. I didn't expect to run into anyone so early in the morning… or so far from the village,” he explains, “I was huntin.’”

“Hunting what?”

You can't help how quickly the question escapes you, not wanting to sound accusatory, but suspicious of his behavior nonetheless.

“Venison,” he answers, a hint of embarrassment sneaking into his voice, “Gids says the herd’s a bit thin this year… gonna have to get creative if we want to make it through Hibernation.”

Suddenly, things are lining up more clearly. Gideon’s cattle are the village’s primary source of protein, but if there had been fewer spring births than usual, Caleb would have to turn to other means. You’d never known how he procured his meat when calves were scarce, just known that he’d never failed to provide.

Still, you feel sorry for the deer for meeting such an untimely and gruesome end. Your people treat animals with the utmost respect, looking upon them with sympathy for having not been touched by evolution and blessed with higher intelligence like yourselves. You’d always given thanks for their sacrifice, praying their spirits might pass on in peace… a luxury that poor thing had not been gifted. But you cannot fault Caleb either, knowing he has the village’s well-being in mind.

“I see…”

The silence stretches between you, thick and charged, until Caleb once again breaks it, “You dropped your shawl when you… when you ran off.”

With that, he holds out the little package, his own silent version of a peace offering and apology.

“It had a bit of mud on it. Tried to get it out the best I could.”

“Thank you,” you mumble, suddenly feeling a bit shy under his expectant gaze. Shame for having ever doubted him creeps up your spine, especially after receiving such a thoughtful gesture.

As you move to take the parcel from him, pain flares in your behind, making you whimper pitifully, outstretched hands cringing inwardly to comfort yourself. Caleb’s ears swivel to attention as soon as the painful little noise leaves you, eyes raking over your form to find the source of your discomfort, nose twitching when your scent once again sours.

“Did you injure yourself when you fell? Where does it hurt? Do you need help? I can carry you to Zayne’s if you can’t walk,” a flurry of questions leaves him, protective instincts urging him to do something… anything.

Waving your hands dismissively, you steady yourself, attempting to put on a brave face lest you worry him, though you're not quite able to sponge away the grimace entirely, “No, no. It’s just a bit of bruising. I’ll be ok.”

Caleb shrinks back at your refusal, ears folding back submissively, making him look more like a kicked puppy than a wolf. A twinge of regret passes over you at the dejected look on his face, but he schools it into one of neutrality just as quickly, bending to your authority even against his better judgment.

“Alright, well… make sure to get it checked out if it gets worse,” you nod obediently, taking the shawl from him. A shiver prickles the back of your neck when his large hands brush yours in the trade off, the warmth of his skin gone just as soon as you’d felt it.

“I will. Promise.”

“Good girl… Gotta get back to my shop, but I’ll drop by later this week. Save a sweet loaf for me?”

His praise makes heat bloom across your cheeks, saliva sticking uncomfortably in your mouth. But when Caleb tosses you another friendly smile, it effectively dispels whatever strange tension had been growing between you, earning him a grin of your own in response.

“Sure, get back safely.”

“Will do.”

Then he’s gone. The door bangs shut with the whispers of something more, and you watch his figure retreat down the path, back toward the butchery. Even through the gloomy grey clouds, you can see the sun beginning its path of decent, the evening hours approaching quickly.

How very odd this day has turned out to be…

However, Caleb is right— you really ought to get checked out by the doctor. You simply cannot afford to let this injury fester into something worse. Too much is at stake this autumn. It’s with the mountain of work ahead of you and the Harvest Festival’s demands on your mind that you decide to pay Zayne, village physician and apothecary, a visit.

Just as the sun is beginning to dip below the horizon and your work is finished, you’ll make the journey out to his home. You can only hope your apologies for bothering him so late in the evening will be accepted and he’ll see you. After all, Zayne is a private man… one who doesn’t like being disturbed during personal hours.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 // 𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖞𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

a/n: well, we finally made it through chapter two! thank you for your patience with this one… i hope it was well worth the wait! what do we think? is caleb really as sweet and friendly as he seems to be, or is the man you saw in the woods what’s been hiding beneath the surface all along? will you make it to the harvest festival, or crumble under the pressure? will gideon manage to charm simone? who knows? well… me i know, but soon you will too. i hope this chapter was immersive and easily digestible, giving you a proper feel for the world of snow dwellers and their village traditions. it’s going to be a long fall, but never fear! our lovely protagonists will support you all the way—doctor zayne especially, as he examines your bruised bum next chapter. thanks for reading!

okay last thing idk if you've done this honey but PLEASE put this on ao3. like this would do so well over there!!!!! seriously like i can't tell you how many times i've thought about rabbitology (is this weird?) like the other day (tf am i saying this happened two weeks ago), i went to visit this like regional/rural town that my dad recently bought a house in. this town is like up in the mountains, like really far up, like i'm in the valley at the very base of the mountains and it took about 1hr 40mins to drive there. we went on a gloomy, foggy day. when i tell you- it was so beautiful and gothic, the mountains and the trees. like from the road, the trees cleared, and we looked down into a clearing/plateau where the town was situated before driving down there. driving through the town had twilight 2008 bella swan entering forks vibes. BUT okay BUT this is the part that really gave peak rabbitology. we came to the house that my dad bought, and the mountains and woods are so close to it. like i could see the fog amidst the trees, rising from the ground. it was genuinely the best fucking thing everrrrrrrr. i'll be moving there after i finish my degree, so like in 1-2 years, but yeah, it just reminded me of your fic.

i can do it with a broken heart: caleb

wc: 568

a/n: yayy my first lil drabble/ blurb for my little writing event!! thank you for this ask (i'm so happy this was requested, i had a plan for this one hehe) i hope you like it!

caleb was good at pretending to be happy. he’d been doing it for most of his life- while being experimented on, while taking care of you in josephine’s house, and now.

So last month I yapped with @evilldentists that I have not been fangirling enough because I haven’t had a dream of Sylus yet.

It finally happened!!! A Sylus dream! and ✋😭 im crying laughing because it felt like a scene from an AU fic lmaoooo my subconscious is also trying to make fics 😭😭😂 Gave me a premise and I said bet, polished it to be presentable, hope you enjoy it like I did 😂

Tribal Chief!Sylus x Tribute Bride!Reader who can play the erhu. (Do you see? why it’s fun? I’m giggling) wc1.2k~ about 5 mins reading time. Somebody tell me if a hot kiss should be tagged as suggestive?

And yeeees the visuals are a vision ✨ I’m swooning.