#no complicated spells or talents

[its-ezraaa]

Reworked character sheets for my Dungeons and Dragons AU! The Kings Row boys are playing "Swords and Serpents" with Seiji as the long-suffering Dungeon Master. Who do you want to see next?

[emo-batboy]

Battinson Guest Starring on TV Shows

SO

For someone who holds the title of Richest Man in the World, Bruce doesn’t do a lot of traveling.

Which is to say he does a LOT of traveling, but he always tries to find a way out of it.

(Are there bat-related reasons for this? Are there people-related reasons for this? Are there anxiety-related reasons for this? Who knows?)

But partners and sponsors aren’t always going to tolerate his hermit-like tendencies. So once every month or so, Alfred wrangles Bruce into a private jet and sends him off to who knows where so he can represent the company.

Usually, it’s somewhere close on the East Coast, maybe it’s across the pond, even Asia isn’t off the table, but the rarest place to spot Bruce Wayne is actually the West Coast of the US.

One day, it is announced that Bruce Wayne will be spending two (count ‘em, 2) consecutive weeks in California with his kids for some grand business convention.

The West Coast media goes feral with the news, ESPECIALLY interviewers. And because Bruce kicks up such a fuss this time, Alfred has the gall to sign him up for FOUR TV appearances.

Here are these appearances :)

RuPaul’s Drag Race

Drag Queens, especially Drag Race all-stars, contribute to a wide variety of charities

So on a new episode, the queens are challenged to design and shoot a promotional ad for their own charity

And who better to act as a guest judge for this episode than the show’s largest benefactor, CEO of the Wayne Foundation, Bruce Wayne?!

Physically? He’s older than half of the contestants. But spiritually? He screams Baby Gay.

Fifteen minutes into the episode, Bruce is welcomed into the werkroom where he gives them pointers on their campaign. He’s in his cute little three-piece suit (Alfred’s idea) with the intention of looking put-together and knowledgeable. But that’s not the only outcome.

They all flirt with him. Everyone, single or taken. The confessionals are so thirsty.

“He’s lucky the cameras are on. Otherwise, I’d eat him up faster than a bachelorette party in a buffet line.”

“My celebrity crush is talking to me, and all I can focus on are his gorgeous eyes. How am I supposed to know what he's saying?”

Of course, they shoot their shot, but most of it is joking since they don't know he's bi yet.

“Are you single, honey?” Bruce blushes. “It’s complicated.” “Well, I’ll make it simple for you.”

We all know this man can't handle being flirted with. We saw how he froze when Selina did it. It’s like he mentally bluescreens when someone calls him a pet name.

Only THEN do they learn he's bi

One of the queens jokingly asks him, “Ever been with a man before?” thinking it would be a firm no, but Bruce says, “Actually, yes.” “Oh shit, really?” And to Bruce’s embarrassment, the whole room hears him.

The flirting is thus taken up a notch.

On the main stage, Bruce has a lot of great constructive criticism. He talks about how to find the right audience, the importance of a good slogan, and even goes on a little rant about logo design.

(You cannot convince me that Bruce hasn’t hyperfixated on the business of charity work before. Or the science of marketing. They’re his favorite business topics.)

After about three minutes of him complimenting one contestant for their Drag Library pitch, he stops himself mid-sentence and says, “Oh sorry, am I talking too much?” “No, please! Keep talking, sweetheart.” Bruce covers his face to hide his blush. “Why is everyone flirting with me?” “Baby, have you seen yourself?”

While the judges deliberate, RuPaul mentions Charisma, Uniqueness, Nerve, and Talent. Bruce nods along for a while then suddenly just blurts out, “Wait, does it spell ****?”

The judges pause then burst out laughing. “Oh no, we’ve traumatized him!" Bruce is blushing up a storm. “I just never thought about it like that!” “Sweet, innocent Bruce. We’re so sorry.”

It’s later revealed that Bruce offered to help some of the queens launch their charity projects through the Wayne Foundation.

It’s v cute 🥰

Nailed It!

I love Nicole Byer.

She is Mother.

In all seriousness, she’s so fucking funny and she’s personable enough to pull Bruce out of his shell a bit.

The theme for this episode is Found Family. Three pairs of family members compete together—a gay father and his adopted son, an aunt who adopted her niece, and a stepfather and stepdaughter.

Because Bruce Wayne famously adopted two children, he is invited to guest judge.

So Nicole opens the episode with a zinger, the contestants are introduced, and Bruce is welcomed onto the judge’s panel beside Nicole and Jacques.

(Yes, Bruce does speak French. Yes, Nicole makes a joke about it being hot.)

Nicole: “We were surprised you accepted our invitation, Mr. Wayne. You’re notorious for staying on the East Coast. What brought you to the Nailed It! Studio?” Bruce: “My children love this show. They always tell me I should be on it since I’m so bad at baking.” Nicole: “Really? Maybe we should do a celebrity season of Nailed It! and have you compete.” Bruce: “No, you should not.”

Nicole: “So, Bruce, I know you have a butler at home who bakes for you. But what’s the grossest thing you’ve eaten? Escargot? Bad caviar?” Bruce: “I drank olive oil straight from the bottle once.” Nicole: “…What?”

The problem for Bruce is he can’t say anything bad. It just feels mean :(

(And he would rather jump into oncoming traffic than gamble with a social interaction)

For the first challenge, the contestants make cake pops. But when Bruce tries the first one, there is a sickening crunch. Bruce’s eyes widen for a second and he slowly chews.

Nicole: “What was that? Bruce, are you okay?” Bruce, clearly struggling: “It’s…good.”

“Bruce, you can spit it out. It’s okay.” “I already swallowed it.” “Oh, you poor thing.” Bruce chokes for a second, and Nicole pats his back. “Please don’t die. We can’t afford it.”

For the big challenge, production has a surprise in store for Bruce.

Dick (9) and Jason (7) run onto the set and smother Bruce with a hug.

It’s adorable. Bruce no longer cares about paying attention, okay? His kids are here :D

The two boys read from cue cards to announce the second challenge: a three-tiered Gotcha Day cake. And as per tradition, the winner of the first challenge gets a leg-up.

This time, it’s a Helping Hands Button. When they hit the button, Dick and Jason will run over and help them for three minutes. (While being supervised, of course.)

As the contestants bake, Nicole says hello to Dick and Jason, who are clambering all over Bruce like a jungle gym. They both shake her hand and talk about how they love the show.

