#i want to know what its like to experience a love like that and not have it ripped away from me.

[prythiansprincess]

── .✦ DAY ONE | [02/14] : THEO.

prythian's princess presents... day one of the valentine special ⋆.˚ .ᐟ first up, we have the love of my life and baby daddy; the one and only theo.

[breeding kink] — the experience of intense sexual attraction at the thought of being impregnated or impregnating someone.

[consensual non-consent] — a kink in which two consenting adults give permission to be forced into sexual acts before any sexual activity occurs.

home ✦ special ✦ more

theodore nott was the type of man that took what he wanted.

there was a quiet possession in him, a dominance that demanded submission. theo never thought that he would find that willingness in you. the pillars of your personality were built on independence, ambition, and success, but he learned that while you dominated all other aspects of your life, there was one place where you craved the relinquish of control — the bedroom.

your submission was a gift that theo treasured, especially because he knew that a lesser man would not have been able to earn it as he had. there was nothing more satisfying than knowing that he owned every piece of you so utterly and completely.

a sense of pride spread through theo’s chest as he entered the bedroom you shared and found you fast asleep in bed, so pretty and vulnerable as you curled up on his side of the bed, relishing in the scent of him that lingered on the pillows and sheets. theo smiled as he crawled in next to you. his lips dragged down your neck, sucking on the soft flesh and branding your skin with his kisses. theo hummed as he pulled you closer, big hands roaming all over your body, marveling at the feel of your creamy thighs and juicy ass and perfect tits. he pressed his already hard cock into your ass, grinding his erection against the warmth of your core.

the delicious friction it created was enough to have him rutting against you like the pre-pubescent version of himself might’ve done. theo couldn’t help it. you brought out a desperation in him, a delirium that sank its sharp claws into him until he succumbed to the need. theo used to fear his propensity to possess, to obsess, to consume, having been told all his life that it was wrong, it was unhealthy, but they just didn't understand him like you did.

even in your sleep, you melted into his touch as though you had been waiting for this all along. you wanted this. you wanted him.

theo groaned as his hand traveled down your torso, his breathing heavy and laden with desire as he slipped past the waistband of your pajama shorts and palmed you through your lace panties. stirring, you sleepily arched against theo, reaching for him even while you were unconscious. an animalistic growl crawled up his throat when he found you wet and ready for him.

wasting no time, theo yanked your panties to the side and positioned himself behind you, easing his cock into your entrance. a choked groan was all he could manage as he buried himself inside of you, so wet and warm and tight. his hand drifted up to your throat, anchoring himself in place as he thrusted up into you, fucking you with a desperation that consumed his entire being. this was what it meant to possess; to take what was rightfully his. with you, theo never had to deny himself ever again.

you stirred as he rutted into you, burying himself over and over again until his eyes rolled from the overwhelming pleasure. theo hushed you when you mumbled his name, placing a sweet kiss on your lips.

“take it, amore,” theo said in a rough, gravelly voice. “I know you want it. been waiting for me all night, haven’t you? just laying here, on my side of the bed, your face buried in my pillows, hoping that i’d come home and fuck you just like this.”

you moaned as his hips slapped against your ass. “always, theo,” you replied, half out of your mind from the pleasure. “I always want you.”

“so do I, principessa. needed you so much,” theo panted, his grip tightening on your neck. “i’ve been thinking about this all day. I want to claim you. I want to own you. I want to possess you.”

“you already do.”

“there’s more than one way to own someone,” theo grunted. “I want it all. fuck, m’gonna fill this pretty pussy with my cum until i’m dripping out of you for days. you want that, don’t you? just think of how pretty you’ll look pregnant. you’ll be such a great mother to our children. I won’t stop until I put my baby inside of you, cara mia.”

though you had never thought that you would want kids, being with theo had completely changed your mind. you wanted nothing more than to build a family with him, knowing that he would be an excellent father to your children.

“fuck, yes, please,” you breathed, eager to make his words a reality. “cum in me, baby. breed me, theo. I want to make you a dad.”

the thought of you pregnant, round and swollen with his child was enough to make theo lose all sense of self. thick ropes of cum pumped inside of you, filling your pretty cunt with his seed until it overflowed and dripped from your hole. never one for unnecessary waste, theo stuffed his cum back inside of you with a reverent expression.

“keep it all inside. you’ll need every drop to make you nice and pregnant,” murmured theo. “I can’t wait until you’re carrying my child. that way you’ll never leave me. there's no escaping me, amore. it's me and you."

you smiled as theo kissed your stomach, willing a child to grow in your fertile womb. "you’ll be mine, forever.”

[jezebelblues]

(𝟏) 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒 | 𝐇.𝐒 ⋆𐙚₊˚

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥.

𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐨𝐧, 𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐲? 𝐨𝐫, 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡, 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬.

𝐂𝐖: 18+ SERIES! age gap unspecified but everyone is legal, allusions to smut (in this part), fem!reader, innocent!reader, slight angst, not proof read.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 8.7k

❏ this is kinda just an introductory to this 🤨 but this also me testing the waters to see what kind of response it gets. i tried to give it a little more substance instead of just making it controversially young gf smut. but lmk if u only care for the smut fr. aiming for this to be a 3 parter possibly if anyone actually reads. okay bye love u

(be patient with me i do not have a writing schedule D: it’s just vibes over here)

there were things in life that demanded to be named. not as a matter of understanding, but as an act of survival. temptation. desire. guilt. words so small they barely held the weight of the emotions they described. words that felt inadequate against the reality of their presence, sharp-edged and infinite. harry had spent years pretending these things were separate—different flavors, distinct experiences—but now, in the quiet spaces between reason and instinct, he realized they were one and the same.

desire wasn’t the sweet fruit hanging low on the tree, waiting for him to pluck it. it was a persistent root that had grown into his bones, twisting through his ribs, wrapping around his heart. temptation wasn’t the serpent in the garden; it was the soil itself, fertile and dark, daring him to plant something reckless.

thou mayest. the illusion of freedom wrapped in the guise of agency. it was a promise of autonomy that demanded surrender. harry turned the phrase over in his mind like a stone, rough against his palm, smooth on the other side. it sounded noble, to choose. to be good, even when depravity tasted sweeter. but to choose implied that choice was ever truly his.

the idea unsettled him. if the end was written, if he was meant to fall, then what purpose was there in resisting? if the flame was always there, waiting for the moth, could he be blamed for burning?

but harry frowned at the notion, rejecting it like the apple beginning to rot. to believe it was inevitable was to strip himself of accountability. it was to call it fate instead of what it really was—a weakness he didn’t want to name aloud.

yet even as he denied inevitability, he could feel it breathing down his neck. the soft pull of gravity every time her eyes met his, wide and unguarded. her sweetness wasn’t like the syrupy fiction he had always known, too thick to be real. it was raw, unpolished, pure in its lack of pretense. he wanted to protect it, to shelter it, but how could he when his hands itched to touch it, to ruin it, to mark it as his?

guilt and desire were two sides of the same coin he couldn’t stop flipping. the choices felt infinite and yet singular, converging on her—the catalyst, the temptation, the embodiment of his undoing.

he tried not to touch her, not to look too long, but the world conspired against him. his name on her lips sounded like an offering. her laughter felt like a secret. the way she walked, talked, breathed—it all felt intentional, even though he knew it wasn’t. she was innocent of his thoughts. she had no idea the storm she brought to life in him.

and maybe that’s what made her so dangerous. because he had spent years building walls, convincing himself that control was his greatest virtue. but her presence felt like water—slowly eroding the stone, finding its way into the cracks he didn’t know existed.

he wanted to believe he had a choice. that he could walk away, untouched, untempted. but every step closer to her felt like destiny disguised as coincidence. her smile was a trap, but it was one he wanted to fall into, knowing full well there would be no escape.

harry thought of the apple in the garden. the lie it told about choice. the way it beckoned, its skin gleaming with the promise of sweetness. but the truth was, it wasn’t the apple that made him fall. it was the hunger that had always lived inside him.

thou mayest. the words tasted bitter now. because in the end, he knew he wouldn’t choose. he would only follow.

and maybe, he thought, that was its own kind of freedom.

— BOSTON

there were a thousand ways to love someone.

it wasn’t a single language. it was a mosaic of dialects, some of which he spoke fluently, others he fumbled through, and some he would never master. it came to him in whispers, in roaring applause, in soft apologies spoken under foreign moons. love, in its rawest forms, could be a sonnet sung aloud or the silence between breaths. it could bloom in the mundane, sprouting like ivy through the cracks of familiarity. but it could also unravel—untethered and wild—until it swallowed everything else whole.

now, though, it felt like a question he didn't know how to answer.

he had known it to be beautiful once, grand and uncompromising, like a symphony crashing through the walls of his chest. but now? now it felt softer, quieter. less a roar and more a whisper in the back of his mind, laced with something he couldn’t quite place.

april on the east coast was no season for romance. it was damp with promise, hesitant in its thaw. the skies hung low with slate-colored clouds, heavy but refusing rain, and the mornings were gray and cold enough to bite. it wasn’t exactly the kind of spring that painted postcards, but it had its own charm—the kind of charm that settled not in sight, but in sound. in the low hum of city life, the rush of trains cutting through tunnels, the steady rhythm of days repeating themselves.

this time, though, harry was restless.

juniper had left with a kiss on his cheek and a laugh in her voice, her belly round with new beginnings, her flight booked to london. “don’t let it go to your head,” she’d teased, pointing a playful finger at him. “just because you’re losing me doesn’t mean you’ll fall apart.”

he hadn’t fallen apart. not exactly.

but the void she left behind was wide, even if temporary, and it was her replacement who filled it.

YN arrived on a wednesday.

he had two days before the show. no real obligations until then, aside from this—meeting his new hair and makeup artist, seeing if she knew what she was doing before she had to work on him before a live performance.

he sighed, running a hand through his hair as he pushed open the door to his dressing room.

she was already there.

he paused for a fraction of a second, not expecting to see her yet. she stood near the vanity, back straight, hands clasped together in front of her, like she wasn’t sure what to do with them. on the counter beside her was a cup—one of those paper to-go cups, the kind that came from some overpriced café.

she turned when he entered, eyes widening slightly before she offered a small, polite smile.

“hi.” her voice was soft, a little hesitant. “i’m YN.”

he took a few steps inside, nodding once. “harry.”

she nodded back, exhaling quickly, like she was trying to steady herself. then, she gestured toward the cup.

“i got you a latte,” she started. “i—i wasn’t sure what you usually drink, but i thought it might be nice. to—y’know. start off on the right foot.”

he glanced at the cup, then at her.

she was nervous. he could see it in the way she shifted her weight slightly, in the way she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

it was a nice thought.

but he hadn’t touched dairy in years.

he didn’t say that, though. didn’t want to embarrass her. instead, he just gave her a small, appreciative nod.

he reached for it, offering a gentle smile. “thanks.”

she looked relieved when he took it, her smile relaxing a little.

harry held the cup, feeling the warmth of it against his palm. he could smell it, the sweetness of whatever syrup she’d probably had them put in. vanilla, maybe. something soft.

he set it down on the vanity without taking a sip.

YN didn’t seem to notice, already turning to grab her kit.

“so,” she breathed, glancing at him as she unzipped it, “juniper gave me some notes on what you like. she said you prefer a really natural look.”

harry nodded, lowering himself into the chair. “yeah. don’t like when it feels too heavy.”

“got it,” she murmured, more to herself than to him, before pulling out a few brushes.

he watched her in the mirror as she worked, as she moved with careful, practiced hands.

she was quiet at first, focused. then, after a minute, she glanced at him.

“have you always done your own hair?”

he blinked, caught slightly off guard. “what?”

“your hair,” she said, brushing her fingers lightly through the strands. “juniper said you’re pretty particular about it. that you usually style it yourself.”

he huffed a soft laugh. “yeah.”

she smiled a little, just a flicker, before returning her focus to her work.

harry swallowed.

this was fine.

just a job.

just another day before a show.

but the latte sat untouched on the counter, the scent of vanilla lingering in the air.

harry had a feeling she’d linger with it.

there was just something about her, something that felt unguarded. almost naive.

she wasn’t, not entirely—he learned that quickly. she had edges, sharp ones when needed, but she wielded them sparingly. the rest of the time, she was all soft hands and big eyes, a honeyed warmth that seeped into everything she touched.

and harry?

harry was careful not to touch her at all.

there was a distance he liked to keep, a careful line between himself and everyone else. not because he didn’t care—he cared more than he’d admit—but because he knew what could happen when he let someone too close.

still, she had a way of leaning past those lines. not intentionally, but like ivy, like roots. like something that simply grew.

by the time april had given way to may, harry found himself watching her more than he should.

she hummed when she worked, soft melodies that floated through the room like ghosts of songs she couldn’t name. she wrote everything down in a little notebook, scribbling furiously with a pen that always seemed to run out of ink at the worst times.

he’d caught her once, shaking it with a frustrated pout, her lips pressed together in concentration.

“you alright there?” he’d asked, the words slipping out before he could think better of it.

she’d blinked up at him, startled, and then laughed, “another losing battle with this pen.”

