#i love him so much i really had no idea what i was missing from a romantic relationship holy shit like??? amazed amazed amazed

[madebycloud]

No Erase

violet "vi" x female reader — 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬⠀𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: on valentine's day, and you've finally worked up the courage to write a letter to your crush confessing your feelings. unfortunately, your friend accidentally gives the letter to the one person you can't stand. warnings/themes: fluff, one sided enemies, valentines, kissing cam, angry confessions, fast burn ig, mordern au words: 10.9k

You look at the letter in your desk, which you spent at least six hours working on to make sure it's perfect. Not just to make sure the words you're choosing are perfect, though—you want to make sure your handwriting is perfect enough that it doesn't look sloppy.

You grab the letter and read it over one last time… lovey-dovey bullshit, sappy stuff, romantic nonsense, etc.

You cringe at the last words, “Meet me at the bleachers... recess.”

It's so cliché, so stereotypical, and maybe you've had a couple too many cheesy romance movies in the past month. You've probably read a dozen fanfics that start like this.

If it were done by anyone other than yourself, you'd think it was absolutely dumb and corny as hell.

You know you could just message them through snapchat or on insta, or facebook, even just confessing through their email is a good idea… but, no, you just can't do that.

What if you say the wrong thing? what if you just happen to say something extremely cringy in your message? what if they screenshot it and put it on their story for everyone to see? what if they reply with “who is this...?” what if they start ignoring you?

Plus, you love your phone too damn much, and you know you're gonna end up throwing the damn thing because of the absolute panic you're gonna feel when your finger hits that send button.

You probably should have just sent a carrier pigeon or something… at least they could eat that.

Oh wait.

You forgot one thing.

You look around your room, trying to figure out what you left out. Your penmanship is on point, the words are as romantic as they could be, and the grammar is perfect... but what's missing?

The perfume.

The bottle of perfume is on your dresser, hiding behind the jewelry case. You spray it liberally, making sure the paper absorbs the smell of it, before finally folding it up neatly and placing it in the envelope. You seal the envelope with a kiss to the paper and hope it's the ‘special touch’ that it needs.

The smell is nice, just enough to have the paper absorbing it nicely, but not enough to be overwhelming (even if you love the perfume to death). You also want your recipient to be able to read the letter without cringing.

Okay, now it's really done. It's romantic, it smells good, and it's as perfect as you can get it.

Tomorrow's the day, and you finally feel confident. You have everything ready to go, you just have to figure out how to get your friend to deliver it to your crush's locker.

As you get ready for bed, the only thing you can't stop thinking about is how tomorrow will go.

Will they love the letter? will they finally realize the feelings you have for them and confess their own feelings? who knows?

—

“Come on,” you whine, begging Ekko for the fifth time. “Just do me this favor, please?”

Ekko just scoffs and gestures to the table. “I already told you, I have all of these-” he motions to the dozens of letters in front of him, “-that i'm supposed to deliver for girls that are crushing on Caitlyn.” He sighs. “I can't add any more to my to do list.”

“Please?” you beg, waving the envelope at him. “It's really important.”

Ekko groans and slumps forward, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. “Why can't you just deliver it yourself?”

“It's kinda.. embarrassing… for me to deliver it myself…” You fidget awkwardly.

“Ugh.” Ekko groans again but gives in. “Fine,” he relents, sitting up straight and grabbing the letter from you.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ekko waves his hand dismissively. He stands up and stretches out, letting out a deep sigh as he does. “Just remind me what locker number it is?” he asks, shoving the letters into his bag.

“Locker number is 13 C,” you reply, watching as Ekko slings his bag over his shoulder and starts walking out of the cafeteria. “It's pretty much right next to Caitlyn's, so you won't be missing it.”

“Got it,” he says, turning around and flashing a grin at you. “See ya later.” He gives you a salute before he disappears. 

Finally.

After months of keeping your feelings quiet, your secret would be revealed. You just have to hope that it doesn't blow up in your face.

—

Ekko walks down the hallway, scanning through the numbers above the lockers until he finds the one he's looking for.

Caitlyn's locker.

He scans the area for any sign of Caitlyn, and luckily for him, the coast is clear.

He pulls out the envelopes from his bag, each one slightly crinkled from being stuffed in there. He counts up the total- ten, no, twelve... wait. Fifteen? that's more than he thought, he could have sworn there were less. He dumps all the letters on top of the locker hole.

He looks down at the remaining letter in his hand. Right, that one isn't for her. He sighs and places the letter next to her locker, just like he was told to do.

He gives the locker one last look but doesn't give it a second thought and starts walking away, whistling as he goes.

But... what Ekko didn't know is that instead of placing it into the locker next to it, he accidentally dumped it into 11C, aka, Vi's locker.

—

You wait at the entrance of your school, impatiently bouncing on your feet. Valentine's day is tomorrow, and you can't wait for your crush to read the letter you poured your heart into.

Then, you spot Ekko, and you're quick to greet him. “Hey!” You throw an arm around his shoulders. “So, did you put it in?”

He nods, gesturing to the school doors. “Yeah, I did.”

You sigh, relieved that the letter is in your crush's locker and will likely be seen by them soon. “Thanks.” You give him a squeeze on the shoulder before letting go of him. “I seriously owe you one for this.”

Ekko just brushes you off. “It's nothing.” He shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets as you start walking into the courtyard. “Just doing my good deed of the day.”

“Mhm, hopefully tomorrow goes as planned,” you say, “I just hope they like it…”

—

Tomorrow finally comes, and it's the day you've been patiently waiting for. Valentine's day.

You're in your first class, waiting for your teacher to come in. You're distracted, your mind racing with thoughts about what your crush thinks of the letter.

Then, someone suddenly sits next to you, and you turn to look at-

“What the hell?” you blurt out, looking at Vi as she makes herself comfortable in the chair.

Vi smirks. “Hey,” she greets.

That smirk alone pisses you off.

You still haven't gotten over the fact that because of her, your grades had taken a nosedive. The two of you had been paired together in science class, and she'd somehow managed to blow up the experiment, all because she wasn't paying attention.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you snap, glaring at her.

She simply glances at you, then back at the desk she's sitting on. “What do you think? I'm sitting.”

The audacity? 

“I know that, but why are you sitting next to me?”

“Come on, don't act like you don't know.” She throws in a wink, and your disgust quickly multiplies.

“Excuse me?” you sputter, completely caught off guard by her sudden flirtatious behavior.

“You really gonna act like you don't know?"

“No?”

She scoffs and leans towards you, smirk on her lips. “I mean,” she adds, eyeing you up and down, “I thought you'd be... happy... to see me.”

You're stunned, confused, and quite frankly, grossed out. “Happy to—WHY ON EARTH would I be happy to see you?” you spit out.

She huffs and slumps back into the chair. “Oh wow, thanks for the warm welcome.”

“Well, what did you expect? You haven't exactly been... pleasant to be around.”

She narrows her eyes and opens her mouth to reply but stops short as the teacher enters the classroom.

She finally shuts up, and you're left wondering what just happened. Why in the world is someone who is a pain in your butt cheeks suddenly flirting with you? is there something wrong with her? or has she lost her damn mind?

—

It's recess, and you're sitting on the bleachers, waiting for your crush to show up.

Your palms are sweating, you're starting to worry that your armpits are going to start smelling, you're probably going to end up throwing up on someone's shoes.

The letter was probably too much. The words were too romantic. The whole cliché “meet me at the bleachers” thing was just cringe. Who wrote that? oh right... you did.

But even if the outcome isn't what you hope for, at least you've got a good story to tell later or maybe a good reason to drown yourself in ice cream and cheesy rom-com movies.

You look around the bleachers once, twice, three times. You try to avoid glancing at your phone, but the urge to check the time only grows stronger.

It doesn't help that a couple of assholes are sitting a few feet away from you, loudly laughing at some video playing on one of their phones.

Recess is almost over, and your crush is still not here. Where the hell are they?

Maybe they could possibly be in the bathroom, having a nervous breakdown like you were? or maybe they're just taking their sweet time, making sure they're looking perfect?

Or maybe they're not coming at all.

And then you hear footsteps coming your way,

THIS IS IT.

Is your hair okay? yes. Are your teeth brushed? yes, dumbass.

You quickly wipe your sweaty palms, trying to calm your racing heart. You turn around, ready to see the face of an angel, the face of a goddamn god-

But instead you see the face of someone you'd rather shove into a brick wall.

Vi.

Why the hell is she... smiling at you?

“Damn, you look good from this angle.” 

WHAT?

Why is this goddamn lesbian here with that stupid smile on her face?

“Why are you here?”

“Isn't it obvious? I'm here to see you.” She pulls out an oddly familiar envelope from her pocket and holds it in her hand, and you realize why it's so familiar.

Wait...  that's your letter!

The one you wrote to your crush. The one that's meant to be in their locker, not in her damn hands.

How the hell did it end up with her?

She looks at the envelope, studying the handwriting on it, and then her eyes lock with yours again. “This is yours, right?”

Your hand quickly snatches the envelope from her hand. “How the fuck did you get that?”

Vi quickly snatches the envelope away, holding it out of your reach. “Whoa, woah, wait-”

“Give me that!” You lunge for the envelope, but she sidesteps you.

Vi laughs, holding the envelope away from you. “Isn't this for me?” She opens the envelope and throws it aside, then pulls out the letter and starts reading it aloud. “Dear... what the hell, how do you... whatever. Dear blah, blah, blah, happy valentine's da-”

“-SHUT UP!” You try to snatch the letter again.

“Hey, I'm not done reading it yet! This is my valentine's gift, after all.”

“That letter is meant for someone else!”

“Really? Then why did I find it in my locker?”

“Wait, what? You found it in—you're joking, right?”

She shakes her head, waving the letter in front of you. “Nope, I'm not joking.”

“How did you-”

“Someone put it in my locker.”

“That's impossible! I would never—I mean to you? there's no way that was meant for you.”

Vi squints at the words in the letter, then looks up at you again. “But this is definitely written in your handwriting, right?”

How did it end up in her locker? and how the hell does she even know what your handwriting looks like?

Your eyes dart from the letter in her hands to her face. Yes, it's definitely your handwriting. Yes, it's definitely the same stupid letter you wrote because you're a hopeless romantic.

“Maybe,” you grumble.

“Maybe? so it is yours?”

You avoid her gaze, avoiding her smug look.

She starts reading over the letter again, reading it aloud. “Meet me at the bleachers, how goddamn cliché-”

“STOP READING IT!”

“Damn, I didn't think you could be this corny.”

“Shut up, just-” You try to snatch the letter out of her hand once again, but she pulls her arm away.

“You wrote this much for someone?”

“Why do you care so damn much, anyway? You didn't get a valentine gift or something?” and now you're just being bitchy as well.

“What are you, ten?” she retorts.

“And what are you, an idiot?”

“I'm not an idiot, unlike you.”

“Oh, wow, are we back in sixth grade now?”

She looks down at the letter. “I'm not the one who wrote a heartfelt letter for someone who probably doesn't even like you.”

“And how the hell would you know?”

“Have you even talked to them before?” She lifts her head, her smirk coming back when you didn't answer. “Since whoever the hell you have a crush on doesn't like you-”

“They could still-”

“See, everyone has a valentine. Well, almost everyone, which means your crush probably got one too.”

“Yeah, 'cause you got that letter they were supposed to receive.”

“Maybe I was meant to have it then.”

“You're seriously that sure that the universe wants you to have this?”

“Maybe it's a sign.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Are you just dumb on purpose?”

She grins. “I'm not doing it on purpose, and maybe it's a sign that I should be your valentine, that the universe is trying to tell you something.”

You roll your eyes. “Wow, so confident. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you're actually serious.”

“And what if I am serious?” You look at her blankly as she shrugs. She actually thinks she's funny. “I mean, you don't have a valentine, which does kind of suck, and I don't have one, which is by choice, by the way, so I think the universe is clearly telling us something.”

What the actual hell is wrong with her today? she didn't get enough sleep or something, and now she's acting like... like this? this is weird.

She's being weird. 

“What, is the universe now trying to set us up? really? we're gonna get a movie based off this?”

“Hey, no one said this was a movie, maybe it's just a cute little high school romance,” she argues back. “Plus, you put a lot of work into this letter, and I'd hate for it to go to waste.”

“I'm not in the mood to start a cute little high school romance with you, okay?”

She heaves a dramatic sigh. “Look,” she says, holding up a hand to stop you from replying, “it's valentine's day, right? and we both don't have anyone, so it's just... for today, we can, you know... see what happens, and if it doesn't work out, then we can just leave it alone and go back the way we were.”

You blink slowly. “That sounds worse than your whole ‘the universe wants us together’ bullshit.”

“Wow, don't act like the idea of it is so awful. I mean, I'm not that bad, right?”

You're going to disagree with that with every single cell in your body, but you decide not to, instead, you just remain silent.

Vi seems to take your silence as agreement because she gives you this insufferable smirk like she just won something.

She continues. “It makes sense if you think about it. We're both single, you're already in a lovesick mood because of this,” she gestures at the letter, “so if we do, you know... we can get it out of your system, and you won't have to spend the rest of the school year pining over some person who is probably ignoring you anyway.”

Why is she making some sense? no, why is she sounding like... a good option all of a sudden?

“It's just for today,” she reminds you again. “We'll just see where it goes. Who knows, you might actually have some fun with me.”

This feels like you're cheating on your crush for even entertaining this stupid plan. 

“You're basically saying that we're going to spend one day together and then you'll ditch me?” you retort.

“No, that's not what I'm saying,” she corrects you. “I'm saying we're gonna spend one day together, and if it doesn't work out, then we go our separate ways. It's just one day, it can't hurt. It won't be such a big deal.”

“I'm not going to be your one day entertainment.”

“Who said you'd be my entertainment?” She rolls her eyes, shaking her head at you. “You and I both know you have no other options. What're you gonna do instead, go home and cry over this person who doesn't even know you exist, or just spend the day wallowing in self pity while the rest of the school is celebrating love and stuff with their actual valentines?”

You wince at her harsh words because...  she's got a point.

You don't have anyone to spend this day with, and the person you'd want to spend it with will probably spend it with someone else... so yeah, you have no plans, and yeah, you're probably going to just go home and wallow in self pity, wishing that today was over already.

What would happen, actually? if you go along with her stupid plan. You could finally have an escape from pining over your stupid crush who probably doesn't even notice you.

“Fine.” You snatch the letter back from her.

“Wait, what? really?” She's actually surprised. No wonder, she's the one who came up with this stupid plan in the first place.

“I am,” you say, “you don't want me to?”

She huffs out a laugh. “No, no, of course not. I just… didn't expect you to actually agree.”

“And why is that?”

“I don't know, I figured you'd still have a little bit of decency left in you.”

What a backhanded compliment. “I have plenty of decency left in me, it's you who I'd question, and besides... it's just for today.” You fold the letter and shove it into your pocket.

Vi hums, not taking that offense to your comment. “Just today,” she repeats. “Then tomorrow, boom, everything goes back to normal.”

You nod. “Back to normal.”

“I could kiss you right now.”

Whoa woah woah. Calm down. “Ew, what?”

“I didn't say I will kiss you,” she points out, “I said I could.”

You could say something mean to her words, you could try to change the subject or you could just walk away and forget this conversation ever happened.

But what you actually say is, “What's stopping you then?”

You hate how that sounds so casual. It wasn't meant to come out like that. What the hell?

You're not entirely sure, but something is definitely encouraging you to keep this going. Is it because you find everything she does annoying or that you've been pent-up over your stupid crush lately and you need to get it out of your system?

Vi raises an eyebrow at your words. “You want me to kiss you?” The words drip out of her mouth, like honey on a spoon.

“No,” you reply on instinct, because of course not.

But you can't stop the way your eyes flicker down to look at her lips. You look back at her face, and you know damn well she saw you look down at her lips, but she doesn't say anything about it.

“So now that it's official... you're my valentine, and today, we're going to have the shittiest, most awesome date-” she coughs, “-i mean hangout, that you'll ever have.”

“I doubt it.”

“Hey,” she says, “don't underestimate me, okay? I know how to have a good time,” and then she, god help you, she winks at you.

She looks like she's about to say something more, but she stops when the bell rings.

“Meet me at the parking lot after class?” she asks.

You find yourself nodding. “Yeah, sure.” You look at the field for a second and then look back, just so you can catch her reaction—and it's not at all what you were expecting. She's...  blushing?

It's subtle, more subtle than you'd think, but her cheeks are definitely red, and when she realizes you notice her, she looks away.

She looks embarrassed.

She's embarrassed?

“Anyway, see you there... valentine.” She doesn't look at you. “Try not to miss me too much.”

What? miss her? She sounds like she's trying to joke about it, but something about the way she says it sounds sincere? What the fuck?

She starts to walk away. You're pretty sure you see another smile on her face, and if you didn't like her so much, you'd probably like how she looks when she does.

But you remind yourself, this is Vi.

The same Vi you've known for years, the same Vi who made your grades worse because of a stupid experiment, the same Vi who you'd probably love to throw out the nearest window if you could, and the same Vi you can't stand.

You force yourself to turn away, and you start to walk back to the school building. You try to push the image of her stupid blushing face and her stupid pretty smile out of your brain because you are not... going to make the mistake of being attracted to her.

—

Time passes by more slowly than a snail.

What's the saying...? ‘A watched pot never boils?’ You're pretty sure you could watch paint dry, and it would move at a faster pace.

Why is time passing so slowly today?

You're not sure if it's because you have this... ‘hangout’ to expect at the end of the day or if it's because you keep getting distracted by the thoughts of what is going to happen later.

What you do know is that you end up spacing out way too much more than a person should.

Thankfully, you don't have any homework, but your notes for the day are just absolutely horrible, a mindless mess of scribbles and pointless words. You're definitely going to regret this later.

The last bell mercifully rings just as you're in the middle of doodling a small sketch of Vi's face in the corner of your notes.

You quickly shut your notebook and stuffed everything into your bag.

You need to find your goddamn common sense first, but it seems to have left the room before you could.

The hallway is a goddamn mess.

Kids are running everywhere in the halls, screaming loud as hell, some girl is trying to stuff her locker to the point where it's going to explode, and some kid has got a goddamn boombox and is blasting music from it. There's the hallway drama that everyone loves listening to even though they should be minding their own business.

Seriously, it feels like you're in the middle of a goddamn jungle with the amount of people screaming.

Walking to the parking lot takes longer than it usually would. When you get there, you see a familiar head of pink hair leaning against a red motor, scrolling through something on her phone.

She hasn't noticed you yet, and you find yourself unable to move your feet for a second.

She's just leaning back against the motorcycle, lazily swiping through something on her phone. She's even biting her lower lip slightly, and for some reason, you really don't know why that's such a good look on her.

Okay, what?

You need to stop letting your brain run away with these thoughts.

You are not going to act like a middle school idiot who just got caught looking at her crush or something. You're an intelligent, mature human being. You're definitely not some dumb kid with an embarrassing crush either. Definitely not.

The sunlight makes her glow, and when she looks up from her phone, you feel you're hit with a wave of goddamn sun poisoning because the sunlight hitting her eyes makes them shine.

She looks over and sees you, shoving her phone into her pocket. She gestures you over with a slight jerk of her head.

You force your feet to start cooperating and get your ass over there.

“Glad you came.” 

What kind of response would even be the right one for that? “Me too” would sound too enthusiastic. “Yep” sounds so disinterested, like you'd rather be anywhere else than here, when that might be partially true, but you're not trying to sound like a dick. “Same here” sounds like such a sarcastic tone, and “Of course I'm here, you're the one who forced me into this” would sound too rude.

Instead, you just say nothing, which she notices, of course.

“What, no smart shits today?”

“I have nothing to say to you,” you mutter as you turn your attention to the red motor behind her. You notice the scuffed up leather seat and the worn tires.

You then glance around the parking lot, wondering how many times you've seen this before. The motorcyclist who's always late to class, the seniors who smoke too much and are always ditching school, the students with cars who love to show off the brand new car their parents gave them, and the popular girls gossiping about some poor girl who can't afford nice clothes.

The sound of a motorcycle engine starting snaps you out of your thoughts, and you look up to see Vi getting onto the motorcycle

She pats the back seat behind her. “You getting on or what?”

“...is it like fast?”

“Is it like fast?"” she mimics in a childish tone before rolling her eyes. “Yeah, it's fast. Get on it and find out.”

“I just asked a question, no need to be a dick.”

“Are you always this bitchy?” she asks, then throws you a helmet. “Put this on.”

You catch the helmet, and you put it on. “Only around you.” You approach the motor and try not to comment on the poor condition and instead climb on behind her.

You have no idea what to do with your legs, so for a few seconds, you just awkwardly sit behind her, trying to position yourself like riding a horse.

“Are you gonna hold on?” Vi calls out.

“Hold on to what?”

“Me, dumbass. Grab my waist.”

“Hell no.”

“It's for your own safety.”

“I'm fine,” you shift around, trying to find a comfortable position.

Vi seems to start losing her patience with you. “If you want to fall off the bike mid ride and splatter onto someone's yard like a squashed bug, be my guest.”

That gets you to hold onto her waist out of pure spite.

“Just don't squeeze my abs too tight. I still need air.”

You scoff. “Who the hell is so narcissistic that they think something as simple as that would affect me?”

She huffs, amused by your snark, and puts on her own helmet. “It's not narcissism. It's just a joke,” she retorts. 

You scoff again, but your hand tightens around her waist reflexively.

She chuckles. “Knew you couldn't resist.”

You pinch her waist. “Just shut up and drive.”

She snorts. “Touchy, aren't we?”

“Yeah, I am,” you reply sarcastically, pinching her waist again.

“Hey!” she exclaims, then sighs. “Okay, fine. I'll stop, just stop it.”

She starts the motor, and the hum of the engine vibrates throughout your body. It's louder being sat on top of the thing compared to how it sounds when you're on the ground. You feel this rumble throughout your chest, and you really want to comment on the poor thing making that much noise.

“Just hold on tight.”

—

“FUCK YEAH! WOOO!” you shout, punching the air with your fist and standing up. It's hockey, but who cares? you're not a fan, not in the slightest, but you're still screaming and cheering, all in a bid to support the team.

Vi is right beside you, shouting as well, while she eats a hot dog and washes it down with soda. “I thought you hated hockey!” she shouts over the crowd's cheers.

You shrug, but it's impossible to respond. You can't hear each other over the sound of the audience's cheers.

A few of the people sitting in the same section as you give you some weird looks, like you suddenly went insane. Well, can you really blame them? it probably looks like you have the sudden urge to yell random things for no reason.

Vi is the only one who doesn't look at you like you're some lunatic, her gaze is focused on the game, all while cheering, and occasionally making comments about the players.

It's different compared to watching it on TV. You're actually there, in person, surrounded by people who share your excitement and are as loud as you or louder.

You're also next to the most annoying person ever, but you don't want to dwell on that.

You drop down, back into your seat, and lean back, stretching your legs out. Your thighs and legs are starting to feel like jelly from all that screaming and standing. “Damn,” you tell her, shaking your legs. “I think I just strained a muscle or something.”

Vi laughs and sits down on her seat. “You know, I've been around here for years now. I probably know some people here.” She glances around the crowd of people, scanning them like she's trying to find someone in particular.

“Oh yeah? who's that in the third row then?”

She follows the direction of your finger and immediately points at a random person. “That's Fred! I once went to elementary with him.”

You have no idea if she's making that up or not. “And what about the guy next to him with the big hat?”

Vi squints at the section you pointed at. “That's George.” She then points at a girl with a black jacket. “That's Sneha,” she pauses, her eyes catching someone in the distance, “and oh-” her hand abruptly changes direction, pointing forward, “-that's Jenny,” she says, waving her hand. “Yo, Jen!”

The old lady turns around and nods her greeting. “Hi sweetheart, how's it going?”

“Doing good, gramps. Just watching the game with this one.” She nudges at you.

The old lady turns to look at you, her face taking the form of a smile. “Ah, a girlfriend, I see.”

Girlfriend? What's she talking about? “Um, no. Just a friend.”

Vi's eyebrows rise as her whole mouth goes ajar. “Friend?” she repeats, “We're friends now?”

“Only for today. Don't get used to the idea.”

The old lady, Melinda, hums. “Is that so? well, enjoy the game, children.”

“Yeah, yeah, we will,” Vi responds to the old lady, and once the lady turns back to watch the game, she leans in close, bumping her shoulder into yours. “That's Jen. She's basically the team's grandma,” Vi explains. “She's been here for years, goes to almost every game.”

You watch the lady continue to watch the game. “So she's like a regular here.”

“Yeah, sometimes she talks about how things were better in ‘her day.’”

“You two seem close though,” you point out.

“She's old and friendly,” she says, scratching her cheek. “Plus, old ladies are always fond of me. I helped her one time with her groceries after one game, and now she thinks I'm a sweetheart.” Vi shrugs, taking another bite of her hotdog. “She's also a nice lady. Always has candy and stuff to give out to everyone.”

“Candy, huh?”

“Yep,” she swallows and smacks her lips to get any food out from her mouth. “She always has peppermint discs, peppermint sticks, and chocolate sticks in her bag.”

“Why do you know that?”

“Everyone knows that.”

“Why does she have candy anyway?”

Vi takes another bite. “Just something she likes to give out,” she says, between chews, then points at the old lady's lap. “That blue thing she's knitting is actually a hat. She likes to give that out too.”

“Really?”

Vi shrugs again, eating yet another mouthful of her food, still somehow managing to speak at the same time. “Yeah, and don't be fooled by the knitting and the candy. She could beat you in a game of arm wrestling. She's still really buff.”

You nod silently, impressed with this old lady.

When Vi swallows the last bit of her hotdog, she pulls out her phone and points it at you. “I'm gonna take a picture of you... and put it on Tinder.” The second the camera's click sounds off, it takes everything in you to not grab her phone and throw it across the goddamn stadium.

She continues taking pictures, each time saying something different, like, “Look at this one,” or “This one's really good.” She holds up the phone, showing you a picture that's... actually not half bad.  But you know giving her that reaction would just fuel her to do more, so instead, you scoff.

You turn your attention back to the stadium, trying to ignore whatever she's doing beside you. You look around. There are a surprising amount of men, guys, dudes, bros, etc. It's like they outnumber the women.

“There's a lot of dudes in here,” you comment. “Is it a testosterone fest over here, or what?”

Vi looks around as well. “Yep.”

“Do you think any of these guys like girls who love sports?”

Vi snorts. “Nah,” she replies, shoving her phone back into her pocket. “They're more interested in a girl who looks good in a jersey and knows how to bring them a cold beer.”

“So… basically they're only interested if we look cute and we don't open our mouths?”

“Pretty much.”

You groan. “I hate guys like that.”

“Hey, some guys aren't that bad,” she remarks.

“Yeah, and they're the ones in relationships.”

She thinks about it for a moment. “You know… I'm surprised you're not in a relationship.”

You give her a weird look. “Why?”

“Well, you're... y'know… cute.”

Is that a compliment or a fact? you are cute, you're aware of that, but still, it's weird how she said it and... did it look like there was a hint of something else in her tone of voice when she said that?

You force a smile, trying to brush it off. “Thanks.”

You both sit in silence for a moment, a silence you really want to fill with literally anything else than this weird awkwardness.

Just when the awkward silence couldn't possibly get more awkward, a sudden cheer from the crowd interrupts your thoughts. They're all looking up at something on top of the stadium. You furrow your brows before looking up, trying to see what it is they're looking at.

Your eyes land on the huge TV that's attached to the ceiling, and you see the words ‘KISSING CAM’ flashing in bright letters. The camera pans through the crowd, searching for a couple, and it lands on a couple who's sitting not too far from you.

“KISS! KISS! KISS!” You look over at Vi and see her cupping her hands over her mouth. She's standing up and shouting at the couple to kiss.

You watch as the girl looks up and sees the camera pointed towards her and her boyfriend. She whispers something to him, and it doesn't take a genius to know what she just said. The guy grins and leans in, giving his girlfriend a sloppy, wet kiss.

The crowd goes crazy, cheering and whistling. The couple pulls away from each other, both of them smiling.

You look at Vi again, who's still standing up. She seems to be enjoying this a lot more than you are, and you can see hearts in her eyes.