Nicole looks pointedly at the two empty chairs beside Bruce. “You know, we brought these chairs for you two to sit in.” Dick, on Bruce’s shoulders: “We’re fine, Ms. Byer!” Nicole: “Ms. Byer? Oh, you’re a cutie, aren’t you?”

Just ten minutes before the challenge is over, the Helping Hands button is pressed, and Dick and Jason are given stools so they can help the aunt and niece stack their cake tiers.

Two minutes in, the aunt instructs them to let go of the cake. But the moment Jason pulls his hands away, the cake topples over and covers him in frosting. Jason, whispering: “Oh f*ck.” Bruce: “Jason!” Jason: “I didn’t say that! Dick did!” Nicole: *cackling as Bruce buried his face in his hands*

Jason gets cleaned up, and Dick helps them stack what can still be salvaged.

When Wes brings out the trophy, he’s dressed as Batman. Dick and Jason gets a kick out of that.

Celebrity Family Feud

Bruce was invited to the show after his SNL skit went viral a few months ago

This episode, the teams are split up by cities they grew up in. Gotham v. Star City. Naturally, his team is playing for the Wayne Foundation.

It’s a pretty odd cast of people, most of them having moved to LA or Hollywood. Bruce is the only one to still live in Gotham.

They have fun, though, despite their limited common ground. The audience has a few good laughs.

(Some at Bruce's expense)

Harvey: You're a very wealthy man, Mr. Wayne. What do you really do in that tower all day? Bruce: I, uh…business? Harvey: …You business. Bruce: ……Wait-

All in good fun. Bruce just vibes in his little corner until he needs to answer a question. It's pretty chill.

For exactly half of the episode.

Then it happens.

Steve Harvey takes two people from each team up to the buzzer and says, “We asked 100 people: Name something your parents always told you as a kid.”

What the production failed to consider is how this particular question might be a sensitive topic for some contestants.

Bruce’s team gets the question, and Steve saunters up to Bruce, completely oblivious.

“Alright, Bruce Wayne!” Bruce nods awkwardly. “Hi, Steve.” “Bruce, what’s wrong? You’re looking a bit uncomfortable.” “…I don’t like this question, Steve.” “Why not?” Bruce just gives him a desperate look, and it clicks. “Oh! Oh my gosh!”

Let’s be real. Bruce is awkward enough, but Steve Harvey cannot save an awkward moment for his life either.

But he tries his best anyway and asks, “Are you okay with answering this question, or would you like to pass?” Bruce nods frantically. “I can answer. ‘I love you.’” “I love you too, Mr. Wayne.” “No, uh, my answer is ‘I love you.’” “Oh! That’s a good one.”

Thankfully, the audience erupts in laughter. That little interaction cuts the tension, and Bruce’s answer ends up on the board.

And by god, the memes

“I love you too, Mr. Wayne” is the new “Enjoy your meal.” “You too.”

The audio clip of “I don’t like this question, Steve” goes viral on TikTok

Someone gets a pic of Bruce and Steve looking at each other with palpable fear in their eyes, and it makes its rounds all over Twitter

10/10 never again

Running Wild with Bear Grylls

Now this is the most challenging. Not because it’s difficult, of course. But because Bruce has to look stupid enough to maintain his Brucie Wayne persona but smart enough to keep himself safe.

For this episode, Bear takes Bruce to the California desert.

“How much do you know about survival, Bruce?” Bear asks. Bruce nods carefully. “I did some survival training once with a friend from boarding school.” “Oh really, how did you do?” “Fine, I think.”

This is, of course, his way of saying I trained with a league of assassins for years, but Bear can’t know that! And that’s how most of the episode goes.

Thank god Bruce's fear of being caught is mistaken for being scared of the physical challenge because every time Bear points out how well he’s doing, he breaks into a sweat.

Bear: For a businessman, you’re surprisingly fit. Bruce, sweating bullets: Oh, this is all just for show.

Bear: Wow, you’re a natural. Are you sure you’ve never set up a zip-line before? Bruce, gripping his equipment so tight he gets rope burn: I think it’s just the survival instincts.

Of course, he pretends to be out of breath a few times. The Drama.

Bruce, pretending to slip and fall: Ouch! Who knew the outdoors were so dangerous? Bear, you are crazy. Bruce, internally: How much longer are we doing this?

Bruce being a vegetarian is actually a point of contention. You see, Bear always makes their celebrity guests do something crazy for food like skin a snake or eat a mouse. Scavenging for berries just doesn’t grab the audience’s attention.

But do you know what is vegetarian?

Bear: Now, in extreme cases of survival, it’s not rare for humans to resort to drinking their own pee. That’s what we’ll be doing in a moment. Are you up for it? Bruce, visibly repulsed: I’ve had Gotham tap water. I’ll be fine.

How on God’s Green Earth did Alfred convince him to do this?

To get to the extraction point, Bear takes Bruce down a cliffside.

Bear shows Bruce the meticulous process of properly belaying from the top of a cliff, and Bruce, who has done this over 100 times is like, “Wow that’s so dangerous :( Will we be okay?”

He really tries to ramp up his acting skills this time.

(Little does he know that’s not necessary.)

Bruce goes down first as Bear belays with a cameraman filming from the top. Halfway down, Bruce hears a scuffle, and the cameraman yells, “F*ck!”

Bruce looks up, arms already out for protection, and he sees a small disk falling towards him. It’s the lens cap. He catches it on instinct.

For a second, he thinks, “Shit, was that too skilled? That’s not enough to make people think I’m Batman, right? I just caught it in midair while dangling from a cliff. That’s totally not weird and suspicious. Normal people do that—“

Then Bear yells, “Bruce, drop it!” Bruce looks up at Bear, confused. “Why?” “There's a scorpion!” That’s when Bruce looks at the lens cap and sees a black scorpion perched on top with its tail ready to strike.

They don’t have those in Gotham.

Bruce jumps in his harness and flings the cap at the rocky cliffside. He hears a crunch, and the scorpion and cap tumble to the ground. Bruce frowns. Can a scorpion survive that drop?

“You just killed a scorpion, mate!” Bear cries. Bruce looks up in horror. “I killed it?!” “Hell yeah!” Bruce’s face falls. “No!”

Because oh. shit.

Bruce just killed something. The sad, orphaned vegetarian just killed a scorpion.

Bruce has a meltdown.