“you have t’tap it against your forehead twice.” he’d replied, biting back a smile.

her eyebrows furrowed, but she did it anyway—lightly tapping the clicky part against her head, glancing at harry before trying to write again.

of course it didn’t work. he was just messing with her—wanted to see if she fell for it, wanted to see if she’d listen.

it was easy to fall into moments like that with her.

too easy.

thou mayest. a soft hand offering an apple, a question left unanswered. but he had his own questions, ones that wrapped themselves around his throat and refused to let go.

there were a thousand ways to love someone, and harry had spent his life learning only a fraction of them. though sometimes he wondered if he’d been learning them for her.

— EDINBURGH

he had always thought of temptation as a slow build, like the simmering heat of a kettle left on the stove, a soft whistle at first that could grow into a shrieking insistence if ignored too long. but that night, in the quiet sprawl of his hotel suite, it didn’t simmer. it coiled.

the city welcomed them with a gray drizzle and jet lag that stuck to the skin like damp clothes. the flight over had been long, hours stretched taut over time zones and turbulence, and by the time he made it to the room, he wanted nothing more than to shed the weight of travel.

his suitcase lay half-open on the floor, a quiet surrender to the fatigue he couldn’t shake. a glass of water sat on the bedside table, untouched, condensation pooling beneath it. harry stretched out on the mattress, arms behind his head, eyes closed but nowhere near sleep. the city murmured beyond the window—a muted symphony of car horns and distant voices—and he let it play in the background.

his phone buzzed.

yn: did you get back to the hotel okay?

he smiled faintly at the screen, her name like a flame too warm to look at directly. his fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before he responded.

harry: all 10 fingers and toes. safe and sound.

harry: you get back okay?

the reply came almost instantly, her eagerness spilling into the space between them.

yn: mhmmm. i’m just brainstorming a few ideas for upcoming shows :) if you give me a penny, i’ll give you my thoughts.

a laugh huffed through his nose.

harry: consider a penny given, then.

he settled deeper into the bed, phone balanced in his hand as he waited. the seconds stretched into minutes, the screen dimming twice before the vibration returned. when it did, it wasn’t just one text, but a cascade—a waterfall of thoughts so uniquely hers that he could almost hear her voice speaking them aloud.

it was color theory, ideas layered with excitement, messily typed but earnest. how the blues of certain lighting might dull the warmth of his skin, or how curls framing his face might draw more focus to his eyes.

yn: does that make sense?

he hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

harry: absolutely. honored to work with such talent.

her suggestions were good—better than good, really. but it wasn’t the content that had his heart pacing against the walls of his chest. it was the way she thought of him in terms of details. the curve of his hair, the way light caught in his eyes. how she looked at him as if he were something to be fine-tuned, polished, perfected.

he set the phone down, staring at the darkened ceiling.

it wasn’t the first time he’d felt it, the pull of her presence. she had a way of moving through spaces as though she belonged in all of them. she was sharp where it mattered and soft everywhere else, a tangle of contradictions that didn’t feel contradictory at all.

he wasn’t blind to it, either—the closeness, the fleeting touches she didn’t seem to think twice about, the way her laughter lingered in rooms after she left them.

and yet, he couldn’t let himself fall. not into this.

his hand twitched toward the phone again. temptation was a voice now, low and insistent, curling in his gut. he thought of her in her room, probably cross-legged on the bed with her notebook splayed open and a pencil tucked behind her ear, her face alight with whatever new idea had struck her.

she was likely still wearing the hoodie from the plane, the one she had pulled over her knees to keep warm. she had smiled at him through the terminal, soft and shy, a blush touching her cheeks as she said goodnight.

his phone buzzed again.

yn: i think the messy curls could make your eyes look softer. i’m rambling, sorry! just a thought :)

it wasn’t fair, really. the way she existed so effortlessly, the way she lingered in his mind long after she’d left the room.

but temptation had a thousand faces, and tonight, it wore hers.

harry: never stop rambling.

— GLASGOW

it felt colder than it should have for may. the overcast sky hung low, gray and swollen, threatening rain that would inevitably come. harry didn’t mind it, though—he liked how the cold made his skin prickle, how it made the air feel cleaner when he breathed it in. but more than that, he liked how it kept everyone huddled indoors, tucked into the warmth of the stadium where soundchecks were already underway.

YN was perched on a stool near the mirrors, her knees pulled up just enough to keep her feet from dangling. she had been quiet all morning, focused, her delicate fingers meticulously painting tiny daisies onto the nail of his pinky.

“some steady hands there.”

she glanced up at him, and for a moment, her cheeks burned pink. “i have to. can’t mess up, right?”

“you could,” he mumbled, leaning forward slightly, his tone teasing. “might not mind.”

her lips twitched, barely concealing a smile, but she quickly ducked her head back down, letting her hair fall into her face like a curtain. it was something she did often, he noticed, as if she were hiding—not just from him but from something bigger.

he didn’t press. not yet.

“what color’s next?” he asked, tilting his head to look at the neat little bottles lined up on the counter.

“yellow,” she replied softly. “you said you wanted bright.”

“a sunshine yellow, then.” he watched her carefully as she reached for the polish, her fingers trembling ever so slightly before she steadied them again. “you’re sweet, you know that?”

her hand froze midair, and he swore he saw her breath hitch. she looked up at him then, her wide eyes meeting his, and he felt it again—that pull.

“what?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“you’re sweet,” he repeated, the corner of his mouth lifting into the faintest of smirks. “makes me wonder if anyone’s ever told you that before.”

she blinked, her lashes fluttering like the wings of a moth caught too close to a flame. “i–i don’t know.”

his smile deepened, but there was no malice in it, only warmth. “well, you are. just thought you should know.”

YN turned her attention back to his nails, her head bowed so low now he could only see the crown of it. the pink flush on her cheeks had deepened, spreading to the tips of her ears.

he liked that. he liked how easily she reacted to him, how her softness made him feel like he could step closer without shattering her completely. but he also hated it, hated how it clawed at his resolve, making him forget all the reasons he’d told himself to stay away.

when she finished the daisies, she leaned back, examining her work with a satisfied little nod. “done.”

“you’re sure?” he asked, lifting his hand and turning it this way and that, letting the light catch the glossy polish.

“positive.”

“looks perfect,” he said, though this time he wasn’t teasing. “thank you.”

her lips parted, just slightly, like she wasn’t sure what to say.

before she could speak, the sharp click of the dressing room door broke the moment, and jeff stuck his head inside.

“five minutes, harry,” he called, already looking at his phone as he spoke. “got people waiting.”

he nodded, his expression unchanged, though the moment felt heavier now, disrupted by the intrusion. “right. cheers.”

jeff disappeared again, the door clicking shut behind him.

he stood, stretching his arms above his head, and caught the way YN watched him out of the corner of her eye before quickly looking away.

“i’ll get you something from the vending machine.” he mentioned casually, already fishing into his pocket for his wallet.

her head snapped up. “you don’t have to—”

“hush,” he interrupted, grinning now. he stepped closer, reaching for her hand, and put four quarters into her palm. “you’ll need this. unless y’plan on charming the machine into spitting one out for free.”

her fingers curled around the coins, and she blinked up at him, her lips parting as if to argue. but she didn’t. instead, she offered him a soft, grateful smile.

“thank you.”

he only hummed as she slipped the quarters into her pocket and hopped off the stool, glancing at him one last time before heading for the door. when she was gone, the room felt too still, the faint trace of her perfume lingering like an echo.

he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. his nails gleamed in the fluorescent light, the little daisies smiling up at him like they knew something he didn’t.

meanwhile, the vending machines would glow faintly at the far end of the hallway, their soft hum breaking the quiet. YN shuffled closer, her shoes padding lightly against the concrete floor.

but the faint creak of a door opening behind her made her pause, her head turning toward the sound.

he was there again, stepping into the hallway and heading the opposite direction.

harry moved with the kind of unhurried confidence that made it seem like the space around him belonged to him and him alone. his legs carried him in long strides, the sharp crimson of his trousers catching the dull overhead lights with every step. the matching red suspenders hung loose, swinging lazily at his sides, as though he’d been interrupted mid-motion while shrugging them up.

his shirt was unassuming—blue and striped, halfheartedly buttoned. the fabric clung to the broad line of his shoulders before softening at his waist, tucked neatly into his trousers. the buttons stopped low, of course, just enough to reveal the sharp dip of his collarbones and a teasing stretch of bare skin below.

YN’s eyes lingered longer than they should have, tracing the slope of his jaw, the faint stubble along his chin, the way the fabric shifted across his back when he moved. it was unfair, really, how tall he seemed here, how he could fill even the emptiest hallway with his presence.

he hadn’t noticed her yet. his head was down, focused, his mouth pressed into a line of mild concentration. whatever jeff had needed him for was probably important, judging by the speed of his stride.

but then, as though he’d sensed it, he looked up.

their eyes met briefly—just a flicker, but it was enough.

harry’s pace slowed for a fraction of a second, his brows lifting in faint recognition as his gaze settled on her. he didn’t smile, not fully, but the corners of his mouth twitched like he might’ve.

YN felt her stomach twist, that now-familiar warmth creeping up her neck and blooming across her cheeks. she wasn’t sure why she felt caught, like she’d been caught looking when she hadn’t meant to.

“get your cola yet?” his voice carried down the hall.

she managed to shake her head, “not yet.”

“better hurry, then,” he nodded toward her, resuming his stride. “press’ll be crawling through soon.”

he didn’t wait for her response, his figure already retreating, his strides long and effortless as he disappeared around the corner.

YN let out a slow, shaky breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her fingers unclenching one by one. she glanced down at the quarters in her palm, their edges pressing faint imprints into her skin.

when she turned back to the vending machines, the glow seemed a little brighter, the hum a little louder, but the air in the hallway still felt heavy. she slid the coins into the slot one at a time, their metallic clinks echoing in her ears, and pressed the button for a coke.

her fingers closed around the bottle, and for a moment, she stood there, staring at the blurred reflection of herself in the machine’s plexiglass. her cheeks were still flushed, her heartbeat uneven—only harry could manage such a reaction without even doing anything.

he wasn’t even looking, she thought, shaking her head as she straightened up. he wasn’t even looking anymore. but it didn’t matter, not really. her stomach still fluttered like it always did.

she kept herself busy while harry was off handling whatever jeff had thrown his way. it was easy, most days—finding small things to do in the dressing room, small tasks that helped settle the nervous energy she always seemed to carry.

she tucked loose bits of makeup back into their designated compartments, straightened the mess of brushes and bottles that had accumulated along the counters. the quiet helped, too, though she occasionally paused, distracted by the faint voices coming from the small television mounted on the wall.

the scottish accents were thick and lilting, pulling her attention away entirely when she let herself linger too long. she’d tilt her head toward the screen, catching snippets of an old comedy show she didn’t recognize, before shaking herself out of it and returning to her task.

her coke was still cold against her palm, condensation slicking the skin of her fingers as she took small, absentminded sips. but when she ran out of things to tidy, out of ways to fill the silence, she left the dressing room, wandering through the backstage halls.

this was a habit of hers, especially in new places. she liked exploring, even if the halls all tended to look the same—narrow and gray, the faint hum of activity reverberating off the walls.

voices carried from somewhere distant, bouncing in ways that made it impossible to pinpoint their origin. she walked slowly, her free arm occasionally brushing against the rough cinderblock walls.

then she stopped.

her eyes caught on something hung up on the wall—a plaque with a faded photo and an inscription below it. she stepped closer, squinting to make out the worn text, her head tilting slightly as she read. it must’ve been a gift to the stadium years ago, a relic from a time before she was even born.

the faint hum of voices seemed to grow louder as she stared, but she didn’t move. her thoughts wandered as she read the plaque’s history, the drink cool in her hand, her sneakers shifting on concrete like she couldn’t bear to stand still.

but after a beat, she decided she’d seen enough.

she spun on her heel, ready to continue her aimless walk, but she bumped into something solid before she even realized she wasn’t alone.

“oh!” she gasped softly, jerking back slightly, enough to regain balance.

it wasn’t just something solid—it was someone.

harry.

his hand brushed against her shoulder instinctively, steadying her with a light touch that felt more deliberate than it probably was. he let out a breathy laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he glanced down at her.

“didn’t see y’there, sweetheart.”

the word hit her square in the chest—not the casual murmur of her name he usually used but something gentler, more pointed. he rarely called her that, maybe once every few days at most, and it always left her struggling to figure out if he meant anything by it.

she blinked up at him, still flustered, her heart kicking up in her ribs as she took a step back. he towered over her, as always, broad and imposing in such a narrow place. the suspenders she’d seen earlier were in place now, stretched over his shoulders, accentuating the sharp lines of his frame. and even though she’d only finished fixing his hair a short while ago, it already looked tousled, like he’d run his fingers through it more than once.

her cheeks heated, but she smiled anyway, nodding toward the plaque on the wall in an effort to distract herself. “was lookin’ at this.”

he followed her line of sight, the faint curve of his mouth lingering as he took a moment to glance it over. “from the old firm game,” he muttered, “back in ‘39.”

“oh.” she breathed, her eyes darting between him and the plaque.