Once it seems like the camera has recorded enough footage, it moves to the next couple.

It goes to a couple sitting not too far away from you. The guy looks uncomfortable, but his girlfriend is completely eager to show some public affection. She grabs his chin and kisses him, but it’s only a quick, chaste kiss.

Vi yells out, “Come on, put some effort into it!” and then she sits down, leaning back in the chair.

The camera pans through the crowd again, skipping over several couples until finally landing on a group of guys. They look like they're having the time of their life, yelling at the camera and making rude gestures.

“Ah, boys…” an older man next to you sighs.

The camera captures the guys for a while, they're all laughing and having a good time.

The camera moves away from the group of guys and lands on Vi and a girl sitting right next to her. 

Vi immediately makes some hand gestures, shaking her head and probably saying no. “We're not-” but before she can finish, the camera moves away from them, unsatisfied with this answer, and lands on the other girl sitting next to Vi.

You.

Fuck.

“KISS! KISS! KISS!” you hear someone, it sounds like the same person who cheered on the other couples.

You look over at Vi, who's watching you with this stupid smile on her face. You glare at her, she's clearly enjoying this way too much.

You lean over to her, through clenched teeth, you hiss, “This isn't funny.”

She shrugs, still smiling. “I think it is.”

“Well, I don't.” 

“It's only a kiss.”

“It’s still embarrassing.”

“Oh come on, it's Valentine's Day!” she replies. “What? are you worried that you'll suck at kissing or something?”

“Excuse me? I am an excellent kisser.”

“Oh yeah?” She quirks an eyebrow. “Then why are you so worried about this? it won't be some gross open mouth kiss, it'll be just a little peck.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “Because I don't want to be seen kissing in public, in front of hundreds of people,” you say, lowering your voice, “And I definitely do not want to kiss you.”

“Come on, you don't have to sound so disgusted by the idea of kissing me.”

“Because I am,” you say simply. “I don't want to kiss you anymore than you'd want to kiss me.”

“I never said I didn't want to kiss you.”

That statement takes you by surprise, you had just assumed that she would be grossed out by the thought of kissing you.

The chants start to get louder as more and more people join in. “KISS! KISS! KISS!”

You hear the same guy from before. “Kiss! c'mon! it's just a quick kiss, do it.”

You hear another girl from behind you. “Oh, come on! one little kiss! what's the big deal?”

It's no big deal. 

But at the same time, you're starting to panic. You don't even know how to act right now, are you supposed to play along with this? are you supposed to ignore it? what the hell is happening?!

Your brain is starting to mush into mush because why are so many people chanting? why are they making such a big deal out of this? it's just a kiss, right? right… so why are you so nervous?

You turn your head to see Vi looking at you, her eyes staring into your soul.

“A kiss on the cheek will do,” she says aloud.

You're going to die.

Your heart is going to explode right here, in the middle of the stadium, and then your guts are going to spill out right in front of everybody.

Maybe it's best just to get this over with?

All you have to do is... just a kiss on the cheek. That's it.

You just have to get it over with before this turns into something bigger.

You're not really gonna enjoy this, you'd just get the feeling like you should have brushed your teeth harder in the morning.

Vi's not even attractive in the way that you would want to kiss her cheek, her skin probably sucks from waking up in the mornings, there's no way she remembers to wash her hair at least three times a week. What about her breath? There is no way that she actually brushes her teeth every day. Her breath probably tastes like stale cheetos and mountain dew. There is no way you're gonna get a single bit of pleasure from kissing her cheek.

But you do it anyway.

You press a kiss on her cheek, and it's... warm, and they burn under your lips. The smell of her body spray isn't overwhelming. It's subtle and pleasant. Her hair isn't as greasy as you imagined, and it feels kinda nice when your fingers brush against the side of her face. Her breath doesn't even smell like mountain dew and cheetos, it's actually minty and fresh, like she just ate a pack of gum.

You pull your face away before you let your brain get to you, but you just keep looking at her face because there is this huge grin plastered on her face that makes your heart beat faster. Her cheeks look red, and the tips of her ears are even red too.

The crowd goes nuts. You can barely hear the music or the announcers over the chanting. The kiss had lasted all but a few seconds, but the feeling on your lips linger.

You're both looking at each other like you've just seen each other for the very first time.

She's actually gorgeous.

How is it possible that you only now realized how beautiful she looks?

You look away, but even in your peripheral vision, you can see her looking at you. There's still a stupid grin on her face, and she looks happy.

She's actually happy that you kissed her on the cheek.

—

You and Vi are sitting in the parking lot after the game ends. Vi had bought some $5 pizza, but since the place is packed, you're now sitting in the parking lot with Vi's motorcycle parked behind you.

“I'm gonna be honest,” Vi starts, her face twisted up as she chews on a slice of pizza. “This is the best meal I’ve ever had.”

You hum, nodding along.

Vi takes another bite, a big one, and chews on it, her cheeks stuffed. She swallows and sighs contently. “Man, I should have bought two boxes,” she grumbles, looking down at the one last slice left in the box. Then, she looks up, straight at you, and grins. “You want the last slice?” she offers, holding up the box with the slice still left in it.

You shake your head, and she looks at you with skepticism. “Are you sure you don't want it?”

“I had three slices already, I'm fine.”

Vi looks at the slice of pizza that's still in the box, then at you. She looks like she's considering something, then shrugs and pops the slice into her mouth. “Suit yourself,” she says, the words garbled since her mouth is still full of food.

Something about this moment feels... comfortable. Strangely comfortable.

It's weird. You don't understand why you don't feel threatened or uncomfortable or annoyed or any of those things, even though she's sitting right next to you.

But, oddly enough, you feel safe.

Or maybe that's just because you can't think of anything to say.

Or maybe it's because the silence isn't awkward.

Or maybe it's because you're distracted by the way she seems to enjoy her food.

Because... it's so... weirdly satisfying, watching her chew her food, watching her swallow, watching her use the back of her hand to wipe off the sauce on her chin.

You have no idea why you're paying attention to those little details.

But... you are.

You're not sure when you started paying attention to those.

You're not sure why you feel so comfortable around her right now.

You're not sure of a lot of things, actually.

You're not sure how to feel at the moment, or when your dislike of her had dwindled down to... whatever the hell this is, to whatever this weird, unfamiliar feeling in your chest is.

You're not sure why the corners of your lips keep trying to twitch upwards every time she makes some stupid face.

You're not sure why you're fine sitting in the freezing cold of the parking lot. Not even on the motorcycle, but on the cold ass ground, just sitting behind the motor, back leaned against it.

You're just fine sitting here, and you're just fine knowing that after this, you'll have to go back home and deal with a bunch of bullshit again.

You don't get it.

What changed?

She used to get on your nerves, and you used to get on hers.

She's still the same, isn't she?

And you're still the same.

Everything, suddenly, feels... different.

The air feels different, the atmosphere feels different, the whole world feels different.

The only thing that hasn't changed is her.

Well, no, that’s a lie.

She has changed.

She feels different.

She's not the same girl you can't stand.

And you're not the same girl she can't stand.

Everything is just different.

Maybe the two of you had changed.

But you're not sure how.

You're not even sure when you started noticing it.

But those little details about her, those little behaviors and quirks and habits that you used to find irritating and annoying… they're not bothering you anymore.

She's still a pain in the ass, but she's... well, a tolerable one.

For now.

You don't understand.

Or, rather, you won't allow yourself, at least not yet.

Because you're not sure how to process everything.

And, honestly, you're afraid to even try.

You look at her, still eating on the slice of pizza, and there's a small smear of sauce on the corner of her mouth. “You've got something on your face.”

She tilts her head. “I do? Where?”

Your eyes slowly move down, from her eyes to her nose, and then... her lips. Then, you notice something... freckles. She has freckles. little ones, spread across the bridge of her nose and cheeks, and they're… really cute, really, really-

What in ever loving hell are you thinking?

“Hello? you alive over there?”

You snap out of it. You're not about to let her see you be weak just because she happens to have a pretty face. “You had something right… here,” before she can respond, you raise your hand, reaching for her cheek. You wipe the sauce off the corner of her mouth with your thumb. Your thumb accidentally brushes against her lower lip, and something in your chest twitches. 

Vi freezes, her eyes widening as you touch her lips.

Everything feels... slower.

You can hear the sound of her breathing as she exhales, how it hitches when you brush your thumb along her lower lip.

You don't know how, or when, but you find yourself leaning closer to her, your hand still cupped on her cheek.

Her gaze flicks to your lips, her own parting slightly.

...

Holy shit.

You snatch your hand away, realizing what you just did.

Damn it, what the fuck?

You quickly stand up, trying to regain your composure. “I-” Your voice comes out as a croak. You clear your throat, trying to sound normal. “I should... get home. I think it's getting late.”

Vi is still sitting on the ground, and then she shakes her head, as if waking herself up. “...right. Yeah, it is getting late.” She slowly stands up.

“I... umm…” you start awkwardly. “I should-”

“I'll... drive you home,” she interrupts whatever you were about to say. 

Your head snaps up, surprised by the offer. “What? You don't have to-”

“I want to.” Her tone leaves no room for argument, so you shut your mouth. You don't want to prolong this weird, confusing moment anyway.

—

Vi's motorcycle comes to a stop in front of your house. The engine making that clunky, sputtering sound before it finally dies.

“We're here,” you say, trying to break the awkward silence that has been between the two of you since you got on the motorcycle.

You manage to finally slide off the motorcycle, but unfortunately, you're still attached to the helmet. You attempt to unbuckle the chin strap, but the damn thing seems to be glued to your head.

“Ugh, this piece of crap,” you mutter, struggling with it.

“Here, let me-” she cuts in, reaching for the straps.

“No, I got it,” you insist.

“I know you can, but let me.” 

You glare at her, feeling stubborn, but it's not like you're getting anywhere. “Fine.” You let your hands fall to your sides as she reaches for the straps.

She unbuckles it with ease, finally freeing your head from its confines.

You take the helmet off and give it to her, trying to not make eye contact. “Thanks.”

There's a moment of what could be an awkward silence before you both speak at the same time.

“So-”

“I-”

You cough awkwardly. “Go ahead.”

“No, you can speak first-”

“No, no, I insist. Go ahead-”

“I'm fine-”

“Stop being stubborn-”

“Says you-”

“Yeah, I am stubborn-"

“Shut up-”

“Make me-”

What did she say? Was that... an invitation?

“Are you challenging me-”

She snorts. “Pfft, no, that-”

“Then why would you say something like that?”

“I don't know, thought it'd be funny.”

“It wasn't.”

“It was a little funny.”

“No, it wasn't,” you scoff. “Whatever. You were saying?”

“Oh, yeah,” she replies, shifting on the motorcycle. “I just wanted to say…” Her gaze shifts from you to the side, then back to you. “I just wanted to... say that I had... fun today. Yeah…” She shrugs. “What about you? what were you sayin'?”

Huh. “I guess it wasn't the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

“Wow,” she says, deadpan. “So glad you're not completely miserable being around me.”

“Don't get your hopes up too high, it's just for today, remember?” you remind her.

“Yeah, I remember, I'm not an idiot.”

“Could have fooled me,” you retort, and a smirk makes its way to your face.

“Watch it,” she warns, the corners of her mouth curving upwards. “I'm only tolerating you today.”

“The feeling is mutual,” you quip back.

The two of you share a look and then start laughing. You're glad she's starting to loosen up a little.

“Alright alright, truce?” She holds out her fist.

You roll your eyes but bump your fist with hers anyway. “Truce.” 

There's another silence, but it doesn't feel... awkward like the last ones.

Then, she speaks up, “Well... I guess I should go.”

“Yeah,” you reply. “I guess you should.”

“See you at school, then?”

“Unfortunately,” you grumble. You take a step back, getting ready to turn around and head to the front door.

“Hey,” she suddenly says.

You glance back at her, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Can I…” she starts, then hesitates, “...can I ask you something?”

You shrug. “Yeah, go ahead.”

“Just... promise me you won't be mad,” she hedges, not quite looking at you directly.

“I'm not promising anything-”

“Just... humor me.”

“Fine. I promise I won't get mad.”

She takes a deep breath. “Do... do you… do you actually hate me?” You're silent for a moment, trying to find the words, but she starts backpedaling. “Ugh, never mind, I shouldn't have asked, forget it, it doesn't matter-”

“No, no-" you interject, “I don't- I don't hate you.”

“You don't?”

“No... I don't hate you.”

“You sure?” she presses, leaning forward on the motorcycle, resting her arms on the handlebars. “Then why are you always so pissy whenever you're around me?”

“I dont-” you start, then stop. “I'm not-” you start again and stop again. “Remember that time in science lab?”

“When we lit the bunsen burner, the table caught on fire, we got three detentions, and everyone thought we were going to be expelled?” she recalls.

“Yes… that time.”

“Seriously? that was months ago.”

“I never said I was the most forgiving person.”

“It was a mistake,” she points out. “I didn't mean to do it, I was just being stupid.”

“It was still your fault. You didn't look at the instructions.”

“I was distracted,” she counters.

“By what, your big brain? cause you definitely weren't paying attention to the experiment instructions.”

She looks away, shifting uncomfortably on her motorcycle. “Actually, I was distracted by something…” her eyes return to yours, “-someone.”

“You're making it sound like it was a person you were crushing on or something.”

She falls silent, looking away again.

Wait.

Hold on.

What?

“Wait—wait a minute,” you demand, walking closer to her.

“What?”

“You were being distracted because you were crushing on someone during the science lab? That was the reason that whole thing happened? You couldn't keep yourself from being distracted because you were crushing on someone?”

“That's not fair to say,” she protests.

“Not fair to say?” you repeat, scoffing. “I literally got three detentions because you were more interested in staring at someone-”

“Fine! Whatever. Maybe I was distracted, maybe I wasn't paying attention-” she admits defensively “-maybe I was looking at-” she cuts herself off again. “Whatever, I'm going home.” She starts her motorcycle, not glancing at you.

“Hey-” you reach out, grabbing her arm. “Wait.”

“What do you want?”

“What was that person's name?”

“What does it matter?”

“Cause, I have a hunch.”

“Care to share this hunch with me?”

“Uh, Caitlyn Kiramman…?”

She snaps her head to you, eyes tracing up and down. “Are you actually this clueless?” she sneers, then drives away, leaving you alone on the sidewalk.

“Hey!” you shout. “Seriously, what is your problem?” you call out after her. “We were having a decent conversation, why did you-”

Suddenly, she stops, braking abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk with a quick skid. Before you can say, or think, she has her motorcycle facing you once again. She swings her leg over and hops off, walking up to you with a determined look.

“You want to know my problem?” she asks, coming closer. “I'll tell you my problem.” She grabs your shoulders, forcing you to step back. “My problem is that it's been years. Years, and you still have no idea, do you? you're still just as clueless as always.”

“What are you-” you stumble, struggling to keep your footing. Her hands are tight around your shoulders, holding you in place.

“You keep saying I'm the one who causes trouble, I'm the one who always makes your life harder-” she continues. “But you-”

You manage to find your footing and look at her face.

“-don't seem to get that you're just as guilty of making my life miserable.”

“Vi-” you start, but she doesn't let you finish.

“Every time you smile at me, every time you look at me, every time you talk to me.” She shakes you. “Every time you do something stupid, which is all the goddamn time,” she spits. “You don't seem to get that it drives me insane.” She huffs, letting go of you. “I've been right in front of you this whole damn time, and you just didn't even-”

“Didn't what?”

“You had no idea, did you? You don't understand why I’m so damn irritable whenever I'm with you, you don't get why I'm always trying to pick fights, why I can't just be civil, why I can't just be normal around you… you just think I'm a jerk!”

“Well, maybe you are. You did just grab me like a fucking maniac.”

“Oh, shut up,” Vi snaps. “Just shut up for a second.”

You shut up.

She takes a deep breath. “You think I enjoy this?” she asks, and the question sounds genuine enough that you regret the ‘maybe you are’ comment.

She scoffs. “I don't. I wish more than anything that I could just be calm and civil and… and nice around you. But instead, I'm always getting into your face, I'm always picking at you, I'm always trying to piss you off, because it's the only goddamn way I can get your attention.”

“Any time I try to be normal around you,” she continues, “I get... I get ignored. You act like I'm not even there. But the second I get in your face, the second I do something stupid or obnoxious-” she gestures at herself, “-suddenly, you're right there. You're looking right at me, you're talking to me, for once, you're actually paying attention to me-”

“Why do you even care about my attention?!” You don't mean for it to come out as angry as it does, but the pure confusion you feel causes you to raise your voice.

Vi looks away, a frown twisting her lips, before she snaps her gaze back to you. She sounds oddly embarrassed when she speaks. “Maybe because I'm completely, miserably, head over heels in love with you, okay?!”

Wait... what the actual fuck?

Vi looks away, the words leaving her in a rush. “I'm in love with you,” she repeats, quieter and slower. “There's no maybe about it. I've literally been in love with you since middle school.”

“So, instead... instead of just telling me,” you start, “you... you decided to be a jerk to me for the past six years?!”

“I was twelve!” Now her attention is fully on you as she gestures at herself. “I was a dumb kid, I didn't know what to do, but I was desperate for you to notice me. Every time I tried being nice, I got ignored, so... I guess I decided that if you weren't going to notice me in a good way, then I was just gonna piss you off and make you notice me in a bad way.”

“And then, I just kept doing it,” she continues, “because then, you would notice me, and you'd talk to me, and at least you weren't ignoring me. It became a habit. It was the same damn cycle every day. So, you know, I'm sorry if I don't suddenly know how to behave like a normal goddamn human being around you.”

She looks at you defiantly, she's expecting a fight, an argument, and the last thing she expects is for you to... laugh

You laugh. You don't laugh because you think it's funny, you laugh because you're so unbelievably shocked and overwhelmed that the only thing you can do is laugh. You try to cover it up, you try to muffle your laugh by bringing your hand to your mouth, but it's too late, you've already laughed.

“Why are you laughing?” she asks. “I'm being serious, okay? this isn't a joke, it's not some sort of prank. I am dead serious—I just confessed to you, and you start laughing? Jesus, you're actually heartless, you-”

You manage to get your laughter under control, your body still shaking with a few silent chuckles, but you manage to speak in between your breaths. “You have the worst-” and another chuckle, “-worst timing, I swear to god.”

“Oh I'm so sorry that my confession didn't please all of your fucking needs,” Vi says sarcastically, “but I've spent god knows how long in love with you, and I just had to take my shot. And what are you doing? You're laughing at me. Because your pride can't stand-”

“Would you shut up for like two seconds?!” you snap, cutting off her rant in an instant. “I'm not laughing because you confessed to me, okay?!”

“Then why are you laughing, huh? why is this so funny to you? because I don't find it very funny-”

“Because-” you sigh, and you're actually surprised by how... nervous you suddenly feel. “I never expected this, okay? I never expected you to actually... feel that type of way about me, and to top that, you're confessing to me in the stupidest way possible.”

“I didn't plan on confessing to you at all!” she protests. “It just... kind of happened. Plus, you've never been too keen on me.”

“I-” you begin because 'not keen on you' feels like an understatement. You've never liked her, or rather you've never let yourself even consider her as an option because your heart was set on one person only. “I just need some time to... process this.”

Vi scoffs, her face looking annoyed again. “You need time to process this? what's there to process? I just told you how I feel about you.”

“Yeah, well, I need to process that! Because you just dumped a lot of information on me, and right now I'm-” You pause, trying to pick just the right word. “...overwhelmed, okay?”

Vi's features soften, not quite fully, but just enough to show a little bit of sympathy. “Overwhelmed,” she repeats.

“Yeah…” you reply, “I mean... you just confessed to me, and I... I've never-” you gulp. “-I've never really thought of you... that way.”

“Never thought of me, or never let yourself think of me?”

Okay, woah, that's... a very accurate question.

She's right, and it's scary that she just pointed that out.

Maybe in the back of your head, you've wondered things, you've had thoughts, but it was all so brief, you've always been quick to brush them away. It never even crossed your mind that maybe you had been missing out on something.

You're not sure how to reply, and it gives Vi a chance to continue talking.

“You never let yourself think of me like that, huh?” she continues, “That's pretty sad, because I've literally been in love with you for the past six years.”

“Don't guilt trip me,” you snap. “It's not like I asked you to fall in love with me, is it?”

“I'm not guilt tripping you. I'm just trying to get you to understand how I feel. I'm just trying to make you see that I...care about you, okay? I'm not trying to—ugh!” She groans, rubbing a hand over her face. “I'm screwing this up, I'm screwing everything up, because apparently I suck at confessing and you… you mess with my head.”

“I mess with your head?” you repeat. “You're the one who's messing with my head! You're the one who's messing with my emotions, you—you just turned my entire life upside down, and you expect me to respond to it perfectly?!”

“Not perfectly!” she retorts. “You're seriously not getting it, are you? All I want is for you to-”

“What do you want then? you want me to say that I feel the same way about you? that I've secretly been in love with you for years and never said anything?”

“No, that's not what I— that's not what I want you to say at all!” She runs her fingers through her hair and pushes it out of her face because the haircut she has gets everywhere. “All I want you to say is that you'll even consider me as an option! I just want you to give me a chance. Is that so much for me to ask for?”

You groan to yourself. “Look, if you like me that much, then maybe you should at least make an effort… and then maybe... I'll give you a chance!” With that, you walk towards the front door.

Vi doesn't respond, not immediately, she just stands there watching you leave, a stunned look on her face. But she manages to shake herself out of that stupor in time to follow you.

“Are you serious...?"

“You want me? You gotta work for it,” you respond without slowing your footsteps.

“Woah woah woah, what? work for it?” she sputters, trying to keep up with you. “What more do you want from me?”

“I want-” You stop in front of the door, suddenly turning around to her. “-I want you to prove how serious you are. Just confessing to me isn't going to change everything, and if you're being serious,” you jab a finger to her chest, “then prove it.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to prove myself, huh? Please, tell me, because I'm really at a loss here.”

“I don't know, figure it out.” You shrug. “You claim to be in love with me, right? and if that really were the case, then you have six whole years worth of feelings inside that-” you point at her “-that heart of yours, and you better damn use it.”

“Fine,” she says, and her tone is determined. “You want me to prove it? I'll prove it. I'll prove it so much, you're going to be drowning in how much I prove it. I'm going to do everything just to win your heart. Just watch.”

That sounds cheesy, but... you'd be lying if you said you weren't intrigued. You scoff, turning around and opening the door, but not before saying, “We'll see about that.”

—

Vi stares at the closed door, her thoughts completely occupied with your words.

Prove it.

She shakes her head, a grin on her face as she walks back to her motor.

You and her have had a rocky past, but she's determined to wipe the slate clean.

Vi swings her leg over her motor. She grips the handles tightly and starts the ignition.

She's going to start from the ground zero with you.

And by god, she will prove herself.

[4chensungs]

just got an idea how about a one-shot of giving js the best head and you both know you give the best head but HE doesn't know he's also the best at eating you out so he rarely does that but he accidentally catches you ranting to of your friends about how much you miss him eating you out cuz his lips are so plump so it feels just PERFECT UUUGGHHH PLZ

notes: anon the wait is FINALLY over. thank you sm for the request i had the time of my life writing this <3

18+. smut. oral (f. receiving.) just overall messy.

-

what a crazy day when your boyfriend came home after spending a whole week, seven days overseas for one of his schedules. crazy how you wasted no time the moment he got there in getting on your knees and sucking him off, your favorite activity to do cause you're simply the best.

"fuuuck oh my god i'm going-" you cut jisung off when you trailed your lips to the underside of his dick, letting a out trail of spit to drip onto his shaft. you hum, mouth full of him - so good at teasing.

jisung groans nonstop, keeping your hair tangled in his long fingers to help you, fingers that you wish were inside you right now.

so in that day, when you sucked him off til he came two times in your mouth, you left unsatisfied. and wet.

panties all sticky, needy pussy asking silently for his attention. his mouth, moist and plump lips that make you go feral.

the question kept replaying in your head, why do you seem to enjoy giving head more than he does?

why are you the only one that makes sure to put your mouth on him to work?

-

"i'm sure he loves it, look at him. he's so whipped for you." one of your friends said. you had your phone in hand, the voices being heard through the other side of the voice call.

you spoke lowly, "i just.. just miss it. and i don't know how to tell him."

"oh cmon! he's your boyfriend. offer him some pussy and he'll go down on you immediately."

god. you ended the call just when jisung left the bathroom, being met with your figure sprawled on his bed. running his hands through his hair and looking at you with a sharp, interesting grin.

you smiled too, getting up a bit to lay with your head on the headboard.

"ji." your voice cracked. dumb, stupid because of him.

he got on the bed, crawling to your body. you were actually so innocent, the thought that he might've heard your call went missed by you.

he just grabbed your hands to pull your body closer and off the sheets, his lips meeting yours in a tender, warm kiss. jisung was always this sweet.

"why didn't you tell me, baby?" jisung leans away, his voice was quiet, tone sincere.

your lips were pressed in a thin line, and instead of answering him, you just lay back and part your legs, slowly - inviting him.

jisung hums in approval at the scene you're giving him, baby pink panties peeking out from your sleeping shorts as you give him the perfect view. the pair he bought for you.

he sighs before getting comfortable between your legs, big hands pulling them apart - chest pressed onto the mattress while his lips meet the skin of your thighs.

"i'm such an asshole." his pointed nose brushes up and down on your soft flesh.

you hold back a whine, "n- no ji you're not.. don't say that"

"didn't give my princess the attention she deserves. i'm s' sorry- shit."

jisung pulls your shorts off in an instant, your legs closing involuntarily at the sudden arousal that builds up your body and senses.

"it's okay ji, really... feels good."

he parts your legs again, pressing one knee to your still covered chest as the other leg went to rest around his head.

his glasses fogged up as he kisses your awaiting cunt through the already damp material of your panties - the lacy pink, he chose with so much love for his princess to look pretty for him.

"can't live without this pretty pussy mhm i'm sorry, love." he mumbles in your core.

one finger hooks around the edge of your underwear, pulling it to the side to give him direct contact to your sweet wet spot.

"she’s so fucking beautiful."

this time you couldn't hold back a moan, hand coming to mess with his darkish hair and just as you were about to push him straight into your cunt, he was faster - licking all the way from your pussy up to your clit.

"ji fuck! ji- "

you tried to breath but it was hard, he was really making up to you. he meant it.

jisung leans his mouth away just to throw his glasses on the other side of the bed - big fingers now spreading your pussy open to give him better access.

“jisung mgh stop- wait sungie!” you squirm, hands gripping the sheets when he sucks your clit into his mouth, repeating this process tons of times til he notices you’re getting close.

he kisses your clit, tongue darting out to lick it, “want to make you know that i’m in love with you and this sweet pussy. always been.”

you cry out, hands shaking and throat hoarse from moaning his name. your mind’s all blurry, the smooching wet sounds of his plump and red lips eating you out like you were really the tastiest thing on earth.

the friction was so strong that you couldn’t help but slowly start moving your hips on your boyfriend’s face, riding his perfect features - feeling his nose bumping and his saliva and spit wetting your whole cunt.

that’s what you missed. messy, just how you crave it. and jisung seems to love this just as much as you do.

“fuck, princess. so wet, yeah?” he tries to sooth you by rubbing his huge hands on your waist and hips.

two more minutes and you’d cum, but he stopped.

you looked down at him between your legs. the loss of contact made you pout, whining like a baby.

“ji.. please.”

jisung eyes you, massages your swollen pussy with two fingers for a minute before getting up to meet your face, cute begging eyes staring at his, a little drool on your chin from how you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.

he smiles, “you’re the prettiest, so gorgeous.” tucking the stray hairs out of your face.

jisung lands a kiss, two, three kisses on your lips, a blush growing on both of your cheeks - “let me suck you o-“

“no, love. i want to make this all about you.”

you blush again, messing with the fabric of his black hoodie to pull him closer when he starts to trail his wet kisses down to your jaw, neck, chest, stomach.

and in fact, he made sure that itd be all about you. making you cum so easily on his fingers at first, then his tongue. all the rounds of him fucking you and you just kept cumming on his cock. so it went.

© 4chensungs

[steddieprompts]

Steddie; 1925 words; friends to lovers; belated valentine's day.