He didn’t mean to kill it!!!! Oh no, he just killed an innocent little creature. Yeah, he punches people for fun sometimes, and he definitely put a few violent criminals in the hospital, but he’s never committed MURDER!!

This poor little scorpion died due to his own negligence, and he feels so so so bad about it.

Bruce is a mess as he climbs the rest of the way down.

Bruce, cradling the scorpion’s body: I don’t know how to perform CPR on a scorpion! Bear: Bruce, you took its head clean off. Bruce: *sad noises*

Legit inconsolable. To him, it’s like he just murdered a puppy

Once they're out, Bear is trying to cheer him up. Bless him.

Bear: We’ve conquered the wild! Haven’t we, Bruce? Bruce, head between his legs, still mourning the scorpion: I’m never going outside again.

Yeah, no one’s going to think he’s Batman after that.

And that's all four of Bruce's TV appearances from the West Coast :) Dick and Jason never let him live any of it down. Alfred is almost sorry. (He is not sorry.)

Let me know your thoughts! What other TV shows do you think Battinson would appear on as a guest?

Okie dokie :D Love y'all! Have a good day <3

[sytoran]

ARSONIST'S LULLABYE

kinktober day 011 | cheerleader!natasha x player!reader

"don't you ever tame your demons but always keep them on a leash" — arsonist’s lullabye, hozier

summary. natasha gets more attached than expected after a one-night-stand with the college's infamous player, both on the field and with the ladies. however, she's always been good at getting what she wants.

rating 18+ | word count 7438 (shittt)

note. natasha is 18 and y/n is 19, y/n is described to be masc-representing (eg. cropped hair, compression tee + grey sweats, tattoos, piercings)

note ii. please please please please take your time to read it, you don't understand how long i've spent pondering over every intricacy in this fic.

note iii. drinking game: take a shot every time i say 'don't fall for the player'

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

Don’t fall for the player.

This was a warning, circulating within the hallways of Avengers Institution, whispered under hushed breaths and divine lips.

Students in this renowned college came from all walks of life — from children of billionaires to self-made achievers, from prodigal minds to brilliant brains. One thing stood for certain, though, and that was the infamous Y/N L/N.

It was a rumour, tried and true, that every single girl — regardless of their sexuality, physical appearance, or social status — would all eventually fall under the spell of the school’s “player”. Try as they might, victim after victim fell helplessly for an effortless charisma and unstoppable magnetism.

The chase never lasted long, a one-sided apex predator hunt. Once you had your eyes set on someone, there was simply no escaping the undeniable fact that the following morning, that girl would wake up in bed next to you.

Problem was, you had this rule, written in stone: Never sleep with a girl more than once.

Alas came the cruel and vicious cycle of girls falling under your spell within milliseconds, only to have their heart shattered within the next twenty-four hours. Sometimes even less.

Boys looked on in jealousy, girls looked on in intrigue. (Or maybe jealousy, too.) The wiser ones kept a distance, but either way, one fact stood true, the moment one stepped into Avengers Institution.

Don’t fall for the player.

Little did you know, soon would arrive a thorn in your plans, an unwanted distraction, your ultimate downfall.

All due to an equally irresistible girl by the name of Natasha Romanoff.

***

“You’re fuckin’ impressive for a freshman, Natasha,” Pepper whistles, clapping her on the back. “Consider yourself a member of the Avengers Institution’s cheerleading squad.”

Natasha nods breathlessly, dropping the pom-poms onto the ground. She had just completed a complicated routine for the cheerleading tryouts, a rigorous one with flips and twirls that required pristine balance.

“I guess that’s expected from a girl who was with the Red Room,” Sharon adds, somewhat snidely. She was another freshman trying out for the cheerleading squad, with a snake-like smile that was coated with too much venom to convey any sort of genuineness.

Natasha returns the smile blankly, false emotions overtaking her face like second nature — propriety, expectations, rectitude. She knew what those words meant, when they put emphasis on the Red Room.

The Red Room, in question, was one of the highest-class organisations internationally that trained talented young female cheerleaders. With a near overly-daunting curriculum, payment fees so impossibly high, and only the most renowned instructors, the Red Room was essentially associated with filthy rich wealth and spoiled privileged kids.

And such comes the tragedy of warped views on capitalism and the unfairness of the world. Sharon leans next to Natasha’s ear in the false pretence of picking something up, but her lips move dangerously swiftly and whisper, “Daddy’s money lets you get everything you want, hm?”

It only takes a second, and then the faux-innocent perpetrator briskly moves away as if nothing had occurred. Natasha stands still, the gripe washing over her back like a cold shower. She steels her shoulders, refusing to be provoked. It wasn’t her fault she’d been born with a silver-studded spoon in her mouth.

Shrugging off the strange looks some of the other girls give her, Natasha hides her annoyance by fiddling with her short skirt. Alongside college came the novelty of less-strict clothing etiquette, and that resulted in the most miniscule cheerleading skirts Natasha had ever worn in her life.

“Ready on the count of three,” Carol announces, tapping her clipboard with a ballpoint pen, surveying the expanse of the wide field.

It wasn’t Natasha’s fault she simply got everything she wanted.

“One.”

An invisible force of magnetism pulls Natasha’s gaze to the bleachers above the field, unyielding and unstoppable. There stands a tall and dark figure in a relaxed position, looking directly at her with piercing eyes. A shiver of anticipation sweeps through the air, and Natasha feels goosebumps rise on her skin.

“Two.”

Aloof charisma exudes from the person’s very presence, so compelling and captivating that it takes Natasha a moment to realise that there’s another girl standing next to the enigmatic soul. She’s chatting animatedly, under a false belief that she’s got your attention, but Natasha knows better.

Her eyes travel over the person’s sculpted figure clad in a leather jacket, tacit confidence written in your lazy smirk and composed posture. Electricity erupts in Natasha’s bloodstream, sending shockwaves coursing through her mindwires, forcing her to look back up to your alluring, forsaken eyes.

“Three.”

Natasha’s body moves mechanically, practised and poised. The rhythm thrumming from the portable speaker seeps into her practised muscles without her brain actually registering it, still reeling from the sheer impact of you.

If there was a fracture in her composure, if her routine was ever-so-slightly off, if her legs trembled more than it normally would’ve, Natasha would blame you.

Natasha would blame you and your stupid smirk, your silly leather jacket, your sickeningly magnetic allure. How you made her feel unstoppable with that come-hither gaze, then left her so low when your eyes inevitably left her.