“not to be confused with the old firm of ‘71,” he added, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looked back at her fully.

YN’s eyebrows furrowed as she tilted her head, trying to place the significance.

he leaned in slightly, his shoulder brushing hers lightly as he continued, “–where a bunch of people died.”

the words were said so casually that it took a second for them to register, and by the time they did, he was already walking off.

she gasped, following after him, “what do you mean?” she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. “people died here?”

he glanced back at her briefly, his expression unreadable, though his lips still carried the faintest hint of amusement. “mm-hmm.”

“well…what happened?” she pressed, quickening her pace to match his.

instead of answering, he slowed just enough to turn toward her, his hand reaching out with an ease that made her breath catch. without a word, he plucked the coke from her hand, his fingers brushing hers for the tiniest moment before he raised it to his lips.

“stadium disaster,” he said finally, his voice calm, ending with the quietest of sighs from his swallow.

he handed the bottle back to her with the same ease, his fingers grazing hers again as the cool glass settled back into her hand.

“that’s it?” she asked, incredulous. “just stadium disaster? that’s all you’re giving me?”

he glanced down at her, “you’ve got a phone, haven’t you?”

“well…” she paused, the faintest of frowns on her lips, “you can’t just drop a bomb on me ‘nd walk away.”

he chuckled, pushing open the door leading back toward another corridor. “can’t i?”

YN opened her mouth to argue, but the door clicked shut behind him, leaving her standing there in the middle of the hallway.

she frowned further, tipping the bottle back to finish the last swallow before tossing it into the recycling bin with a soft clink. without much thought, her feet carried her toward the door he had disappeared through, her curiosity prickling like static under her skin.

it wasn’t that the news upset her, though the thought of people dying here was unsettling, sure. it was more that this stadium—the one they were standing in right now, bustling with life and noise—had that kind of history to it. stadium disaster. how vague. it wasn’t much to go on, and her mind raced with questions she couldn’t quite tamp down.

was it safe for harry to perform here? was it haunted, for god’s sake? and how did he know about it so casually, like it was the kind of trivia everyone carried around in their back pocket? was it some bit of history he’d picked up while preparing for the tour? or—she glanced down the hall, chewing her lip—was he just messing with her?

she pushed through another set of doors, the muffled hum of activity on the other side growing louder as it swung shut behind her. the hallway was wider here, brighter, with distant voices overlapping in a way that made it hard to pinpoint where they came from.

her eyes scanned the space ahead, searching for that familiar figure. he wasn’t hard to spot—tall and broad, the opposite of waldo.

“harry! wait, please!”

he slowed, turning his head just enough to glance over his shoulder. he smiled when he saw her, but he didn’t stop walking.

she huffed, her stride quickening against the floor as she caught up to him.

“s’not fair to tell me something crazy like that and leave me behind.”she mumbled, her voice low enough that only he could hear.

“like what?” he asked, feigning innocence as he glanced down at her.

“stadium disaster,” she repeated, rolling the words on her tongue like they didn’t make sense. “what does that even mean?”

he shrugged, his steps slowing slightly to match hers. “means what it sounds like, doesn’t it?”

“but thats not really an answer, though.”

he stopped then, turning to face her fully, and the sudden weight of his attention made her heart stutter.

“happened after a football match,” he said, his tone even, almost conversational. “old firm derby. too many people trying to leave at once—crush at the exit. sixty-six dead.”

“sixty-six.” she echoed.

he nodded, his expression steady, though his eyes softened slightly when they met hers.

“and…they still use the stadium?”

“course they do.” he shrugged again, slipping his hands into his pockets. “was decades ago. fixed it up after.”

“but how do you know all that?”

his lips twitched, just slightly, and for a moment, he looked almost sheepish. “read about it some time ago. thought it was interesting.”

“interesting.” she mocked, shaking her head, though her lips curved faintly into a smile.

“don’t look at me like that,” he mumbled, a teasing edge creeping into his voice. “you asked.”

she let out a soft huff, though the faint smile still tugging at her lips betrayed her. before she could think of a retort, harry turned and began walking again, and she followed, of course.

his casual indifference to the conversation left her buzzing with curiosity. she hesitated for a moment before blurting, “do you believe in ghosts?”

“ghosts?”

“yeah,” she nodded, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “you said all those people died here. i don’t know—places like that feel like they’d…hold on to something, don’t you think?”

his lips curved into a faint smirk, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes, something thoughtful. “you think this place is haunted?”

she shrugged, looking ahead instead of at him. “maybe. you don’t?”

“not really.” he said simply, his tone light but firm. “don’t reckon i’ve seen enough to believe in all that.”

she frowned, glancing up at him again. “you’ve never had anything weird happen? not even on tour?”

“plenty of weird happens on tour,” he said with a low chuckle, his hand briefly brushing the suspenders at his chest as though adjusting them. “but nothing spooky. unless you count jeff turning into a ghost every time i ask him to sort something out.”

YN couldn’t help but laugh, the sound escaping her before she could stop it. “that doesn’t count, harry.”

“then no,” he replied, his voice calm but edged with amusement. “can’t say i’ve had the pleasure of being haunted. you?”

her smile faltered, her gaze dipping to the ground for a moment. “no, but…i don’t know. places like this make me wonder.”

he hummed low in his throat, tilting his head as if considering her words. “like we’re all just leaving little bits of ourselves behind.”

“yeah,” she said softly, nodding. “something like that.”

they lingered in the doorway, YN a bit unsure whether to turn back toward the dressing rooms or find something else to preoccupy herself with. this was where harry was supposed to disappear, where their brief exchange would end, and where she’d return to her usual wandering.

but he didn’t move just yet. instead, he reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. the motion was slow, his rings glinting faintly beneath the fluorescents.

“you haven’t eaten today?” he asked, though the tone of his voice wasn’t really a question. it was low and steady, more like a statement.

her lips pursed slightly as she tilted her head, giving the question more thought than she probably needed to.

“mm,” she hummed, narrowing her eyes playfully as if she were weighing the truth. “no—yes!” she corrected herself quickly, a sheepish smile breaking across her face. “yes. i had breakfast and a snack earlier.”

his lips twitched, the corner of his mouth lifting as if he were fighting the urge to smile. he didn’t say anything right away, just kept his eyes on her.

then, without a word, he pulled two twenties from his wallet, “here.”

YN blinked again, her eyes flicking between the money and his face, confusion blooming across her features. “what? no, harry, i can’t—”

“take it,” he interrupted gently, his voice soft but firm. “go get something decent. don’t let mitch con you into eating crisps f’dinner again.”

she hesitated, the weight of his gaze pressing on her as she chewed her bottom lip.

“seriously,” he added, a faint smile tugging at his mouth now. “you’ll be doing me a favor. don’t want you passing out on me, yeah?”

her cheeks flushed slightly at his words, but after another beat of hesitation, she finally reached out and took the money, her fingers brushing against his briefly as she did.

“thank you…again.”

he only hummed, shrugging his shoulders casually—as if he didn’t just hand her forty bucks for a measly lunch.

and then, just as she thought he might disappear into the room ahead, he glanced at her again, his green eyes steady and bright under the harsh lights.

“don’t wander too far.”

she smiled faintly, her fingers tightening around the money. “i won’t.”

— COVENTRY

her hands were slowly starting to become his favorite greeting.

the way they moved with a gentle rhythm, purposeful but soft, like they carried a melody he couldn’t quite place. it was the third week of the european leg, the air damp with the kind of lingering rain that clung to the skin and made hair curl at the edges. backstage was bustling, but in the quiet moments, when she flitted around him with a quiet focus, all harry could see were her hands.

small, unadorned, sweet.

she was touching up his face, her thumb dragging gently beneath his eye to smooth out a smudge. her breath smelled faintly of spearmint and the watermelon candy she had earlier. her eyes stayed fixed on the task, as if this moment was just another stitch in the fabric of her day. but for harry, it was a tear in the cloth.

she was too close. he could see the faintest sheen of her skin under the lights, the curve of her neck, the way her collarbones shifted as she moved.

lust wasn’t a stranger to him. it had been loud before, all-consuming. but this was different. this was quieter, heavier. something he was trying to smother, yet it refused to die.

he went cold that day. avoided her gaze, clenched his jaw, kept his hands tucked into his pockets like they might betray him.

but it only made her more thoughtful.

he saw her the next morning, her hair clipped loosely at the back of her head, strands falling lazily like they’d escaped on purpose. the change was subtle, but in the way she crafted herself into something sharper, more focused. the clipped hair gave him an undisturbed view of her neck, the hollow of her throat, the delicate slope of her shoulders.

he was undone.

a thousand images pressed against his mind, unwanted but insistent—his hands spanning the column of her throat, bruises painted like watercolored violets blooming along her collarbones—an evidence of his claim—the curve of her jaw tipped back as she let out a sound meant only for him.

harry forced himself to retreat again.

she thought it was her breath next.

he noticed how she chewed bright green gum in a way that drove him mad, like it was an absent habit, the piece of gum rolling in slow movements. sometimes her tongue would peek past her lips as though she were about to blow a bubble but stopped halfway through.

harry had to sit down once after that, shaking his head like he could dislodge the thoughts from his skull. he thought of how her pretty lips would look wrapped around his cock. he could almost feel it—the warmth, the wetness, the sound. he wondered if she’d be as quiet as she usually was, or if she’d scream his name loud enough for the entire stadium to be reminded of who they’re here to see.

and now, she was kneeling by his side backstage, her fingers curling into the hem of his trousers to fix the cuff.

she smiled softly as she worked, her eyes flicking up to meet his for the briefest moment.

“you’ll trip over these on stage if they aren’t fixed.”

he swallowed thickly, nodding, unable to form words. the thought of her on her knees, innocent and sweet, flooded his mind like a storm surge.

“there.” she sat back on her heels, her hands brushing against his ankles as she admired her work.

he looked at her, bathed in the golden backstage light, her hair still clipped back, her lips parted slightly as if waiting for his approval.

he clenched his fists.

the flow of time bent around her, her presence a rippling disturbance in the current.

harry shifted abruptly, muttering something about needing to check on mitch, and left the room without looking back.

— MANCHESTER

the hotel was hushed, its grandeur dimmed by the evening hour. soft light spilled from sconces along the walls, pooling against polished floors, while the faint hum of distant conversation echoed through the lobby. most of the crew had disappeared within minutes, doors clicking shut as they vanished into their respective rooms, leaving the space cavernous and still.

but not harry. and not YN.

her room wasn’t ready yet—something about cleaning and turnaround, an oversight that had left her standing at the front desk with an apologetic smile and her suitcase at her side.

“shouldn’t be more than half an hour,” the clerk had assured her, but YN had waved it off, her soft it’s fine laced with the kind of understanding that always made harry’s chest tighten.

instead of heading to his own room, he had lingered. he didn’t know why, or perhaps he did and simply didn’t want to acknowledge it. either way, he found himself sitting in a low-slung armchair in the lounge just off the lobby, the soft leather cool beneath his hands as he leaned back and stretched his legs out.

she sat across from him, perched delicately on the edge of a matching chair, her fingers fidgeting idly with the zipper of her bag.

his eyes flicked to her now and then, his eyes catching on the faint curve of her profile, the way her shoulders lifted slightly when she let out a quiet sigh. she didn’t seem restless, exactly—just waiting.

the room was sparsely furnished, its decor understated but rich. in the far corners, small tables stood with chessboards carved into their surfaces, their pieces arranged neatly in expectation.

it was YN who noticed them first, her head tilting slightly as her gaze lingered on the nearest table. after a moment, she rose from her chair, her movements unhurried as she approached the board. her fingers brushed lightly over the edge of the table, tracing the grooves of the squares as if testing their texture.

harry watched her from his seat, his elbow resting on the armrest as his hand brushed over his jaw.

“do you play?” she asked suddenly, her voice soft but carrying across the quiet room.

he smiled as he stood, unfolding himself from the chair with an ease that made the movement seem almost languid, and crossed the room to join her.

“a bit.”

“teach me?”

he nodded, pulling out a chair for her. “sit, then.”

he sat across from her after she settled, her fingers resting lightly against the edge of the table as she watched him reach for the pieces.

his hands moved with practiced ease, his rings catching the light as he adjusted the arrangement of the board. his fingers brushed against hers briefly when she leaned forward to help.

“these are pawns,” he said, his voice steady as he pointed to the row of small pieces. “move one square forward, except on the first turn—then it can be two.”

she nodded, her brows furrowing slightly as she leaned closer, her eyes following the path of his hand. his voice was calm, measured, and she found herself drawn to the rhythm of it, the way he spoke as if the game were a story he was unfolding just for her.

“bishops go diagonally,” he continued, sliding one across the board with a smooth motion. “rooks in straight lines. knights—well, they’re tricky. they move in an L shape.”

her lips curved into a small smile as she watched him demonstrate, the pieces clicking softly against the board.

“like this,” harry muttered, his fingers brushing against hers again as he nudged her hand toward the knight.

her breath caught faintly, though she didn’t pull away. instead, she let her fingers linger, her eyes flicking up to meet his for a brief, unguarded moment.

“got it?”

she nodded, her throat tightening as she swallowed the knot that had risen there.