Eddie paced into his room and then back out into the hallway. Turned. Paced back into his room. Cracked the knuckles on his right hand. Turned. Paced back out into the hallway.

It was a good thing Wayne was at work or else he would make some remark about Eddie pacing a hole into the hallway floor.

He turned into the kitchen, grabbed the honeycombs out of the cabinet and shoved his hand in the box, scooping out a handful before returning to the hallway. Into his room. Eat a few honeycombs. Turn. Back out into the hallway. Eat a few more. Turn. Back into his room. Eat the rest of the honeycombs.

His eyes landed on a notebook on his desk.

Mrs. Laski, his fifth grade English teacher, had told him to write when he couldn’t figure out what else to do.  He had a suspicion it was just her way of keeping him in his seat and quiet but that didn’t matter right now.

He didn’t know what to do, and there was a notebook.

He plopped himself down at his desk and flipped open the notebook, turning pages until he found one that didn’t already have notes and drawings scribbled all over them.

2/10/88

I’m gonna kill Jefferson.

Eddie sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose for a second before putting pen to paper again.

Why would he say I’m in love with Steve?  He talks about Kevin from his ridiculous band camp way more than he talks about Barb and he and Bard are dating!  Just because I talk about Steve every once in a while…

Just, where does he get off pointing it out?

Eddie bit his lip tapping his pen against the notebook probably about as fast a hummingbirds wings, his knee doing its best to keep up under the desk.

I don’t even… I’m not looking for a relationship. Haven’t even thought about it.

But now, dear Jeffery has gone and put this idea in my head and it’s growing like cancer. It’s probably going to start dripping out of my ears all soft and mushy.

Steve Harrington.

<3 <3

The problem – the fucking annoying, needling, migraine inducing problem – is that he’s right.  As soon as he said it, I knew. Why didn’t I know before?

Eddie dropped his head to his desk and let out a tortured groan.  This morning, he was the same Eddie Munson he had been for years… well, ever since he survived a trip to an alternate dimension with 20% more scare tissue than he had before.  He was fine this morning and then Jeff had to open his mouth after the campaign.  Eddie had harmlessly mentioned that Steve applied for a job at the fitness place opening up across town and Jeff came back with, “Does Steve know how much you love him?”

Eddie was pretty sure he meant it as a joke… was 75% sure.  But it put the idea in his head and now…

Eddie picked up his head and wrote with so much force that it probably made a dent in the next five pages:

I’m in love with Steve Goddamn Harrington.

Eddie stared at the words… ran a finger over them, the ink smudging a little, feeling the indents of the letters; smiled a little.  He skipped a line and kept writing:

I’ve never considered what being in love would be like.  Never really been interested enough.  Now that I think about it though, I think I’ve loved Steve for a long time.  I mean, he saved my life… so that definitely has something to do with it…

But at the same time, that’s not it at all.

Steve is…

Eddie looked around his room.  On his nightstand was a baseball that Steve had brought over one day and just left there.  Whenever Steve visits he picks the ball up, lays back on Eddie’s bed and tosses the ball up and down, up and down, never once missing a catch and hitting himself in the face like Eddie is pretty sure would happen to him if he tried it.

His eyes drifted over to his closet, where one of Steve’s swim team shirts hangs on a hook.  He loaned it to Eddie one day when they were swimming and he just… never gave it back.

He knows that under his bed is a box of Steve’s personal stuff.  He brought it over one night when he thought his parents were going to kick him out and Eddie promised he could always stay with him and Wayne if he needed.  Steve didn’t stay more than two days, but the box never left.  Steve said he felt better leaving it with Eddie.  Eddie respected Steve enough to never snoop around in it.

Steve is kind.  He’s too kind sometimes and it makes me wonder how he survived his parents; survived all that shit that happened in ’84, ’85, ’86.  Sometimes I can see it in his eyes.  When he thinks no one is looking he gets this thousand-yard stare and I know he’s somewhere else, hearing echoes and seeing ghosts.

And he’s so strong.  He’s told me about the nightmares, the things that happened to him, and how much he longs to get the hell away from this shit-hole town. But not until the kids are gone.  Not until Robin and Nancy are settled somewhere far away from here.  Not until he knows that everyone is safe. I asked him when that would be, and I swear I saw his spine bend further under the pressure of it all. When is anyone ever safe?

Eddie’s eyes drifted to the corner of his desk.  Tucked under another notebook was a newspaper ad for a car dealership, where Eddie knew Steve had circled the truck he ended up buying.  Eddie asked if he was turning into some kind of country boy.  Steve shrugged and said, “It’ll come in handy when Robin goes to college after her gap year.”

Eddie also knew there was an aborted half circle around a used RV.  He knew Steve wanted to travel, to see something outside of Hawkins. To do something normal and distracting and fun.  Go somewhere he could relax and not worry.  Eddie was accosted with a memory of himself and Steve, parked in the van on the side of a backroad, looking out into a freshly cut wheatfield as the sun set. The orange and red coloring the side of Steve’s face as a soft breeze carried the last traces of summer warmth into the back of the van and Steve closed his eyes against it.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

I think I love Steve because… Because he’s like Aragorn. It sounds corny and stupid but… Aragorn does everything for the people he loves. Only becomes king because he knows that others might use the same power for evil. Carries the horrors of war with him but doesn’t lean on anyone that can’t hold his weight. And Steve does that.  He loves fiercely but in a way that can only be seen if you’re looking for it.  He’s loyal to his friends. He carries so much weight for the ones he loves.

And I think I’ve realized, though I’ve known in the back of my head for a while, that I always want to be by his side, to hold him up if he needs me.  Because I know he would do the same.

Someone knocking at the door startled Eddie out of his thoughts.  He dropped the pen on the notebook and hopped up out of the chair.

He hardly had time to process the fact that it was Steve on the other side of the door before he spoke.

“I got the job.”

It took Eddie a minute to process but when his mind caught up he threw his fists in the air before launching himself out of the door and wrapping his arms around Steve, the force of his hug knocking Steve back a step.

“Jesus,” He heard Steve chuckle before he turned his head an planted a comedically loud kiss to the side of Steve’s face.

“Dude!” Steve groaned, shoving him away but not losing the stupid grin as he wiped at the side of his face.

“Come on, Steve-o, let’s celebrate.” Eddie grinned, pulling Steve into the trailer and Steve let himself be pulled.

Eddie bounced down the hall into his bedroom, pulling his lunchbox off its shelf in the closet.

“Munson, they’re gonna drug test me tomorrow.”  Steve said from the doorway of Eddie’s room where he was pulling off his Family Video vest.

“God, you’re not even getting a paycheck yet and already they’re ruining your fun.”  Eddie groaned, putting the lunchbox back where he got it.  Steve threw the vest on Eddie’s bed before picking up the baseball.  “Can you drink?  Or will they sense the debauchery in your urine?”

“Uhg, why’d you have to use that word?”

“What, debauchery?’”

“No, ‘urine.’”

Eddie cackled.  “Should I have said piss?”  He rounded the bed and headed for the hallway.  “Fluids? Excretions?”

“You’re disgusting!” Steve shouted at him as he made his way to the kitchen.

Eddie smiled to himself as he opened the fridge, pulling out four beers before grabbing the cheese puffs out of the cabinet.

“It’s too bad it’s a Tuesday or we could go to the hideout and weasel free drinks out of Linda. You know she can’t resist…”  Eddie stopped dead in the doorway because there, sitting at his desk, was Steve, notebook in hand, eyes on the page.

“Shit,” involuntarily left Eddie’s mouth as he almost dropped one of the beers.  Steve didn’t look up, didn’t even move, just kept reading.

Eddie threw the beers and puffs on the bed before taking a couple of stuttering steps towards Steve.

“Stevie? Uh, that’s…” That’s what? What could he possibly say right now that would explain the words on the page as anything but what they were.  “I can…”

Steve held up a finger and Eddie froze, stopped talking because what else could he do?  He watched as Steve’s eyes moved line by line down the page, finger held up with the ball still in his hand like some sort of sports wizard casting a spell on Eddie to keep him silent and still.

He reached the end. Put the notebook down. Dropped his hand. And finally turned to Eddie.

“Do you mean it?  All of that?”  Steve asked, eyes locked on Eddie’s.

“Yeah. All of it.” Eddie replied past the lump in his throat.

Eddie watched as Steve slowly got up from the chair, placing the ball on the desk before taking the one step that placed him squarely in front of Eddie.

“You know, Valentine’s day is coming up, and I know it’s not your favorite holiday but uh…”  Steve slipped his hands into Eddie’s “Would you like to spend it with me?”

Eddie smiled, leaning into Steve’s gravity. “Only if you buy me one of those cheesy, drug-store teddy bears.”

“Deal.”  Steve grinned back before he was pulling Eddie’s hands, tilting his head just so and murmuring “I love you, too” before sealing his confession against Eddie’s lips.

When they broke apart Eddie squinted at him.  “I can’t believe you snooped in my personal writings.”

“I can’t believe you needed Jeff to tell you that you loved me.”

“I take it back, I’m not going out with you.”  Eddie grumbled.

“Yeah, right.” Steve laughed before kissing Eddie again.

[moonlitstoriess]

Heyyy so I saw you wanting to write more for Kallias, and idk I just saw this soul shattering tiktok and the winter faerie actually reminded me of Kallias (yk because.. winter.. yh) … this is not a direct ask but maybe it can inspire you for further Kallias fics https://vm.tiktok.com/ZNeoxbvYr/ much much love, I really enjoyed your latest work with Kallias, you portrayed him so beautifully 🫶🏼

When the Ice Cracks- Kallias x fem!reader (oneshot)

Summary: Y/N, a bubbly healer, is summoned to treat the cold, brooding High Lord of Winter. Determined to befriend him, she pushes past his icy walls—until he finally breaks her spirit with cruel words. When she withdraws, Kallias tells himself it’s for the best… until he realizes he misses her warmth. Now, he must mend what he shattered before it’s too late.

Warnings: angst, mentions of injuries, fluff in the end, also I apologize in advance if you do not like my writing in this one cuz I am currently dealing with a painful eye infection which caused me to delay everything and idk if this will live up to the expectations you guys😔

See masterlist

A/N: Hi! The video was really something, the pain I felt as I watched it…😭 but it did give me an idea, although a different one but with enough angst loll. Also, thank you for the love, it makes me truly happy knowing my work is being appreciated<3

The apothecary chamber was warm, despite the eternal cold of the Winter Court just beyond its frost-laced windows. The scent of crushed herbs and simmering tonics swirled in the air, wrapping Y/N in a comforting embrace as she worked, carefully grinding a handful of dried roots into a fine powder. The mortar and pestle moved rhythmically in her hands, the familiar motion grounding her as she hummed softly to herself.

Healing had always been her purpose. From the moment she discovered her gift—the ability to soothe pain with a touch, to knit together flesh and bone with her power—it had felt like breathing. But talent alone was never enough. She had clawed her way through the ranks, training tirelessly under the best healers of the Winter Court, proving herself again and again until there had been no choice but to acknowledge her skill. Now, she was the youngest to ever hold the title of Master Healer, a position of high honor within the court.

The title had come with its share of challenges. The Winter Court was not an easy place for someone like her—a female who spoke too freely, smiled too easily, and refused to be swallowed by the cold, unspoken rules of the icy kingdom. She knew she was different from the others who served in Kallias’s court. Most healers were quiet, composed, reserved. Y/N? She talked too much. She got too close. She teased the soldiers she patched up, fussed over the sentries when they neglected their wounds, and made even the gruffest warriors crack a reluctant smile.

Warmth had always been her way. And warmth was not often welcomed in a place ruled by ice.

But she had earned her place. Through skill, through sheer willpower, through proving time and time again that she belonged.

She exhaled slowly, tipping the powdered root into a steaming vial, watching as the tonic darkened into a rich amber hue. This one would be useful—an enhanced healing elixir, meant to speed up the mending of deep wounds. She had been experimenting with stronger potions lately, determined to push the limits of her craft.

She reached for another vial, about to measure out the next ingredient, when—

“Y/N!”

The sharp call shattered the quiet, making her jolt so hard she nearly sent the entire potion spilling across the table. She twisted around, heart hammering, to find Healer Maerith standing in the doorway, her usually composed face drawn tight with urgency.

Y/N frowned, wiping her hands on her apron. “Maerith? What—”

“You are needed,” the older healer interrupted, breathless, her thick furs rustling as she strode into the room. “Immediately.”

Y/N straightened, brows knitting. “Needed for what?”

Maerith’s icy blue eyes met hers, and when she spoke, Y/N’s stomach dropped.

“The High Lord has been injured.”

For a moment, she could only stare. The words didn’t make sense. Kallias? Injured? The High Lord of Winter was a warrior, one of the most powerful High Lords in all of Prythian. She had never—never—been summoned to treat him before.

“I—” she started, struggling to process it. “What happened? Is he—”

“There’s no time for questions,” Maerith snapped, already moving toward the door. “Gather your supplies and get to his chambers. Now.”

Y/N barely hesitated. Years of training, of discipline, took over. She grabbed her satchel, shoving in every tonic, poultice, and salve she could think of—something for pain, something for wounds, something for internal injuries in case it was worse than they were letting on.

Her mind raced as she slung the heavy leather strap over her shoulder and sprinted out of the room, Maerith’s words echoing in her head.

The High Lord has been injured.

Her boots pounded against the marble floors as she tore through the palace corridors, weaving past startled servants and guards. The familiar halls felt different now, heavier, filled with an almost suffocating tension.

How had it happened? A training accident? An attack? Was it serious?

The thought made her pulse stutter. She had treated hundreds of warriors, seen males with grievous wounds, but this—this was different. This was the ruler of their court, their kingdom. And she had no idea what to expect when she reached his chambers.

One thing was certain, though.

She was about to come face-to-face with the High Lord of Winter himself.

Pain throbbed in his side, deep and unrelenting.

Kallias sat stiffly in the high-backed chair near the roaring fireplace of his chambers, his jaw tight as he pressed a cloth against the wound that refused to heal. Blood had long since soaked through the fabric, staining his fingers a deep crimson, but still, the gash remained. Even with his Fae healing, even with his magic, the injury lingered—mocking him.

He exhaled sharply, tilting his head back against the chair, ice creeping along the edges of the wound in a feeble attempt to numb the pain. How had it come to this?

A routine patrol beyond the palace walls, that was all it had been. He had been investigating strange reports near the northern borders when a group of rogue Fae attacked. Rogues. In his court. It infuriated him. They had been strong—trained, even—but not stronger than him. Kallias had made quick work of them, his ice shattering bones, freezing bodies where they stood.

But one had gotten close. One had touched him.

A poisoned blade, slashing across his ribs before he cut the male down where he stood. He hadn’t felt it at first, the cold consuming his rage, his focus on eliminating every last one of them. But then, as the bodies lay frozen at his feet, the pain had set in. The wound had burned, spread, and despite every attempt to use his magic to seal it, it would not close.

He clenched his teeth, fingers curling into a fist as frustration curled in his gut. He loathed being touched, and now his own mistake—the one moment he had let his guard slip—had left him with no choice but to endure it.

A healer had to see to him.

Kallias could hardly stomach the idea. He was High Lord of the Winter Court, the most powerful male in this palace, and now he sat injured like some weakling in his own chambers. It should have healed by now. But it hadn’t. Which meant he had to tolerate someone else's hands on him.

He exhaled sharply, preparing himself. At the very least, he knew the healer would be professional—quiet, efficient, distant, like all the others who served under him.

Then, the doors burst open.

"Master Healer Y/N, my lord," a voice announced before the heavy doors shut once more.

Kallias barely had a second to process the name before she stepped in.

His first thought was that she did not look like a healer. Or at least, not like any healer he had encountered before.

The female before him—Y/N—was not reserved. She did not carry the cold demeanor of his court. No, she radiated warmth.

Bright eyes, a quick, eager smile. Her hair was slightly tousled, a satchel slung over her shoulder, filled with an assortment of tonics, bandages, and salves. She was smaller than he expected but walked with a confidence that somehow filled the room.

And then she bowed—deeply, properly—before flashing him that same, blinding smile.

"My lord! An honor, truly. You’re my first High Lord patient, you know? What a milestone! And what a lovely room—I should’ve guessed it would be grand, of course, you’re the High Lord, but still! Very cozy for such a serious place."

Kallias just stared.

She moved toward him with an energy that was… unnatural for the Winter Court. His people did not behave this way. Healers did not behave this way.

Was she… babbling?

She reached his side, dropping to a crouch beside his chair. “Now, let’s see—oh! Wait. Sorry, my lord, I got ahead of myself. Where was the injury again?”

Kallias blinked at her.

What. The. Hell.

For a long moment, he didn’t respond, only studying her as his brain tried to process what had just happened. No one had ever spoken to him like that. Not a courtier, not a soldier, and certainly not a healer.

She didn’t cower, didn’t hesitate, didn’t treat him like some untouchable force of nature.

And gods help him, a part of him almost found it… endearing.

He shoved the thought away immediately.

Wordlessly, he lifted his hand from the wound, exposing the long, deep gash along his ribs.

Her eyes widened.

A gasp left her lips, so dramatic it made something in him twitch. "By the Cauldron! This is terrible. Absolutely terrible. No wonder your magic isn’t closing it—look at that! That’s not just a wound, my lord, that’s a full-on crisis!"

His nostrils flared as he tried not to react.

She was already rummaging through her bag, muttering under her breath. "My great-great-grandfather had a wound like this once, you know? Not poisoned, but deep enough that it wouldn’t close—granted, he was a fisherman, not a High Lord, but still. Oh! And this reminds me of that soldier from the southern border last spring, nasty gash, nearly lost his whole side—poor guy, cried like a baby, but don’t worry, my lord, I’m sure you’ll handle this much better than he did."

What. The. Hell. Was. Happening.

She was still talking as she placed a warm, gentle hand over the wound. He barely had a second to brace himself before power pulsed from her palm.

White-hot pain lanced through him, burning from the inside out. A sharp hiss escaped through his teeth, his body instinctively jerking at the sensation.

“Oh! Sorry, sorry! I know it hurts," she said quickly, not stopping. "It’s the first part of the healing process, the pain means it’s working—”

“Just do your damn job,” he snapped.

Her hands stilled for a second.

Then—to his utter disbelief—she laughed.

A bright, unapologetic laugh.

“Alright, alright, High Lord of Impatience, I’ll be quick,” she teased, carefully pressing her hand back to the wound. “No need to get all grumpy.”

Kallias barely managed to bite back his shock.

No one. No one spoke to him that way.

Yet this strange, bubbly, utterly unafraid healer did so without hesitation.

He didn’t know whether to be infuriated or intrigued.

She worked efficiently, despite her chatter, cleaning the wound, applying some sort of cooling salve before carefully wrapping the bandages around his torso. Her touch was gentle, careful—not the cold, clinical detachment he was used to.

When she finished, she straightened, brushing her hands off and nodding in satisfaction. "Alright, my lord! You’re all patched up. Now, since this wound is serious, I’ll be checking on you daily to ensure proper healing. You’ll need to rest, no strenuous activity, and absolutely no magic use on the injury—magic interference could worsen the effects. Take this tonic twice a day, avoid anything too cold—oh wait, your whole court is cold, hmm—well, maybe don’t sit in the snow for too long. And—”

She paused, realizing she was still talking.

She gave him a sheepish smile.

“Oh. Uh—sorry, my lord.” She bowed deeply. “I’ll… take my leave now.”

And just like that, she whirled around and left as quickly as she had come, the door clicking shut behind her.

Silence settled in his chambers.

Kallias just sat there, stunned, trying to process what the hell had just happened.

His gaze flickered to the door, as if expecting her to burst back in with another round of chatter.

She didn’t.

And yet—for some godsdamned reason, his chambers suddenly felt much colder.

The soft sound of the door clicking behind her echoed down the empty hallway. Y/N let out a long breath, her fingers trembling slightly as she straightened her robe and took a moment to steady her thoughts. The High Lord's chambers were eerily quiet, and now that she was outside, the weight of the moment hit her. She had never, in all her years as a healer, been summoned to tend to a High Lord—especially not Kallias, Lord of Winter.

She had always heard the rumors: Kallias was cold, distant, and completely unapproachable. His icy powers were a reflection of his personality—a male who trusted no one, who allowed only the bare minimum of interaction. She had always thought, maybe even hoped, that she wouldn’t be the one to face him. But here she was, having just treated his wound, with nothing but the cold, sterile scent of the palace halls to remind her of it.

It was strange, really. She had been nervous walking in, of course—who wouldn't be? But when she saw him, sitting there, with that sharp, regal posture, she couldn’t help but feel an odd sense of calm settle over her. She had seen plenty of injured soldiers and nobles in her time, but Kallias was different. His gaze had been piercing, his silence unnerving, but she had managed to push past it. Maybe it was her natural exuberance, or maybe it was the quiet desperation inside of her that made her speak to him so freely. But once she started talking, she couldn't stop. It was as if she couldn’t help herself—he was so cold, so distant, that she wanted to break through that ice, even if it meant talking his ear off.

Her stomach twisted as she walked down the hall, the heels of her boots clicking softly against the stone. The image of him—his sharp, icy eyes, the tension in his posture—kept replaying in her mind. And yet, despite his cold exterior, she found herself thinking about him. Was it the way he seemed so unaffected by her? Or was it the strange feeling that had settled in her chest when she’d touched his skin to heal him, when his sharp hiss had cut through the silence?

She ran a hand through her hair, sighing. She hadn’t intended to make a spectacle of herself. She had never acted so loosearound a patient before. But something about Kallias had made her lose her usual professionalism. She had simply been… herself. And she couldn’t decide if she regretted it or not.

As she reached her chambers, Y/N quickly removed her healing satchel from her shoulder, placing it on the small table by the window. Her mind was still buzzing, and her hands itched to keep busy. She grabbed a small vial of herb tonic from the shelf, staring down at it for a long moment. The liquid inside shimmered in the low light, a soft blue-green glow. She started preparing another tonic to keep herself distracted, her movements swift and practiced as she crushed the dried herbs. But her mind was elsewhere.

It was silly, really. She had treated countless soldiers, nobles, even the occasional member of the court. But something about Kallias was… different. The way he’d stared at her when she had walked in—no one looked at her like that. It was the look of a man who had lived through decades of isolation, someone who was both imposing and dangerous, but there was also something else. Curiosity, perhaps? Or maybe it was just her imagination running wild.

She cursed herself for allowing her thoughts to wander back to him. Why was she even thinking about him? It wasn’t like he had shown her any kindness. In fact, he had barely spoken to her. That bitter coldness had wrapped around him like a blanket, and she had been the one to dive right into it. It was foolish. But then again, maybe she hadn’t been entirely wrong in doing so. He had let her heal him. He hadn’t called for another healer, and he hadn’t thrown her out. Maybe that was something, wasn’t it?

Y/N suddenly stopped mid-motion, her eyes wide. Was she sighing over Kallias? Her face flushed with embarrassment as she forced her mind back to her work. She would need to check on him tomorrow—his wound was deep, and it was going to take more than just a quick treatment to heal.

She gathered her thoughts, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling swirling in her stomach. Tomorrow would be another day. The High Lord was injured, yes, but he was just another patient. Another patient she needed to focus on. And when she went back to see him, she would keep things professional. No more talking, no more trying to break through his icy facade. She needed to be a healer, not a friend.

Her stomach twisted again as her mind flashed back to the way he had hissed when she touched him, the sharpness of it cutting through the air. It was as if she had momentarily crossed a boundary—one that he hadn’t allowed anyone to cross for a long time.

Y/N bit her lip, pushing the thoughts away. Tomorrow, she’d focus on the wound. Tomorrow, she’d make sure it healed properly, and nothing more. That was the job. That was what she was here for.

Y/N walked briskly down the palace corridors, the scent of morning dew still lingering in the air despite the heavy chill that seemed to follow the Winter Court even in the early hours. Her thoughts were consumed by the High Lord’s injury and how her treatment of it had left a curious impression on her. She had not expected the wound to be so severe, nor had she anticipated the subtle tension that had grown between her and Kallias during their brief interaction.

She had been awake since the crack of dawn, preparing her usual healing supplies, trying to find a quiet moment to gather her thoughts. But now, here she was, making her way to the High Lord's chambers to check on his recovery. She couldn't shake the nagging feeling that she had missed something. She had treated him with care—surely he would be resting. It had been such a deep injury after all.

But when Y/N arrived at his chambers, confusion struck her first. The door stood wide open, the room empty. The bed was unmade, the thick blankets thrown aside as if he had not even been there. A cold shiver slid down her spine, a strange sense of panic washing over her. Why isn’t he here?

Her brows furrowed. She stepped closer to the window, looking out at the stillness of the courtyard, but there was no sign of the High Lord. Her eyes darted around, searching the rooms for any clue. The last time she had seen him, he had been wounded, fragile, and now—now he was gone.

A sinking feeling settled in her gut. The hell is going on?

With determination, she turned on her heel and began walking quickly down the hallway, calling out to a few servants along the way, trying to catch wind of any gossip or movement that might explain where the High Lord had gone. No one seemed to know anything.

Her steps became quicker, her thoughts swirling with concern. She wasn't worried about his safety—no, she knew Kallias was more than capable of taking care of himself—but the fact that he wasn’t where he was supposed to be nagged at her. He should be resting. He shouldn’t be out there, moving around so soon. What was he thinking?

After a few more moments of searching, she found a servant outside a side door, speaking with another. She stopped in her tracks and approached him.

“Excuse me,” she asked, trying to keep the sharpness from her voice, “Have you seen the High Lord this morning?”

The servant blinked, pausing for a second before bowing deeply. “Ah, Lady Healer. The High Lord is not in his chambers this morning. He’s in the training grounds.” He quickly added, “He insisted on continuing his training despite the injury.”

Y/N felt frustration claw at her throat as she nodded curtly. “Training grounds, you say?” she muttered under her breath. She didn’t have to be told twice. Without another word, she turned and stormed off, her boots slapping against the stone floor with every furious step. She was angry, worried, but mostly, she was disappointed. After everything I said last night, he’s still going out there to train like this?

The more she thought about it, the more infuriated she became. What kind of fae would ignore their own orders, their own well-being, just to look strong?

As she neared the training grounds, the cold, crisp air hit her full force, but her temper kept her warm. She was already fuming by the time she stepped out into the open field. The sight before her was more infuriating than she could have imagined.

There, in the middle of the training grounds, stood Kallias, half-naked, his broad chest exposed to the biting cold. His chest and torso were rippling with muscle—sharply defined, each movement a testament to his power. But what struck Y/N the most was the wound—still visible, still raw, bandaged and still not properly healed despite her efforts.

Her heart raced for a moment as her eyes lingered, taking in his impressive form. But she immediately shoved those thoughts away—there was no time for that. No time to think about how attractive he looked standing there.

“Damnit, Lord Kallias!” she muttered, her voice low but seething with irritation.

She stormed toward him, her anger propelling her forward, and the soldiers training around them watched her approach, their eyes widening at the sight of the healer marching directly into the middle of the field. Y/N didn’t care. She didn’t care about the stares or the whispers that followed her. She didn’t care that all of them were staring in stunned silence as she pushed through their ranks.

Kallias, however, did care.

He turned just in time to see her standing there, arms crossed in front of him, a deep frown etched on her face. For a split second, she thought she saw surprise flicker in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced with that same cold, steely expression he always wore.

“Miss Y/N?” His voice was laced with confusion, his posture stiffening.

But before he could say another word, she reached out and pinched his arm, hard.

He shifted away from her with a low growl, his icy gaze snapping to hers. His lips curled in irritation as he finally spoke through clenched teeth. “What the hell are you doing here, miss Y/N?”

Y/N didn’t back down. She stood tall, chin lifted, her eyes filled with both exasperation and frustration. “Me? I should be asking you the same question, my lord!” she snapped, her voice carrying across the training grounds.

The soldiers exchanged stunned glances, some of them gasping at her words. Kallias’s expression shifted to one of cold indifference as he grasped her arm and began pulling her away from the field, his fingers biting into her skin.

“Keep the work going,” he ordered his second in command, who nodded and continued the training as Kallias led Y/N to a quieter area on the side.