And suddenly, like a golden key slotting into place, the words Natasha had heard whispered in the hallways finally made sense. The coveted prayer that could only be spoken under hushed tones and divine lips.

Don’t fall for the player.

When Natasha finishes the series of tumbles that ignites impressed cheers from the senior cheerleaders, she lifts her lowered eyes back to the bleachers.

Only to find your lips locked with the blonde girl from before, your hands creeping dangerously low on her back. You move like a predator python, the silver piercings in your ears glinting in the light with every of your calculated moves.

A burning feeling courses through Natasha’s veins, like an ugly green monster unfurling gradually, indescribable anger making her jaw tick.

Don’t fall for the player? Well, now that just sounded like a challenge.

***

Natasha makes her way through the crowd of students filing out from the lecture hall. The chatter fades to a background buzz in her ears as she beelines towards a group of more bearable folks.

“No, they’re a sophomore,” Wanda explained, leaning against the locker door.

“Who’re we talking about?” Natasha intercepts with a curious gaze, slinging an arm around Clint lackadaisically. Professor Banner’s lectures were highly educational, but he tended to drone on a little, and she could feel the rising boredom making its slow crescendo into the back of her mind.

Clint raises his eyebrows amusedly, then lowers his voice in humorous dramatisation. “The player.”

Natasha’s face flashes in recognition at your title. Several things flit across her mind in rapid succession — a fetching character, a lofty smirk, and a pretty girl hanging off a forearm.

“So, this uh… What’s her name?” Natasha tries to ask subtly, faking an expression of indifference. Clint, as always, side-eyes her with a playfully accusatory glance. Natasha shrugs with an odd feeling of guilt.

“Well, I’m a sophomore too, so I do have the guilty pleasure of knowing Y/N L/N,” Wanda said with a bit of a grin.

“Knows her in more ways than one!” Sam cackles, ducking as Wanda swipes at him.

Natasha feels that burning feeling rising in her chest again, and perhaps it was due to the knowledge that someone else had experienced being in bed with you — which was arguably silly, because of course you slept with plenty of women, but that didn’t quell her growing unease.

“Was the sex really that good?” Clint asks bluntly, folding his arms as he leans against the locker next to Darcy. Natasha chokes on air.

Wanda only raises an eyebrow, as if to question the poor boy of his doubts of your sexual prowess. Her knowing smirk told a thousand tales, of your sentient being seemingly reincarnated from a Goddess of Sex, of your mighty skillset of lust, the ultimate sapphic enigma.

“You tryna pull a lesbian, birdboy?” Natasha asks dryly, nudging Clint in the rib. The jibe doesn’t even give her that satisfaction. Thinking about you again had unnerved her very skin, causing clammy hands and a dry mouth.

“She leaves all the girls the morning after, though, so don’t get your hopes up,” Wanda sighs wistfully, waving her hand in the air as if she prophesied of a legend. “It’s a one-night-wonder. Kind of like an eclipse. Only happens once, but when it does, it’s really astronomical.”

Natasha flexes her fingers to get her blood flowing. All this talk about your specialised skillset in bed was making her heart flutter, in the best way possible, but maybe that per se was the worst thing possible.

Because she might acknowledge that you were attractive, but that didn’t necessarily mean she wanted to sleep with you, right?

“And that’s why it's a common tongue around here,” Wanda concludes. “Don’t fall for the player. Simple as that.”

On cue, the noise in the hallway comically fades to silence. The gathered crowds of students make way for a quickly striding figure, clad in the same dark clothing Natasha thought about day and night.

Crossing the hallway with an easy purpose and confident composure, you walk past girls who could be seen swooning. Your gaze slides over them casually, sending small smiles here and there but never really quite focusing.

Until your eyes meet Natasha’s, of course. Like a love scene straight out of a drama, your composure cracks fractionally, and your loose confidence is subverted. It only takes a second before your persona snaps back into place.

“Hey, Natasha,” A smooth voice spills out from your angel-crafted lips. Your voice runs over her weak-willed skin, suddenly so vulnerable in your presence, and then you’re gone.

Natasha stills in place, staring after your disappearing figure. Your two words had left such a searing imprint into the front of her mind that it was honestly concerning. The chatter rises again, as if you were never there.

“Looks like you’re Y/N’s next conquest,” Wanda comments, mildly impressed. “Good luck, my friend. Just remember, don’t fall for the player.”

***

Why on earth there was a dorm party on the second day of school was a question that would forever remain unanswered.

Perhaps the adolescent spirit was the root cause of it, free and tameless and reckless, or maybe it was the temptation of alcohol and attractive folks, intoxicating and thrilling.

Either way, Natasha was here for a good time, not a long time.

Her short midnight dress flounces as she makes her way over to the partially occupied couch, the rather risky slit making its way up her thigh to reveal awfully beddable skin.

“Hey, babe!” Wanda calls enthusiastically, waving her over. There’s a Matrix movie playing on the screen, Natasha isn’t clear of which one, and there are students sprawled over the couch, the floor, and on each other.

She ends up playing a game of truth or dare with strangers, driven by warm bodies and the repetitive encouragement to indulge in a little bit of ‘fun’.

“Truth!” Darcy yells drunkenly, almost crushing her red solo cup of cheap alcohol.

“Jeez, woman,” Carol mutters, sighing at the tipsy girl’s antics. “So, truth— ever had a threesome?”

A bunch of ‘ooh’s wave like a ripple through the huddle of students, but Darcy answers with surprisingly quick coherence for a woman on her sixth cup of beer. “Hell yeah,” she drawls. “Y/N and Jane. Best night of my fuckin’ life.”

Natasha feels that wildly uncomfortable feeling of butterflies fluttering — no, thrashing, around in her stomach. It’s absolutely ridiculous that she’s so easily unsettled by you.

Said Jane Foster flushes in her seat, clearly embarrassed at having her sex life exposed. She waves a hand, trying to quiet down the growing hoots and whistles. “I mean, is it really that surprising, guys? I’m definitely not the only one! Okay, jerks, who else has laid with the famed Y/N L/N?”

Immediately, all eleven women in the dorm room have their hands raised. Well, all except Natasha, that is.

“Oh, she’s a free woman!” Valkyrie yells out, pumping her fist, and the crowd of women let out victorious cheers. “Our last standing soldier!”

