obsessive musician x clueless brother’s sister He’s known you most of your life. You were never supposed to matter—not like this. Just his best friend’s little sister. Always around. Always humming. Always just out of reach of being taken seriously. And he made sure of that. Dismissed your voice. Teased you when it got too good. Looked away when it started to feel like something he couldn’t control. It was easier to reduce you to nothing than admit you had something he didn’t, something real. Then he left. Fame came fast. Brutal. Addicting. He learned how to be watched, how to be wanted, how to never let anyone get close enough to see past it. You grew up. Now you’re back from college—quieter, sharper, untouched by the world that consumed him. You look at him the same way everyone else does: like he’s talented, charming… and not worth trusting. A player. A performance. And he hates how accurate that feels.
Reluctant soulmate x clueless soulmate He doesn’t trust that love can predetermined by the celestials. You don’t even know what that means…it’s not like he told you about it.
A boxing story. A falling out that never got resolved. A tattoo on a fighter's spine that only one person in the world fully understands. You knew him before the name meant anything. Before the posters and the pay-per-views and the particular way a crowd sounds when it wants blood. You knew him when he was just a boy with too much anger in his body and no idea what to do with it — except that somehow, inexplicably, he could do something with it around you. Could breathe slower. Could think before he moved. Could choose. Then the friendship cracked, you both “moved on.” You met someone. Kind…nice enough, in the beginning. You are outwardly fine. You have become very good at outwardly fine. Your friend wants to take you to a boxing match…and you see him again. Paper crane on his spine.
Your mother died, leaving your family in ruins. Your brothers left a long time ago to pursue music. Send money back home, to support their family in this way. Years later, they want to restore a relationship with you.
In Formula 1, everything is measured—lap times, tire degradation, distance to the apex. Control is survival, and emotions are liabilities. When you’re brought into the paddock as a track medic through your brother’s connections, you expect long hours, high stakes, and the constant hum of engines pushing past their limits. What you don’t expect is him. He’s known for precision. For silence. For never making mistakes. You’re not part of his world. Not a rival, not a headline, not a distraction worth acknowledging. At first, you’re just part of the background. Another medic. Another face. Until you’re not. Until he starts looking for you after races. Until you’re the one he lets touch him when the adrenaline hasn’t worn off yet. And somewhere between late-night debriefs, quiet injuries, and moments that feel too personal to name—you realize something is shifting. Because drivers like him don’t lose control. They decide when to let go. And you’re starting to wonder if you were ever outside of it.
werewolf x half-werewolf You have spent your whole life feeling like you were standing just outside a room everyone else could enter. You didn't know the door had a name. You didn't know you had a key. And you certainly didn't know that the man who would change everything would find you at 30,000 feet — looking at you like you were something he'd been waiting for without knowing he was waiting.
You have lived through something catastrophic, traumatic. The death of your planet. The death of your people. The universe remembers the fall of Zaria. The planet reduced to stardust when its core collapsed and consumed the world from within. You of all people remember it the most. It was a tragedy. The universe mourned the loss of this planet…but planets aren’t supposed to die like that. You were sent to Earth. Utterly alone only with the guilt of surviving. Years later, Earth knows you only as a rumor, myth. This ghost protector powerful enough to frighten governments and extraterrestrial threats alike. You have spent your life surviving and grieving, trying to become numb to the loss. Across the galaxies something terrible is awakening again. Planets are dying again. Your brother is very much alive and well. He has finally, somehow sensed you. He’s not letting you go again. He’ll find you and bring you back home. The prophecy needs to be fulfilled.
A boxing story. A falling out that never got resolved. A tattoo on a fighter's spine that only one person in the world fully understands. ——— You knew him before the name meant anything. Before the posters and the pay-per-views and the particular way a crowd sounds when it wants blood. You knew him when he was just a boy with too much anger in his body and no idea what to do with it — except that somehow, inexplicably, he could do something with it around you. Could breathe slower. Could think before he moved. Could choose. Then the friendship cracked, you both “moved on.” You met someone. Kind…nice enough, in the beginning. You are outwardly fine. You have become very good at outwardly fine. Your friend wants to take you to a boxing match…and you see him again. Paper crane on his spine.
You weren’t supposed to end up there. Italy. A scholarship places you in one of the most prestigious academies in Italy. One of legacy, wealth, and names that carry power far beyond its gates. This place is dangerous. You don’t understand that. He does, Luka Moretti-Asker. That last name is recognized at this school. He is one of the sons of a union that reshaped the balance of power between two of the most influential families in the underworld. He doesn’t love easily. Doesn’t think he’ll ever choose someone, till you came along. Now he’s wrestling with his feelings and you are almost clueless to this. To the entire situation. It is something you definitely weren’t meant to be apart of. You are learning many new languages. Italian, the vernacular spoken in the underworld, and the language of love.
The Selacir are known for luring. For the pull of their voices across water, for the way a song can reach into a person and make them walk toward the dark. It is the oldest story humans tell about them — and it is only part of the truth. Daelan has been alive for nearly a hundred years. He has heard humans sing before. He has never heard anything like her. He surfaces near the rocks and listens for a long time without moving and thinks, with the particular clarity of someone who has been waiting for something without knowing it: I would very much like to know that person. What follows is not a luring. It is a friendship — built slowly and honestly, tested by the strangeness of what he is, deepened by everything they find they have in common. It is the best thing in both their lives. And it is also, eventually, the most complicated.
A rockstar obsessing over a voice with no face. A folk siren who never wanted to be found. The night they ended up in the same room — and neither of them walked out unchanged. Famous public musician X famous hidden musician
A wedding. A week. A civilian who walked into the wrong celebration and caught the attention of exactly the wrong man. Or possibly the right one. The jury is still out.