Once they were far enough from the soldiers, Kallias let go of her arm, stepping back, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at her. “Listen to me and listen very well, because I will be saying this only once, Miss Y/N. I don’t know what gives you the confidence to act this way, but you may do this to anyone, anyone but me. I am your High Lord, not some sleazyfriend of yours. I demand a professional, respectful approach. Understood?”

Y/N stared at him, her face unchanging, before letting out a long, exasperated sigh. “No.”

Kallias’s icy demeanor faltered for a second, his eyes flashing with disbelief. “No?”

“No,” she repeated defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest. “You got injured just yesterday! And today you’re up and training? Have you no care for your body?”

Her voice cracked through the air as she stepped closer, her anger bubbling over. “Didn’t you hear my orders last night?! On top of all this, you’re training shirtless in the cold! You’ll make the injury worse!”

Kallias raised an eyebrow, his gaze darkening. “Shirtless? In the cold?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Miss Y/N, look around you. We’re in the Winter Court. I’m the gods-damned High Lord of Winter. The cold doesn’t affect me in the least.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, her frustration reaching its peak. She marched right up to him and pointed a finger at his chest. “So what?” she hissed. “It still has negative effects on the injury! The wound could get worse! You could develop an infection or—”

Kallias interrupted her, cutting her off in an exasperated tone. “Alright, very well. Cauldron boil me—just shut your mouth!” He rubbed his forehead, clearly trying to hold back his own rising temper. “Wait for me to put on a shirt, and then follow me to my bedchambers.”

Y/N, caught off guard by his sudden change in tone, found herself beaming. “Alright, High Lord,” she said, her voice lighter than it had been all morning.

But before Kallias could even blink, Y/N squealed in delight and threw her arms around him, pulling him into an unexpected hug.

Kallias’s eyes widened, his body tensing as he let out a sharp hiss of surprise. “Don’t ever touch me like that again,” he muttered coldly, pushing her away with an icy shove. “Unless it's for healing purposes.”

Y/N stepped back sheepishly, a flush creeping up her neck as she muttered an apology. “Sorry…”

He shot her a glare, the frost in his gaze never faltering. “Let’s go,” he ordered, turning to lead the way.

Y/N followed, still smiling faintly, the words of their exchange dancing in her mind. The day had barely begun, but she had a feeling it was going to be a long one.

Kallias walked beside Y/N, his movements brisk, and his mind occupied with the tumultuous thoughts that seemed to swirl in the wake of her presence. He kept his gaze forward, trying to block out the sound of her incessant chatter, but it was impossible not to hear her. She was speaking—again.

“I still don’t get why you’re so stubborn about it, my lord. Yesterday, you were practically on the verge of collapsing, and today, you’re already training like nothing happened! Like you’ve never even had a wound.”

She paused briefly for a breath, and Kallias’ lips twitched slightly in irritation. He could feel the weight of her words pressing against him, and even though she didn’t mean to, her concern did something to him. Something he could not afford to acknowledge.

“You’re lucky I’m not treating you like a child, My Lord,” she continued, oblivious to the narrowing of his icy eyes. “I mean, how do you expect to heal if you keep pushing yourself? I’ve heard of high lords being stubborn, but you—”

“I didn’t ask,” Kallias interjected in a clipped tone, his cold eyes flickering toward her for a moment, his breath steady despite the frustration rising inside him.

Y/N, undeterred, responded with a casual shrug. “Well, you should have, because it’s ridiculous, really. You’re supposed to be healing, not playing soldier, and—”

“Miss Y/N,” he growled, his patience starting to thin like ice cracking beneath the weight of her words. “I’m well aware of my body’s limits, but you don’t need to remind me every minute.”

She glanced up at him, eyes full of defiance as always, but he noticed the slight shift in her expression when he didn’t break eye contact. She was starting to pick up on the tension between them, even if she didn’t fully understand it.

The cold silence that followed didn’t last long. She had a tendency to fill it with more chatter.

"Anyway, I’m just saying, if you’re not careful, you might aggravate the injury even more! Did you know that could lead to—"

“I did not ask,” Kallias repeated, his words colder than before, his tone carrying a warning. “Do you ever stop talking, lady Y/N?”

For a brief moment, she seemed to consider his words, but the inevitable happened. “Well, I just think—”

“Enough,” he snapped, not bothering to hide the edge of his irritation any longer. “Please, for the love of the gods, can you hold your tongue for one minute?”

She looked taken aback but held her silence, the stubbornness in her gaze still present, and he couldn’t quite decide if it annoyed him or intrigued him. It wasn’t often that someone dared to speak to him this way. His gaze flickered over her, eyes narrowing as he noticed how she still walked so determinedly at his side, as though everything in the world could be solved by her prattling. It was infuriating, yet... somehow, it wasn’t.

A tinge of something unfamiliar stirred beneath the icy surface of his thoughts, but he pushed it aside, burying it in the deep recesses of his mind. He would not indulge these feelings. Not for her.

When they finally reached his chambers, Kallias stepped forward, opening the door for her without a word, his mind already working on the next set of instructions he would need to give her. He just wanted to get this over with quickly—have her do whatever healing she thought necessary, and then let him be.

Y/N walked inside with a quiet hum, her energy filling the room as she made her way to the table to prepare the healing supplies. Kallias couldn’t help but glance at her again, the way her hair swayed with every movement, the soft curve of her figure, the subtle grace with which she moved. It was like a goddamn pull on him, but he couldn’t understand it. He shouldn’t feel it. And yet—

He forced himself to look away, his thoughts twisting and his mood darkening.

“I’m glad you’re being so cooperative,” she murmured as she gathered her supplies, giving him a teasing smile. “Now, just sit back, will you? I promise I won’t bite.”

Her light tone irritated him more than it should have. His jaw tightened, and without thinking, he sat down on the chair she had indicated, his hands resting on the armrests. He felt her gaze on him again, heard her soft breathing as she moved around him, preparing everything with a hum of concentration.

“Alright, now let’s talk healing,” she began, her voice soft yet insistent. “Tell me if it still hurts, any sharp twinges, discomfort, anything. I need to know how your body’s reacting so I can better gauge what’s wrong.”

Kallias clenched his jaw, staring ahead as she moved closer. His thoughts were fighting him now, the fluttering feeling in his chest rising again as she stood over him, examining him with that endless curiosity in her gaze. His eyes flicked to her hands, noting how carefully she began to touch his shoulder, working her fingers over the injury. He winced slightly at the pressure.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, his voice rougher than usual.

“No, you’re not,” she shot back, her tone serious now. “You’re hurt. I saw it yesterday. Don’t lie to me, lord Kallias. I’m here to fix this, not let you ruin yourself.”

The way she said his name, the way she took charge without asking for permission—it rattled him, more than he’d like to admit. He clenched his hands tightly, but the knot of frustration in his chest only tightened.

“Stop pushing yourself so hard,” she continued, her voice softening. “You’re not invincible, you know.”

But Kallias wasn’t about to let her know how much her words affected him. He wasn’t about to let himself think of her as anything other than an irritating healer who needed to leave. Now.

Yet still, there was something in the way she touched him—so unexpectedly gentle, yet firm—that made his heart flutter.

He squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling sharply as he focused on the icy indifference that had long been his armor. He would not break. Not now.

And when she finally stepped away, satisfied with her work, he sighed heavily, leaning back into the chair with a cold expression. “Is that all?” he muttered, his voice low and rough.

She nodded with that damnable grin of hers. “For now. I’ll check in on you later, but don’t try to sneak off anywhere, okay? You’ll be back in here again soon.”

He barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn’t need her worrying about him. He didn’t need anyone.

“I’ll be fine,” he muttered again, though his heart wasn’t entirely convinced of that.

Y/N sat in the bustling dining hall, the scent of warm bread and roasted meat filling the air as she absently stirred her tea. She was seated at a long wooden table with two other healers—Eira and Lillian—both of whom had been working in the palace for years. The conversation had been lighthearted at first, filled with chatter about the usual daily struggles: difficult patients, the upcoming winter solstice celebrations, and the latest gossip about court politics.

“I swear, if I have to deal with another whiny noble complaining about a bruise,” Eira sighed dramatically, dragging her spoon through her soup. “Like, Cauldron forbid they suffer an actual wound for once in their pampered lives.”

Lillian chuckled, shaking her head. “Oh, please. The nobles are nothing compared to the warriors. Those brutes act as if they don’t need healers. I had to physically restrain one the other day just to keep him from walking off mid-stitching.”

Y/N hummed in agreement, sipping her tea, until Eira suddenly turned to her with a smirk. “Speaking of stubborn warriors… I still can’t believe you were the one chosen to heal the High Lord.”

Y/N nearly choked on her tea. She coughed, placing her cup down carefully, trying to appear unaffected. “Oh, well. I am a master healer, after all,” she said, waving a hand as if it was no big deal. “It’s just my job.”

Lillian snorted. “Just your job? Please. Do you know how many of us would kill to be in your position? The High Lord of Winter, alone, in his chambers, letting you touch him?”

Y/N stiffened. “It’s not like that.”

Eira sighed dreamily. “Gods, I would give anything to see him up close and personal. Just once.”

Lillian nudged her playfully. “Oh, don’t act like you’d be able to do anything if you were chosen. You’d probably faint the moment he looked at you.”

“Excuse me,” Eira said with mock offense. “I would not faint. I’d just… appreciate the moment. His eyes, his voice… that body.”

Lillian let out a snicker. “And his temperament?”

Eira winced. “Okay, fair point.”

Y/N stayed silent, feeling an unusual warmth creep up her neck. She had never been the shy type—she could hold her own in any conversation, throw sarcasm and wit as easily as she wielded her healing magic—but there was something about the way they were talking about Kallias that made her… uncomfortable.

“I heard he hates everyone anyway,” Lillian added after a pause, leaning in slightly. “There was even a rumor once that he probably doesn’t have a mate because of how distant he is.”

Eira hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah, I mean… I can’t imagine him actually loving someone. He’s like an icicle brought to life. No warmth, no softness. Just duty and power.”

Lillian nodded. “Exactly. It’s like… he was made to rule, not to love.”

Y/N remained silent, staring at her untouched plate of food, her thoughts a tangled mess.

She had only known Kallias for a short while—had only spent a few hours in his presence, really—but something about what they were saying didn’t sit right with her.

Yes, he was cold. Yes, he was distant. But there was something else beneath that icy exterior. Something she couldn’t quite place. A weight he carried, a loneliness he hid behind sharp words and an even sharper gaze.

She thought about the way he had looked at her earlier, how he had reacted to her presence, how his irritation had flickered into something else before he had swiftly buried it away.

She shouldn’t care. She didn’t care.

And yet…

“…Y/N?”

She blinked, realizing that Lillian and Eira were both staring at her, waiting for a response.

“Oh,” she said quickly, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. I suppose he is quite the mystery.”

Lillian shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe one day we’ll get an answer to that mystery.”

Eira scoffed. “Unlikely. The High Lord doesn’t let anyone close enough to find out.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around her cup as her mind continued to swirl with thoughts she definitelyshould not be having.

By now, she really shouldn’t have been surprised.

And yet, when she stepped into Kallias’ chambers only to find them empty once more, a frustrated sigh tore from her throat before she could stop it.

Cauldron damn him.

She had explicitly told him to rest. He had agreed—or at least hadn’t argued against her orders when she’d last left him. And yet, here she was, standing in an empty bedroom, staring at the neatly made bed that had very obviously not been used.

Her thoughts churned as she whirled around and stormed out, flagging down the first passing servant she could find. “Where is he?” she demanded, not even bothering with pleasantries.

The servant, a young fae male, blinked at her in surprise. “Who, my lady?”

She narrowed her eyes. “The High Lord,” she said through gritted teeth, though she was this close to just calling him that infuriating man who refuses to listen to basic healing instructions.

The servant quickly dipped his head in respect. “He’s in his study, my lady.”

The tension in her shoulders eased—just slightly. At least he wasn’t outside aggravating his injury further. She nodded in thanks before making her way toward the study, still brimming with frustration.

By the time she reached the grand doors, she had almost convinced herself to be patient. Almost.

But the moment she stepped inside, the cool, indifferent voice that greeted her immediately shattered whatever patience she had managed to gather.

“Another checkup?”

Kallias didn’t even look at her as he spoke. His attention remained fixed on the papers in front of him, a single candle casting flickering shadows over his sharp features.

Y/N’s irritation flared all over again. “Well, it’s not like I enjoy chasing after you across this entire palace just to make sure you haven’t bled out somewhere,” she snapped, shutting the door behind her. “But seeing as someone is incapable of following simple instructions—”

She marched closer, and it was only then that she noticed what he was doing. His fingers were smudged with ink, an elegant quill in hand as he moved it across parchment in sharp, fluid strokes. He was writing something—letters, perhaps, or reports. His focus was unwavering, the crease between his brows deep with concentration.

“And what are you even doing here?” she went on, glancing at the neatly stacked piles of paper surrounding him. “Shouldn’t you be resting? I mean, really, you barely listen to anything I—”

She stopped mid-rant, her hands already moving on their own. Before he could protest, she reached forward and gently lifted the hem of his shirt just enough to check his wound.

A quick glance told her that, despite his recklessness, the injury hadn’t worsened. The healing process was slow, but steady. Still, she muttered under her breath as she pulled out the soothing balm she had brought with her, rubbing a generous amount between her fingers before applying it to his skin.

She could feel the way his muscles tensed slightly under her touch, but he didn’t say a word. Didn’t react. Just sat there, the same cold, indifferent mask on his face.

Fine. If he wasn’t going to talk, she would talk enough for the both of them.

“You know, most people actually listen to their healers,” she grumbled as she worked. “Most people don’t make their healer’s job ten times harder by actively ignoring the most basic instructions.”

Silence.

She huffed. “At this point, I should start charging extra for how much trouble you’re putting me through.”

Still, nothing.

She narrowed her eyes, pausing for a moment to glance up at his face. “Are you always this difficult, or do you just save it for me?”

That earned her a flicker of something in his eyes, but he still said nothing.

She sighed dramatically. “You know, a normal person would at least say thank you for all this.”

His only response was an unimpressed glance.

Y/N rolled her eyes and finished up, wiping her hands on a spare cloth before gathering her things.

“There,” she said, standing up and dusting off her hands. “You’re good for tonight. Try to actually stay put this time.”

She turned toward the door, ready to leave and get some well-earned rest, when—

“…Is it true you have no mate?”

The words were out before she could stop them.

Y/N froze.

Cauldron damn her mouth.

Slowly, hesitantly, she turned back around—just in time to see Kallias’ head slowly lift. His eyes locked onto hers, cold and unreadable, as one elegant brow arched ever so slightly.

She went scarlet.

“I—I mean—” She let out a nervous laugh, waving her hands in front of her. “Not that it’s any of my business! It’s just—um—I heard something, and I didn’t mean to say it out loud but then my mouth just—”

She saw the sharp way his jaw tightened, the way his expression became even icier, and she instantly knew she had made a grave mistake.

“Leave.”

Her breath caught. “I—sorry?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Instead of asking questions that don’t concern you in the tiniest bit,” he said, his voice like cutting ice, “do me a great favor by excusing yourself.”

Oh.

Oh, she really screwed up.

Her heart pounded as she quickly bowed her head. “Of course. I—my apologies, my lord. I didn’t mean—”

“Leave,” he repeated, his voice final.

She didn’t need to be told again.

Without another word, she turned sharply on her heel and all but fled the study, cursing herself all the way down the dimly lit hallways.

It was two days later when the harsh blizzard finally descended upon the Winter Court. It wasn’t unusual—if anything, it was tradition. Towards the end of each year, without fail, the worst storm of the season would roll in, blanketing the land in thick, unforgiving snow. A storm that lasted precisely three days, as if the Winter Court itself abided by a law older than time.

For most, this meant retreating into the warmth of their homes, waiting out the storm beside crackling hearths, wrapped in thick furs with a cup of steaming tea in hand. For Y/N and the rest of the healers, however, it was hell.

The worst time of the year.

Unlike the palace, the healers’ ward was situated a little away from the main estate, standing separately within the court’s walls. Usually, it wasn’t a problem. The short walk from the palace to the ward was a simple, if not refreshing, journey. But during this storm? It was nothing short of a nightmare.

The winds howled like raging beasts, slicing through even the thickest of layers. The snow came down in sheets, covering everything in sight, and with each gust of wind, it felt as if the world itself were screaming. And Y/N—idiot that she was—had to trek through this chaos twice a day.

For the past two days, she had been cursing everything and everyone—including herself. Because despite the storm, despite the fact that she could barely see two feet in front of her, she still found herself trudging her way to the palace. The howling winds deafened her ears, the ice clung to her skin, and she felt like she might actually die before reaching her destination.

So when she finally, finally stumbled past the palace gates, nearly collapsing against the guards stationed there, she could’ve kissed them both in gratitude.

She was frozen. A literal icicle. She barely registered the concerned murmurs of the guards before they reached for her, offering warm cloaks, offering to guide her to one of the fires so she could thaw.

She shook her head, her voice crackling with cold. “W-Where’s the High Lord?”

The guards exchanged a glance before one of them hesitantly answered. “In the sitting room, my lady.”

Y/N barely nodded before setting off, her limbs trembling as she forced herself forward. Every step felt heavy, her soaked boots dragging against the marble floors as she made her way through the palace halls.

By the time she reached the sitting room, her entire body ached—her fingers stiff, her face numb. She had half a mind to collapse right then and there, but she pushed through, willing herself to move.

Slowly, she pushed the doors open.

And there he was.

Kallias sat in one of the cushioned chairs, a book in his hand, his expression cold and unreadable. His focus remained entirely on the page before him as he turned it, his voice carrying through the room, sharp as a blade.

“I told you, Talen, I don’t want anyone coming in—”

He cut off mid-sentence.

His gaze snapped up, locking onto her, and she watched as his expression shifted—his usual coldness melting into something sharper, angrier.

Slowly, he shut his book. Set it aside.

Then, in a voice laced with fury, he asked, “Why the hell are you here?”

Y/N tried to speak, but her lips barely moved. She was so cold, her breath uneven as she forced herself to answer. “I—I had to check up on you—”

She yapped on, explaining how she had to come, how his injury needed proper tending, how—

He cut her off, stepping closer, his sharp eyes scanning her from head to toe. “In this weather?” His voice was dangerously low. “Couldn’t you have waited for the blizzard to end?”

She surprised even herself when she answered, her words quiet but firm. “I could have waited, but the injury couldn’t. If it doesn’t get treated daily, it could fester—”

A frustrated sigh left him. She watched as he turned around, striding towards a nearby chair, grabbing something before—

A thick, fur-lined blanket was thrown at her.

“Sit,” he ordered.

She blinked at him, her frozen hands clutching at the warmth now draped over her shoulders. “N-No need,” she stammered. “I just need to check—”

“Miss Y/N,” he said coolly, his eyes flashing as he moved past her, yanking the door open. “Just sit, will you?”

She clamped her mouth shut.

The servants outside barely had time to straighten before he commanded them to bring in warm tea. And then, just as quickly, he shut the door again, turning back toward her.

His gaze locked onto hers.

“Now,” he said, his voice like ice, “let’s get one thing clear, alright? You do not, ever, risk your life for me. No one does.”

Her brow furrowed. Confusion flickered across her face before something else settled in its place. Anger.

“Forgive me, my lord,” she said stiffly, “but it’s my job. My duty. Your health, and the rest of our people’s health, is always my priority—”

He stepped closer.

His presence loomed over her as he looked down, his gaze cold as he cut her off.

“I don’t need your death to then be a burden on my shoulders, alright?” His words were quiet, but they were sharp, unwavering. “So keep the hero complex to yourself and stop risking your life for every damned thing or one. Includingme.”

Y/N opened her mouth, ready to snap back, but before she could, the door opened once more.

The servants entered, setting down the tray of steaming tea before stepping back.

Kallias barely spared them a glance before dismissing them with a nod.

And then, with a firm voice, he said, “Drink.”

She stared at him, bewildered.

“The checkup can wait,” he added, moving back to his seat, picking up his book once more. “You’ll do no healing if you freeze to death first.”

Silence settled between them.

Y/N sat there, the warm blanket wrapped around her, her fingers stiff as they reached for the tea.

She didn’t speak—not yet.

Instead, her mind churned with thoughts, with feelings she couldn’t quite place.

And across from her, Kallias simply turned a page in his book, as if nothing had happened at all.

The warmth seeped into her fingers first, then her limbs, then the rest of her body as she slowly nursed her tea. Each sip melted away the ice that had settled deep in her bones, thawing her from the inside out.

By the time she placed the empty cup down on the small table before her, she felt somewhat herself again.

She sighed, stretching out her fingers before rubbing some feeling back into them. Then, with a quiet exhale, she straightened and—almost like an announcement—sighed, “Alright. Let’s see how your injury is doing.”

She stood, her movements still a little stiff as she reached for her supplies. But when she turned back toward him, she nearly froze again.

Kallias was already shirtless.

Without a word, without even acknowledging her statement, he had discarded his layers, revealing the lean, sculpted muscles of his back and shoulders. The light from the nearby hearth cast shadows along his frame, emphasizing the tautness of his muscles, the pale stretch of his skin, the deep gash along his side that she had been tending to.

But he wasn’t looking at her.

His head was turned slightly to the side, his book still in his hands, his expression unreadable as he continued to read, as if this was all just routine. As if he wasn’t half-naked in the middle of a dimly lit sitting room with a woman standing behind him, staring.

Staring.

Y/N swallowed. Goddess above.

She wasn’t unused to tending injuries—far from it. She had seen countless wounds, countless bodies, countless scars in her years as a healer. But this?

This was different.

Because it was him.

And it was just them.

She forced herself to move, her boots barely making a sound against the floor as she stepped closer, her eyes flickering to the injury on his side.

It had healed well. The once-raw wound had closed significantly, no longer angry and inflamed. But it was still tender, still prone to irritation if left unchecked.

She reached out, gently pressing her fingers to the unbroken skin around the wound. His muscles tensed under her touch, a barely noticeable shift—but she felt it.

“The healing is going well,” she murmured, focusing on her work rather than the way the heat of his skin radiated beneath her fingertips. “No signs of infection. But you still need treatment for a few more days.”

He said nothing.

Didn’t even glance at her.

Only turned another page in his book.

Y/N shook her head to herself, pulling away to grab the salve from her kit. Silently, she worked, smoothing the mixture over the injury with practiced, delicate movements. And the entire time, he remained completely still—silent and composed, as if her touch, the cold ointment, the entire situation, meant nothing.

By the time she finished, she was still half-convinced she had imagined the subtle tension in his frame, the brief flicker of his fingers gripping the book tighter.

She stepped back, wiping her hands on a cloth before beginning to pack her supplies. But before she could finish—

“You’re staying in the palace tonight.”

The unexpected words cut through the quiet, and she stilled.

Blinking, she turned toward him, confused. “What?”

Finally, finally, Kallias shifted his gaze from his book, his cool, sharp eyes landing on her. “You cannot withstand another blizzard,” he said simply. “You’re not leaving.”

Her lips parted slightly. “I—no, it’s fine. I can make it back.”

His gaze didn’t waver.

“Are you disobeying my orders, Miss Y/N?”

The way he said it—low, quiet, unwavering—made her pulse stutter.

A test. A challenge. A command.

Her breath hitched slightly before she exhaled in defeat, her hands clenching at her sides.

“…Fine.”

Clearly satisfied, Kallias inclined his head slightly before shifting his attention back to his book. A few moments later, a quiet knock came at the door, and he barely glanced up as he said, “The servants will escort you to your quarters.”

Y/N turned, seeing one of the waiting staff standing at the entrance, head bowed.

But instead of following them, she hesitated.

Then, before she could even think about what she was doing, she turned away from the door and walked back into the room, back toward the sofa.

She sat down.

And stayed.

For the first time since she arrived, Kallias actually looked surprised.

His cold, unreadable expression flickered ever so slightly as he turned his head toward her, his brows lowering in silent question.

She settled deeper into the sofa, ignoring the clear expectation that she would leave. Instead, she tilted her head, studying him as he resumed reading.

“I figured I could ask you some questions.”

Kallias didn’t even look up. “No.”

She huffed a small laugh. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t entertain meaningless conversations.”

She shrugged. “I don’t think it’s meaningless.”

He sighed quietly, flipping a page in his book.

Unbothered, she pressed on. “How long have you been High Lord?”

Silence.

Then—

“…A while.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s not an answer.”

“I believe it is.”

She shook her head. “Alright, let’s try this. Were you trained for it your whole life?”

This time, there was a longer pause. Then—

“Yes.”

Progress.

She settled in further, warming her fingers against the fading heat of her tea. “And did you ever want to be something else?”

That got his attention.

For the first time since the conversation began, he glanced at her, his pale blue eyes assessing.

She held his gaze, waiting.

But after a moment, he simply turned back to his book.

Interesting.

She continued, undeterred. “I wasn’t trained to be a healer, you know.”

He didn’t respond, but she caught the way his fingers stilled slightly against the book’s spine.

“I wanted to be a scholar,” she admitted. “A historian.”

This time, his gaze flickered back to her, his expression unreadable.

“…Then why didn’t you?”

She exhaled quietly. “Because people needed me. My family, my friends, my court—they needed someone to tend to them, to make sure they lived.” She offered a small, wry smile. “So I chose healing.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then, to her surprise, he murmured, “I see.”

Encouraged, she tilted her head. “And you? Did you ever want something else?”

Nothing.

She gave him a moment, then tried again. “Come on. You must’ve had some kind of dream when you were younger.”

Still, he remained silent.

She sighed dramatically. “Alright, fine. If you won’t answer that, then let’s go simpler. What’s your favorite season?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “You do realize where you are, don’t you?”

She grinned slightly. “So… winter, then?”

He shot her a look but said nothing.

She decided to push a little further. “What about books? You read a lot, clearly. Do you have a favorite?”

His fingers tightened on the pages ever so slightly.

But he still didn’t answer.

Her grin widened. “Are you just refusing to speak now out of sheer stubbornness?”

No response.

She sighed again, feigning disappointment. “Fine, then. I’ll guess.”

She tapped her chin dramatically. “You seem like the type to prefer strategy books. Maybe war tactics? Or—no, wait—ancient philosophy.”

Nothing.

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Don’t tell me you secretly enjoy romance novels.”

His sharp gaze snapped to hers.

And that was all the confirmation she needed.

A slow, delighted smile spread across her face.

“Oh,” she breathed. “You do, don’t you?”

His expression darkened. “I do not.”

She grinned. “Right. Of course. The icy, brooding High Lord of Winter doesn’t secretly read tragic love stories.”

His glare was withering. “You are insufferable.”

She shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.”

Still, she could see the subtle tension in his shoulders now—the faint stiffness of someone unused to being the center of such questioning.

Good.

She adjusted her position on the sofa, tilting her head again. “Alright, I’ll stop pestering you about books.”

A long exhale left his lips, as if he’d won a battle.

But then she added, “Instead, tell me about your family.”

His body went still.

That was different.

It was a shift, a crack in the cold, unaffected mask he had been wearing.

She watched as his fingers curled just slightly around the book, his shoulders stiffening—not with irritation, but with something else.

He didn’t look at her.

Didn’t even blink.

The tension was different this time.

And she knew, knew, she had finally pushed too far.

Before she could say another word, Kallias abruptly shut his book with a decisive snap.

“The servants will show you to your room,” he said coolly, rising to his feet. “Good night, Miss Y/N.”

She blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift.

But before she could protest, he was already heading toward the door, already moving past her as if the conversation had never happened.

And just before he left, his voice—quiet, controlled—echoed one last time.

“…Get some rest.”

Then he was gone.

Leaving Y/N staring after him, her mind racing with everything unsaid.

After that night—the night she had stayed in the palace—her days followed a routine.

Every afternoon, she would make the long trek from the healers’ quarters to the palace, the Winter winds biting at her skin. Every afternoon, she would be granted entrance, and every afternoon, she would find Kallias in the same spot—seated in his chair, a book in his hands, his icy demeanor never thawing.

And every afternoon, without fail, she would talk.

Not because he ever encouraged it. No, Kallias had made it very clear from the beginning that he had no interest in conversation. But that never stopped her.