Natasha smiles awkwardly in the limelight of all these older students, the strangling sensation in her gut growing stronger.

Seriously? ‘The Player’ has already slept with all these pretty girls in her second year? I would never sleep with someone who treats sex so meaninglessly…

Natasha refocuses on the game, dispelling all her thoughts that seemed to constantly circulate around you. In the bleachers, in the hallway, and now in a dorm party…

So why is Y/N L/N a muse in my mind? Why is she so inescapable?

After about six rounds of revealing shameful truths and accepting rather pointless dares, Natasha’s ready to ditch the scene altogether.

She’s barely touched any alcohol, but it was honestly a shame that her imagination was still so lucid. Getting some of that cheap beer into her system would probably help her to relax quicker, and to stop thinking about you.

“Hey, uh,” she whispers to Wanda. The older girl pulls her gaze away from the current life of the party to regard Natasha with a drunken smile.

“What’s up, Nat?” Wanda drawls, sprawling forward a little too close for comfort. Natasha cringes at her beer-tinted breath. Wanda murmurs softly, “Hey, you got a lil somethin’ in your eye. Looks like a little cloud… Oh, that’s just the light. Silly me, silly–”

“Wanda, I’m gonna head back now. Don’t worry about me,” Natasha says, slightly impatiently but affectionate nonetheless, patting Wanda’s head.

“Awh, okay,” Wanda responds drunkenly, breaking off into a little giggle as Natasha gets up. “Hey, Nat?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t fall for the player, yeah?” Wanda asks with an innocent smile, but her eyes are reminiscent of a ghost doing its last haunting. Then Wanda’s gone, gone with the wind, her attention lost to the exhilarating game of truth and dare.

There’s a moment of quiet in Natasha’s mind, save for the explicit Nicki Minaj song playing in the background with lyrics that would make a stripper blush.

She had heard that simple statement all too many times. Almost like she was meant to hear it. Like it was a premonition, a foreshadowing.

With the odd feeling of being defenceless, Natasha makes a beeline for the door. She’s had enough of silly conservations and awful thoughts; conversations that encircled around the subject of The Player, and awful thoughts of hers that always ended up being about you.

However, a shining bottle of cheap alcohol catches Natasha’s attention from the makeshift bartending station, essentially a kitchen counter. “Wouldn’t hurt, I guess,” she mutters under her breath, reaching out to grab a bottle for herself.

“Ah, that beer’s shite. The good one’s in the cupboard.”

Embarrassingly startled by the familiar smooth voice that greets her, Natasha jumps in her own skin. You again, she thinks with such indignation. What kind of sheer audacity did you have to approach her, after you were making out with another girl just the other day–

All coherent thoughts left Natasha’s mind when her eyes rake over your short-sleeve compression shirt that clung to your abdomen and arms like a vacuum-sealed package. Paired with grey sweats, it was such a beguiling mixture of taut muscles and casual wear that had Natasha growing hotter under her skin.

“I guess it’s alright for me to assume I’ve chosen the right attire for today,” you say, folding your arms in a little bit of satisfaction. That has Natasha staring at the black tattoos that decorate your thick forearms, and she’s half-crazed by the alluring sight.

Perhaps you’re showing off a little more than you normally would, but the girl standing before you was one that had invaded your mind for days on end, which was entirely uncharacteristic of your constantly horny brain.

“Can I ask you a question?” Natasha asks snarkily, returning your confidence with her very own crossed arms. Your eyes don’t miss the way her awfully kissable lips form the words on her tongue, and you certainly don’t miss the way her crossed arms push up her cleavage.

You lick your lips imperceptibly, and you notice the way Natasha’s eyes follow the movement with a hawk-like gaze. “Go ahead, sweetheart,” you respond easily, taking a single step closer to the object of your desires.

Natasha scoffs at the pet name, but you can see your close proximity subverts her composure in the slightest. Unable to keep your hands to yourself, you reach out to place your hands on her altar-like hips. She bristles under your touch, but she doesn’t move.

“Why’re you so fucking arrogant?” Natasha finally asks, hating how breathless she sounds, struggling to keep cool as your ring-adorned hands thumb the material of her short dress. You’ve got her entrapped between the kitchen counter and your sinfully sculpted body, with no way of escape. (Not like Natasha was looking for one.)

“Brat.” The dry laugh that sounds from your throat has Natasha’s heart pounding, a choked sound of pleasure caught in the back of her throat. Your big hands have moved to her sides, cradling her waist tenderly but withholding power, as if you’re ready to dig your fingertips into her soft skin at any given moment.

She thinks it’s unfair, the way your eyes are damn near psychedelic. They’re screens of mercury, smouldering and smoking with the way it trails over her body. If you’re a spark of fire, Natasha is a pool of gasoline that feeds your will.

Hot lips slant against Natasha’s ear lobe, taking it between your teeth as she shudders. Natasha’s breathy release of air as she fights to keep silent has you tugging on her earlobe with pure want.

“Can I ask you a question?” you ask, your voice a touch lower than it had been before, your hands tightening its grip on her deadly hips, the metal of your rings cool against her hot skin.

The overwhelming sensation of your big hands, hot lips and sharp teeth is enough to have Natasha’s eyes fluttering shut. She almost loses control of herself, almost lets herself fall victim to your hypnotic touch — But then you pull away, and a desperate little whine nearly falls from Natasha’s lips.

The cheerleader swallows as she stares at your crafted face, your eyes darkened with something far deeper than want, your lips tugged upwards into a devilish smirk.

“My room or yours?”

Natasha would like to say that the rest was a blur, and her alcohol-tainted memories got lost in translation — but it was a shameful and unequivocal statement that she had been entirely sober, and yet recalled every single detail of that night to vivid precision.

***

Natasha remembers you pressing her up against your door, a fervent urgency of lust unlocked within the confines of your dorm.

“So fucking desperate,” you grunt, hips knocking into Natasha’s front as you pin her against the door, lithe legs wrapped around your muscled torso.

“Shut the fuck up,” she spits, throwing her head back as your sharp teeth sink into the softness of her porcelain neck. The edge of your canines are hard and unforgiving, just how Natasha likes it, just how you scatter dark hickeys across her pale skin.

You smirk at her brattiness, finding it an exceptionally arousing trait of hers. “Pretty girl, you’re not the one in charge,” you tease, with your words and with your hands, dragging your fingertips up and under her short dress.