“show me.” he encouraged, leaning back slightly but keeping his gaze steady on her. “go ahead.”

she hesitated for a moment, her fingers hovering over the pawn in front of her as her concentration shifted onto harry—focusing on the way his hips bucked as he tried to get comfortable in his seat, the way his thighs spread apart, wide enough that his knees brushed against the legs of the table.

and it’s like he knew the reason why her cheeks flushed. he was still leaned back, his hands folded and resting against his belly as he watched her. just watched. his breathing was even, the tip of his tongue sliding between his lips as they part.

“you stuck?”

her eyes immediately snap back to the pawn. “no,” she murmured before she slid it forward.

the game moved slowly, each turn deliberate as he guided her through the motions. his voice stayed calm, patient, though the weight of his presence felt anything but.

she leaned forward more as the game progressed, her elbows resting on the table as she studied the board. harry mirrored her unconsciously, the space between them narrowing with every move.

her laughter broke the quiet at one point, soft and sweet, when her knight moved in the wrong direction and harry teased her gently about it. the sound lingered in the air, threading itself into the quiet like a melody, and harry found himself smiling despite the tension coiling in his chest.

she hesitated, her fingers hovering over a bishop as she tried to map out her next move. YN glanced up at him briefly, catching the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, and quickly looked away.

“what?”

“nothing.” harry replied easily, though his smirk deepened.

“you’re doing that thing,” she said, her lips curving into a small pout.

“what thing?”

“that thing,” she repeated, her hand gesturing vaguely toward him. “the… i-know-something-you-don’t thing.”

he huffed a low laugh, shaking his head slightly. “m’not doing anything.”

her pout deepened, but she turned her focus back to the board. she moved her bishop with careful precision, setting it in place with a soft click before leaning back slightly, a triumphant smile blooming on her face.

“checkmate!”

he didn’t move at first. he simply blinked at the board, his lips twitching faintly as he leaned forward, his hands resting lightly on the edge of the table.

“is it now?”

YN’s smile faltered, her confidence wavering as she glanced back at the board, her eyes flicking over the pieces. she felt him lean closer, his presence warm and steady, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the space between them.

“you’ve got my king in a corner,” he muttered, his tone calm but edged with something almost teasing. “but…”

harry’s hand moved then, adjusting one of his knights. the piece landed with a firm click, the move clean and calculated.

“check.”

YN stared at the board, her lips parting slightly as she tried to make sense of what had just happened.

“but—” she started, her voice trailing off as her eyes darted between the pieces.

he leaned back again, his smirk returning as he watched her. “close, though.”

her cheeks flushed, the warmth spreading up her neck as she let out a soft huff, her gaze dropping to the table. “thought i had it.”

he shrugged, already starting to put the pieces in its original places. “almost, sweetheart.” he breathed, eyes fixed on checkerboards of black and white. “s’just a part of learning, hm?”

she glanced up at him then, her eyes wide and uncertain, and he held her gaze for a moment longer than he should have.

before she could respond, the faint hum of footsteps drew their attention toward the desk. the clerk from earlier stood there, holding out a small keycard.

"miss YN?"

she blinked, startled for a moment before realizing what it meant. her room was ready.

he stood first, his movements unhurried as he straightened, his presence still commanding even in the small act of standing. he turned toward her, his hand brushing briefly against the back of her chair as he gestured toward the desk.

"guess that's your cue.”

she hesitated, glancing back at the chessboard, its pieces nearly in their original places, before rising to her feet. she smoothed her hands over her pants, her eyes flicking to his.

"thanks for staying with me.”

he nodded toward her, a small smile on his lips. “anytime.”

too close to the sun, he thought.

but god, wouldn’t she be worth falling for?

[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.

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Taglist: @slytherin-pen @buttpoltergeist @tooexhaustedsstuff @aliceinwondwonderland

[cecilysass]

Happy Heart (-Shaped Hail) Day! Fic Recs for Rain King for Valentine's Day (or Any Time)

It's funny how in the fandom circles I tend to spend time in now, Rain King seems to be a pretty beloved episode: super shippy, romantic comedy, multiple fanfic tropes made canon.

When it aired, the online fandom's opinion of this episode was pretty mixed. There was a large contingent of fans who really hated it. (I remember this because I am 4,000 years old.) Season 6 had already been perceived as being too light in tone, and we'd already come off of a run of Triangle, Dreamland I and II, and How the Ghosts Stole Christmas. There was a lot of anxiety about the move to LA killing the show's dark and angsty feel.

Me, I always liked Rain King (and Triangle, and Dreamland I and II, and How the Ghosts Stole Christmas). And while I can identify the tone change in season 6, I don't hate it, nor do I think that the show really loses its darkness and angstiness (a lot comes back in the second half of the season). I'm also not someone who believes comedy is a de facto more stupid or less substantial genre than drama or suspense, so I think that's part of it.

Rain King has generated so, so much fanfic, and most specifically fanfic that zeroes in on this little fun fact: THEY CANONICALLY SHARE A MOTEL ROOM BECAUSE THERE'S ONLY ONE ROOM. Obviously many of the fics I'm recommending below are based on that premise. So here are my Valentine's Day recs based on Rain King. (Even though I think it's not actually set at Valentine's? Because the cold open happens months earlier? There's some kind of timeline hijinks, idk.) But anyway, it's the clearest Valentine's episode we have, so happy Valentine's Day.

Free Merlot at the Cool View Motor Court by Sarie_Fairy @sarie-fairy Scully tries a little experiment with Mulder after the reunion that gets rapidly out of hand. This is smutty fun—the kind of high end sexy times this author is really known for. Dating Kings and Queens - Baroness_Blixen @baronessblixen A pure romantic comedy style plot variation on the ending of Rain King. The agents discuss the last time they've been on a date. Turns out it HASN’T been so long for Scully. This is just so charming. 

Kroner by DM When Mulder finds out about the “flicked switch speech,” he deals with it in a flirty, somewhat less sentimental way that feels very in character to me. I like a fic with dialogue that feels like it goes a little unexpected.

No Big Deal by dreamingofscully @dreamingofscully Scully offers to help Mulder sleep in the hotel. This is UST, but deliiiiiiightfully so, and heavy on the complex feelings.

Can’t Fight This Feeling by mldrgrl  @mldrgrl A sweet and more subtle little feelings reveal after Rain King by an author who does this exact thing well. Also there is slow dancing to 80s music.

Time Enough At Last - baylorrific Absolute textbook classic one room trope, but it stands out for me because I like how it focuses on their mutual discomfort. They’re both so awkward here, even though it’s Mulder POV. I also like how the classic Twilight Zone episode Time Enough At Last is in conversation with what’s happening with the MSR.

There’s No Place Like Kroner - MonikaFileFan @monikafilefan You know what would make a “there’s only one room” Rain King fic extra fun? DIANA. Okay, okay, I admit I wrote this prompt for the exchange, lol, so of course I think it sounds fun. But Monika wrote the actual fic, and you don’t want to miss it.

Pillow Talk - Alelou This is a short piece about a chatty Mulder very carefully putting out feelers in the motel room after the reunion. Sweet and in character.

Land That I Heard Of Once in A Lullabye - leiascully @leiascully In Kroner’s tiny airport, Scully takes stock of where they’ve come from and where they’re going. I love this. It feels especially spot on character-wise for season 6.

All that Lights Upon Us - wonderland @amplifyme This is a very different kind of Rain King fic, part of a series, although it can be read alone. During the events of Rain King they share a first kiss, but this fic is about their conversations afterwards (Mulder and Scully, as well as Mulder and Maggie). Gentle affection, and the process of taking little steps towards one another.

On the Flicking of Switches - SisterSpooky1013 @sisterspooky1013 Mulder initiates an awkward conversation in the motel room after the reunion. SisterSpooky1013 always has her characterization shit together, but I think this is an especially compelling character sketch of season 6 Scully.

Break in the Weather - ATTHS_TWICE @atths--twice Mulder and Scully can’t fly out another night in Kroner, so they kill time by going to a drive-in movie. Honestly, this is just adorable.

Still Raining - Donna When Sheila sends them both a letter a few months later, she alludes to what Scully told her in the bathroom. This raises questions for Mulder.

Stop Me - Gina Rain A little seduction by Mulder in the Kroner motel room. It starts with her feet, if that’s your thing. But it’s not exclusively about feet, if that isn’t lol.

They're SOOOOO MANY great Rain King fics, so drop any I missed in the comments! And if you want to read my Valentine's Day recs last year based on Milagro, they're here.

[oceansoul001]

After 170 hours I've finished Kingdom Come Deliverance 2 and I cannot even start to describe this emptiness I'm feeling now, knowing that there is no more of this great story waiting for me to experience (at least for now). What a wild ride it was and what a surprisingly amazing game, with all the twists and turns of the plot, all the memorable characters that I deeply cared about and rooted for, all the emotions of Henry's journey and all the thoughts about war, revenge, duty, and finally making peace with the past and moving on. The emotional spectrum of the game is astounding - it can so flawlessly switch between being extremely funny or delightfully absurd to being heartbreaking or devastating in the heaviest moments. But as the game’s content is so dense and rich, that writing down all my thoughts would require a whole book, or at least a dissertation, I would like to specifically touch upon one, nomen omen touchy subject. The Henry-Hans romance.

I'm not sure if it is possible yet, but I would also like to skip over all the controversy-driven discussions regarding this romantic subplot, clearly lead in bad faith and mostly by people not even engaging with the game, and be able to talk about this topic and analyze it as it is, without questioning its right to even exist in the game. Why do I focus on this quite small and optional aspect of the game at all? Well, I’m not gonna lie – I always find the RPGs with possible romances more engaging and captivating, as love – as a general emotion, with different shades of it – is in my eyes one of the crucial aspect of any hero. So if we are already talking about the love towards parents or other family members, patriotic love for your country, or king, platonic love between friends and comrades, and then all of a sudden omit only the romantic love, something is not adding up for me. If you want to give me a rich RPG experience, give me at least one good romance option, and I’m sold. But it is not easy at all, especially the “good” part.

But as KCD2 is a very unique game when it comes to its different aspects – like the demanding, slow-paced gameplay, or the unique blend of open-world with more contained main plot missions – it is also very unique when it comes to the romance options, or, let me say it aloud – when it comes to THE main romance option, the most integral romance option, the most naturally developing romance option in the game. The Henry-Hans (optional) romance that we can observe growing very slowly throughout this 100+ hours, is for me one of the best and most meaningful depictions of love in any RPG with player's agency. This relation, even if you opt out of romance, simply has it all - is intertwined with the plot, is rooted in character development and has the possibility to depict characters together during many different situations throughout the whole game. And this is how a good romanceable character should be written in a video game – as an independent character first and foremost, NOT as a character that was created with a sole purpose to serve as said romance option. In this case Hans ALWAYS plays a meaningful part in the story, and ALWAYS shares an important bond with your Henry, regardless of player's decision whether to engage with the romance or not. But many other games seem to forget about that, or don’t manage to create the bond between characters first, before the option to romance them appears.

And then comes the hard to describe aspect of THE FEELS. The slow development of this relation, the steady growth of feelings, up to the point, when you cannot deny it any longer, and when you cannot allow yourself to not act upon them - because of the circumstances, because of this sense of impending doom, that makes all the risks worth taking, as any of you might anyway be dead the next day. Audentes Fortuna Iuvat, remember? The risk that Hans takes in the decisive moment of this relation is THE epitome of his saying, and I don’t believe it is a coincidence when it suits so perfectly to the whole theme of the game and to Hans as a character in general. And this bold risk taking is so gut-clenching and heartbreaking, but also heartwarming in this one stolen moment of happiness that seems unreal. Say what you want, but you simply cannot tell this kind of story, invoke this kind of feelings - without first having two equally developed characters, that the player equally cares for and have cared for before any romance possibility was on the horizon. Add to the mix very real external hardships (all good romances need a hardship to overcome!), that due to the time and place make this relation tragically doomed before it even has begun, and there you have it - one of the most compelling romantic stories I have experienced in a video game, hands down.

And please don’t start with medieval this, medieval that, before you stop and think about greatest medieval love stories (that we know of) – these are always stories of impossible love, of doomed love, of forbidden love. Of two people, that cannot and should not be together because of the class they belong to, because of the promises made, because of duty, because of sin and religion dogma. Don’t tell me you cannot see the comparison between Henry and Hans, and, say, Tristan and Isolde, THE number one medieval chivalric romance couple, where they commit sin against God and betray their King at the same time, every time they are together. Don’t tell me that Henry, who clearly aspires to all the ideals that we associate with knighthood – chivalry, protection of the weak, devotion to land and rightful king, and generally noble idealism, let’s call it – is not the perfect hero of chivalric romance, with Hans being of course his damsel-princess, way above his league, already promised to another and soon to be in a loveless, political marriage, spending parts of the game either captured in some tower or stuck in some castle, having to wait for his knight to safely return to him. It is all there, I am sure not accidentally, and it fits all the themes and motifs known from both actual medieval literature and their pop culture representation SO WELL if you think about it for a second.