She spoke of her past, of her childhood in the harsh winters of their court, of the first time she had ever seen magic and how it had terrified and mesmerized her in equal measure. She told him of her first patient, a boy who had nearly lost his hand in an accident but had left the healer’s hut grinning, whole and healed. She told him about her mother, who had always scolded her for not dressing warmly enough, and about the first time she had snuck out during a blizzard—how it had been so terrifying, so exhilarating.

Kallias never responded.

Or, at least, not in words.

He would sit there, book in hand, casting her the occasional sharp glance. When she asked him questions—How old were you when you first used magic? Did you always want to be High Lord? Do you have any hobbies besides glaring at me like I’m a pest?—he would shut her down with silence, or a curt, That is none of your concern.

Still, she pressed on.

She asked about his court, his people, his childhood. She made comments about how the palace had the most ridiculously large fireplaces she’d ever seen, about how the food was much better than what she usually had at the healers' quarters, about how he really should get a dog.

And every time, he would just look at her, cold and unimpressed.

She knew he hated it—her endless chattering, her insistence on filling the silence. But the strangest part?

He never told her to stop.

Not once.

Even when he glared, even when he shut her down, even when he looked like he would rather be anywhere else in the world, he never told her to leave.

And that was enough for her to keep going.

But then—

Then the injury started healing.

And with every passing day, the realization settled heavier in her chest.

Soon, she would have no reason to see him again.

It was a ridiculous thought. This was her job. She had done this with countless patients before—treated them, helped them heal, and then moved on.

So why did the idea of moving on from this patient feel… wrong?

Why did it feel like a loss?

She tried not to dwell on it.

Instead, she continued her routine—her visits, her stories, her relentless attempts to break through the ice.

One afternoon, as she checked his wound, she found herself grinning before she even realized she was speaking.

“So,” she said lightly, wrapping fresh bandages around his torso. “Now that I’ve been tending to you for nearly three weeks, does this mean we’re best friends?”

She had meant it as a joke.

A small tease.

But when she looked up, she found his cold gaze locked onto her, unreadable.

And then—

A sharp, quiet No.

The word cut through the space between them like a blade.

And even though she had meant the question as nothing more than a playful jab, the answer—his answer—stung more than she expected.

She let out a small, breathy laugh, trying to shake off the odd ache in her chest.

“Well,” she said, forcing a smile. “That was unnecessarily harsh.”

He didn’t respond.

Of course he didn’t.

But for the first time since she had started tending to him, she found she didn’t want to keep talking.

For the first time, she wondered if she had imagined it all—if she had imagined the progress, the tiny cracks in his walls, the way he never told her to stop, the way he let her speak, even if he never contributed.

Maybe she had been a fool.

Maybe Kallias really was just as cold as everyone claimed him to be.

And maybe—just maybe—she cared more than she should.

But did that stop her? Hell no. If anything, it just encouraged her stubborn self more.

The palace glittered with ice and silver, chandeliers casting cold light across the grand ballroom. The music wove through the space like a delicate snowfall, each note crisp and elegant. Nobles in their finest attire swayed in effortless dances, their laughter and conversation blending into the background hum of aristocratic life.

She wasn’t here as a guest.

None of the healers were.

Dressed in her best gown—her only luxurious dress—she stood at the edges of the hall with the others, waiting in case their services were required. It was a simple thing, her gown. A soft, glittering silver that caught the candlelight whenever she moved. Nothing extravagant, nothing adorned with jewels like the noblewomen who glided across the floor, but beautiful in its own quiet way.

Not that it mattered.

She wasn’t here to be seen.

And yet, she still found her eyes drawn toward him.

Kallias stood at the head of the room, exuding that same untouchable air, dressed in regal white and deep winter blue. He was everything a High Lord should be—cold, composed, a vision of power and control.

It had been weeks since she had first begun tending to him. Weeks of sitting by his side, pressing salves into his skin, wrapping fresh bandages, filling the silence with stories about herself while he listened in his usual silence.

The wound was nearly healed now. Soon, she would no longer have a reason to visit him.

That thought had settled uneasily in her chest all evening, but she had shoved it away, refusing to dwell on it.

She had no reason to.

And then—

Her breath caught.

From her place near the back of the room, she watched as a noblewoman—tall, poised, with pale silver-blonde hair—approached Kallias.

And Kallias… looked at her.

Not in passing, not with the cold indifference he usually carried.

No, he took her hand.

And then, with a faint smirk—a smirk she had never seen directed at herself—he led the woman onto the dance floor.

Her world tilted.

She should have looked away. Should have turned her attention elsewhere. But she couldn’t.

She could only watch.

Watch as he placed a hand on the woman’s waist, as they moved together with effortless grace. As the world around them blurred into nothing.

It was the kind of dance meant for lovers.

Slow, intimate, a silent conversation spoken through the closeness of their bodies.

And Kallias—so often cold, so often distant—allowed it.

Welcomed it.

The realization slammed into her, sharper than any winter wind.

She felt the sting behind her eyes before she even understood what was happening.

A foolish, ridiculous pain bloomed in her chest, spreading through her like ice cracking beneath the weight of something unbearable.

It made no sense.

She had no claim over him.

No reason to feel this way.

And yet—

Why does it hurt?

The thought sent her reeling, her breathing suddenly uneven.

She needed to leave.

“I—excuse me,” she murmured, barely even aware of who she spoke to as she turned, walking swiftly out of the ballroom.

The moment she was out of sight, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

The air outside was cold, the night wind biting at her skin, but it did nothing to dull the ache in her chest.

She pressed a hand to her ribs, as if she could hold herself together.

Idiot, she cursed herself. Fool.

What did you expect?

Had she really convinced herself that these weeks had meant something?

That she had mattered to him?

A bitter laugh slipped from her lips, and she tilted her head back to the sky, blinking rapidly, forcing the tears down.

She would not cry.

Not over this.

Not over him.

And yet, the thought of facing him again tomorrow, of pressing her fingers to his skin, of pretending that none of this mattered—

It made her feel like she was unraveling.

Taking a shuddering breath, she straightened.

And then, like slipping on armor, she schooled her features into something unreadable.

The fakest, brightest smile she could muster.

Because this was who she was.

Someone who put others before herself.

She was fine.

She was fine.

She was fine.

Or at least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

Y/N sat beside Kallias once again, her hands methodically unwrapping the bandages from his injury. She had done this countless times before—press, check, apply, rewrap. But today, it felt different.

Because you’re an idiot.

The words replayed in her mind over and over again. She had barely slept the previous night, her thoughts filled with the image of Kallias on that dance floor, his hand resting so easily on that noblewoman’s waist, the way he had smirked at her.

Had he ever smirked at her?

No.

The thought shouldn’t sting, but it did.

So she did what she always did. She talked.

She talked, and talked, and talked, desperate to fill the silence, to cover up the ache in her chest.

“Oh, and did I tell you about the time I accidentally healed a sprained ankle instead of a broken rib? You should’ve seen the poor man’s face—he looked so betrayed. Honestly, I don’t blame him, but in my defense, he was very unclear about where the pain actually was, and—”

She glanced up at Kallias, expecting the usual impassive look, the distant, unreadable gaze. But instead, she found him… tense.

More so than usual.

His jaw was clenched, his shoulders taut beneath the loose fabric of his tunic. Every word she spoke seemed to wind him tighter, like a string about to snap.

She swallowed, but forced a laugh.

“Anyway, he ended up having to go to another healer because I was so embarrassed I refused to fix my mistake. You should’ve seen my mentor’s face—gods, she was furious—”

“Gods,” Kallias suddenly snapped, his voice low and rough, “do you ever shut up?!”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.

Kallias had risen abruptly, turning to her with a sharp, ice-cold glare. His usual controlled demeanor was gone, replaced by sheer exasperation—by anger.

“It’s always talking and talking with you,” he continued, his tone laced with venom. “You never stop to consider whether I even want to hear you talk. I tried, for the past month, I really fucking did, Miss Y/N. But I am at my tipping point with you and your useless babbling.”

Her heart stopped.

“This is it,” he bit out. “You may leave. And don’t think of coming back tomorrow because I will have another healer replace you. One that is more quiet.”

The room felt suffocating.

Her ears rang.

She just sat there, frozen, her eyes locked on his face as the words—every single one of them—settled deep into her bones, into the very marrow of her being.

Useless babbling.

Do you ever shut up?

It was like someone had taken a knife and sliced straight through her, splitting her open for the world to see.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, gaping at him like an idiot.

Her throat was so tight it physically hurt.

Then—she forced herself to move.

Forced herself to swallow down the burning sting in her chest, to keep her face as neutral as possible even though her heart felt like it had just been crushed.

Slowly, she rose to her feet, smoothing out her skirts as she bowed her head deeply.

“I… I’m sorry, my lord,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

She bowed lower.

“It was an honor serving you.”

And then, before she could completely break, she turned and darted out of the room.

She didn’t stop walking.

Didn’t let herself think.

Her vision blurred at the edges, but she refused to let the tears fall.

Not here.

Not now.

Gods, do you ever shut up?

She pressed a shaking hand to her mouth.

And finally, when she was alone—when there was no one around to see—

She let herself break.

The new healer arrived promptly the next morning. Kallias did not bother to glance at her, merely gave a curt nod as she set down her supplies and began tending to his wound.

It was silent.

For the first time in over a month, the room held nothing but the distant crackling of the fire and the occasional sound of bandages being unwrapped. No rambling. No unnecessary commentary. No her.

Kallias exhaled slowly. This is better.

The healer finished and stepped back. “Your recovery is progressing well, my Lord. I will return at the same time tomorrow.”

He gave a dismissive nod, watching her leave.

The door clicked shut. The silence stretched on.

This is what I wanted.

He told himself that again.

Then again.

Then again.

And yet, as he sat there, the silence pressed in—thicker, heavier than it should have been.

It started with the small things.

Passing by the dining hall and hearing a burst of laughter—one that wasn’t hers. It was softer, quieter. Not the kind that filled a space effortlessly, not the kind that made his head snap up in exasperation and… something else he didn’t want to name.

Sitting in his study, book in hand, expecting an interruption that never came. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. He turned a page but read nothing. His eyes kept flicking to the door, as if expecting her to come waltzing in with some nonsense observation or another pointless story.

She never did.

The snowstorm outside raged on, swirling in thick flurries. He stared at it for a moment too long before catching himself.

She got home safely, he told himself. She must have.

And yet—

He caught himself glancing toward the healer’s wing when passing through the halls, his steps slowing despite himself. The air was always still there. Orderly. Lacking the warmth of an insufferable voice filling the space with chatter.

During court meetings, he almost—almost—looked toward the doors, expecting her to be lingering outside, waiting for his schedule to free up so she could tend to him.

But there was no one there.

And the unease settled in his chest like frost, refusing to thaw.

Five days passed. His wound was nearly healed.

The new healer was efficient, competent. There was nothing wrong with her work.

And yet—

Kallias tensed when she touched his arm, entirely too aware that it was the wrong hands. The wrong voice telling him his recovery was progressing well. The wrong presence in the room, one that did not fill the silence the way she had.

The healer worked quickly, adjusting the bandages with careful precision. He barely felt it. She was gentle—too gentle. Measured in a way that did not demand his attention, did not poke and prod at the edges of his patience with endless chatter.

He should have been grateful.

Instead, he clenched his jaw.

The healer hesitated slightly, sensing his stiffness. She withdrew her hands and stepped back, lowering her head.

“Forgive me, my Lord,” she said softly.

It was polite. Respectful. Exactly as a healer should address him.

But it wasn’t her.

The realization struck deeper than it should have. He let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulder once as if testing the strength in it. Almost healed. Soon, there would be no need for a healer at all. No reason for anyone to linger in his chambers, filling the space with warmth and words he had never asked for.

For the first time since that night, the truth slithered into his mind like a sharp-edged blade.

I should not have sent her away.

Kallias moved through the days in a way that should have been normal. Should have been routine.

Except nothing felt normal.

Nothing felt right.

He told himself it was better this way. That the quiet was long overdue. That his chambers, his halls, his life had returned to the way they were meant to be—undisturbed, controlled, peaceful.

And yet—

When passing through the halls, his gaze flickered toward the healers' wing more often than he cared to admit. It was instinct, unconscious, a part of him still expecting—hoping—to see her. To catch a glimpse of her moving between rooms, head held high, determination set in her every step.

He did not linger. Would not. But the urge to was there.

During court meetings, when his mind drifted for even a second too long, his lips nearly shaped her name by mistake. He caught himself just in time, swallowing the slip before anyone noticed.

But he noticed.

The weight of it settled in his chest, unwelcome and unrelenting.

It was not just a passing thought. Not just a moment of fleeting habit.

He was thinking about her.

Too much.

Far too much.

And that was the most dangerous realization of all.

The ball was in full swing.

Laughter, conversation, and music wove through the grand hall, filling it with warmth and life. Goblets clinked, skirts swayed, gloved hands brushed in elegant passes across the dance floor. It was a celebration, a night of indulgence and revelry.

Kallias barely heard any of it.

His eyes drifted—automatically—to the corner where the healers usually stood on standby, their presence a mere formality.

She was not there.

She should not have been there. There was no reason for her to be present. And yet, something in him had expected her, had searched for her, had been waiting to catch a glimpse of silver and frost.

His jaw clenched as he forced his gaze away. It does not matter.

He did not care.

But when a noblewoman approached, hand brushing his arm in polite greeting, he nearly flinched. The light, easy conversation around him faded to a distant hum, drowned out by the weight settling in his chest.

When someone spoke to him, he did not hear them.

When a toast was raised, he did not lift his goblet.

And when he caught himself looking toward that corner again, some stubborn, unwelcome part of him refused to let go of the hollow absence he found there.

The music swelled, laughter rang out, and yet—

With quiet, shattering finality, the truth settled in.

He had made a mistake.

A grave one.

And now, he did not know if it was one he could ever undo.

Kallias did not look for her.

That’s what he told himself, at least.

Yet, somehow, his feet carried him toward the healers' wing more often than before. A habit, he reasoned. He had spent a month there—of course, it made sense that his body still followed the familiar route.

And yet, every time he passed by, he felt it. The wrongness.

The quiet was different now. Not the comforting kind, but the hollow, lacking kind. He found himself listening, waiting—for what, he did not allow himself to answer. But the realization always came in the same, bitter way: she was not there.

He should not have cared.

And yet, one day, he caught a conversation between two healers in the hall.

"She’s been taking on extra shifts in the lower wing."

"I heard she even requested to transfer out of the palace soon."

The words nearly made him stop in his tracks. Leaving the palace? The thought sent an unfamiliar, unwelcome sensation curling through his chest.

But he forced himself forward, forced himself not to react.

She was free to do as she pleased. He had dismissed her. Pushed her away. He had wanted peace, had wanted her endless talking to stop, and now he had exactly that.

So why did it feel like he had carved something out of himself in the process?

The court had begun to notice.

Kallias was sharper these days. Impatient. The weight of his words heavier, his glares colder. The council meetings, the daily court affairs—none of it held his focus the way it should have.

The worst part?

It had been days since he had last spoken to her, and yet she was everywhere.

A joke someone made at a meeting—something ridiculous, something lighthearted. He had almost glanced toward where she should have been, where she would have been grinning at him with that look in her eyes, waiting for his reaction.

She was not there.

She would never be there again.

When the letter arrived, Y/N almost didn’t open it.

A small, plain envelope had been slipped beneath her door, its presence silent but insistent.

She stared at it for a moment, unease curling in her stomach. No messenger had knocked. No one had called for her directly. Just this—this single piece of parchment, waiting for her to acknowledge it.

Slowly, she picked it up, feeling the weight of it in her hands before breaking the seal.

The message inside was brief, written in a careful, deliberate hand.

Your expertise is needed in the royal gardens. Do not delay.

No name. No explanation.

Y/N frowned. Healers were rarely summoned without specifics. If someone had been injured, there would have been details—a location, a name, something.

And the gardens? At this hour?

It made no sense.

Her first instinct was to ignore it. To toss the letter aside and stay where she was, safe within the walls of the healers’ quarters.

But—

What if it was real?

What if someone did need her?

The doubt, the nagging uncertainty, was enough to push her into action.

So, she wrapped her cloak tightly around her shoulders, braced herself against the cold, and stepped into the night.

The gardens were empty.

Silent. Still.

A frown pulled at her lips as she stepped further in, glancing around for any sign of movement. No one was here. No patient. No suffering figure waiting for aid.

She exhaled sharply.

This was a mistake.

She turned on her heel, ready to leave—

"Wait."

The voice—deep, familiar, unmistakable—halted her steps.

Her breath caught. She did not turn around.

A part of her screamed to flee, to walk away, to pretend she had never come here in the first place. But her feet remained rooted to the ground, her hands clenching into fists.

She knew that voice.

And she hated that she still recognized it so easily.

"Please."

Not an order. A request.

She swallowed hard as she heard the quiet crunch of boots on gravel. Slow, measured steps.

He was moving—around her, toward her.

She could have walked away. Should have. But she didn’t.

And then—

His chest was right in front of her.

Her eyes stayed fixed on his tunic, on the rise and fall of his breathing. She did not dare look up.

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.

Then—

"I regret it."

The words were rough, like they had been torn from him unwillingly. As if they hurt to say.

She said nothing.

"I was cruel," he continued, voice tight. "I—" A sharp exhale. "I should not have spoken to you that way. I should not have sent you away."

Still, she did not speak.

He shifted, uneasy. Kallias, the untouchable. The untouchable, now desperate for words.

"I am not—", he hesitated, his voice quieter now. "I am not accustomed to...to this."

She finally looked up.

His eyes—icy blue, usually so cold, so distant—held something else now. Something raw, something unguarded.

She could forgive him. Right now, she could let it go. She could tell him it was alright, that she would return, that all was well—

But it would be a lie.

A bitter, burning rage stirred in her chest.

"No."

One word. Sharp, final.

Kallias’s brows pulled together, as if he had not expected the rejection.

Good.

"No?" His voice was measured, but she could see the tension in his jaw.

She stepped back, just enough to breathe.

"Do you even understand?" she demanded, voice trembling with frustration. "Do you understand what you did to me?"

His expression darkened slightly, but he said nothing.

So she let the words spill out.

"You humiliated me. You made me feel—like I was nothing. Like I was annoying, like I was some burden that you just had to tolerate." She shook her head. "I served you. I cared for you. And you threw me aside like I was disposable."

Silence.

He didn’t deny it.

Didn’t argue.

Didn’t excuse himself.

Instead, after a long, agonizing pause, he said—

"I know."

She faltered.

"I know," he repeated, his voice quieter now. "And I am...trying." He exhaled. "Tell me what I must do to make this right."

She studied him carefully.

He was genuine. Perhaps clumsy in his attempt, hesitant in his words, but genuine.

Still—

"I want actions, my Lord."

He stiffened slightly at the title.

"Not words."

A beat of silence.

Then—

"Kallias."

She blinked.

"What?"

"Call me Kallias."

His voice was quiet, almost pleading.

Hesitantly, barely above a whisper—

"Kallias."

His eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, as if he was reliving something.

But she did not let him sink into it for long.

Her voice cut through the night, sharp and cold.

"I want you to prove your sincerity to me, Kallias."

His eyes snapped open.

"Only then may I consider forgiving you."

And before he could say another word, she turned sharply on her heel, moving to leave—

Only to pause at the last second.

She spun back around, meeting his gaze with one last piercing look.

"Oh." She tilted her head. "You only have two weeks."

His lips parted slightly.

"I will be leaving after that."

And before he could argue, before he could try to stop her, she disappeared into the night, leaving Kallias alone in the garden, the weight of her ultimatum pressing down on him like an unforgiving storm.

Kallias did not seek her out again the next day. Or the day after.

But something had shifted.

At first, it was subtle.

When Y/N entered the healers' ward one morning, she nearly tripped over a stack of wooden crates lined neatly by the entrance. Frowning, she crouched down, fingers trailing over the stamped sigil on the side. The insignia of the Winter Court’s official supply chains.

Inside, she found expensive salves imported from distant courts, fresh linens, new sets of surgical tools wrapped in pristine cloth. Even additional firewood to warm the rooms as the cold deepened.

Her fingers curled over the edge of one of the crates.

They had needed these supplies for months. Had been told there were delays, that their requests were lower priority than the military or the palace.

Yet now, all at once, they had everything they had asked for.

Y/N’s eyes darkened.

This was not a coincidence.

She turned sharply, scanning the ward, looking for the head healer. “Who brought these?”

The older healer glanced up from her records, expression tired but pleased. “An order came from the palace. Directly from the High Lord himself.”

Y/N’s chest went tight.

She said nothing as she turned back toward the crates.

This was not an apology. This was not a request for forgiveness.

This was something else entirely.

The second time, she saw it.

She had been passing through the main halls of the ward when a flicker of white caught her eye beyond the archway leading into one of the recovery rooms.

She stopped.

Through the partially open door, Kallias stood before the head healer.

And he was listening.

Not speaking, not giving orders, not ensuring his presence dominated the space.

But listening.

His arms were crossed, posture rigid as always, but his brows were furrowed in concentration as the head healer spoke. Her words were quiet but firm, explaining in detail what the ward required—not only in supplies but in structure. How they needed more hands, how the new allocation of funds should be distributed, how the growing needs of the people could not be ignored.

Kallias did not interrupt. He did not challenge her. He simply nodded once, asked something in return, and listened again.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

This was not for her.

This was not a calculated move meant to draw her back in.

She swallowed hard and turned away before she could hear more.

Then, that night—

It was late. Too late for anyone to be awake.

Y/N had been tending to a restless patient, checking their fever one last time before slipping out of the ward’s main rooms. The halls were quiet, dimly lit by the soft glow of faelights.

But then—

A voice. Low and quiet, nearly swallowed by the silence.

“… I was cruel to her.”

Y/N froze mid-step.

It was Kallias.

She pressed herself against the wall just beyond the archway.

“She did not deserve it,” he continued, his voice wrong somehow—too raw, too open. “And I do not know if I can fix it.”

A pause. A long, heavy pause.

Then, another voice—low and steady, belonging to one of his closest advisors. “You wounded her deeply, my lord. That will not be undone with gestures alone.”

A sharp inhale. “I know.”

Something in his tone made Y/N’s stomach tighten.

The advisor exhaled slowly. “Then what is it that you want?”

A longer silence.

And then, so softly she barely heard it—

“… I want her to stay.”

Y/N gripped the fabric of her sleeve.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, breath coming a little too fast.

She did not stay to hear more.

She turned and left, barely aware of her own steps.

Because for the first time, a sliver of doubt crept into her anger.

Maybe, just maybe… he truly meant it.

The knock was soft but firm, barely audible over the crackling of the fire in the corner.

Y/N frowned, setting down the bandages she had been carefully sorting. It was late—too late for anyone to be delivering messages.

“Come in.”

The door creaked open, revealing a young servant girl clutching a bundle of parchment to her chest. She hesitated in the doorway, cheeks pink from the cold. “These are for you, healer.”

Y/N wiped her hands on her apron before taking the pages. “Who sent them?”

The girl only dipped her head. “I don’t know, my lady. I was just told to bring them to you.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes slightly but nodded in dismissal. The girl quickly turned and left, closing the door behind her.

Silence settled over the room once more as Y/N sat at the small wooden table, smoothing out the stack of documents.

Her gaze flicked over the first page—and then she went very still.

It was a funding request. Her funding request.

One she had sent months ago, listing all the resources the healers' ward desperately needed—better equipment, fresh linens, a steady supply of medicine for the winter months.

Her fingers tightened around the parchment.

She flipped to the next page. Another request—approved. Then another. And another.

She inhaled sharply, flipping through the entire bundle with growing urgency.

Every single one of them.

Approved.

Stamped with the official Winter Court seal.

Her heart pounded against her ribs.

This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t how these things worked. Approvals took months, often years. The process was slow, tedious. But this—this had been done overnight.

A pit formed in her stomach.

And then, at the bottom of the last document, she saw it.

A single note.

Elegant, precise handwriting.

You will have everything you need.

No signature.

None was needed.

She knew who had done this.

Knew exactly whose hand had made this happen.

Kallias.

Y/N set the parchment down carefully, staring at it for a long, long moment.

She should have felt relieved. She did feel relieved. This was everything she had fought for, everything she had begged the court to consider.

And yet—

Her fingers curled into a fist.

Because this wasn’t just a gesture. It wasn’t just aid.

It was him.

Trying.

Fixing things.

For her.

She exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to her temple.

This was not what she had expected.

Not what she had wanted.

Because now—

Now she had to ask herself a dangerous question.

Was she still angry at him?

Or was she just afraid to let go of the anger?

She should have ignored it.

Should have ignored him.

But when she entered the ward that evening, she saw him.

Kallias stood at the far end of the room, speaking to a young healer. His hands were clasped behind his back, posture as regal and composed as ever—but he was listening.

He was learning.

For a long moment, she just… watched.

Then, before she could stop herself, she turned and walked in his direction.

Their eyes met.

The conversation around them faded.

His lips parted slightly, as if about to speak.

She did not let him.

Instead, she brushed past him, deliberately distant, and kept walking.

But something in his gaze, in the way he looked at her, stuck with her long after she was gone.

She found a small package by her bedside that morning.

Inside—

A pair of gloves.

Finely made, lined with soft fur, enchanted to keep her hands warm even in the coldest temperatures.

She swallowed hard.

She should not accept it.

And yet, later that evening, when she stepped outside into the snow, she wore them.

She returned to her chambers late that evening, exhausted.

And nearly tripped over another package.

This time, it was books.

Her breath caught as she picked up the first one, fingers running over the leather binding. Medical texts. Some of them rare, some of them from distant courts. Books she had wanted, but could never afford.

She exhaled sharply, gripping the book tighter.

She should not have opened them.

Should have ignored them entirely.

But that night, she sat by the fire, book in hand, and read until the candles burned low.

The palace gardens were covered in frost when she passed through them, heading toward the ward.

And then—

A presence behind her.

She didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

He didn’t speak at first. Just walked beside her, their steps crunching against the frozen ground.

Finally, after a long silence—

“You wore the gloves.”

Her fingers twitched.

She exhaled slowly, watching her breath curl in the cold air.

Then, quietly—“Yes.”

He didn’t say anything more.

But for the first time in weeks, they walked side by side, no longer strangers.

Y/N had been walking through the palace gardens, checking on some of the herbs they had been growing for future treatments. A gust of wind chilled her, and she pulled her cloak tighter around her, turning to head back inside.

The sky had darkened ominously as thick clouds rolled in. Within moments, the wind had escalated into something more furious, rattling the palace windows and sending the trees into a wild dance. The storm was coming.

As Y/N approached the palace entrance, ready to make her way back to the healers’ ward, a sudden calm washed over her. The wind stopped. The heavy air, so oppressive moments ago, suddenly felt lighter. The storm outside, now loud and angry, remained locked in the distance as if the walls of the palace itself were holding it back.

Her footsteps slowed as she glanced around in confusion. She felt… strange. Like something was different.

A deep, familiar voice broke the silence, and she turned.

Kallias stood nearby, hands clasped behind his back. The corner of his mouth twitched, just barely a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes fully. His gaze held a quiet intensity.

“You... you stopped it?” Y/N asked, blinking.

“The storm? Yes,” Kallias replied, stepping closer. “It seemed fitting. You should not have to endure the chaos of the world when you are already fighting your own battles.”

Y/N glanced around. The stillness was almost eerie, the absence of wind and thunder filling the space between them.

“You—this is… too much, Kallias.” Her voice faltered, unsure of what to make of the sudden shift in his demeanor.

“It’s nothing,” he murmured, but the weight of it hung in the air. “I just wanted to give you peace. To show you that you don’t always have to face the storm alone.”

Her chest tightened at the sincerity in his voice, but she said nothing more, lost in the quiet beauty of the moment.

The storm raged outside, but here, in this small, still bubble, there was only calm.

Y/N had spent her evening sorting through medicinal herbs when a knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. She opened it to find a small basket of flowers waiting on the doorstep, along with a note.

I thought you might like something fresh.

The handwriting was unmistakable. Kallias.

Curious, Y/N made her way to the designated location that evening, a part of the palace gardens she had never taken the time to visit before. She had always assumed it was just an old, neglected corner, left to decay.