Natasha remembers her fingers twisting into your hair as you play her like a fiddle, teasing and edging and so blatantly talented like a prodigal concertmaster.

She whines as the cool metal of your rings nudges her nipples, her sensitivity skyrocketing with the shock. “More,” she tries to demand, but it ends up sounding like a helpless whimper and your hands move with such purpose.

You don’t help her cause by taking a hardened bud between two fingers and tugging, cries and whimpers following your fingers. Heaven is the way her breasts look all marked up by your mouth, hardened nipples and raw skin dancing in your vision.

Natasha’s nails dig into your hardened abdomen, scraping at your every muscle for all it was worth. It was something about you, something about the look in your eye, something about the way you commandeered her body with such precision and control like it was meant to be.

Natasha remembers her complete relinquishment of power, giving herself up for you, with a sick urge to be fucked within an inch of her life and then some.

Your right hand slides across her damp inner thigh to brush at her demesnes, and the sheer wetness that awaits your fingers makes you growl against her skin. “So fucking wet,” you grunt, peeling apart the thin material of her panties that cling to her sodden pussy with strings of slick.

Natasha wails, face completely flushed and so utterly gorgeous, and you can’t help but meet her lips with clashing tongue and teeth. She moans as your pierced tongue explores her mouth, and you drink up her cries of pleasure.

“Wanna fuck you silly,” you pant against her ear, fingers tracing the outline of her pretty pussy, dragging arousal along with it. Your knee keeps her legs spread nicely apart for the taking, and the vulnerability you bring out of Natasha is perhaps also the hottest thing.

Humiliation is the way Natasha agrees so quickly, nodding dumbly in acquiescence, thinking it would be nice to feel her brain melt to mush with your thick fingers and prodding tongue.

Natasha remembers the earth-shattering pleasure that wracks her body, as you divulge in providing, by leaps and bounds, the best sex she’s ever had.

Three fingers slide in and out of her dripping cunt at a phenomenal pace, and Natasha’s panting like a dog, tight velvet walls clenching around the thickness of your fingers for all it’s worth.

Finger-fucking her against the door like a heaven-descent, you bask in Natasha’s cries of pleasure. It’s never been like this, never been this heated. With Natasha, you felt like you were ascending.

“You’re gonna make a mess on the fucking floor,” you bite, a low gasp caught in the back of your throat. Natasha’s head lolls to the side, high-pitched whimpers making themselves known as she drips down your wrist and her thighs.

Natasha remembers the unravelling, the way her body seizes up out of its own accord, electricity erupting behind her half-lidded eyes.

Your hands dig into the plush of her thighs as you bring Natasha to a stupendous climax. Your fingers curl harshly, hitting her sweet spot and drawing out obscene noises from her.

“Fuck–” Natasha chokes out, high-pitched and breathy and absolutely delightful. Her hips jerk in your hands as your fingers move inside her.

“Another,” you grunt, not a request, and before Natasha can get ahold of her senses your fingers are thrusting again. She wails as your wrist jackhammers into her wet cunt, slick sounds echoing around the four walls of your room.

The second orgasm arrives even more harshly than the first, and Natasha clings onto the broad muscles of your back as you pin her against the door, toes curling and eyes squeezing shut.

She thinks she could find solace in the way your arms entrap her in a certain type of warmth, almost as if you don’t want to let her go.

But that would just be a hopeless fantasy, wouldn’t it?

Natasha remembers waking up the next morning to an empty bed.

The morning air is too cold on her bare skin. Your side of the bed isn’t even warm anymore. You must’ve left ages ago, in the dark of the night, and that thought in itself has Natasha choking on emotions she’d rather not feel.

Her clothes are still strewn on the floor and the furniture is a mess, a mockery of how far she’d let you go last night, driven by an inescapable high.

This is the game you play. Toying with girls' hearts like it was child’s play, making them feel like they were one in a million for one night only. All that alluring charisma was ugly and falsified, viewed through rose-tinted glasses.

This is the game you play, and Natasha Romanoff had fallen victim to it.

Don’t fall for the player.

Now, it was just another warning sign that she’d overlooked, and she was just like those other girls, stumbling into your open arms and cocky smirk.

Vehement fury slugs inside the cheerleader, as she forcefully picks up her strewn clothes.

Then she looks around the dorm room, your room, and time stills for a moment.

She’d expected it to be somewhat furnished, like all other dorm rooms were, maybe a cactus in the corner or a poster of a rockstar. Instead, your walls are blank and there isn’t a trophy or an award in sight.

You’re the captain of the football team, above average in academics, yet there isn’t a trace of the mark you’ve left as a student at Avengers Institution. There isn’t a trace that you’re a living, breathing human, with emotions that craft your very humanity.

Scarily enough, she feels like she’s laid in the bed of a complete stranger.

And suddenly, Natasha understands.

Don’t fall for the player.

Suddenly, everything feels a little too real, and Natasha comprehends that the statement holds far more depth than what your reputation suggested.

You were just fucking scared.

Scared of commitment, scared of growing attached, scared of being abandoned. You feared getting your heart broken, and thus you feared the longevity of relationships that involved love and romance.

As Natasha picks up her strewn clothes from the floor, with aching limbs and dishevelled hair, only one statement rings in her mind.

Don’t fall for the player.

“Maybe I will,” Natasha whispers to the ghost of your handsome, misunderstood self in the room. “But haven’t you heard I always get what I want?”

***

You couldn’t fall asleep.

You watch the empty sky as you sit on the empty rooftop of the school at four in the morning, a cigarette hanging limp between your lips. There’s an underlying anger bubbling beneath your skin, an itch that you can’t find, simply stewing there to your frustration.

Romance was bullshit.

It was plainly obvious from the way girls approached you. Flirty eyes and feather-light touches meant only one thing. And they were all so pretty, so who were you to complain, right?

All those girls always ended up in your dorm bed, sweaty and short of breath. Your heart would pound, and your mind would go wild with endless possibilities of what could happen if they just stayed.

“You can stay if you want,” you muttered off-handedly to one of your first few hookups in college. The look that the girl returned was so unimpressed that you never asked that question again.

But it was okay, because sex was something that you were good at, and those girls had their fun. It was okay, even if there was something missing. It was okay that your reputation preceded your identity. Even if those expectations spiralled far beyond your control.