And there's one more component that elevates this particular relation to S-tier for me. You can have superb writing, you can direct the most impressive cutscene, you can have the build-up ready - all of these won't matter and won't work if the actors don't sell you the romantic feelings in the key moment. Which I assume is not easy, when for the most part you play other aspects of these characters and probably were not cast with this specific plot point in mind. But here comes Luke Dale, showing us the side of Hans Capon that we have not seen before, with the most heart-wrenching expression of his fears, with voice breaking at the exactly right moment, the trembling, the anger, the despair, but also the tiniest bit of hope - and in just two broken sentences he conveys it all, and it's all so bloody real. It's a masterwork, and I'm so happy that I could witness it in game, even more - become part of this relationship as the playable character himself.

I sincerely hope that the end of the main game is not the end of this subplot, as there is still so, so, so much more to explore with these characters in these circumstances. And their relation is so unique, comparing to popular fiction in general, but even more so in video games, that it would be a great loss to just leave them be as they are at the end of the game. I cannot wait for the possibility to go through more emotional turmoil with Henry and Hans, probably because I cannot even remember when was the last time I’ve fallen in love with fictional characters so much and so fast, as with these two. And as already said, love is the key. 

[strangesmallbard]

i do think it’s interesting that severance fans often default to discussing the outties and innies as two separate people—like yes, functionally, they are right now. lumon does its best in-universe to separate outties and innies. for example: banning contact between outties and their innies’ coworkers, banning contact between outties and innies themselves. they create that distance and the fantastic acting also helps create that distance. it’s fundamentally important to the show that we acknowledge that difference.

and like. yes it’s a philosophy question: at what point do outties and innies become truly different people? is a person stored in their memories, their upbringing, or their instincts? etc. as we’ve seen so far, this separation creates some of the most fucked up consent issues you’ve ever seen. but also, and this is so easy to forget, there is also no separation. mark scout is mark s, helena eagan is helly r, and visa-versa. one is just missing necessary history and context to be the other person, but the vestiges remain. essentially: i don’t think they can truly become two different people and therein lies some tension.

for example: mark s has mark scout’s frankly impressive ability to repress any and all grief-related emotions. (i was wondering yesterday, actually, whether an innie who experiences some of the same life events as their outtie will eventually morph into them. like a manual reintegration.) another example someone else brought up: helly r has helena eagan’s entitlement and strong belief in her own personhood.

the outtie vs innie conception is particularly interesting when it comes to how fans discuss helly r/helena eagan. many people love helly and hate helena and it has me going “huh!” because, like. that could be the same gal! in different fonts. they both want to believe they’re completely different and want everyone else to believe that too. but we’ve been shown differently.

i’ve also seen some cognitive dissonance in discussing helly r/helena’s actions, which is also very interesting. there’s a very human urge to paint one as evil, the other good. but that’s never how it goes. yeah irving says “helly was never cruel” but he’s biased! (which is a good thing! i love when characters are biased). helly tried to kill helena last season (i know i just said they’re not separate people, but helly doesn’t agree with me). in season 2, helena stole her body and assaulted mark s. again, absolutely insane consent issues inherent in the severance process. (maybe it doesn’t come down to the good/evil dichotomy at all but rather: power. who has the power and when are they justified to wield or fight it)

anyway! no tl;dr. just food for thought. please try to enjoy each sentence equally etc

[hello-gloomy]

Hello!!! Thank you for your amazing writing so far!!!

I hope if its no trouble could you please do a Xeno Houston Wingfield x reader scenario where the reader is captured at the same time as Gen (by Stanley ofc). And then Xeno kind of like falls for her because she also majors in rockets and space...or something. Feel free to ignore or change it up!

Thank you in advance!!

I love this sm, hope you like it and it's not to crack filled.

-------------------------

Black Magic

Dr. Xeno H. x Fem!Reader

-------------------

Description: Being the only American in the Kingdom of Science comes in handy when you finally make the trip to America; being a fellow scientist also helps a little too well, though.

Warnings: Mild violence, touching, the reader is said to be American, maybe a bit creepy Xeno, Sarcasm, and cursing. Maybe OOC. SPOILERS FOR THE ANIME S4.

A/N: I hope Anon enjoys this; I also couldn't help but make the reader an agent of chaos. The opportunity was too good to pass up. I hope this isn't too OOC for you guys

Words: 1,300

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The only time being American came in handy while in Japan during the petrification was when you were in the Stone World, and Senku wanted to return to America, which meant you were stuck as an encyclopedia for everyone else. When the kingdom reached Texas, you already knew something was off; it was too easy.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!" Were the first words out your mouth while you and everyone else were running from being shot at. While you were happy that you weren't the only ones who had progressed this far with science, you hated how American this situation was. They were firing on a bunch of randoms on their land that they hadn't seen before, very Texas; at least they didn't leave behind their amendments. After your group had made off with the plane, you were stuck with the scouting group being the only one in their natural element. When Gen had noticed how easy it was to track your attacker, he volunteered to go and find him himself. You wouldn't let him off so quickly, so you followed him just in case.

"We gonna get shot at again," You mused to Gen with a smirk, earning a disapproving look from him. When you finally stumbled upon your attacker, who promptly aimed his gun at you both, you couldn't help but burst into laughter, much to Gen's dismay. As he negotiated for your lives, the blonde with the purple lipstick instructed you to follow him to his colony while sneaking glances in your direction. You had to guess it was due to your clothing; it was more native to your home country than the one you had been staying in for so long. Gen was looking around, amazed at everything but still keeping a poker face; you, on the other hand, were dismissive of the entire operation. It was obvious that they had a smaller group than yours and hadn't found out how to un-petrify anyone yet. When you arrived at what you could tell was a lab, you were finally shown the mastermind behind this whole thing. When he turned to face you and Gen, your eyes and mouth reacted faster than your self-preservation skills.

"You're that fucking Scientist from those NASA articles!" All three men looked over at you, which made your cheeks heat at all the eyes on you.

"How elegant; it brings me pleasure to know that achievements in the old world reached multiple ends of the planet." While Stanley, as you've come to find out from one Dr. Xeno, is hooking up Gen to what you can tell is a fantastic stone world lie detector, he chats it up with you, asking where you are from, how long you've been awake, what your previous occupation was; you can't help but answer him excitedly. For someone your age and with the same or higher level of intelligence as you, it was a truly invigorating experience.

"Please stop telling the enemyyay information about us." Gen pleaded with you; he had a plan, so you did decide to be a little less loose-lipped, but you still did want to talk to the doctor while you loved talking to Senku; he was still a little too young for you, while Dr. Xeno was much older and on your level emotionally speaking in a sense.

"Relax. They're just a bunch of goths."

"Can you take this erioussay!" Gen was practically begging at this point, so you backed off and went to stand by the gunslinger instead. The Dr. went to go and question Gen, and he, in turn, worked his magic to get you both on the inside. When he called Taiju a doctor, you had to steel your face so hard not to cringe at his choice of fake leaders for your group. You saw Stanley looking at you from the corner of his eyes.

"Man, Dr. Xeno must really like you." You start while glancing at his lips; he raises his brow, signaling for you to go forward with your statements about the two of them.

"Purple is a pretty difficult color to make; in ancient times, they used snails to get that color. But while doing that, the species of snail they were using were becoming less common, making it a color only used for the aristocracy." Stanley let out a huff and shook his head.

"God, your just as bad as him with this science shit." He jested, and you screwed up your face. Gen walked over to where the two of you stood along the wall and hit you in the arm. You gave him a half-hearted 'ow' while rubbing your arm.

"You can take Gen and introduce him to everyone else." Stanley nodded while Gen started to splutter reasons for you to accompany him. You waved your hand, signaling you would be fine.

"Relax, Doctor Frankenstein won't kill me." You direct to Gen. While smiling at the X-marked doctor before you, you see his lips twitch, making you smile even more significantly. Gen spares you one last glance before walking along quietly. He offers you a seat, and you take it with a small 'thank you' before taking it.

"Coffee?" he offers, and you practically moan out a yes at the thought of caffeine touching your taste buds. He brings over two mugs before pulling up a seat beside you, watching as you take your first sip and practically crying tears of joy at the taste.

"Make me a monster, and I might marry you." He huffs a little laugh.

"I will get on that for you, " he tells you while taking his own sip. He asks you how long you've been out of the stone; you hold eye contact while weighing the pros and cons of answering him. You decide to give him the time, and he nods in understanding. He also rewards you for your honesty, telling you the timeline of how long he's been out.

"It seems your technology is not too far behind ours."

"We would be farther if we weren't too busy fighting amongst ourselves." You tell him with mild exasperation, mumbling about teenagers and their angstyness.

"Why not join my group?" He offers while grasping your face and staring into your eyes intensely; those black voids make you pause.

"It would be nice to have a headstart on having more intelligence in this new world." He tells you while rubbing a clawed thumb along your face; you feel your heart move to your throat at his implication, his thoughts similar to Tsukasa's in the beginning. It made your stomach twist; you knew Senku's idea of reviving the entirety of humanity was the dream of a naive child; being a couple years his senior, you knew the reality of your situation from the start, so you decided to let Senku have his hope for the future even starting to believe it after a few years. The second you saw the shores of America is when you were brought off of the childish dream you let yourself fall into.

"There's only so many smart people in the world, you know." He chuckles quietly at your statement, moving to brush hair out of your face instead. He moves to bring out some supplies, and you lean over his shoulder in interest. Your eyes widen in recognition at what he brought out in front of you: supplies for makeup.

"Yes, and I happened to have found one of them, " he tells you, letting you make a few makeup products while he watches. He could convince you to join him and see things through his eyes; he would ensure it and never let someone with such potential slip through his claws—not now, not ever.

[bunny-jpeg]

sinful sentences (sixteen)

kimi räikkönen - "i believe i could make you do it."

tags: smut/pwp, dom/sub dynamics, dom!kimi, sub!reader, temperature play (ice), age gap (30s/40s), safe sane & consensual, non-penetrative sex

a/n: and that's a wrap! thank you to those who read sixteen fan fics over sixteen days of smutty goodness! i hope you enjoyed all of them and maybe i'll do something like this in the future! (probably around my birthday). thank you for the love and support and i'll see you in the next one!

sinful sentences catalogue

it wasn't that you thought much about the finnish. for most of your life you didn't know exactly where it was on a map. you knew the general area, but not the exact borders. it felt like a far off place where winter nights seemed to go on forever.

but when your heart was captivated by the iceman himself, you became more familiar with the country and its people. you became fairly intimate, especially when kimi had his hands all over you every night. and you quickly came to a conclusion, the finnish were a bunch of kinky freaks.

with a shake on the ice tray in his hand, he chuckled lightly, "i believe i could make you do it." and his smile grew a little bit, "make you do anything i ask."

nothing much else to do a friday night. it was cold, so you wondered why kimi wanted to play with ice in the bedroom. it was like him tossing you in the snow outside naked then fucking you until it melted under the heat of your skin.

when you said that to him, he simply chuckled and replied, "there is always next time." then gave you a small wink. you learned quite early on that the stoic, icy driver ran hot in two places; the track and the bedroom. you made quite a pair because you were eager to try new things, and with a slightly older dom with a bit more experience, you felt safe to try new sexual endeavors with him.

he guided you to the bedroom, nudging your hip with his as he carried the ice tray and a few paper towels in his hand. he loomed close to you as if you were going to dart in another direction. instead your pussy was already feeling wet. slick dampening your panties.

maybe you were just as much of a sexual freak as kimi was. you asked as you stood in front of the bed, you could feel him behind you, "and what if i said no?"

he kissed the side of your neck gently, "i don't think so. but we would do what we promised if we had an issue with any kind of play we had together. but when you came into my life you told me that you wanted to try everything. so i know you'd be good for me and let me use ice on you."

"i guess it is fitting for the iceman after all." and shuddered when he pressed the cold try against your lower back, a sweet spot of yours. you let out a moan, this did feel exhilarating.

he pulled away slightly to allow you to undress. he placed the ice tray and the paper towels on the bed. his cold hands helped get your sweater off of you, when his palms touched your inner thighs you felt goosebumps from the sensation of cold skin against the hot skin of your inner thighs.

"kimi."

he made a displeased noise.

"sir."

he kissed the side of your head, "good girl. now get on the bed, on your back." then watched you get into bed and lie up against the pillows. you were more than just a sex toy to him. he loved you, he felt a connection with you. you were exclusive, and he liked that.

he admired you as he got some of the ice cubes out of the tray. he started to explain, he wouldn't leave you in the dark about it. he wrapped the cubes in a paper towel, "i will run them across your middle. i will not touch your pussy with it until the ice melts a little. it is wrapped in a paper towel so it does not stick to your skin." he cupped the bottom of the wrapped ice cubes, "we do not want unwanted injuries, right?"

you nodded, "we don't, sir." and then felt very exposed when he got into bed with you. he was still clothed while you weren't even wearing earrings. stark naked for him. you tensed up for a moment and he pushed your hair back to kiss your on the face before he leaned in further to trail the ice across your skin.