As she approached the garden’s entrance, she felt something shift. The air felt warmer, and she noticed a soft, faint glow just beyond the archway. The entrance was framed with vines and wildflowers in full bloom, each one shining as if touched by magic.

She stepped inside, eyes wide in awe.

The space had transformed. Where there had been an overgrown, abandoned patch of earth, now there was a garden in full bloom. Trees heavy with fruit glistened under the moonlight, their leaves rustling gently in the breeze. Every flower seemed to dance in the cool night air. The place was alive, vibrant.

Y/N turned slowly, meeting Kallias’ gaze in the center of the garden. He stood with his hands in his pockets, his presence commanding yet gentle in this new, serene environment.

“You did all of this?” she asked, breathless.

“Not all of it,” Kallias replied with a quiet smile. “But I thought it might be a place you could call your own. A place where you can find peace, when the rest of the world is too much.”

Her eyes lingered on him. “Why? After all the damage…”

His smile faltered for a brief moment, but he held her gaze.

“Because I owe you that much. I owe you more than that.”

The space between them seemed to narrow, the moment stretching as he waited for her response.

“I—thank you,” she whispered, almost unable to speak at the beauty of it all, but more so at the sincerity behind his words.

Y/N had been on edge all day. The tension had been building in the air, the weight of the impending departure pressing on her chest. Each moment, every encounter with Kallias, had felt more and more charged with something she couldn’t place. She had tried to ignore it, but it was becoming harder.

When the note appeared—unsigned, as usual—her heart had skipped a beat.

Meet me at the edge of the northern terrace. There is something you must see.

She couldn’t ignore it. Not this time.

With a mix of reluctance and curiosity swirling in her chest, she donned her cloak, its fabric brushing softly against the stone floors as she made her way to the northern terrace. Her footsteps were steady, yet something inside her fluttered, as if she was walking toward a moment that could change everything.

When she reached the edge of the palace grounds, the familiar sight of Kallias waiting for her did not disappoint. He stood near the stone railing, facing the horizon, but something in the air felt different. A quiet intensity lingered, something almost tangible, weaving between them without a word spoken.

Y/N hesitated, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest. “Kallias,” she said, her voice soft but steady, “You’ve… been waiting for me?”

He didn’t turn to her immediately. Instead, he stood there for a long moment, as though savoring the distance between them. And then, finally, he spoke.

“Always.” His voice was quiet, deeper than usual, a note of something almost raw underneath. “Always.”

She felt the air around her shift. Not just the cool evening breeze, but something else—something electric, something that had been building for days. But she didn’t know what it was, nor did she have time to think about it as she stood there, facing the man who had changed everything she thought she knew about forgiveness, about trust, about herself.

The moment stretched, and then, without warning, the ground beneath their feet trembled ever so slightly. Y/N looked up instinctively, her breath catching in her throat.

And then, the sky exploded.

The northern lights. They burst to life in the heavens above them, spreading across the canvas of the night with an intensity that took her breath away. The lights shimmered in vivid shades of green, violet, and gold, swirling and twirling like a dance, as though the stars themselves had come alive. The air around them hummed with magic.

But it wasn’t just the lights. The stars above, too, seemed to rearrange themselves, forming patterns she had never seen before—constellations that were new, foreign, like they were being painted just for her, just for this moment. The lights stretched farther, brighter, glowing in every direction, encircling them, filling the sky with a breathtaking display of color and light.

She couldn’t take her eyes off of it. It was impossible. It felt as if the universe itself had shifted, bending and molding the world around her, all for this one instant.

And in that moment, Kallias finally turned to her. His face was bathed in the soft glow of the lights, but it was his eyes that caught her attention. His eyes, dark and stormy just days ago, now held something vulnerable—something sincere.

“I thought… if I could show you something beautiful,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper over the hum of the magic, “something just for you, you might understand that I’m trying.” His gaze softened. “I’m trying, Y/N.”

Y/N felt something inside her stir—a warmth, a flicker of hope, that she hadn’t felt in so long. Her chest tightened as she looked at him, the storm of conflicting emotions within her slowly beginning to settle.

“You don’t have to try so hard,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, as if the air itself held its breath. “I—” She didn’t know what to say. How could she? He had given her the impossible—an entire sky lit up just for her.

“I do,” he said, stepping closer. “I do have to try. I have to make you see that I regret everything. All of it. And I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to prove that to you.”

His words hit her like a wave, and for a long moment, she couldn’t speak. The magic in the sky above them seemed to intensify, swirling faster, becoming more vivid as if responding to his words. The aurora painted the sky with such beauty that it was almost overwhelming, a brilliant tapestry that filled the night.

Y/N’s hand trembled as she reached out toward the sky, the shimmering colors reflected in her eyes. “How… how did you do this?”

His hand, almost without thinking, reached for hers. His touch was gentle, his fingers brushing against hers like he was afraid to break the moment.

“I have my ways,” Kallias said with a small, self-deprecating smile. “But it’s nothing compared to the things I should have done for you.”

Y/N turned to him, and for the first time, she really looked at him. The man who had tried to push her away. The man who had hurt her. But also the man who was here, standing before her, now pouring all his regret and all his hope into this one gesture.

“You’ve done enough,” she said, her voice thick with emotion, as she took another step closer to him. “This… this is enough.”

He was so close now, she could feel his warmth, his presence enveloping her, the faintest trace of his breath on her cheek.

The night sky seemed to fade into the background, the northern lights themselves dimming just enough for them to focus on each other. And in the silence, with the magic of the world swirling around them, Kallias leaned in, just barely, his voice a hushed murmur.

“Y/N… I’m not asking you to forgive me. Not yet. But I want to earn it. I want to prove to you that I am worthy of your trust.”

For the first time, Y/N didn’t feel the need to pull away, didn’t feel the walls she had spent so long building. She was still scared, still uncertain of the future, but something inside her softened—something that had been hard and bitter for so long.

“I’m still not sure if I can forgive you,” she whispered, the vulnerability in her voice almost shocking. “But… I want to try.”

Kallias smiled then, a slow, genuine smile that reached his eyes. “That’s all I can ask for.”

And as the northern lights swirled around them, filling the sky with a breathtaking, magical glow, they stood there together—two souls caught in the same moment, a moment of tentative hope, of second chances.

And for the first time in a long time, Y/N allowed herself to believe that maybe—just maybe—there was something worth believing in again.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @slytherin-pen @buttpoltergeist @tooexhaustedsstuff @aliceinwondwonderland

[peoniesandflowers]

Geta ABC Headcanons

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) When the deed was done, Geta would quickly get his desired relief and make it known that he wanted to be left alone. He is someone that is not particularly interested in cuddling or pillow talks, so he only started doing it as you two saw each other more frequently.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) He likes his torso and chest since he has been able to sculpture it. But for his partner, his favourite would be their neck, the sensation of it beneath his lips and nails drives him to madness.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) He likes to come outside, since to him is a way of marking another person without other risks. As you two grow closer, tho, he will start coming inside too, saying how much he wants you to get pregnant.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) One morning, both of you were having breakfast on his room, and you licked some honey from your fingers, making him have an idea. Next thing you know, his tongue is all over your body, licking you clean after he poured threads of honey all over your skin.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) He has plenty of experience on what he likes since he has had a few lovers, so you'll need to be patient to let him learn about what you like.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) Loooves to see you on your knees looking up at him, even if it's just resting your head on his lap. He also likes you riding him so he can suck on your nipples and play with your ass.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) He might tease you and make you chuckle at first, but he loves to get serious all of a sudden, making you unable to do anything else but moan.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) He trims and takes care of it, but won't fully shave down there.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) At first, he isn't that much thoughtful of how "attentive" he is being, only making sure you also cum (because he wants to hold certain reputation) but as time goes by he gets more heated with you, enjoying every part of your body.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) Why should he pleasure himself when he has slaves and concubines? Same thing even when you are together.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) He is always the dominant one. He does not have to be it all the time, but even though he can be soft, gentle and charming, he is not going to be submissive. Being that said, taunt him and degrade him juuust enough, and you won't be able to walk for a week.

He also enjoys a bit of pain, so scratch his back, hold his neck tight and bite his hand when he muffles you, he will let you know how much he loves it.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) He has a bit of a public/thrill of being found out fantasy, and has been found in very precarious places. Behind a pillar here, a small, hidden room there. If you even suggest riding him on his throne, you won't be able to even walk up there because of how fast he will carry you on his shoulder to get there.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) This man is easy to pursue if you know how to talk to him. Bat your eyelashes a little and say that you miss him and that's enough for him.

At the same time, tease him and taunt him about how you are not sure if he will be able to do something (like making you cum) and his ego will do the rest.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) Not being in control is a huge no for him, so, for example, tying him down will only happen if he trusts that you will do only things he likes and wants.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) He is not really used to give since he hasn't really bothered about other people's pleasure, but if you know how to push his buttons and say something like "yeah, it's okay, you can't be good at everything" to tease him how XYZ lover did it so much better, he will get to town. The only thing, I feel like he will get impatient, so he will only do it when he knows it can make you come quick.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) He loves a fast pace, specially if he can either see or hear how you bounce on him. As you too see more, he can get more lovey-dovey but it aaaalways gets up getting heated and fast.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) He loves them, both for how risky they can be and how fast he can make you come.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) He is the one suggesting stuff to you and just seeing if you are okay with it. About what he suggests, i would leave it up to y'all.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) 2 to 3 if it has been a short while. 4 and even 5 if he has been a long time since he could have you.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) i dead ass feel like it will make him jealous 💀💀💀 like he would say something like "you are only allowed to come on my dick" or something like that

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) He usually won't do it in public or social situations since he has scold his brother for such manners before.

If you two are alone, he may lay down on the same sofa where you are seated and trace his fingers on your skin softly, both to just feel you and make you remember that he can just do that and more if he wanted to.

If you decide to tease him in private, he would like to see how far you are able to get it through. But tease him too much, and he will make you beg to come, leaving you on the edge.

Pray for your soul of you decide to tease him outside the bedroom.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) He gets loud. He moans he grunts he huffs a d he swears.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) He has a very sensitive neck. Kiss it softly and you'll swear you heard him purr just right before he throws you to the bed.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) 10,5 cm, thick, and a small mole on the right side of his crotch

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) He can do good for 4 days without neither sex nor masturbation, then he either pleases himself or takes you, whatever he can do at that moment.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) At first he would come, turn around and sleep. Now he cuddles you a little and checks that you are okey before falling sleep.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 143 (The Wedding Reception)

After the newlyweds and their guests posed for photos, they had just enough remaining light to mingle before the caterers - Suri and her grandmother, Clara Bjergsen - put out the food. With permission, Ash raced into the spiral maze to take a selfie with Sophie the Snail, searching for treasures in the ferns beneath the carved stone slug.

What he found looked confusing - like a mint green box with a circle of numbers wearing earmuffs, and Ash raced back to ask his family what it was. "I think it could be a telephone," Heather guessed. "They used to be plugged into walls."

Felix smiled. "I haven't seen one of those for at least sixty years! It's a rotary dial phone. You dial the number by spinning the wheel. But people used to think this took too much time, so they invented phones with buttons and speed dials, and these fell out of use."

Ash was enthralled by what Felix knew of history. "Will it still work?"

"I don't think so. Most landlines have been discontinued because everyone uses mobile phones these days."

Ash glanced eagerly at Heather and Conrad. "Can I still keep it? It looks so cool!"

Heather smiled. "Of course you can. That's how Sophie the Snail works. Leave something for someone else to find, and whatever you find yourself is yours to keep!"

Curious Conrad looked at the old fashioned phone. "I wonder who left it there."

"Do you think it was the time traveler Emit Relevart is looking for?"

Heather shrugged. "I looked him up online after we saw the report on Simlandia National, but I didn't find out anything they weren't already reporting on the news. He loves science and technology, believes in time travel, and has blue hair."

Felix and Lilith perked up as Lavender called her mother's attention. "You saw the news report, too? I've been trying to convince Felix to take a detour to Willow Creek on our way back to Britechester to see if we can find him."

The former ghost smiled at his beloved. "After everything with Ash in Sulani, you still want to jump through time? I've told you the past wasn't nearly as wonderful as the present."

"Right, but you said it wasn't as wonderful because I wasn't there. My podcast would blow up if I could talk about what it's like to time travel! But more than the podcast, I want to see things you've seen, with you, and I bet a time traveler could help us!"

Though less enthusiastic, Felix took seriously his responsibility to make Lilith happy. Love like this was exactly what he'd stuck around for, waiting for his chance to live again. "It would be a dream to walk miles of old streets with you, Lil. We'll go to Willow Creek, find this 'Emit,' and we'll see what he knows about the future."

To make it to Willow Creek and home to Britechester before too late, Felix and Lilith left soon after food was served. Kris also returned early to San Myshuno with Betta when the four-year-old grew tired and cranky, but there were still plenty of loved ones left to enjoy the buffet-style spread, including fruit-decorated cupcakes instead of a cake, just like Lavender had requested.

They were grateful to Suri and her grandmother for providing such wonderful food. Conrad even gave Suri a huge amount of money autonomously (all of it wtf?! At least we have a money tree), calling it an investment into her takeover of the Salty Paw, and her hope to turn it from a dive bar to a slightly more upscale licensed cafe.

"I can't believe you and Heather would do that for me," said Suri with a smile and warm embrace for the groom. "My catering rates are a lot lower than this!"

"You're a great chef and we believe in your ideas. Hazel loves you, and Heather and I believe in your plans for the Salty Paw. Just try not to lose that smell about the place. We'll miss it if you really clean it up."

Suri laughed. "You're in luck. I don't think that smell would disappear even if I tore down every single wall and built from the ground up."

Heather spent extra time catching up with her sister Holly, who she hadn't spent meaningful time with since the winter holidays. "Life is busy in the city with Kris and two busy girls, but that's nothing compared to what you've been through lately."

"I really think Ash has been okay since it happened, but we're going to take him to a counselor, regardless. He has a lot of questions about everything, but he really seems like himself."

"But how are you doing? Your son was kidnapped!"

"Honestly? As long as I remind myself he's okay, I don't beat myself up with guilt. But sometimes I watch him sleep just to make sure he's still there. Conrad wants to put a sofa in his bedroom so I get enough rest for the baby."

"And his ex is definitely going to prison?"

Heather nodded. "She's not getting a jury trial and Rafa gave up details on several unsolved cases, plus the whereabouts of some weapons stockpiles around the city, so Felix is fairly confident he'll get his sentence down to a year, at most, because he was a minor for most of the stuff he's wanted for."

"He killed all those men; aren't you worried he's dangerous?"

Heather shook her head. "I used to be, but I met him. And after everything he's done, I'd trust him with my own life. We would have wanted him here for the wedding if he wasn't in custody."

As the night wore on, guests ate and chatted while Lavender occupied her doting grandparents' attention, and Heather finally found a moment to chat with Mortimer about her recent trip to Selvadorada. She'd been meaning to ask him about the medallion she and Spencer had seen at the museum, inscribed with a message from Malcolm A. Landgraab to Lady Victorine Goth, but she'd been so busy since her return.

"Lady Ravendancer was my great-great-grandmother," admitted Mortimer, his brow creased in thought. "Family rumours of her infidelity to my great-great-grandfather, Lord Samuel Goth, have carried for over a century, but the medallion would be the first piece of evidence to support it."

The writer smiled to himself as he considered the historical discoveries he might find - a dramatic story of betrayal and spellcaster magic, if they were lucky. "If my great-great-grandmother had an affair with a Landgraab, it could explain how the families became such fierce rivals in business. The Landgraabs wanted to settle the west, but the Goths wouldn't let them do it alone."

"Do you think it has anything to do with the old pirate's curse you told me about?"

Mortimer shot her a look of sympathy. "It might. I should make a trip out to visit the family archives in Willow Creek; it might give more insight on this medallion in the jungle."

She thanked him as the moon came out above the trees. Lavender curled into a ball to nap on the benches near her sleepy Aunt Hazel and Uncle River - it had been a long day and was now well past her bedtime - and the guests slowly began to wish the newlyweds well and head home. Ash made his way to the treehouse to play, changing into warmer attire as a sign the wedding festivities were drawing to a close.

Heather and Conrad had no time for a honeymoon and returned to their busy lives in Brindleton Bay, but they would cherish the memories made today for the rest of their lives. ->

<- Previous Part (Wedding Album) | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

NOTE: And that's it! Conther is married!! I realize this reception was a lot of just letting sims do autonomous things and didn't have any photogenic traditions like first dances and cake-cutting, but letting sims be sims gives surprising plot sometimes! It led to Conrad and Heather giving money to Suri "to invest in her upscale cafe," which I didn't plan for but it's indicative of how supportive this legacy family is, and they've accepted Suri despite the scandalous start to her relationship with Hazel, so I liked it! (After getting over the initial shock of having zero simoleons out of nowhere! This autonomous interaction is always such a jump scare, like 'where is all my money?!' 😂)

I also got to send Ash for a selfie with Sophie, to mirror the one his mother took at the statue in childhood because someone (I think @pixeldistractions? I'm sorry if I'm misremembering!) suggested making it tradition, while also tying it in to the Blast From the Past event. No he didn't really find the phone under there as part of the quests but since it's a common hiding place for some exciting things, I had to pretend he did. He really found some snowdrops, which is cool because winter just ended for the next 16 years! Nonetheless, he'll hold on to them, because my sims hoard things in their inventories like mad, just in case I can use them later.

[kiwriteswords]

So I have another request 🥸☝️

I had this idea about a 5+1 story and this is definitely your thing so I guess it’s the perfect moment to tell you about it and of course feel free to do it or not (I promise I won’t be sad if you don’t)

The thing was “5 times reader took Hotch on a date and one time he did” and in my head it was something like he hasn’t been on date for a long date or he always went on “simple” dates and doesn’t have anything special to tell or another amazing reason you’ll find because your brain is beautiful and reader decide to take him and of course the last one he’s the one who does

Not sure if it’s clear and maybe it’s not even a good idea 😂 but here it is and thank you for being amazing 💖

Everybody Knows You're All I've Got [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Ki2k Masterlist||MainMasterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 5.3k|| AN: Ahh, I love this! Thank YOU for being amazing and always so kind! I really appreciate all of the support and requests! I hope this is what you were looking for! <3

Tags/Warnings: female reader, 5 +1, best friends to lovers, Oblivious Hotch, Grumpy x Sunshine, Reader has an ex-boyfriend, reader hints at being bisexual? (easy to miss tbh), fake dating, first dates, slow burn, Jack Hotchner TW (for those who don't like him included 🤷‍♀️) Hotch is a rusty boyfriend, Reader takes care of hotch bc he sucks at caring for himself

Summary: Five times you took Hotch on a date and the one time he takes you on one.

I. 

When you started at the BAU, it wasn't just the beginning of a new job but the start of an unlikely friendship with Aaron Hotchner. 

To many, Hotch was a mystery wrapped in a suit, always reserved and meticulously professional. But to you, he was a puzzle waiting to be understood, a person who just needed a bit of sunlight in the often shadowy world of the BAU.

You were everything Hotch wasn't outwardly: bubbly, openly kind, and radiating empathy like warmth from a fireplace. Where the weight of the job furrowed his brow, your smile seemed to light up the room, often bringing a much-needed lift to the team's spirits. 

It didn’t take long for you to notice the little things that could bring a momentary smile to Hotch’s often impassive face--a perfectly timed cup of coffee after a long night, a gentle tease to crack his professional veneer, or a supportive word after a tough case.

One chilly October afternoon, as the leaves painted the world in hues of fire and gold, you approached Hotch with an extra ticket in hand. There had been a buzz about the new play in town, something about it transforming the mundane into magic, and you thought it would be the perfect escape from the reality you both faced daily.

You had heard Hotch speak here and there about theater-related things. On the outside, looking in, he didn’t appear to be a theater geek at heart, but the subtle notes and references he made or picked up on had him found out by you fairly quickly. 

"Hotch, you're coming with me to the play tonight," you declared with a grin, waving the ticket like a magic wand.

He looked up from his paperwork, the corners of his eyes crinkling just so, a sign you had come to recognize as intrigue mixed with resistance. "You should take a friend...or perhaps a date," he suggested, his voice steady but his gaze flickering away momentarily.

Hotch had always been a fortress of solitude, his emotions guarded like the secrets of the cases you worked on together. But over time, you'd learned to read the subtle shifts in his expression as if they were confessions.

You leaned against his office door, your smile unwavering. 

"But I am taking a friend, and honestly, I can't think of anyone else I’d rather have as my date tonight. You deserve a night off, to be wined and dined and just...have fun." You shrugged. You knew this man, out of anyone in this building, likely hadn’t had a night out of fun since 1997. “How long has it been since you've done something just for the joy of it?”

Hotch paused, the word 'date' hanging between you like a challenge. His jaw set, a classic Hotchner move before surrendering to a situation outside his control. "I'm not sure I'm the best company for something like that," he countered softly, almost vulnerable.

"Which is exactly why you should come," you insisted. "You spend so much time taking care of everyone else here, Hotch. Tonight, let someone take care of you. Plus, I love your company, whether it’s here dealing with unsubs or outside where we can actually enjoy ourselves." You paused, “And you know me,” You smirked, “I’m really not going to let this go.” 

There was a long pause, a silent conversation passing through the air as he considered your words. Finally, with a small, almost imperceptible nod, he accepted. "Alright, I'll go."

The theater was an antique jewel in the heart of the city, its walls lined with velvety red curtains and golden lights that cast a warm glow over the buzzing audience. As the curtain rose, the stage transformed into a magical realm, pulling you both away from the grim realities of your daily work.

The play was a vibrant affair, with actors breathing life into their roles with a passion that made you forget the world outside. Throughout the evening, you watched Hotch, too, seeing him genuinely engaged, a softness in his eyes that you seldom saw at work. 

During intermission, over glasses of wine, you shared light, easy conversation that danced around personal edges, revealing layers of each other previously tucked away behind professional facades.

"Thank you for bringing me," Hotch said as you walked out under the canopy of stars. His voice was low, sincere. "It’s been...more enjoyable than I anticipated."

"You're welcome!" you beamed, feeling a swell of happiness at his admission. "See? The world outside the BAU isn’t so bad, is it?"

He allowed himself a small chuckle, the sound mingling with the crisp night air. "No, it isn’t. Especially not with the right company."

The evening ended with a promise of similar outings, an unspoken agreement that both of you would take turns pulling each other away from the shadows of your job into the light of life outside it. It was simple, an easy friendship blossoming quietly into something that neither of you had expected but both secretly hoped would continue to grow.

II. 

You burst into Hotch's office with a flair that would rival any stage performance, immediately drawing a rare smile from him despite the obvious panic etched across your face. He set aside his paperwork, an unspoken signal that he was all ears, and patiently waited for you to gather your thoughts.

Despite the clear panic struck on your face…it was amusing to Hotch. Cute even. Your typical calm, cool, and collected personality seemingly faded now. Your flustered state was something that Hotch found endearingly human, a contrast to your usual composed demeanor. 

"Hotch, I have a...a situation," you gasped, struggling for breath as you stopped in front of his desk. The rare sight of your disarray pulled a smile from him, a softening around his eyes that encouraged you to continue.

Catching your breath, you finally blurted out, "My ex-fiancé is coming to town, and he's...he's engaged now!" You paced a small circle before facing Hotch again, your hands animatedly moving as you spoke. "And, of course, he wants to meet for drinks to introduce me to his fiancée."

Hotch's eyebrows raised slightly, a silent prompt for you to continue.

You exhaled sharply, the words tumbling out. Complete and utter word vomit. Word salad. Word soup…all over Aaron Hotchner’s perfectly perfected office. "I might have, sort of, told him I was seeing someone too--just to sound less...pathetic." You met Hotch's gaze, a mix of embarrassment and mischief in your eyes. "And I said it was you. It had to be you."

"Me?" Hotch's voice was calm, but his surprise was evident.

You nodded vigorously. "Yeah, I mean, it couldn’t be Derek; he’s all action-hero, way too macho. And Spencer? He’d inadvertently make me look dumb with all his factoids. And Rossi...well," you chuckled nervously, "he’s great, but he could practically be my dad!"

You paused, a playful glint appearing in your eyes. "I even thought about taking Emily, you know, referring back to my experimental college days," you joked, watching Hotch’s reaction carefully.

There was a moment of stillness as Hotch processed your train of thought. Finally, he leaned back in his chair, the corners of his mouth twitching into an almost imperceptible smile. "So, I'm the safest choice for a fake boyfriend, is that it?"

"Exactly!" you exclaimed, relieved he wasn't upset. "You’re respectable, you’re responsible, and let’s be honest, you can scare him a little if you do that...stern FBI look.” You paused, trying to convey the other reason behind this…this choice. Hotch had become someone you deeply cared for. It was evident to everyone. “And not just safe," you corrected, your tone earnest. "You're...you make me feel secure. You're the one person here who always has my back."

Hotch considered this for a moment; then his expression softened--a new understanding dawning between you. "When is this drink supposed to happen?"

"Tomorrow night," you replied, your voice a mixture of hope and anxiety. The relief in your voice mirrored the relief in your stance.

Hotch nodded slowly, then stood up from his desk, a decisive look replacing his initial surprise. "Alright, then. It seems I’m your...boyfriend for the evening. We might as well make sure your ex realizes what he’s missed out on."

Your relief was palpable, and a genuine smile spread across your face. "Thank you, Hotch. Really, I...this means a lot to me."

“I’ll be there--not just as your fake boyfriend, but as your friend."

Your heart fluttered unexpectedly at his words, warmth spreading through you at the thought of him standing by your side. "Thank you, really, Hotch. Really…honestly, this means everything to me."

The rest of the day, you found yourself catching Hotch's eye a few times, each glance exchanged, building a silent, mutual understanding. It was an odd, unexpected partnership, but as the hours passed, a curious anticipation grew within both of you about the role you were about to play.

The following evening at the bar was like stepping into another world. The dim lighting cast a warm glow that softened the sharp edges of Hotch's usually stark features. He stood there, not as the BAU chief, but as someone altogether more approachable, dressed in a smart casual jacket that hinted at the man beneath the badge.

"You look...not like Agent Hotchner," you commented with a teasing tone as you approached.

"And you look like someone who definitely isn’t nursing a broken heart," Hotch replied, offering his arm in a gentlemanly gesture that you didn’t expect but appreciated.

The night unfolded with an ease that surprised you both. Hotch played the part perfectly, charming yet subtly protective, casting doubtful glances from your ex that you couldn't help but feel satisfied to provoke. With every laugh and shared glance, the line between pretense and reality blurred.

As you left the bar, Hotch’s hand brushed against yours, a touch that lingered longer than necessary. "You know," he said quietly, stopping to face you under the soft glow of the streetlamp, "you don’t need to pretend to be anything you're not--not with me."

Your heart skipped a beat at the intensity of his gaze. "Maybe next time, we won’t have to pretend," you suggested, the words hanging between you like a promise waiting to be kept.

Hotch studied you for a moment, his usual reserve giving way to a tender sincerity. "I’d like that," he admitted, and in his eyes, you saw not just the stoic chief but a man who had begun to see you in a new light, just as you were seeing him.

As you walked away together, the city around you faded into the background, leaving only the possibilities of what might come next--a future neither of you had anticipated, but both silently hoped to explore.

III. 

On a brisk morning, as the case stretched on and lunchtime approached, you could feel the gnawing emptiness in your stomach. Seated beside Hotch in the car, an hour away from the rest of the team, you were certain he must be just as hungry--even if he never complained. From what you'd observed, Hotch often neglected his own needs, always focused on the job or caring for his team.

He was the kind of man who seemed to subsist on sheer willpower--and far too much coffee, which, as you often joked.

Coffee shouldn’t count as a meal. 

Dessert? Maybe. With extra whipped topping and mocha drizzle. Lunch? Never. 

You wished somedays you’d just pack him a sandwich. It was hard to picture the man devouring a peanut butter and jelly, but a grown man’s got to eat! And from the looks of it, he rarely prioritizes that. The thought made you smile, a brief respite from the growling of your stomach.

The world outside painted a stark contrast to the warmth inside the car. Bare trees stood sentinel along the frost-lined road, their branches swaying in the cold wind that whispered promises of an impending winter. The car's heater hummed softly, a counterpoint to the rhythm of the road beneath the tires.