With every passing girl you brought to bed, the gnawing hole in your chest only grew bigger. You craved something that you couldn’t obtain. Even if your heart was crawling out of its ribcage every time a girl breathed your name, every time she laid a hand on your chest.

Last night, Natasha Romanoff took that gaping hole in your chest and ripped it right open.

“Please, Y/N,” Natasha had whined, and there was reverent devotion in the way you held her hips, in the way you pulled her close.

“Stay,” you had wanted to whisper, so badly, so many times, but her hands were streaking red marks down your back and her body was shuddering under yours.

So you kept your forbidden mouth shut and continued to do what you did best. All the ‘what-ifs’ were just hopeless dreams. You couldn’t stay, you couldn’t commit. You weren’t allowed to, not after the expectations that had been set for you.

Romance was bullshit, after all.

“You seem troubled,” a female voice announces from behind you, but you don’t bother to turn back. Taking your silence as consent, the girl sits next to you.

“Give me a light,” the girl says, leaning closer to you, and only then do you turn to look her over. Blonde girl, 5’8, blue eyes. Freshman.

“Sharon Carter, right?” you ask indifferently, and the girl lets out a bemused huff as she makes her comfortable next to you.

“Wow, so you do know every girl in this school,” Sharon comments, and there’s a teasing lilt in her voice that hints at how this is going to end up.

You pull out a cigarette, passing it over to the blonde girl, noting how her fingertips brush over yours for a second too long. “Maybe I do,” you respond with false cockiness, the smirk overtaking your face almost unconsciously.

This is the right thing to do, you convince yourself, as Sharon’s hand creeps to your thigh. One girl after the other. You couldn’t get attached.

“Impressive. Put away your light. It’s healthier to destress in another way,” Sharon whispers, tossing her cigarette to the rough concrete.

What a waste, you think, but then the same could be said about a lot of other things in your life.

For a fraction of a second, you contemplate your existence. You wonder why you’ve ended up this way. What you’ve done to deserve girls throwing themselves at you when you began to despise all of them.

When Sharon brings her lips closer to yours, and you find yourself meeting her halfway, because you’ve done it so many times.

There’s this tugging of your heart that almost feels like guilt, but you shove it down and drag your tongue between a set of lips. All too easily, your hands draw patterns across her chest and her thighs, a mastered craft that came mechanically.

Even if it is the right thing to do, it doesn’t feel right.

Your head is swimming with unbearable thoughts of Natasha Romanoff, and you try to erase her on the tongue of another girl who could never compare.

It doesn’t feel right, but it’s the easy way out, and it’s what’s expected of you.

Always has been.

***

“Fuck, Y/N—” is the first thing Natasha hears when she meanders into the bathroom the morning after.

She had wanted to get an early start on the new morning, but alas, fate had it out for her.

For a while, Natasha is surprised that she isn’t surprised. You’ve got a pretty blonde girl on the bathroom counter, one hand up her skirt and the other twisted in her hair.

The girl throws her head back in a bout of pleasure, and Natasha’s thinking that maybe she looks a little familiar. It’s her cheekbones, strung high like a haughty prick. “Daddy’s money always gets what you want, hm?” rings in her head.

A spark of fire burns any ounce of indifference Natasha has to ashes. Sharon Fucking Carter.

Sharon’s painted nails were digging into the expanse of your shoulder blades, and it looked downright painful. Your dexterous fingers were plunging into her sodden cunt, rendering her barely coherent.

It all looks so wrong, and Natasha wants to crawl out of her skin before the jealousy eats her alive.

“Fucking hypocrite, aren’t you?” Natasha spits venomously, hands clenched into fists of fury, making her presence known.

When Sharon jumps away from you like she’s been burned, Natasha can’t help but let evil glee surge through her stomach. Serves you right, she thinks, staring at your dishevelled hair that somehow only made you look more handsome.

It’s different, this time, with your eyes darting as if you were unsure of yourself. (Astonishing, considering your mean streak of being cold as ice.) There’s resentment in the way your face sets, and a type of hurt that causes Natasha to falter.

“Daddy’s little bitch,” Sharon scoffs, fixing her skirt with no attempt to hide her disdain. “Why don’t you fuck off, huh?”

Natasha scoffs, eyes widening in fractional aggression. “I-”

“You should go, Carter,” you say monotonously, almost defeated but wavering on the edge of frustration.

The blonde girl whips her head around to stare at you with incredulousness written in her wide eyes. She lets out a dry laugh of betrayal. “Fuck, look at the two of you. Match made in hell.”

The bathroom door slams shut with a piercing thud. Both you and Natasha don’t flinch.

“You didn’t have to call Sharon a hypocrite,” you mumble, flicking your head back to look in the mirror.

There’s something off about you that no one else has ever had the privilege of seeing. It makes Natasha’s heart soar and her blood boil simultaneously.

“She wasn’t the one I was calling a hypocrite.”

A moment passes between the two of you where you flick an invisible switch.

“I’m the hypocrite, Romanoff?” you ask, evidently provoked. A crazed look in your eyes draws Natasha’s attention, because you’re putting on a false facade all over again.

“Am I the hypocrite for fucking another girl? It’s all I do, isn’t it? That’s what I’m known for. You don’t get to be so butthurt because you were just a one-night.”

A sickly sourness lines your mouth as you spew words that aren’t true, because your heart was fighting every battle to get to Natasha Romanoff.

“What you’re failing to realise,” Natasha begins stately. “Is that this isn’t about me. Fuck it if I’m just another girl on your ever-growing fuck list. Because maybe I am. But you’re lying to yourself if you think you’re happy.”

“Oh, so now you’re determining my emotions for me,” you retort with as much snark as you can muster. “You weren’t acting this high and mighty last night in my bed.”

“Quit the act,” Natasha scoffs, then letting a bittersweet smile cross her face. “You’re hiding behind weak retorts because you’re scared. Scared of being alone. But you don’t have to be anymore.”

Lost, your hands twitch, and you allow yourself to believe that maybe Natasha is your salvation. Defense mechanisms kick in, but you know you’re fighting a losing battle.

“Sorry to disappoint, Romanoff, but don’t try to play therapist. I’m not some kind of victim you’re going to diagnose,” you sneer. “I’m free to do whatever the fuck I want without your judgment.”

“Free?” Natasha asks, an incredulous look in her eyes. She laughs in mockery with an unwavering gaze. “You’re not free. You can’t go a day without fucking a girl. You’re a prisoner, and you’re shackled by your own desires and wants. Except this time, that luxury has become an addictive coping mechanism.”