"there." he said softly. the iceman using ice to get his partner off. quite the sight, especially when you started to squirm from the feeling of it all. it was quite beautiful. his cock strained in his sweatpants, but that would be dealt with later. for now, his focus was on you. he said lowly, "see, i can make you do whatever i want. i have quite a bit of power over you."

his words were hot, but the sensations on your skin were cold. and it made your stomach twist in tights knots as you felt your pulse quicken. you were getting off to this.

"you like that?" he asked, his voice heavier with lust. he enjoyed the sight of you coming apart as the ice melted across your skin. he watched your jolt when it grazed your hard nipples. he said, "look at that, someone is very sensitive." he acted like your nipples weren't painfully sensitive sometimes. as if he didn't once spend an hour sucking and biting on them until they were rubbed raw, then made you wear one of his t-shirts so they'd rub up against the fabric while you rode him.

you squirmed a little more and panted. you wanted to cover your face from the embarrassment of coming apart so easily under his cold touches. beads of water dripped down as the ice melted, leaving trails of cold water across your heated flesh. there was something about it that aroused you, it made you feel stirs of pleasure in your core as he continued.

unable to find the words for your pleasure, you let out a small moan. you tensed up as he rested the ice over top over your pussy. he said your slit was the hottest part of you and it was only apparent when cold water danced closer to your sex. you choked out a string of curses and kimi silenced you with a heated kiss.

there was something undeniable about him. you remembered seeing his poster in your brother's room when you were younger. there was about a decade of age gap between you two and you remembered his icy stare on the poster. arms crossed and imposing. closed off completely. but in bed with you, as he pressed himself against you as he rubbed the ice over the top of your pussy. he felt hotter than ever.

he kissed your lips once more and you squirmed further under his touches. he broke away quickly and said, "don't make me tie you under next time."

the idea of a next time made you swallow, your eye fluttered shut as he kissed you once more. the feeling made you run hot. hot to the point that not even the chill of the wrapped ice could calm down the inferno in your soul.

you knew you were going to cum from this. kimi knew that too, he understood your body in such a way that your sweet whimpers and heated gasps as he played with your body meant that you were getting off to this.

he continued to drag the ice across your skin until it all melted, you given a moment to breathe before he got more ice into the soaked paper towel and you tensed up when he dragged it across your sides. he could feel his heart pounding as he watched you edge closer to your orgasm. he asked you, "are you going to make a mess of yourself?"

you meekly nodded and kimi gave you another heated kiss, the combination of temperatures made your head hazy. the pleasure was a vice around you, it made you pulse leap as you laid out there on the bed. it was soaked from warming water under your back. you were covered in goosebumps and shivering a little.

kimi replied, "good, i want you to finish for me. i don't even need to touch you fully and you finish. so good for me." he could see you tensing up and the pleasure rolled of you like a heavy fog. his words were a lull in your lust hazy mind, "show me what you can do."

and with a few more drags of the ice across your skin, the pleasure was mounted on top of each other and soon you climaxed around only the feeling of ice on your skin.

maybe you were a kinky freak too. your pussy clenched around nothing as the pleasure swamped your body and you soon relaxed against the covers and panted heavily.

kimi looked at you with total affection as he watched you relax, near melt into the covers from the intensity of your climax. he chuckled lowly before you let out a small pleasurable noise.

it was cute.

you laid on your side in bed to catch your breath. your face pushed into the pillows as you tried to pull yourself back together. quite the feeling, you had never gotten off from just being toyed with. it was quite the heightened feeling, you rubbed your thighs together as you still felt fuzziness in your mind. you held onto the pillow tightly.

when kimi touched your behind with the cold hand you twitched and he leaned in to kiss you on the cheek. at least his lips were warm. he said softly, "i'm going to put this back in the kitchen. do you need anything?" no matter what kind of play

you looked up from the pillows and said softly, "i think i'm going to need a hot bath after this." then chuckled lightly, "but i'm afraid you might melt."

kimi looked away for a moment and smiled a little before he turned his attention back to you. he got the covers over your bare shoulders and said, "well, i think i have already melted a little for you. but i will happily have a bath with you." and watched you relax further under the covers.

he put away the ice tray and the paper towels. he wondered if he could get a little relief himself with your hot pussy wrapped around his cock. while he was the iceman, you were his little fire. <3

[irregularcollapse]

Hey, I'm so sorry to hear about how you feel about the mota fandom and what happened to you :/ I meant to send a message earlier but life got in the way. I hope you're feeling better now, and I can only tell you that your fics and writing are some of my favorite in the fandom. Just by reading your stories, I can tell the care that was put into choosing each word to best convey the story and the characters' feelings, and it is really somethinf I admire :) I hope I can be as good a writer as you someday ❤️ And for the mota fandom, I totally get what you and that anon said! If you'll allow me a bit of a rant, to me, the mota fandom is full of well-intentioned people but I found that one of its problems is that, as much as there is enthusiasm, it is going in circles. Many have said it and I've noticed it too, but some have a tendency to jump on other people's ideas without giving credit or even asking if it's okay to expand, and on more than one occasion I found one of my ideas in someone else's inbox just a week after I'd posted it which threw me off posting any kinds of hc or random ideas, I only post full fics now because I'm scared that people will see an idea/au that they like on my blog and decide to expand on it without my consent or even crediting me for the original idea :/ To me that sucks because what I love about creating is the interactions with people, but because of the seldom posting except for full fics I don't get much 😂 And I know I could post snippet or hc, but the overenthusiasm bordering on no fandom manners that I've noticed stops me from doing that. Also, as a writer, it is quite discouraging to see people constantly reccing the same 5/6 fics/authors. Don't get me wrong, those are GREAT fics and authors, but babes, there are over 1,000 works in the clegan tag on ao3, why are we constantly reccing the same fics as in summer 2024. It feels like people only read the fics with the highest hits count, and from an outsider's pov, you'd think there are only 10 writers in the mota fandom 😭 I don't if it's bc the mota fandom is new so there are a lots of people from tiktok/that weren't on tumblr/in fandom before but it truly feels like fandom manners are getting lost, despite the plethora of incredible creators in the mota fandom. So there's this opposition between the enthusiasm over new ideas that seems to die down as soon as a story is posted, except if if it's one of the big fics from the summer. Imo the actual recognition of fics doesn't follow the enthusiasm of ideas and hcs, which is a bit of a shame I think, and to be quite honest, it made me lose my motivation to write for mota bc it just feels like I'll post a fic, it'll get traction for maybe a day or two, and then it'll be forgotten somewhere when people sort ao3 by number of hits or kudos

Anyway that was quite long I'm sorry, you don't have to answer this at all, I just needed to get this off my chest, but I really hope you know that even if it may not feel that way, you are an amazing writer, who clearly loves your stories, the characters and the words you use, and that is translated to the ao3 page <3 You truly are one of the most talented fic writers this fandom has, and I'd support you and your stories in whatever fandom you may be in ❤️

I assure you, anon, that you're not the only person to feel this way! I've had quite a few private conversations with friends and mutuals about really similar experiences and observations, and how disheartened and uncomfortable it's making us feel.

I guess people don't say anything because they don't want to be seen as sowing discord or being mean. I know that there are going to be people who might see this and interpret it as me "fuelling fandom discourse" or "fandom wanking" or "being a cunt" but actually I'm just talking about how we treat creators in online spaces, and the way that people en masse have apparently forgotten that creators in fandoms are people.

I had another anon tell me that someone laid claim to one of their ideas in the tags of their headcanon post, and I don't think you're the only person whose idea has been stolen and passed to another writer. I'm really sorry that's happened to you, and you're so right to not feel like posting anything because of it! This is truly the kind of stuff that makes people not want to participate or put themselves out there. Sometimes it's even writers doing the stealing, blatantly and without credit. It makes me think that a lot of people haven't shared creative spaces before and don't know how to be polite.

I also 100% agree about the fic rec thing. It's really disheartening to see the same fics passed around over and over again, not only from a writer perspective but a reader perspective. Something that seems to have emerged in fandom spaces over the years is deifying certain authors of popular fics - fic authors being treated like celebrities, the concept of a "must-read fic", even people only reading fics and authors that are already seen as popular/successful. I get that some people don't want to spend time scraping ao3 for niche fics, that's super understandable, but that's also why it would be nice to see a bit more adventure and variety in fic rec lists!

There is a low-key competitive feeling which a few people have mentioned to me - the feeling that there are people who want to "win" fandom or be the most popular/most reccd/most recognised writer, or whatever it may be. I just feel like anything that makes people feel like they're better than others is... come si dice... not good. I think it's a shitty way to treat people you're sharing a creative space with, to view them as competition and commodity.

Writing for consumption or writing for audience approval isn't something I've ever done, but I feel like it's cropping up more and more in fandom spaces too - not just MOTA, either. That's sort of a different discussion, but I do feel it's related to the copying/stealing in a way as well.

Now I also have to apologise for this getting too long! I'm glad you got it off your chest, and please feel free to come off anon at any time, because you've got an ally in me (and others too, I assure you). I think that everything you've said here merits consideration from everyone, at the very very least! It's in the interest of pursuing a more inclusive, supportive fandom space.

Thanks heaps as well for saying nice stuff about my writing! I only ever want to tell stories, and to give people something to enjoy that has clearly been created with care and consideration. I write to express things I want to express, and so it means a lot to me when other people see what I'm trying to say and pick up what I'm putting down. Truly madly deeply, my most boundless thanks!!! ♥️♥️♥️

[a-friendly-fangirl]

"I Can't Hear It Now" is a CaitVi song (and I can prove it)

Ok, I know how this might sound, like I'm trying to make everything CaitVi related and I have no respect for Cait's loss and her feelings.

I promise though, that this might actually make sense... and if it does, then it's gonna be heartbreaking.

FIrst of all, I'd like to say that Freya Ridings' "I Can't Hear It Now" has been my favourite song since the very beginning of Arcane's second season, shattering my soul in enough pieces to make a challenging puzzle. The words and the way they're sung are heartfelt and moving, taking us through the kaleidoscope of feelings Cait experiences during her mother's funeral.

I'm a sucker for good music adding meaning to a show and its scenes and Arcane is exactly the kind of show that'd do that, so I've been eager to fully explore each song in the show's context, starting with this one.

When I first listened to it, I immediately thought that it was Caitlyn pleading Cassandra for guidance through her grief and her sense of guilt, because, as Cait herself admits, her mother left a huge hole in Piltover's political scene and in her own family and she has no clue as to how deal with it.

"Just tell me how to keep breathing while pretending I'm not drowning" seemed to me as something one would ask to their parent, were they a person with an important political role, having to constantly keep up appearances. Caitlyn, young and in mourning as she is after her mother's death, is also left alone to face publicly the loss, because her father is clearly in no condition to do that and she doesn't know what she's supposed to do to be a good replacement for both of her parents. I think everyone would understand, if she were to pray her deceased mother for help.

With time, though, I started rethinking my whole interpretation, because a few elements seemed off. Two are the ones that matter the most:

To be a song about a Piltovan dealing with grief by conversing with her lost one, it would've been weirdly spiritual. Although I don't know much about the city's lore, a quick research clarified that Piltover doesn't seem to have an official religion or religious belief and, in my experience, talking to a deceased person and asking them for guidance is something deeply rooted in spirituality and religion. Of course, when mourning everyone can talk to their lost ones as a form of coping mechanism, but in the song it is explicitly stated that the person Caitlyn is talking to can see her (Where you watch while these dreams gently float away), which is something we never hear from her. Caitlyn, actually, believes exactly on the contrary, which is that her mother has left a duty she doesn't know how to fulfill and she can't turn to her to find her way; in fact, she never appeals to Cassandra in any fashion. She remembers her, probably wonders whether she's proud of her or not, but she never reaches out to her directly. Long story short, then, the lyrics seem directed more to a living person than to a dead one;

Some lines simply don't apply to Cassandra. Look, I know I shouldn't take every word literally, but here some things wouldn't make any sense anyway. Like the way your voice always sounds when you sing to me doesn't appear to me as a line I could ever imagine Cait addressing to her mother. Cassandra, even though she wasn't a terrible mother, was still an estimated Councillor and head of one of Piltover's richest and strongest families. She raised her daughter hoping some day she'd take over and sit proudly on her seat at the Council table. Caitlyn was educated as an aristocrat without wanting to be one ("I know you doubt the merit of your birthright, Caitlyn"), which sparked several arguments between them. Cassandra, despite loving her daughter, could never fully accept or understand her and her upbringing and position probably made everything worse. In other terms, Cassandra wasn't probably the kind of mum that'd sing Caitlyn lullabies. Also, again, the verb is conjugated in the present tense, as if the person addressed in the song was still alive. Just tell me how to keep breathing while pretending I'm not drowning sounded pretty odd to me as well. While it is undoubtly true that Cassandra was probably a professional pretender because of her social position, what Caitlyn is asking for is something much deeper: she's asking to be pulled out from a black hole of sorrow and hatred. It takes experience to put on a good poker face when given such a challenge and, even if we don't know much about Cassandra herself, I could guess that she'd have lacked that sort of knowledge.