Glancing over at him as he drove, you noticed his focus was unwavering, his hands steady on the wheel. The rumbling of your stomach broke the silence, making it impossible to ignore any longer. Without a word, you leaned over the console and started typing into the GPS.

Hotch shot you a curious look. One eyebrow raised before darting back toward the open road. "What are you doing?"

"We need food, Hotch. I’m starving, and I know you haven’t eaten either," you said, inputting the address of a nearby diner you’d quickly looked up. The promise of a simple but comforting meal seemed like the perfect break from the stresses of the case.

He briefly glanced at the screen before returning his eyes to the road. "We should really get back to the precinct, join the team," he argued, his voice steady but lacking conviction. 

"Hotch, we’re no good to them if we’re hungry and irritable," you countered, meeting his gaze with a playful yet firm look. "And I’m about to get very irritable if I don’t eat something soon."

"I don’t get irritable," Hotch said, a faint smile playing on his lips despite his attempt to seem annoyed.

"You will be if you don’t eat," you teased. "Now, follow the GPS. I’m ordering us cheeseburgers and fries. And if you’re good," you added with a cheeky grin, "I might even treat you to a milkshake."

That seemed to amuse him, a spark of warmth lighting up his usually reserved eyes. With a resigned chuckle, Hotch finally nodded and turned the car in the direction of the diner.

As you both walked into the diner, the shift in atmosphere was palpable. The cozy warmth, the smell of coffee and fried food, offered a much-needed respite. 

You slid into a booth, the red vinyl squeaking under you, and Hotch took the seat across, his body language relaxing as he perused the menu you handed him. The corner of his mouth twitched upward in amusement at your noticeable relief.

"See, isn’t this better than a cold sandwich in the precinct?" you asked as you handed him a menu, your tone light and teasing.

"It is," he admitted, his gaze lingering on yours a moment longer than necessary. "Thanks for taking care of me."

The conversation flowed easily as you waited for your food, touching on light topics that didn’t involve work. It was a side of Hotch you rarely saw--relaxed, even a bit playful, especially when you joked about how he deserved a day off now and then.

When the food arrived, Hotch seemed genuinely pleased with the hearty meal, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction in seeing him so. As you both ate, the playful banter continued, and you teased him about his choice of milkshake flavor--classic vanilla, to match his no-nonsense personality.

"You know, for someone who claims to be all business, you sure enjoy vanilla quite a bit," you quipped, taking a sip of your own, more adventurous, chocolate shake.

Hotch looked up, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Maybe I just appreciate the simpler things," he retorted, his voice low and teasing in a way that sent a thrill through you. “And the company isn’t bad.” 

You caught the twinkle in his eye, and it sparked something bold within you. "Well, if it's the simple things you appreciate," you started, a playful edge to your voice, "I might just have to take you on more 'simple' dates like this. I mean, if the company isn't bad..."

Hotch's smile broadened a rare and full grin that reached his eyes, softening the usually stern lines of his face. "I wouldn't object to that," he admitted, his tone suggesting he was more pleased by the idea than he let on. "It seems I've been missing out on quite a few simple pleasures."

The light banter, mixed with the warm glow of the diner and the comfort of the meal, wove a moment of connection that felt both exhilarating and natural. As you both laughed, the air between you filled with a sense of possibility, a hint that this could be the beginning of exploring not just crime scenes together but something much deeper and personally rewarding.

The meal ended too soon, but the light-hearted mood lingered as you both headed back to the car. As Hotch drove back to the precinct, the playful ease between you felt like a silent acknowledgment of something deeper, something neither of you had expected to find in the midst of a tough case.

The ride back was quiet but comfortable, filled with shared glances and an unspoken agreement that this, whatever it was that was blooming between you, was something worth exploring, no matter how cautiously. The seeds planted during that fake date had started to sprout, and as the landscape rolled by outside the car windows, so too did the possibilities of what might come next.

IV. 

The evolution of your relationship with Hotch had been as subtle as the change of seasons, marked not by grand gestures but by shared glances and small touches that lingered a bit longer than necessary. These were the silent confirmations of a deepening bond, one that had maturely navigated the boundaries of professionalism and his life as a dedicated father.

Recognizing the significance of his role as a father and wanting to affirm your respect for this vital part of his life, you planned an outing that would comfortably include his son, Jack. The idea was simple yet thoughtful--a paint day at a local studio, a space vibrant with color and creativity, perfect for Jack, whose love for painting Hotch had mentioned in passing.

When you shared the plan with Hotch, his response was unexpectedly moving. His eyes, usually guarded and holding the weight of his responsibilities, softened remarkably. "This is really thoughtful of you," he said, his voice tinged with a sincerity that resonated deeply within you. "Jack will love this, and honestly, it means a lot to me too."

As you entered the studio, the warmth inside was a stark contrast to the chill outside. The walls were adorned with splashes of color and shelves lined with ceramics and canvases added to the eclectic charm. Jack's excitement was infectious; his energy seemed to fill the room as he dashed about, choosing his materials with serious cconsideration

You picked a mug to paint, selecting colors with a playful eye, while Hotch chose a plate, his attempts at painting it more comical than artistic.

"You might stick to profiling, Hotchner," you teased gently, watching him struggle with a paintbrush.

Hotch looked up, amusement flickering across his face. "I think you might be right," he conceded, and even Jack chimed in with a giggle, enjoying the sight of his dad out of his usual element.

Jack, inspired by the day's activities, decided to paint a canvas depicting the three of you playing soccer--a scene from his imagination that warmed your heart. It was touching to see how he included you in his artwork, a sign that he was accepting you into their little world.

Throughout the day, the chemistry between you and Hotch was more apparent than ever. Every shared smile, every light touch while passing paint jars, seemed to underline the deepening connection. It was clear that something more was there, something neither of you had fully acknowledged yet. There was a comfort and ease between you, a natural fit that felt like it could seamlessly extend beyond these shared moments into something lasting.

As the day wound down, you looked at your finished mug, Hotch’s humorously bad plate, and Jack’s heartfelt canvas. There was a profound sense of accomplishment and happiness. Jack’s energy never waned, and his chatter about where he would hang his painting in his room filled the space with joy.

Driving back, the car was filled with a comfortable silence before Hotch finally spoke, his voice laden with emotion. "Today was perfect," he said sincerely. "Thank you for setting this up. It's...it's not often we get to do something so normal, so fun."

"It was my pleasure, really," you responded, your voice soft, conveying the genuine joy you felt. "I loved every minute of it, Hotch. Seeing you and Jack like this, it’s...it's wonderful."

Hotch glanced over, his expression thoughtful, the setting sun casting shadows that played across his features. "It's new for me," he confessed, "letting someone into our world this way. But it feels right...with you."

Your heart fluttered at his words, the weight of them carrying a promise of something deeper, something that was slowly taking shape between you. "I'm glad," you murmured, reaching over to squeeze his hand briefly, an affirmation of the bond forming among the three of you.

The drive back was quiet but filled with an unspoken acknowledgment of the budding relationship that was no longer just a possibility but a burgeoning reality. As you watched the scenery blur by, you realized that this day hadn’t just been about painting or playing--it was a canvas for what was to come, a beautifully unfolding story that you were all painting together.

V. 

Navigating the intricacies of your evolving relationship with Hotch had been like reading a novel written in a familiar yet indecipherable script. 

You weren't someone who needed everything spelled out,who required every emotion or intention to be neatly labeled like items in a catalog.

However, as your interactions deepened--marked by those unmistakably boyfriend-like gestures, from the way he'd casually touch your back guiding you through a doorway, to how he'd drop a coffee on your desk exactly the way you liked it--questions began to surface in your mind.

What exactly were you to each other?

Sure, he acted like your boyfriend, did things that a boyfriend would do. 

There were those long drives from crime scenes where you'd debrief not just on the case but about life, hopes, fears. 

He was there, always somehow there, in ways that mattered. But without the explicit affirmation, a tiny part of you lingered in doubt. It wasn't that you thought he might be seeing other people--Hotch barely had time to eat properly, let alone date multiple people. But clarity was something you craved, even as you thrived in the gray areas of life.

Deciding to address these swirling thoughts directly, you leveraged your day off--an all-too-rare occurrence that felt like the universe’s nod to take action. With your usual blend of brightness and empathy, you picked up your phone and dialed Hotch’s number. 

The call was quick; the invitation straightforward but imbued with all the significance of stepping into new, uncharted territory.

"Hi, Hotch, it’s me," you began, your voice carrying a cheerful lilt that belied the butterflies doing somersaults in your stomach. "I was thinking, since we both actually have a free evening, maybe we could go out for dinner? I’ve made reservations at that new place we’ve both been curious about. If you’re up for it?"

There was a brief pause, and for a second, you wondered if you’d stepped over an unseen line. But then his response came, warm and unmistakably pleased. "That sounds great, I’d love to. What time should I pick you up?"

The simplicity of his acceptance, the ease with which he stepped into the space you’d opened, lifted a weight off your shoulders you hadn’t fully realized you'd been carrying. 

As you hung up, a smile played on your lips, mirrored by a warmth that spread through your chest. This dinner would be different; it wasn't just about enjoying good food or making casual conversation. It was about defining what was between you, about giving shape to the connection that had grown, subtly but significantly, over the countless shared moments.

That evening, as you prepared for the date, every choice--from the dress you wore to the perfume you dabbed behind your ears--felt imbued with intention. Meeting him outside your place, you noticed the effort he’d put into his appearance as well. Gone was the standard FBI suit, replaced by something softer, yet equally compelling. His smile when he saw you was enough to set your heart racing.

From the moment he opened the car door for you, everything felt right--effortlessly falling into a pattern that seemed to have existed for years, not just the recent weeks of growing closeness. The conversation flowed freely as you drove to the restaurant, filled with the usual banter and warmth that had become a hallmark of your interactions.

At the restaurant, your dynamic was unmistakably couple-like, drawing knowing smiles from the servers as you laughed and shared food across the table. It was remarkably natural, the ease between you, as if all your prior interactions had been rehearsals for this very moment.

Midway through the meal, buoyed by the comfort that had defined the evening, you decided to address the ambiguity that had lightly clouded your relationship. "Hotch, I’ve been wondering," you started, your voice soft but direct, "what exactly is this for us? I mean, we’ve been spending so much time together, and it feels like…well, like we’re a couple. But we’ve never really talked about it."

Hotch paused, a forkful of dinner halfway to his mouth, and his expression shifted to one of mild embarrassment. Setting his utensil down, he met your gaze; his cheeks tinged with a rare flush. 

"I...I’m sorry; I suppose I should have brought it up," he admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of chagrin. "I’m not very experienced with how this is supposed to go. Things have been going so well, I didn’t think to...well, make it official or ask properly. You know, the whole…dating protocol."

You reached across the table, covering his hand with yours, squeezing it reassuringly. "Hotch, I don’t need any grand gestures or formal declarations," you said warmly. "But I think some clarity would be helpful, just…so we’re on the same page. Clarity is comforting, especially with something as important as this."

Hotch smiled a genuine, relieved smile. "Then let’s be clear: I’d like nothing more than to be considered your boyfriend if you feel the same way.” He paused, his eyes locking with yours, "How about you let me take you on a real first date after tonight? And I promise, it won’t be like the casual outings we’ve had before."

"You mean all those times we grabbed a coffee or had those long drives weren’t dates?" you teased,your voice light, trying to ease the intensity of the moment.

"They were...unofficial dates. Practice, if you will," Hotch replied with a laugh. "But from now on, I promise, nothing but the real thing."

The promise of a 'proper' date, laden with Hotch’s earnest intentions, filled you with a delightful anticipation. It wasn’t just the thrill of formalizing your relationship but the realization that you were both navigating this new terrain together, equally invested and open.

+1

As the evening approached, the flutter of anticipation was palpable. You had been on dates before, but the buildup to this particular outing with Hotch had an entirely different tenor. 

His promise of a "real first date" had left you curious and, admittedly, a bit exhilarated. Despite his claim of being rusty, the effort he put into planning the evening suggested otherwise.

Hotch arrived right on time, looking every bit the part of a gentleman set to impress. His usual dark, work-appropriate suits were replaced by a tailored charcoal blazer that complemented his stern features, softened tonight by the hint of a smile as he greeted you. 

As Hotch presented you with the bouquet of lilies and wildflowers, their scent subtly mingling with the evening air, it was the perfect prelude to an evening that promised to be anything but ordinary. 

His eyes held a gleam of anticipation as he asked, "Ready for an adventure?" His voice was light, but beneath it, you could detect a current of genuine excitement--a hint that tonight was about more than just dinner.

The drive led you away from the familiar lights of the city to a more secluded bistro overlooking the water, known for its privacy and exquisite views. The table was set in a quiet corner of the terrace, draped in soft white linen and lit by a single, flickering candle that cast a warm glow over the setting. The backdrop of the slowly setting sun, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, made the scene almost too picturesque to be real.

Throughout dinner, Hotch was both attentive and charming, effortlessly leading the conversation through laughter and deeper, more introspective topics. 

"I’ve been out of the game for a long time," he admitted as you both looked over the bay, "but I wanted tonight to be special. I wanted to show you how much I appreciate everything you do, not just for me, but for Jack as well." His words warmed you more than the evening air. "You see me in ways I didn't realize were visible," he continued, his gaze holding yours. "The way you care for those around you, especially Jack and I, it’s more than just empathy--it's genuine love."

Your hands touched as you both reached for your wine glasses, a spark of connection in the simple gesture. “I see the same in you, Hotch. The way you balance everything, yet still manage to make us feel...important,” you replied, your voice soft but clear over the gentle lapping of the water below.

Dinner unfolded beautifully, each course a delight not just to the palate but as a discovery of shared tastes and preferences. With each dish, you learned something new about each other--preferences hidden beneath daily routines, stories from the past that had shaped your tastes.

As you shared a dessert, Hotch pointed at your plate with his fork. "Are you sure you’re ready to share that? It looks too good to split fifty-fifty."

You eyed the last piece of chocolate mousse, then back at him with a playful challenge in your eyes. "Maybe I’ll reconsider based on your performance review of this date."

Hotch leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "In that case, I’d better ensure the evening ends on a high note." His light-hearted tone matched the sparkle in his gaze, making the simple act of sharing dessert feel like flirtatious banter.

As you walked along the port after dinner, the moon casting shimmering trails across the water, Hotch nudged you gently with his elbow. "So, do I get bonus points for choosing a place with a view?"

"Maybe just a few," you conceded, nudging him back. "But only because you seem to know the way to my heart--through scenic views and excellent food."

The laughter that followed was easy and genuine, drifting into the night air and mixing with the rhythmic sounds of the waves. "You know, I think I’m getting the hang of this dating thing again," Hotch said, a note of mock pride in his voice.

"Just keep up with me, Hotch. I have high standards for second dates, remember?" you teased, your smile reflecting the joy of the evening.

Hotch's laugh echoed softly in the quiet night. "Is that a challenge?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

"It might just be," you replied, matching his tone. "I’m curious to see what you’ll come up with next.

The night ended with a promise of more to come, not just another date, but more moments like these--shared, special, and sincere.

As Hotch drove you home, you were indeed head over heels, not just for the man who had meticulously planned this perfect first date, but for the one who had shown you his heart, beautifully open and invitingly warm. It was clear that whatever lay ahead, it would be a journey worth taking, together.

[synthetickitsune]

hello!! i absolutely love all of your seventeen works, your writing is so amazing 💗

i was wondering if i could request some junhui comfort where he’s home after a long time. it could be angsty, maybe leading into a little spice but you can choose the premise of where it goes! i just wanted to give the idea since we all miss him sm

thank you so much 💗 feel free to skip if it’s not okay! i just wanted to tell you that i absolutely live your writing and i come baxk to your jun works almost all the time!

Jun (SVT) | Back home fluff | 0.8k | gn!reader A/N: thank you so much, anon!! you're so sweet ♡ i hope this is okay!

He keeps bumping into furniture. He keeps having to look for snacks, little things he needs. Embarrassingly enough, he can’t remember where to put the dishes when unloading the dishwasher. 

It’s the small things that really break a man and Junhui hasn’t felt this lost and desperate in a long time. You always chuckle and reassure him it’s fine, help him figure out his way around the apartment - and he loves that. He loves that he gets to kiss you and tell you he wouldn’t survive without you and hear you laugh. Nonetheless he can’t help but feel sad that you need to do that. He doesn’t want to be a stranger in his own home. 

To be fair, it’s understandable. You made some changes - that you’ve consulted and agreed on with him - to the apartment layout, you got some new furniture, and thus stuff just had to be moved around. He remembers how long you’ve complained about getting used to it yourself, so he frankly shouldn’t be taking this as hard as he is. It’s inevitable. He must just be missing sharing the experience with you.

It piles up, though, these little frustrations, and while you’re resting on the couch one day, the television just a background noise for Jun, who’s intently listening to you talking about your day, and you mention sometimes he has no clue about - it just gets too much. You see the way his face falls and his brows furrow slightly and immediately want to make it right.

“Oh my god, I forgot to tell you about this,” you jump up and as excited as you seem to be to fill him up, he can’t match your energy.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers and gives you a sad half smile, “I’ve been gone for too long, right?”

Now it’s your time to frown. You shake your head and put your hand over his.

“Jun, you were working. It’s alright,” you try to reassure him.

“I know, but that’s not what I asked,” he insists. You sigh.

“You were gone for a while, yeah, but it can’t be helped,” you say calmly while you intertwine your fingers, “What’s going on?”

He shrugs. To be honest he didn’t plan to spill the beans, would rather figure it out on his own. You’re looking at him like that, though, and he doesn’t want you to worry. So he takes your other hand into his as well and turns to fully face you.

“I feel like I don’t belong here-”

“Jun-”

“No, please,” he squeezes your hands, “Just listen.”

He doesn’t know where it all came from, but he can’t stop the words from spilling out. He knows he’s rambling and probably doesn’t make sense, one half-finished sentence turning into another, yet he’s helpless to stop. Whenever he looks up, though, you’re listening and nodding along. Jun must be falling in love all over again.

“What I want to say is,” he licks his lips and lets his head fall forward. He hasn’t even noticed you got so close that he can rest it on your shoulder. He’s not complaining. “I missed you and everything feels too new.”

“I missed you too,” you wrap your arms around him, “You’ll settle in, just give it time. There’s nothing else to do. Remember how I kept stubbing my toe on the new dresser? You haven’t once, so you’re already doing better than me.”

He chuckles and finally hugs you back. “Or we can rearrange the place again. So we’re struggling again together.”

“Baby the whole point was that you’d come home and could just relax without worrying about this stuff,” you sigh. Honestly it’s more of a whine because just imagining going through the whole process feels overwhelming.

“Just the bedroom? I don’t want to feel like a stranger in there,” Jun pulls away to give you the best starving man begging for bread crumbs look he can muster. You gaslight yourself into thinking you won’t give in.

“It’s almost midnight,” you try to argue but you’re getting weaker.

“Please? It’ll be quick. We don’t need to do much,” he pleads with you.

And because you’re a fool in love, it’s now two a.m. and you’re shifting the bed closer to the windows. Music is playing softly in the background to keep you energetic. Your boyfriend keeps shushing the furniture as if it was its fault that it’s being moved when your neighbours are likely already asleep. The bedside tables are standing by the wall, judging you.

By four a.m. your bedroom looks familiar but not the same. Jun is beaming though, and that’s important.

[gamergirlwrites]

Chris was so close to home that he could barely fight off the pull of his eyelids. It was only a matter of time before he could safely drift off to sleep with you in his arms. Staying up like this was normal for Chris, but it was easier when he wasn't thinking about you waiting for him. He didn't struggle like this when he knew that he was still days away from coming home.

He didn't know what it was specifically that made it easy for him, just that it was. He knew that it had to do with being out there trying to save the world. It needed to be safer for you. Especially with the two of you starting your family together. The last thing Chris ever wanted was for his baby to go through a fraction of what he had been through.

Chris grunted as he carried his gear bag into the house. He dropped it by the laundry room door on his way through the house. Everything was silent, and despite his size, Chris intended on keeping it that way. He carefully tiptoed his way through the hallway, pausing briefly at the unfinished nursery.

It looked like you had done a bit more painting, despite Chris telling you to wait for him. He knew that you did a better job than he would, his parts of the mural looked a bit funny, but you seemed to love it. Chris could only hope that his slightly misshapen animals amused the little bundle of joy that you had on the way. He knew that Claire had gotten a kick out of his paintings, and she was practically a baby in his eyes.

"Shh," Chris whispered as you began to stir. He knew that you were awake now, even if you didn't move any further out of your little nest. He changed into clean clothes to sleep in, ones that he hadn't been driving around in all day.

"I thought you'd never make it back for a minute," you muttered through a yawn. Chris huffed, knowing what you were making fun of him for. You seemed to have a death wish behind the wheel, and Chris liked to drive much safer than you in comparison. You'd often tease him about driving like an old man whenever the two of you went out together.

"Practicing my safe driving for when the baby comes," Chris told you. It was the same excuse he had been using for years, even before you had ever thought about expanding. Neither one of you had really wanted to bring a child into the world, but being around each other had softened both of you up to the idea.

"Just get in bed and hold me. The baby has been kicking like crazy since you've been gone, they missed you," you told him.

"The baby? Not my wife?" Chris questioned.

"Not with that attitude, no."

"Whatever, I missed both of you," Chris said as he dropped a kiss against your cheek.

[ablueboxandabentley]

Discussion of the S3 Leaked Set Pics Below:

Edit: Just to be clear I am not shaming any one at all for having theories different to mine. I understand that tone can be different for some people, myself included, to parse out sometimes. I just wanted to clarify in case it at all sounded like that’s what it sounded like I was doing. These are all my own opinions and ideas. Please DO NOT go after/ harass anyone who has ideas about the story’s direction that is different from your own.

No one has done this in my comments as of me making this edit, but I just wanted to give a reminder. Let fandom remain a space for people to enjoy together.

I do, as always, encourage RESPECTFUL conversation and debate however.

Okay, okay.

Here’s the thing. I legitimately HATE the “Aziraphale and Crowley become humans” theory. They are supposed to have eternity together. A major part of their characters is that they are eternally watching/learning/ protecting humanity. Crowley especially thinks of himself as human anyway. (“For my money, the really big one is going to be all of US (i.e. humanity) against all of them”).

After 6000 years, those two getting only a few short decades together would be a genuine tragedy. They are already human.

Aziraphale and Crowley have never, ever angsted over their immortality. Oh, I’m sure there are people they both miss, places they wish had lasted, but they aren’t the Tenth Doctor. They like all of the perks of not having to worry about money, getting expensive stuff. They would be bored, transcendentally bored, without the ability to perform miracles, and honestly they probably wouldn’t know how to function without them. To them, after enough time, the fall of a certain ancient civilization probably feels like your favorite local restaurant going out of business. (Ooh, I quite like that as a line for a fic in future). Sure it’s quite a shame, but there’s the memories.

I don’t even really want this to be a “they get tricked into thinking they’re humans” because I don’t think a story like that would work in such a short time. I actually think people are underestimating how much powerful storytelling can happen in 90 minutes. Would I have liked the full, promised series? Absolutely yes. But acting like movies can’t be moving is underestimating them. Obviously the writing has to be good, but I’m hoping we’re in good hands.

Now, what I would love for this to be is some sad, pathetic “what if we had met as humans and everything was easier?” daydream that Crowley is having because it feels very on brand for him. He doesn’t want to imagine THE bookshop because he had his heart broken there.

Now.

As for the wardrobe. The whole vest/peacoat/slacks look…yeah it does kinda look like he’s adopting bits of Aziraphale’s style, but he was also wearing a cardigan with sweater garters last season so…

Also, this is also a lot more aligned with Crowley’s clothing style in the NOVEL. In a season 1 BTS feature, David even talks about how the gothic-rocker style was a choice made for the show, that his character’s novel counterpart was specifically mentioned to wear suits.

Oh and that flat, Bill Masters hair Aziraphale has is probably his sad corporate hairstyle.

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

hii could you maybe do kirk hammett x reader who never did "it" before and kirk showing her how and everything?

i love the work you have on ur blog btw, take care! <3

Warnings: smut, virgin reader, unprotected sex, riding, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

You'd been obsessing over Metallica for years and finally you got to go to one of their concerts, right up front. You saw the way the guitarist was looking at you through the whole show, eyeing you up and down, handing you picks.

When the show ended he waited a second, made sure you were looking at him, and gestured for you to head around the stage.

He was there waiting for you and took you back to their buses. "You're leaving tonight?" You said, though it came out as a question. Of course you knew they were leaving, they had a show in a different state the next night.

"You could come." He suggested, how serious he was being you had no idea. "Or you could stay, but I want to kiss you before I go even if that's all I get." He held your hands in a gentle hold, not holding you in place but a silent plead for you to listen and go with him. He took a step closer to you, bringing a hand to your face and cupping your cheek with his bandaged fingers. "Just let me kiss you."

As he leaned in your eyes closed and you returned the kiss when your lips met. His were warm and plush, soft and the kiss was sweet with a hint of bourbon. The hand holding yours let go and went to your hip, pulling you closer.

At that point you didn't need to tell him anything, he had his answer. Despite not wanting to break the kiss he did, just to walk you to his bus and slip you into the back when his room was.

He had you under him, lips connected in a messy, heated kiss. His leg was between yours, pushing into you, forcing you to grind against him. He was pushing into you, bulge straining against his jeans.

A heat was pooling in your core, you wanted this so bad but you had to be honest with him.

You planted your hands on his shoulders and nudged him off of you, he just took it as a sign to go for your neck, leaving a trail of marks down the side, it had your body feeling all kinds of tingly ways.

"Kirk-Kirk, I-I have to tell you something." You sputtered out.

He chuckled. "What, are you married." He asked, hot breath fanning over your neck. When you didn't respond he held himself up to look down at you. "Jesus, are you married?"

You were a little caught off guard by the question but quickly got a grip and shook your head. "No! No, I'm not, I'm not married." You stammered. "I, um, I'm just... a virgin." You said, looking anywhere but him.

Kirk let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Jeez, don't scare me like that." He rolled off of you and flopped over with an airy laugh. He looked at you. "You're serious, though? Like, there was no one else?" You bit your lip and shook your head. Kirk smiled. "So, I'll be the first?" You looked over at him. Were you really doing this?

He went slow, making sure you were comfortable the whole way through as he peeled your clothes off of you and tossed them aside. For every garment he took from you he took one from himself, it wouldn't be fair if only you were naked, plus he could tell you were self-conscious and if the both of you were naked what was there to be embarrassed about?

You were straddling his lap, hovering over his hard-on. You didn't know how big they were supposed to be, Kirk wasn't huge but he wasn't small, and he was very veiny.

"Just look at me." He said, tilting your head up with two fingers under your chin. "And stop worrying so much, I promise it'll feel good." He kissed your forehead, then the tip of your nose before landing on your lips. He'd been littering your face with kisses the whole time and didn't plan on stopping anytime soon.

"It-it won't hurt?" You asked, nervousness evident in your shaky voice.

Kirk shook his head but then paused. "It-it might at the beginning, but you just gotta give it a minute and it'll feel good." You chewed your cheek, still scared but trusting him.

He had his hands on your hips and slowly lowered you down on his cock, looking between your expression, wide eyes and dropped jaw, and where the two of you met, watching as his length disappeared into you further.

He stopped half-way to let you catch your breath. "You're doing great, sweetheart, almost there." He mused, kissing your cheeks. You let out a shaky breath and nodded, sinking down the rest of the way. "See? Not that bad, right?" You shook your head, ignoring the sting between your thighs.

Kirk wrapped his arms around you, pulling you to his chest and resting his head on your shoulder, waiting to let you adjust to him. He rubbed your back with one hand, moving it to your side and down to your hip before snaking it between your bodies and rubbing your clit.

You gasped, a soft moan leaving you. "That's good, right?" He asked, kissing your neck.

"Yes, it-it is." You mumbled, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. He smelled like expensive cologne and cigarettes, the cool metal of the piercing under his lip was a shock to your hot skin, only adding to the pleasure of his kisses, nipping and sucking.