Going briefly back to the funeral scene, we can all recall that, while Cassandra and Caitlyn were both in colour, there was also another character highlighted as the heart of that moment: Vi. Vi, who, as it is made perfectly clear through the whole second season, is Caitlyn's anchor. She's the person she relies on the most, starting a war to save her father and letting go of the person she despises the most for her. She goes through her plan with her, asking her what Jinx's fate should be. Vi's the person she turns to when she feels like breaking down instead of her own dad. In other words, in such a desperate moment, if Caitlyn needed someone to talk to, she'd go to Vi.

And that's when the song starts making even more sense:

. There is an ocean so dark down below the waves/ Where you watch while these dreams gently float away: while Caitlyn's saying goodbye to her mother, Vi... watches. Almost like a worried guardian, she keeps her distance while empathising with her girl's feelings, literally watching while their dreams of peace, love and freedom leave with the coffin;

. And there is a silence so soft it's only memory/ Like the way your voice always sounds when you sing to me: this is such a CaitVi thing to me. Do you remember the wind chimes scene? Her thought of Jinx makes the wind grow furious just like her, while the thought of Vi calms her down. When Cait is tormented by the terrifying noise of Jinx's laughter breaking the silence, Vi comes in and restores it. It's no accident that the only music we can hear in the end is Vi's singing, a soft humming;

. But I can't hear it now/ Just tell me how to keep breathing while pretending I'm not drowning: to enjoy silence and not feel suffocated by it, your mind must be at peace. At the very beginning of the season, Cait's isn't. Her anger, her sense of guilt scream loud enough to drown Vi's voice. Still, Caitlyn turns to her, because Vi's the only person in her life that knows what she's going through. In fact, when Caitlyn's losing it, because she has no idea of how to fill the hole left by Cassandra, it is Vi that replies: "It gets smaller, but you never fill it".

So here it is, I rest my case.

[mellifera38]

I think you kinda hit the nail on the head here. I think it's a big part of why a lot of people left the campaign feeling less attached to Bells Hells compared to the Mighty Nein.

You got a little of this flavor in the beginning as Bells Hells got to know one another and kind of tackled some of their background baggage, but as the campaign left the honeymoon period and headed into The Main Plot, you got less and less inter-character moments. Huge stretches between them that left you going 'so how are they feeling??? When are they going to get some downtime to process all this?' We kept being left waiting, sometimes for like three episodes. We as the viewers were used to having that after C2, its like the treat at the end of the stressful fight. All we got instead was Stress Stress Stress for like 70 straight episodes.

Once all hell had broken loose on the apogee solstice, the whole thing felt like a big rush to the finish line, and Character Time was mostly over. It's dnd and you can play it however you want, but I think not getting that time contributed to them not really knowing where they all stood at the end or what they should do, which then caused us frustration as viewers.

To expand just a bit, to me, it felt like we had a specific group of heroes who were very suddenly thrown into some other group's religious story narrative and forced to make a decision that very few of them had personal stakes in other than 'I hate Ludinus'. Their backstories were not religion focused other than FCG. They didn't really have the chance to form new beliefs until after they already had the weight of the world on their shoulders and every interaction with the gods made them feel they were just being used for survival. If a god had reached out previously to help them unbidden in a time of need (other than The Cleric), they would have had a completely different motivation to pick a side bc it would feel like the gods genuinely cared for their children. Even a storyline to pit them against the gods instead of just feeling like they were invisible to them could have been beneficial to their larger character arcs in relation to The Plot.

It was an interesting experiment to put these very neutral unbiased people in charge of that kind of situation, don't get me wrong, but then the vast majority of Character Moments we did get were the constant confused/angry circles of 'why do we care about Them?' and 'but what happens if we do nothing' and it got repetitive and tiresome and people got pissed off at different characters and none of them really even changed. They still didn't really understand one another. In the end, even after learning about the eidolons and the Dawnfather being a dick and talks with the Matron and the Arch Heart, the only thing that STILL tethered them personally to the story was 'Let's stop Ludinus because we hate him for getting Laudna/Oryms husband killed and at least we know he's bad and we'll figure it out this god shit when we get there.'

Not the most compelling but hey, it got them to that finish line.

I think at least some of these unsatisfying pitfalls could have been avoided if they'd had more chances for character/relationship exploration beyond like the first third of episodes and maybe with some more religious theme overtones. It was also kind of a shame that all that build up of the new setting at the start was completely left by the wayside. They Needed a Longer Honeymoon. The apocalypse just rolled around way too early.

I love the C3 characters a lot, but its not the same kind of way I love the M9, and I think its mainly because this campaign was a vehicle for the world's next historical era. There's nothing wrong with that, necessarily, but it is polarizing, and a huge shift from C2. With the M9 we had 140 episodes exploring these characters and who they really were as people and where they came from and how they helped each other heal. You can't get that in just 40 episodes leading into an apocalypse speedrun. They are just two completely different kinds of campaigns. It really is a matter of taste but I'm also quite certain that if Matt could go back and do it from scratch knowing what he now knows, he might have approached this very differently. I do think even the players were left floundering and trying to understand what the narrative wanted from them. This kind of Big Picture History Story needed characters at least a little bit built to theme, I think. This is why Brennan's EXU mini-series are so successful.

Sorry if I took your post a little off topic I just suddenly had a lot of thoughts and I haven't talked about any of this yet lol.

Whatever C4 ends up being and whenever it is, I really hope we see a return of the consistent "I go over to *insert character*" that was lacking this campaign. It's something so simple but so foundational to why I love CR. It used to be so consistent and made even the most mundane things like setting up camp, night guard duty and travel something to look forward to.

I can't tell you how many of these moments with characters just simply talking to each other about anything and everything became some of my favorite moments in all of CR. I remember so many episodes where I looked forward to these breaks more than even combat or some story elements because it immersed me so much in every aspect of the campaign.

To me this is when CR is at its best, it is the foundation that separates it from other AP's and is what pulls you in and hooks you so you're equally as invested to the story or action or honestly anything just like the characters and the cast.

[softxsuki]

Hello! If requests are still open I would like to submit one for the valentines day event? I would like a confession letter from baji (he's liked me for a LONG while but bc I have low self esteem/been in a bunch of failed friendships and relationship (some of wbuch he had a part if bc he didnt wanna see me with another man), I only saw him as a friend and didn't really allow myself to have feeling for him (like im a really optimistic/extroverted person but I'm also rlly scared of getting close to people as my most recent friendship breakup resorted in me getting fucking insomnia that took weeks to recover from). Tone: hurt/angst to comfort/fluff where after I try to go out on a date (and fail), he finds me crying onnthr curb, ion wanna see his fsce (bc we got into an argument) and then he tries tos ee what's wrong but I'm hiding my feelings, we get into an argument and I run off (it's super dramatic too). Other info: we've been tight since middle school (i saw him as a big bro/cool guy figure. Looked up to him) ans latches onto him even as I gained and lost friends gjnffjdnmd

Sorry if its too confusing or complex dndndn

Have a lovely day!

Confession Letter from Baji

This event is now CLOSED, but you can view the masterlist for the other letters here.

| Pairing: Baji x Gn!Reader| Genre: Comfort, Fluff | Post-Type: Letter | Word Count: 500 |

Warnings: mild language, jealousy, crying

Note: You painted a whole scene for me, so thank you. Hope you like !

You were at home sulking over the events of the day; a failed date once again due to your inability to fully trust a guy again, to Baji finding you crying on the curb, the argument that ensued after, and you running away from your own feelings, taking yourself back home.

You felt so pathetic, why couldn’t things work out for you? Why did you have to have these feelings for your friend despite how much you tried to push them away? There was no denying them anymore.

A knock at your door, forces you off your feet, opening the door to find no one there, but instead, a letter on the ground with your name on it.

Strange…

You wipe away your tears and bring the letter in with you, opening it;

Y/N,

Before you crumple this up and throw it away, please wait…I’m sorry okay? I was just…upset. I realize I’ve been holding my feelings back for so long that my instinct is to scold you for going out on dates…it’s probably jealousy honestly.

We’ve been close since middle school and I’ve seen all the crap you’ve been through with fake friends and failed relationships…which I’ve probably scared a few potential love interests of yours away myself…but I can’t help it. I like you. What man stands around and lets other guys talk to the person they like? Despite how lame I’ve been to keep it to myself instead of just telling you…

But after tonight, I can’t hold it back anymore. I like you, Y/N. I have for a while and I hate to see you hurting…I know I could treat you well. Our friendship is proof of that, but I want to be more than just your friend. I want to hold you when you’re hurting and kiss your tears away. I want to reassure you and build you up after all the times you’ve been knocked down by losers who don’t know how to treat their lovers…

I’m tired of running from my feelings, I just hope I haven’t pushed you away by telling you this. 

Come find me, please.

Love, 

Keisuke.

You can’t help but smile at the letter, the guy could hardly spell (let’s pretend like there were many spelling and grammar mistakes in the letter…the editor in me couldn’t actually do it BFHKEAF), let alone put words together on paper, but he tried for you, and it was beautiful. 

Maybe these feelings you had for him weren’t so bad after all. Maybe this could be your first good experience with a relationship. Baji always treated you well, despite the times he’d get moody after you’d mention dates you had gone on, but now you knew why–he liked you back.

You laugh to yourself, wiping the remainder of your dried tears. Time to find happiness with your best friend. The thought filled you with hope, making you excited for the idea of dating him. 

Maybe today wasn’t so bad after all.

Posted: 2/14/2025

[theshiftingwitch]

How to manifest an sp

The fastest and easiest way:

One thing I can tell you about me that I have reserved the right to brag about, is that I've never ever failed at manifesting a specific person.

Even when I didn't know about the law, even when I was still a wide-eyed teenager sauntering through life with bucket loads of anxiety, baseless hope, and religious trauma, I have always manifested every person I've ever wanted. From boyfriends, to friends, to strangers complimenting me on the street randomly for no specific reason whatsoever, when I decided to get a person, I have always succeeded.

It is the easiest thing you will ever do. Now don't give me that look, I can see you already rolling your eyes at your screen saying "I have been trying to manifest my SP for a year and a half and nothing happened, how can you tell me that it's the easiest thing in the world?" Well because I have the experience, the expertise, and the success stories to prove it and I'm going to break it down to you in the simplest of ways, that you're going to manifest your Sp tomorrow morning.

One thing I noticed about everyone trying to manifest a specific person is that most of you (and I want you to take no offense whatsoever to this because we're going to change it immediately) reek of desperation.

You want your SP, and you want them right now, and you will do anything to get them, and you are so desperate that if they were making a reboot for desperate housewives you would get the role effortlessly.

You are a Carrie when you're supposed to be a Samantha. If you haven't seen sex and the city first of all what are you doing? second of all get on it now. But if you have, you will know that Carrie throughout the seasons and the movies was the most desperate bitch anyone has ever seen and all of her relationships ended horrifically including but not limited to being left at the altar by Mr big. Samantha however, was a bad bitch, she knew what she wanted and she got it 100% of the time because she knew she was THAT bitch.

The first thing you need to do is become a Samantha. You need to know your own value, you need to understand that you are the prize, that you should be on the pedestal, that you control this reality and that no man/woman or non-binary person is going to tell you how things are going in your own reality. Stop victimizing yourself, stop waiting on your manifestations, stop waiting for your SP to notice you or text you or acknowledge your existence or leave their 3p behind for you!!! this is your reality and you tell it what the fuck to do.

Your self concept needs to be through the roof, no screw the roof, your self concept needs to be in outer space! you need to think of yourself as God, you need to think of yourself as the only operant power in your reality, you need to think of yourself as if the world will end tomorrow if you decide it would. You need to take care of yourself like the queen (or king, or monarch, we are inclusive here) that you are. Stop overthinking it, stop being desperate, stop waiting for the opportunity for someone else to notice you, notice yourself.

I don't care if your SP is a celebrity. I don't care if you've never met them before in real life, I don't care if you have an enemies to lovers arc that is still developing its enemy portion, I don't care if they think of you as a goblin, as a gremlin walking on two feet, I don't care how they see the world, this is all about you. So you decide who you want to be and carry yourself like that bad bitch.

The second thing you're going to do is decide and fall back. So you decided that your SP is obsessed with you, you decided that your SP is texting you right now as we speak confessing their eternal undying love for you. What are you doing now? Are you holding your phone obsessing over when that text is coming? Are you stalking them on social media to see if they're posting anything or to see if they're online? Are you stalking them to see if there's another girl/boy/person in their life right now? Absolutely the fuck not. You affirmed, you decided, you put things in motion. Now you're going to put your phone down and you're going to screw off to do something else. Go read a book, go watch a TV show, go rearrange your wardrobe and throw away anything you're not wearing anymore, go put on a full face of makeup and take pictures just for the hell of it, go hang out with your friends or bully or younger sibling or go for a walk. Touch grass. Stare at the sun or the moon and acknowledge that you are just as fantastic and magnificent and beautiful and Powerful as that luminary goddess in the sky. The point is, you decided! you put things in motion! there is no reason for you to be checking the 3D every 2 seconds saying "oh where's my manifestation? where is my text? where's my SP?" who the fuck cares? Your SP is currently spiraling, they are losing their goddamn mind trying to come up with the perfect text to send to you that will show just how much they're obsessed with you. They're currently losing whatever brain cells they have left trying to figure out what gift to buy you, what grand gesture they're going to win you over with, what clothes they're going to wear on your date, what restaurant they're going to take you to, what car they need to bring so that would make a good impression, what picture they're going to post on social media so that you would notice them... your sp is currently spiraling, I don't need you to do the same thing! you are in control.

And the last thing you are going to do, is to bask in the feeling of a manifestation well received. You already have your SP, and you already went on the dates, and you already posted the soft launch and the hard lunch and everyone in the world knows that you two are together and everyone is congratulating you in your DMs and everyone is liking your pictures and saying "oh my God couple goals! I wish I had someone who loved me like that! I wish I had someone who showed me off like that! I wish I had someone who bought me flowers and gifts and chocolates like that..." everything is going exactly as you wanted it to and everything is perfect in your life and you are feeling amazing! you are feeling on top of the world, you are feeling like THAT bitch because you are THAT bitch. You are Samantha. Act like it.

Neutralize the energy of desperation and bask in the energy of fulfillment.

Manifesting an SP works based on the principle of thought transmission, which means you need to understand that every thought you have about your SP is going directly into their tiny pea sized brain. (And no, I don't mean every single thought, they can't read your mind. I mean thoughts directed at them with the intention of manifesting them, so don't go and spiral thinking that there are vampires out there reading your mind making fun of you, I am talking about manifesting.) So if you think that your SP is obsessed with you, your SP is going to mirror that because we're all one part of the big brain that is the great consciousness and once you send a direct message it will always be received. So stop losing your mind, stop wondering if it's working because it is working because the law never fails. It's what makes it a law. So rest assured that your thoughts are penetrating their brain through thought transmission and they are thinking exactly what you're thinking.

Give it a try, and let me know how it works for you. I look forward to seeing all of your success stories because I know that this is going to work. You are going to manifest that person.

Happy manifesting ❤️

[lightningant]

OK, so we all kinda joke about that "monster." In Harry Stomach, That jkr writes about to describe Harry's "Jealousy" when he sees Ginny kissing Dean (literally wanting to rip Dean's Throat out or something along the lines.)

(It's been a hot second since I've read that part.)

which I find interesting because I used to headcannon Harry as being bi, but ever since I read (hollowed-theory-hall) article on his Sexuality I can only ever see him as gay....headcanon what ever you want though obviously.

But like it's also described as "swelling with pride" or "wanting to puff out its chest" or "Curling up in his stomach and purring in Content/Satisfaction"

Like, jkr be so fucking for real wtf 😐

BBUUUUUUTTT, hear me out......Dormant creature gene?

Like you can't tell me that it doesn't read as instincts or some shit without or even with context, or you can tell me it doesn't read that way. Your opinion is valid and something I value.

And if you are inclined to indulge me. What sort of creature gene do you believe he would have?

Dark fae? cù-sìth? Harpy? cat-sìth? Maybe, dear Tommy gave Harry some varey mild Naga genes along with parseltongue.

Who "knows"..heheh...get it?..like "nose".....i'll see myself out now..🏃‍♀️‍➡️...like his nose, lol..

Anyway, sorry for making this so long. Have a lovely day, stay safe and drink some water 🥰

girl i hate creature fics and I conversely wish they were more popular so they weren't so pigeonholed into some of my most detested HP fic tropes. There has never been a worse tree to bark up

I also hate anything that posits Harry is somehow a special little guy with a specialboy background, so this is a stacked loathing. The impulse to make a character innately ascendant in their qualities regardless of the themes practically beating you to death with hammers about how the entire point of the story is that Voldemort chose someone ordinary who used the things Voldemort demeaned as banal to defeat him. Every atom of my being rejects the impulse to go "actually, but he was extra special this whole time?"

It also grates to make Voldemort innately special, because his problem is that he refuses to believe he is a regular mortal man in a long timeline of extreme hubris, and his snake-like visage - which is expressed as a sort of a manifestation of his villainous progress in the dark arts - is both symbolically satisfying to him and a self-inflicted wound, which we see culminated in his horrible babymunculus body. He would adore having naga blood, he'd never let it go; we see what being a parselmouth did to him, we see what it did to the Gaunts in general. The viewpoint required to want to give him this would leave his hubris kind of dangling in the air unresolved, making him a very bland character and leave less windows open into his flaws as, you know, a right-wing extremist and vainglorious dictator.

Which is to say I personally believe the beast swelling inside Harry was his horcrux forcing him to experience what it felt like to be notorious bpd princess Tom Riddle at 16, a thought I would love to ruminate on at length

[neunnnnnnn]

⋆｡˚୨My extraterrestrials experiences after shifting୧˚｡⋆

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

extraterrestrials- "They are beings or life forms that originate from outside Earth, typically from other planets, moons, or even different galaxies."

Okay apparently they are Aliens and not Spirits or ghosts( That was my mistake, but I lowkey still think they are spirits.. atleast through my experiences)

One thing that surprised me was that extraterrestrials exist, it was one thing no one would convince me were real because it didn't make sense to me in anywayyy, I couldn't fathom how they were other beings like with flesh that existed with us but it changed after I first discovered shifting.

I'll mention 6 of them because there are honestly alot I could write a whole ass 20 pages and I'm not even kidding.

I WILL BE REFERING TO THEM AS "IT" or "THEY" BECAUSE I DON'T THINK THEY HAVE GENDERS.... well I honestly couldn't tell.

I assigned them names because why not, except from one who already had a name.

LONG POST AHEAD‼️

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

Lina☾

I first met Lina when I 1st astral projected for the 1st time, I kid you not I was scared asf. And its understandable because I was still beleving that spirits and demons are scary and that I am going to die if I ever meet one. Lets just say I screamed myself back into my body and started going to church again😃. We met again after 2years because I was so scared that I did not attempt anything spiritual for 2 whole years!!.

I tried astral projecting again and they came to me as soon as I was exploring outside my room. Again I was scared asf but I kept telling myself that I was safe and in control. I tried speaking to them at first but they was just staring at me and I was starting to get uncomfortable and I wanted to leave but I didn't know if it was going to attack me or not.

As I started to leave they talked to me, but it was telepathic because... okay first of all it had no mouth but I could hear its voice in my head. ( and I have to add that it had no normal voice but it was like static? that's the only way I can describe it.)

Anyway they asked me where I was going to which surprised me because...wtf why would they ask me where I'm going. I was legit scared and was finding a way to leave and it said something that shocked me that I even made a post abt it ( The post).

I didn't get to answer them and they disappeared and I was brought back to my body. I have never seen them again and I would lowkey want to just to show it how much I've improved now😂.

2. Areꕤ

I am so sure she is a female because of the aura that she was emitting to me felt so safe and cuddly.

I met her after my first time shifting. I still remember that feeling that I had of not wanting to go back to my cr but at the same time fearing that I might miss my parents if I decide to just stay here, I went to bed in my reality and said my safeword but instead of returning to my cr I went straight to the void. I didn't fully understand what the void was at that time so I assumed I was dreaming or something.

I suddenly started feeling my surroundings changed and I was in a field, I told myself that I was lucid but it didn't quite feel like I was in a lucid dream but I knew deep down that I said that because I didn't want to scare myself.

I suddenly had that feeling that I wasn't alone and when I looked to my right she was there literally close to me that I screamed a little. I moved away a bit and I remember feeling safe even though she had scared me. She was actually really helpful, because I kept asking questions after questions and even asked her if she's been to earth and she said yes but she didn't stay because of how low vibrational it was😭. One thing I will never forget is when I asked her If I should permashift or not because at that time I was so desperate to leave my cr but I was scared to leave my family and she said, "Reality belongs to you and only you, wherever you go your loved ones will also be there with you" I cried my eyes out lmao but it honestly changed the way I viewed permashifting. I still am planning to but I am now not in a hurry.

I have seen her again and I last saw her last year at around the time I was taking a break from shifting.

3.Beau𓇼

This one was interesting and kind of playful and I'm glad that I got to meet them after I had gotten rid of my fears.

They were in my Lucid dream and it appeared after I tried making a portal to shift to my WR. I was a bit frightened because it kept on changing forms? like it would change into my mom then my s/o then my teacher, it was honestly confusing and I asked them what they wanted and that's when it changed into its original form. Idk what to say to them and I assumed that maybe they were friends or atleast knew Are. But it didn't because it looked at me like I was crazy when I asked them about her.

Anyway I didn't really know what to do so I just kept on exploring the dream while they were following me around. I had a feeling that it was a child like around 9years in human age but who knows. they ended up scaring me awake tho😂.

Oh and I've never seen them again.

4.Slay⚘.

This is a recent and when I say it was kind of mean. And it was when I astral projected. The minute I opened my eyes it was in my room, ofc it scared the living shit out of me that I "ran" (not really) out of my room and it kept on following me, and I just screamed at it to leave me alone. And it did but I was scared that I just went back to my body 😭✋🏾

5. Doe༊·˚

Appeared to me while I was in my 80s reality and told me that they knew I was not from this reality ( the 80s one) and I was ofc shocked to my coreee because I thought they were going to prevent me from going back to my cr🤦🏽‍♀️.

They were a bit talkative, they were asking me alot of questions from why I shifted, to my life in my cr and I was lowkey skeptical that they wanted the info to take it to the government( The movies that I've watched!!! Omg 😭) Anyway I was answering some questions and was also asking them some but they refused to answer some but they said that they approached me because they could tell that my soul had recently arrived there!!!, which was honestly fun to hear, like they can tell if someone shifted here!!?

Anyways I didn't see them again when I recently shifted to my 80s reality.

6.Yui♡

That was there name when I had asked. They came to me in a lucid dream as I was flying but they were impersonating my childhood friend. I easily noticed and told them to reveal its real form and they looked shocked that I easily found out, but at this point it was easy.

They refused and wanted to stay in that form and I was like okay, whatever makes you happy I guess. But I had a feeling that they wanted something because I honestly don't think they would approach you for the fun of it?

But yeah they continued to hang out around me which was weirding me out because it making me become aware that the place that I was... was in my mind, like it was making me become so aware I didn't like it and I woke myself up.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

Yeah I guess that's it ofc there are some that I didn't mention but I felt like these were the more interesting imo.

Shoutout to these beautiful people for asking me to make a post about it <3 ( @gonfreecs123) (@vwrtual )

I am happy to answer any questions you have🩷🩷

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

[drawing-myself-in-and2-death]

I also have hypermobility [H-EDS], back problems and small knee caps

here's my experience:

I'm usually fine to stand stationary most days but I do have a limit [1-2hours], I also have worse days when my limit is a lot lower [as low as 10-30min]

so I frequently ask for accommodation and use priority seating on a full bus

yes some people might look at you a bit strange but don't say anything,

being young doesn't mean you can't be disabled, nor should it mean you can't take preventative measures [why be slightly uncomfortable when you could be more comfortable] asking for accommodation in personal or professional life doesn't require you be completely disabled all the time

when asking for accommodation at work I've never been denied accommodation,

I usually have to explain how my condition effects me or sometimes what it is if I feel it's necessary, but only because they want to know how to accommodate me

one job it was chair, the other was never placing me on cash for longer than the time frame I specified I was ok with standing stationary

it never hurts to ask I promise you will not be sent to turbo hell

Because you aren't using a tool you don't need, you're using a tool that makes a task easier and less painful for you, by definition that's allowed you don't have to be in agonizing pain for this to apply

it's good that you aren't yet!

there will always be assholes but it's still better to ask and have that conversation than be in pain[even if its low pain]

and your mum likely loves you more than she does her bathroom

it's better to treat your body as best you can->challenge it of course, but when you choose to, not for basic task like showering

having discomfort is reason enough to use tools or do something differently.

which can be a shower stool

or if that would require an expensive remodel, a chair outside the shower

doing standing showering, but when you feel discomfort get out [turn off water to not waste] and sit down until you feel like you can stand again

and yes what I'm describing would make showering take longer, but that also shows you might legitimately need the shower stool

theses are my thoughts anyway,

i felt necessary to explain/expand like this because society and ablism has caused people to harbour feelings of not being "disabled enough" which is a fucked up pain games that's just wrong, disability is a spectrum and any amount of pain that prevent you from an activity or makes it harder is acceptable to ask for accommodation

it especially affects young people and people with invisible disabilities[like hypermobility] because they've been taught that they shouldn't "take a tool they don't need" but if a normal task causes pain, its acceptable to not do it, use a tool or alter the task

if this means there won't be a tools for someone else, there should just be more tools

should i ask my mother to get a disability aid (a seat in the shower) installed so i can shower more comfortably?

i have hypermobility and i can struggle to stand in the same place for periods of time without it being painful, though it's not *too* bad (as in, i manage okay without a seat mostly. usually if i start to hurt i will just sit down on the floor of the shower). but i am worried about her saying no because a seat for a shower wouldn't fit within the style of the bathroom and i know she cares a lot about making the bathroom look nice.

i also feel that i might be judged for using something like that because i'm a teenager and i feel that teenagers "shouldn't have to use stuff like that" (logically i know this isn't true; might be some internalized ableism that i have? i'm not sure.)

please have a yes/no/nuance

It never hurts to ask.