You swallowed thickly and rolled your hips into him, breath catching in your throat. Kirk grinned, staring intently at your pretty cunt. “Here, just hold still and let me do the work.” You hesitated before nodding in agreement.

Kirk thrust up into slow, snapping the last inch in every time just to make you jump. His hands rested on your hips, helping you stay up. As your moans got louder he moved faster, hand coming down to rub your clit, making you jump.

“Fuck! You-you can’t just-mh- fuck-ah.” You stammered between moans, that knot in your stomach getting tighter. “Feels-feels funny.”

Kirk chuckled lowly and nodded, stifling groans. “Good funny?” He waited for you to respond, when you nodded he continued. “Mmh, you’re close, sweetheart.”

“Close?” You repeated in a soft voice. Kirk gave a small nod and wrapped his arms around you again, holding you tighter and lifting you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist, body bounces on his with every thrust. “Hah! Oh god, oh fuck!” You whined, clawing at his back.

Kirks groans in your ears were soft and thick like honey, so sweet it made your eyes roll back and your body go limp.

Your moans filled the room as you came, Kirk following short behind and filling you up.

He sat back down, breathing heavy and holding you against him. You hadn’t realized but the bus had already started moving, taking you off to… you had no idea and you didn’t care. You were never one to be spontaneous but this… this felt right.

“Fuck.” Kirk sighed. “Forgot a condom.” He grumbled. He rubbed your back and kissed your temple. “We’ll get you plan B or something at the next time.”

[kiatheinsomniac]

. * ⋆  . · 　. ⋆ :₊ 𝒗𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆'𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉-𝒖𝒑 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ♡ ‧⁺ . ♡ ⋆ . · 　. 𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒂𝒓! 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

sugar! she/her, bi (with a male lean), and i love to draw and online shop !! my style is everywhere, but i usually dress very cutesy while staying comfy. i also love bunnies, plushies, and sweets. i dislike anything gross like bugs, being ignored, and being scared/pranked. one of my biggest pet peeves is a condescending individual, but i find a little bit of teasing cute. i'm very reclusive and anxious, but can mask really well in basic situations. i'm very clumsy and sensitive, i tend to fumble and tear up in unexpected scenarios. i like to be as kind as possible !! i find it easier to defend others compared to defending myself. while i like to be taken care of the most, i often find myself taking care of others. my way of showing love is through acts of service and physical touch, and the best way for me to recieve love is through words of affirmation. i'm also a nightowl and nott a morning person whatsoever. (fandoms: genshin impact, the kid at the back, homicipher, howl's moving castle, bungou stray dogs) i hope this was enough info !!! tysm for the opportunity btw >_< ♡ –anon

˚ ༘♡⋆｡˚𝒔𝒐𝒍 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒗𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆!❀

♡ Sol absolutely adores the cutsey vibe you give off. It's so sweet and we know he absolutely has a soft spot for his darling (as wrapped up in infatuation as that may be).

♡ He's seen how you can easily tear up and find it hard to stand up for yourself despite being defensive on behalf of others and being so kind. He feels the need to be the one to protect you from such scenarios.

♡ Sol is a night owl too so, if you're willing, he could spend the entire night on the phone to you or messaging you. His every waking moment is absorbed by thoughts of you so why not spend his nights talking to you for hours on end too?

ᯓ♡ 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒂 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒆?𓂃 ࣪˖𐀔

♡ Sol had a date of his own in mind and told Hyugo about it... Hyugo immediately scrapped the entire plan for what we'll call guessable reasons and helped him to plan a real date instead.

♡ He brings everything needed to your place for a cosy night in, including films and fun activities. He's got some coloured polymer clay for you to make cute little figures with, some legos to build together, and all the ingredients to make some pizzas to eat while the two of you can cuddle on the couch and watch some films.

♡ Even when making the figures with you, he puts his artistic skills to use to create cute little figures for you to keep - bunnies, kittens, sanrio, whatever suits your tastes most. He chose the lego sets with the same idea in mind.

𝒑.𝒔.  Happy Valentine's Day! Thank you so much for entering my event!

♡   : · missed the event? Try ships instead! ☾ ⋆ ﾟlike my work? why not: ∘ buy me a coffee? ∘ comms. ∘ taglist ∘ follow/reblog

[vestaclinicpod]

Audio Drama Sunday - 16th February ✨

This week has been an absolute rollercoaster! Hugely grateful to be able to escape into these stories, even if there was a lot of emotional heaviness this week! 🎧

🌲 @hellofromthehallowoods (180) It’s just so wonderful to hear from Polly again!! Hearing him worry that he might no longer be missed really made my heart hurt and I’m now wondering how long it will be before he actually returns if they have years of reading to get through! It might have just been my headspace this week, but I actually found this ep to be one of the hardest ever to listen to. The queerphobia was particularly fierce and, yeah, it feels pretty current at the moment. 

🦋 @remnantspod (28) The music box was his mother’s 🥺 everything about this ep was painful and I had to turn up at work pretending that I hadn’t just heard a beautiful goodbye from a mother to her dying daughter when all I wanted to do was sit and mentally unpick the idea that ‘Death is not a punishment’. The idea that Edwin (she wanted him to be called Erwin 😭😭) was actually not responsible for any of the stolen money is incredibly interesting. And what does Sir mean ‘rest for you will be good for both of us’? There are so many levels to read into that. God, this show is just so good!

🧋 @hinaypod (36-39) Soooo much happened in such a relatively short stretch of episodes! Murphy!! Donner!!!! What the hell!! I must admit I’m actually halfway through ep 39 because I got to the part where CJ revealed J is alive somewhere and the thought of him begging for updates and living his life through scraps of information about his loved ones actually made me too sad, I had to pause 😭 let those old men be happy PLEASE. 

🍾 @ameliapodcast (49) Oh my god, the back and forth in this episode drove me insane haha. The only thing worse than a dream interpreter is a terrible one!! 

💍 @forgedbondspod (8) Ooh the nuptials are getting increasingly questioned! I’m so excited for the possibility of 90% of Olympus standing up and shouting ‘I OBJECT’ at the wedding (this is assuming an Ancient Greek wedding has an opportunity for such a thing!). So lovely to have new voices in the show, I’m biased but they were both EXCELLENT. 

🔮 @spiritboxradio (1.5- 1.9) Ooh! Sam made a few accidental revelations over Christmas, didn’t he? We hate to see an absent father coming back into the narrative, tbh. Also, Sam, I know you’re unreliably narrating, but the more you remind us that you have no magical talent, the more obvious it is that you really, absolutely do. I’m enjoying this show so much and the episodes are a perfect length for my commute which is always *chef’s kiss*.

Have a lovely week, friends! 🫶

[akiss-from-a-rose]

"I told her while she was sunbathing at the country club that she wasn't a meal on display," Aaliyah said, raising an eyebrow. "I might have also mentioned that to both of you, but, really, I'm not going to spill species secrets around just anyone. That's how I was taught. Was it wrong? Probably." She laughed quietly before rectifying it. "Absolutely." She sighed. "Okay, smart ass. Keep 'um, actually'-ing me, you fucking nerd." She wasn't attempting biting, and she hardly found herself to be defensive. It was mildly amusing, and there was something close to pity, but Aaliyah made it a habit not to really pity anyone. A product of her upbringing, both living and unliving. "Again, you don't know me, Brielle. Very few do, I get that. I go for that. But you can't just state hard facts about me, like who or what I care about, without actually knowing me." She took the clan position because maybe, just maybe, she cared too much. Aaliyah didn't really have the language for it, but she cared deeply about the state of the vampires in this wretched town. Enough to sift out the tough love. Enough to take up the mantle of leader while only really wanting to desperately search for her friend, one of only a handful that she'd ever had in centuries.

Aaliyah just shook her head. "No, you're right, I didn't give you the chance to make a rational decision because we don't get those extra moments, Bri. We don't get the choice of, oh, I'll be a little mad. A human woman not controlling herself? She might yell, maybe hit. Perhaps she could cause some damage. A starving vampire not controlling herself?" She shook her head. "I'm not going to sit in front of the council while those fucking witches drag a clan member through the mud for fucking eating someone at a party. I won't even risk the chance of that happening. So was it rash to grab you? Perhaps. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat. I was protecting the best interest of the clan, I was protecting you, hell. I was protecting your fucking boyfriend from the potentiality of having to listen to your trial while Meena and I have to figure out your punishment. Something that wouldn't have been light for even contemplating hurting the coven advisor's sister." She got what Bri was saying, but there hadn't been much she could do about Jake. "His words were cruel. He was acting out of fear. Does that mitigate it? No. If he doesn't apologize, then I can offer to rip out his tongue, but he also wasn't my priority in that moment. Suck it up in that moment, yes, but wait. Get back at them strategically. I do recall telling you that I didn't want to put you in a box."

Any effort to get through seemed to be a mission in futility. Aaliyah almost didn't understand what she was trying to accomplish. "I'm not trying to be menacing. I'm being honest. You won't like it because it sucks. It will suck. It's not a pun. When you have control issues, when you have feeding problems, it's not easy. It fucking sucks, and it continues to suck for years. I think that you could have an easier time of it than I did. You wouldn't have to deal with my sire, for one. If you think I'm a bitch, then you have no idea. And you have a daylight ring." She was almost wistful, just for a moment. "I missed the sun so much. Longed for it. I used to try and grind up marigolds. I thought if I could put it on my skin, the way that they sooth and heal would help. It didn't. I burned, many times. I was called a fool. She was right, of course, but." She gave Bri a long look. "It doesn't matter if you were or weren't meant to be this. You are this. You have to find a way to live like this."

Aaliyah couldn't help it. She laughed, actually happy. "I'm really not, but it's nice of you to come out of the closet. I have been rather curious if you fight all of Professor anak Bandi's battles for him, even the ones he's unaware of. You were practically ready to break his computer when he was Zooming into council meetings. I've always wondered how human lovers must feel. Do they find themselves as weak as we so often act like they are? Does he need your protection as much as you offer it?" She couldn't help the curiosity, and it was genuine. She'd never stayed with a mortal for so long as to see them as anything more than a temporary fascination. She'd only turned a handful for companionship, but she'd never been especially coddling of any of them. "It's beautiful. Mankind used to spend hundreds, sometimes thousands of years building monuments, cathedrals. Some desperate clawing at permanence. And they are sad. But... ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Whether you're a skull in the wall or dust in the wind, it's sad because they're dead, not because of their eternal resting place." She snorted. "I've lost my touch if the only reason you think I'm a bitch is because I insult your boyfriend. I think I've also kicked your roommate out of my club three times. Her picture's on the wall, now. Do Not Allow Entry. And what is a Shrek?" she asked, like she hadn't seen the movie when it first came out, a fascinating innovation in animation. "I like to think that I have layers like a hornets' nest. Far more applicable." Full of tiny, dangerous little components packed with stinging, hateful creatures.

The irony, in Aaliyah's eyes, was that Brielle was just as set in her own thought processes as she believed everyone else was set in their opinions about her. "I really haven't heard the eulogies. Such a thing is fun in theory, less so in practice. Making an entire town come to a party and then speak about someone that they may not properly know very well is a well intentioned idea that is, more often than not, less than ideal in practice. Besides, I didn't say that everyone in this goddamn town cares about you, I said people. You still have people that care about you. Maybe it's one hundred, maybe it's just one, but that can be enough. And Benjamin has lived here long enough to understand the risks. I remember the former Coalition leader, and I remember that your professor stepped up as soon as he was needed. He loves you, and he loves this town. I don't think something like that is going to do him in." The man had more backbone than she felt obligated to give him credit for. Most humans did. They willingly chose to live in a place where their neighbors had wings or turned into wolves or craved blood. There was an incredibly amount of bravery there.

"I'm not being condescending. I'm not patronizing you. I'm just talking. This is the way I talk, and it's the way I've talked for a while, now. And I'm attempting to get you out of that booth. It worked. But if you want to have a drinking, go for it. Maybe make me a little card. One sip for saying 'fuck.' Down a shot for moral superiority from a confess serial killer," Aaliyah said, laughing a little before she looked at Bri, her eyes a little soft. "If you want an actual funeral, this isn't it. I imagine you didn't get a lot of mourning done in there." Her expression ticked up in amusement as she listed off some of the members of the clan and their various selling points. "She's eccentric. That happens, sometimes. He has cultivated a displeasure for most things. That happens, too. It's nice that they're happy, even if unhelpful. She needs all the rest she can get right now. And you're right, they're both rather new, and the last people I'd wish to get advice from about control are Tried to Eat My Boyfriend's Leg and Had a Sunburn for a Year From Sleeping Outside." She hummed. "No, not a bat signal. We don't turn into bats. Look, I get you might think it's too little, too late. And that's fine. But I work on payroll for Eclipse on Tuesday afternoons. I offered you help with payback at the gift exchange. I'll offer you something similar, now: help with being a vampire, sans neon sign. No non-vampire pals, no busy crowds where I, and most people, really, are so often on defensive. Again, I'm telling you that you probably won't like it. Not to cow you but to let you know that it's just not fun. I didn't like it. I hated it, really, and it took me years to get the hang of this bullshit. But you're much smarter than me."

"Actually you told the both of us during White Elephant two years ago. I was sitting right next to her," She explained. "And I could have, but I trusted you and, as I know now, I shouldn't have," She stated, pressing her lips together as she gave her a small shrug. "It's called a hyperbole. You know, a mild exaggeration for dramatic effect? And I'm well aware when you became advisor. I'm not attacking you. I'm simply pointing out the obvious," She explained calmly. "We both know you don't really care about me, so why bother with the pretend?" Bri reasoned. She already had to question pretty much every relationship in her life. Why add another to the rather long list?

"See. That doesn't exactly sound like you care. Though as for whether or not I would have taken a rational suggestion in that moment, did you even give me a chance to? I lunged at Frankie because she caught me off guard, my emotions got the best of me and I was starving. But, I stopped the moment I-" she paused. Her eyes momentarily drifted to the floor as she muttered under her breath, "Shoved Poppy. Just before you stepped in and, I'm not saying I don't appreciate the advice or the fact that you did, but I also know that, while people came to comfort me, not one actually told him to stop when he was strewing a list of insults my way. Instead, you essentially told me to 'suck it up' and I get it. That's pretty much the only advice anyone ever seems to give around here. 'Suck it up and get over yourself'. But, that doesn't exactly make me want to hang out with other vampires let alone ask them for any other tips. No offense." She had tried to. She had asked Ken to show her how to reverse compulsion and he pretty much rolled his eyes at her and made it abundantly clear she should know how already, though he had been more helpful than most. Ronnie and Safiye were just as lost as she was and Ralph, she was fairly certain was off in some other world.

"And that, right there, is why I've been figuring it out my own. I might have wanted you to teach me control before that ominous as fuck warning? Seriously?" She asked, she shook her head the smallest bit back and forth. "You clearly don't want to help me and I don't even think you could even if I did volunteer for your hellish bootcamp which seems unnecessarily menacing. I was never meant to be this and don't think I haven't notice how my body is still actively rejecting it. I was supposed to die a human and, if it wasn't for the Sheriff's spell, I would have."

"You're awfully defense, you know that?" She pointed out softly, though her voice took on a far sharper tone as she called Ben a 'droll boy toy'. "Though, I'm sorry, a droll boy toy? Go fuck yourself and just because it's art, doesn't mean it's not tacky. While as for catacombs, they're... sad. All of those skeletons piled on top of each other until they practically form of wall of mismatched limbs you can't tell apart from one another? Unless they were some notable official, they become lost amongst the many. Faceless skulls that will go on being unremembered," She wrapped her arms across her chest as she thought of how similar it would have been for her if she hadn't been brought back. No one would have even known where she was buried. "I don't see you as a villain. Maybe, a bit of a bitch, but to be fair, you do like to insult my boyfriend a great deal, so... next you're going to tell me you're like Shrek. An onion with many layers," She mumbled under her breath, not bothering to point out Aaliyah saying that her questions was an 'exercise in self-flagellation' she had outgrown, she was further supporting Bri's entitled bitch theory.

Instead, she stood there quietly. Her gaze hyper-fixated on the crowd with her arms crossed over her chest. It was only when she was told that people cared about her, that she cut Aaliyah off. "No. They don't," Her dark brown eyes met Aaliyah's as she told her, point blank, "You've heard the eulogies. Majority of this town either doesn't give a fuck about me or hates me and they have since the first day I was resurrected. You want to talk about a complaint box? I've been called pretty much every name in the book, not to mentioned was told I smell of death which was an added dose of prejudice for no apparent reason. My friends have forgotten my birthday, stabbed me, mooched off of me, admitted to being afraid of me and fucked my boyfriend before we got together and I do mean plural friends for that one. The only family I have in town left unsure if they'd ever return, knowing they'd forget about me, and they said goodbye for what might have been forever if they hadn't come back over a note. The only person I have in my life who I know for certain loves me unconditionally and would never leave is Ben and he's missing his fucking leg now because of this godforsaken town. So, when I say why bother it is because there is literally no point. I know plenty about myself. I know I've spent the past three years trying to be liked by you god awful people and it doesn't change anything. It doesn't matter how I act. It doesn't matter what I do, all roads end the same. So, why bother? You can call it self-flagellation, if you want to, but I call it me no longer giving a fuck because there are a very few of you who are actually worth it."

"I wasn't in there throwing a fucking pity party. I was saying goodbye to the girl who died, which was originally supposed to be the whole point of this thing," She rolled her eyes as she kicked herself up off of the booth she had been leaning again. "I never had a funeral, though... wow. Are you going to be condescending this entire conversation? Because at this point, I might as well make it into a drinking game," A dry laugh broke from her lips. It was truly ironic how much Aaliyah seemed to think she had a read on the situation. "I've been letting myself 'feel it' for the past three years and I've been to nearly everybody else. Gia's unhinged, Ken barely puts up with me, Ralph and Ernie are still living in 1955, Meena's recovering from being malled by a wolf, Rio's often to busy to even get a coffee let alone fill me in and Saf and Ronnie are just as new at this as I am. So, save the whole 'I've got to want it and seek it out' pep talk. I've been seeking it out. What more do I have to do? Invest in a literal bat signal? Carry around a flashing neon sign that says 'help'?"

[bumblingbabooshka]

[TUVOKTOBER: Day 15] At First Sight. [Patreon | Commissions]

[yuseirra]

onk is so annoying~~~~~~~!!!aahh I actually feel like I'm going to get so many things right in the end and I have all the answers, I SERIOUSLY DO, I'm not- I'm not being full of myself or making baseless claims, I just SEE what they are trying to do with the writing, the feelings of the characters at least, some of them are painfully obvious BUT THEY JUST KEEP BEATING AROUND THE BUSH AND KEEP TRYING TO TWIST THINGS AWAY AND MAKE IT SEEM LIKE IT ISN'T. That's what I find so annoying!! It's actually one of the reasons why I took a break from reading the comic after some time when I picked up the work after having viewed S1 last year. I know what they're doing and why the characters are written like this, and how they're like this, I'm pretty positive!!

I was annoyed about Aqua last time because he still had feelings for Kana yet the authors made him entangled with Akane while he DIDN'T abandon his feelings for her, I'm really sorry but he shouldn't have treated Akane like that. It wasn't fair. His feelings towards Kana NEVER once changed. I JUST SAW THAT, the writers make him stray away from that feeling he was for painfully long, they better make the whole reveal fulfilling in the end, I KNEW aqukana was going to be endgame for so long. Aqua SHOULD NOT have treated Akane the way he did if he really wanted to build a genuine relationship with her. The anime S2 seems to leave off at there where he asks her to be a couple, well, I think he did try, but he didn't discard his feelings towards Kana as he did either. I just.. knew, that what happened wasn't what he truly wanted and this guy NEVER confronts his desires, he should have gone up and told the person he liked about his feelings but this comic considers something like this a suspense or a plot point and lets it drag on for dozens of chapters... I came BACK after they confirmed about his feelings because GOD it was so obvious. This whole story would have gone nowhere without him ever having gotten true to his feelings, nothing would have been resolved without it because he'd always have had this lingering feeling for Kana and it's just hanging with it without being acknowledged in the story!!! It's not about what ship I support exactly, it's- I know what characters have feeling for whom!!! and they try to make it seem like it's some big secret because I get it, endgame ships are important but Aqua, as much as I cared for him(he's been making me so angry lately though,) was being a douche to both girls. They both can go kick his butt for toying around with those girl's feelings. and ehh I can see regardless of who his love interest is, ultimately the one person he really cares about more than his own life is Ruby HSHSH.. What is that guy doing. His dad told him to go back and live!! I am mad!!!

and now, I already partly have a good idea about how Hikaru and Ai's relationship issue's going to be resolved but they have to DRAG IT ON AND MAKE ME SO NERVOUS. The authors must really like doing this and think it's very clever but again, this is so tedious and nerve-wrecking to watch as a weekly issue with Hikaru being completely out of it, he's totally gone insane!!! The one guy Ai wanted to confess to being in shambles is both so ridiculous and so tragic to look at!! Look at the total mess he's become, they can't make him be so..;; so ugly like this, it's so rude to his being as a character and I'm sure they aren't going to leave him be like this as Ai's other half(YES THIS GUY!!! IS AI'S OTHER HALF!! HE'S DEVISED TO BE HER MATCH FROM THE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT STAGE!!)

Come on everyone, I know what I'm doing.

YOU CAN'T MAKE AI SAY WHAT SHE'S SAID TO/ABOUT HER MURDERER!!!! THAT'S 1. SO CRUEL, 2.A DOWNRIGHT DUMB CHOICE AS A WRITER AND IT DOESN'T HAVE A POINT!!

YOU MAKE HER SAY THAT BECAUSE THE GUY DIDN'T DO IT AND IS SOMEONE WHO SHE CAN TRULY LOVE THAT WAY!!! HER NAME MEANS LOVE!!! I just... caught that as soon as this dropped and they lay out all these dumb and confusing ideas later on and make things sooo messy but it's actually, ultimately leading in this direction because DID WE SEE ANY CLEAR PROOF THAT HE WANTED TO HURT AI OR GET BACK AT HER. WE DO NOT BECAUSE HE REALLY DIDN'T DO IT!!! IDK ABT HIM KILLING OTHER PPL THAT'S VAGUE BUT AT LEAST, THIS GUY LOVED AI!!!! WHAT THEY HAVE IS MUTUAL AND HIS FEELINGS FOR HER'S BEEN WHAT'S BEEN MAKING HIM GO ON WHEN HE DOESN'T HAVE ANY WILL TO LIVE AND FEELS PRACTICALLY DEAD AFTER SHE'S GONE!!

THIS GUY WENT INSANE AFTER HE LOST THE ONE SINGLE PERSON WHO MATTERED THE MOST IN HIS LIFE. HE'S NOT HIMSELF!! I just watched how he appeared in the final ep in the anime and I kept going: 'oh this guy. He's totally lost it. He's totally gone mad, the madman. he needs to see a psychiatrist' BECAUSE WHAT'S BEING PRESENTED, IS NOT HIM BEING HIMSELF. I really think.. the guy became possessed or became out of it after he wished to see Ai again. Look, Look at what's happening in the songs. SOMEONE WISHED THE DEAD TO BE BACK. SOMEONE WISHED TO BE ABLE TO BE WITH THEM. THEY WERE WILLING TO DO ANYTHING IF ONLY THAT WERE TO BE POSSIBLE. THEY WISHED UPON "A STAR". There is no one else other than him that would have made that kind of wish.

HE WANTS AI BACK!!!!

Help omygod I'm so tired of the writers just dragging on and spinning things in circles and confusing the readers I JUST GOT THIS OVER AND DONE WITH AS SOON AS THE CHAPTER AND THE SONGS DROPPED AND

If they're doing to make him a villain they never would have had to put in that scene where Ai tells her children she wants her boyfriend to be helped. That totally isn't necessary. They never need to have told us she really loved him and wished to live forever with him. This isn't the type of story where HER efforts would remain a dumb, futile choice, Hikaru's wish may be but AS FOR AI, NO!!!! IT JUST LITERALLY CANNOT HAPPEN!!! THE ENTIRE STORY HAS HER WISH AND LEGACY UNDERLYING IN THE PLOTLINE AS A FLOW, THE STORY DOES NOT FUNCTION WITHOUT IT BECOMING A REALITY!!! RUBY AND AQUA'S WISH AND DRIVES ARE HIGHLY CORRELATED TO THE WISH SHE HAS, AND IT'S NOT ABOUT THEM DETACHING AND STRAYING AWAY FROM IT, IT'S ABOUT THEM ADDING ONTO IT AND STEPPING FORWARD BUT IN THAT SAME DIRECTION! THEY EACH BECAME AN ACTOR AND AN IDOL THE WAY SHE WANTED AND THEY PROGRESSED IN THE ROUTES IN THEIR RESPECTIVE JOURNEYS. THIS STORY CANNOT STAND WITH AI BEING DISREGARDED, SHE'S THE PIVOTAL, KEY PERSON THAT ACTS AS THE BACKBONE!! SO THERE IS NO WAY HER BELOVED IS A SIMPLE CRAZY INSANE MANIAC THE MOMENT SHE TELLS THE READERS SHE ACTUALLY LOVES HIM DEARLY!! SOMETHING'S UP WITH THAT GUY AND HE'S ALSO SOMEONE THAT DESERVES TO BE SAVED!! THAT CHARACTER IS DEVISED TO BE AI'S LOVE. HE IS. AND YOU DON'T MAKE THAT GUY BE A BASELESS SIMPLE FREAK, THAT'S WHY LITERALLY NOTHING'S ACTUALLY BEEN... TOLD TO US ABOUT HIM??? BECAUSE, THE STORY WANTED US TO THINK THAT WAY BUT HE ACTUALLY WASN'T!!!! IT'S RUDE NOT JUST TO HIM BUT AI!! AND I AM SURE THE WRITERS REALLY DO LOVE AND CARE FOR AI. They won't make her look dumb. Not only does it make the character's charm die out, it just totally downplays and degrades the entire series as a whole. Ai is that central. I'm not saying this because I favor her, it's just.. the way she's devised.

it's such a relief this manga's on hiatus till October 24th~ 'v')/ ah.. I can relax.. I can relax. um, probably till this time next week, this comic is oh, it can get super dumb(I'm so sorry aka-san and mengo-san. I don't mean it in a literal sense I'm just TIRED THOUGH). There are so many things I like about it but it stresses me out, I honestly wouldn't be like this if I could not spot anything, but I just SEE these things so clearly and I feel so lonely about it, there is NO WAY it wouldn't go otherwise at least I think so, but it's not my work and the writers aren't me either so I can't be completely sure- it's... painful to wait out and see the characters making dumb choices and making crazy faces, making vague statements that actually result to nothing much and having to wait a week for unanswered questions, every week, I'm not sure if this is supposed be suspense or cliffhangers or what makes the readers want to grab the next episode etc but I've never seen a comic that works so much like a morning kdrama, it's been that way as of lately and it's really wearing me out

oh guys, oh guys don't worry. I never play a game I'd lose. I really need to buy one of those storywriting books- the "how to write" sort of things right. but I; just don't see this going any other way in an ultimate sense. The answers are already out. What I'm unsure is how we'd get there. I could sit back.. and come back after a year like the way I did last time, but I stepped in way too deep and it feels like a sinkhole.. I keep getting afraid if I get anything wrong, oh, I actually feel I can speak.. a little.. when they have breaks like these. otherwise I'd get too nervous to say anything... I can just focus with doing what I enjoy regarding this work without having to worry about just what the heck may come next...

I have like 3-4 ideas I want to draw, I want to get to that before the next chapter drops lol if this comic keeps making me so;; nervous, yeah, I can just rest. I've been pushing so hard~~~~ I'm sure the writers are having so much fun right now and I'm just playing into their hands as a reader because wouldn't it be so nice!! be so fun!! to have people feel things regarding their work! but it's time they start providing us answers now and give this story a good wrap-up. I hope it has like three volumes left at least; I will regret having read this piece if they just drop what that can be perfectly good because, because, I can see this piece getting a really good resolution. They can do it!!! I SEE IT! IT CAN HAPPEN! EVERYTHING CAN MAKE GOOD SENSE AND IT CAN BE GREAT!! AND I think that's what they're going for. I got so many things right about this piece, oh.. I really hope it does go in the way I could be happy I read it.. I got in again because I caught a glimpse of it.