Dark eyes flash with a glimmer of danger, and you’re so much like a trapped animal gone hostile that Natasha’s heart breaks a little.

“You’re wrong,” you answer, but your hands are shaking so violently that you hardly seem like the person she once thought you were.

Where complete equilibrium once was, a desperate frenzy of unease is what exudes from you now. Natasha feels a twinge in her heart when you whisper “You’re wrong,” again, this time substantially more quiet and resigned.

“Prove it, then,” Natasha challenges, bringing a hand up to cup the side of your face. Her eyes search yours so desperately, and you’ve stripped naked in front of a hundred girls, but you’ve never felt more vulnerable. “Prove that you’re more than whatever they say about you.”

With the strange urge of tears pricking at your eyes, you stare at Natasha with all the hopelessness any broken heart could muster, and for a moment you can see the doubt in her eyes. Like you’ve disappointed her, just like all the girls who’s hearts you’ve broken.

But when you first kissed Natasha Romanoff, it was never going to be just another one-night, was it?

With the final semblance of humanity in your burden-stricken mortality, you drag a shaky thumb along Natasha’s cheekbones like it’s the most delicate thing in the world, and the deeply-rooted self-loathing inside you fades away, just a little bit.

Your parted lips meet Natasha’s in a prologue to an unfinished symphony. You delve in like she’s your last lifeline, and maybe Natasha is, from the way she rests her fingers on your hips with a gentleness you’ve never experienced.

A carnal urge washes over you, because this time you’re not afraid to admit that you want Natasha Romanoff. You spread your hands, feeling up as much of her as you can, running it down her back then squeezing at her rounded ass—

And then Natasha’s pulling away, and only then do you hear the cluster of footsteps approaching the washroom.

“Tonight,” she whispers with a hint of smirk. Natasha goes on her tippy-toes to press a kiss on the tip of your nose, and then she’s gone.

You stand there with wide eyes, in the washroom where students filter in, lingering with the ghost of Natasha Romanoff’s lips and a piece of your heart melted onto the floor.

***

You were positive you were going to start ripping off your skin if you didn’t start fucking Natasha Romanoff in this exact moment.

But that would be a bad idea, because you were in the middle of a psychology lecture, and Professor Harkness probably wouldn’t appreciate that.

After a torturous hour of you shifting in your seat, you sprint out the lecture hall. Thanking the heavens that it was your last lesson of the day, you dodge and weave through the crowd of students in the hallway.

“Hey, Y/N,” A small group of sophomore girls call out, checking you out like a piece of meat. Normally, their flirtatious winks and little skirts would have you folded in an instant, but you couldn’t wait a moment longer.

You send them a polite smile and continue on your hasteful journey, missing the comical way their faces fall.

Upon your dutiful research, you knew where Natasha’s dorm was located, but you planned to stop by your own dorm to pick up a little something. (Okay, maybe the something wasn’t that little.) You yank open your door with purpose—

Only to find Natasha already sprawled out on your dorm bed, dressed in one of your shirts and nothing else. You almost pass out. Almost.

“Nat,” you groan, locking the door behind you. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Not before I come, I’m afraid,” Natasha sighs with a pleased smile. She beckons you over with a come-hither motion, spreading her legs in invitation.

You bite back an affected noise in the back of your throat, pushing Natasha back down on to the bed with fervour. With a crushing sense of urgency, you slide your hand between her pretty thighs, not waiting a single moment.

“Slow down,” Natasha instructs, tilting your head up to stare at her blown pupils. “Take your time. Don’t just fuck me. Do it like you mean it.”

Upon hearing those words, a rush of pride washes over you and then you’re so eager to please, desperate to somehow prove yourself.

Your fingers find the hem of her shirt and tug it over her head, revealing the bare mounds that are Natasha’s tits. A shaky exhale leaves your lips as your fingertips experimentally brush over her hardened buds.

“God, you’re built,” Natasha moans, running her hands over the edges and curves of your muscle. It’s tight and taut under her touch, so defined and carved.

You shudder under her explorative touch, returning your attention back to the beautiful girl in front of you.

You were so used to hot, fast, explosive sex that turning back time was such a jarring awakening of everything that you were missing out on.

It put things into perspective, that you had never actually made love. And since this was your first time, you were determined to do it right, especially for Natasha.

You trail open-mouthed kisses down her sternum and stomach, savouring the taste of her skin. Your hands grasp at her tits, enjoying the feel of it in your hands.

You’re experiencing things you never got to experience, like the rise and fall of Natasha’s pale chest, the way her eyelids flutter gently.

Temporarily avoiding where she needed you most, you hear Natasha let out a whine. You tease her hole with your tongue, smearing her slick messily.

“Fuck,” Natasha curses, winding her fingers into your hair. “Please, I need it,” she whines, as you lick at her clit.

“M’kay, baby,” you mumble against her wet folds, because you could never deny Natasha of anything, could you?

You slide your tongue in her twitching pussy, and begin one of the most passionate love-making sessions

You listen out for when Natasha hitches her breath, when her hips stutter, when she mewls out. You learn the instrument of her body, understand and test out the different reactions you can draw out.

After minutes of what seem like pure bliss with erratic breaths and pleading keening, you speed up and the reaction is immaculate.

“Y/N,” Natasha cries, as your tongue goes in and out of her dripping cunt. Her slick goes down her thighs and your chin, making the most obscene noises.

It’s wet and squelching, and you proceed to devour Natasha’s pussy for everything it’s worth.

For a millisecond, Natasha wonders if anyone has ever died from being eaten out too passionately. Erotic Oral Overdrive, maybe.

Her first orgasm comes in a gradual crescendo, her hips rocking in waves as you dutifully match her unwinding.

Natasha lets her eyes flutter shut as the moment overwhelms her senses. Until the silence is finally broken by you.

“Got a little something for you,” you say with a quirked brow, sliding your hand into the bedside cabinet to retrieve that little something.

“Oh, fuck,” Natasha whines, upon seeing the biggest strap-on toy she’s ever had her eyes upon in her life.

You ease in the cock with no amount of trouble, through Natasha’s already slick cunt. You start with a gentle pace, because you’re trying to be slow.

Apparently, Natasha has different plans this time around.

“Harder,” Natasha growls, digging her nails into your muscled back. You let out a low gasp, because you’re already so deep inside her divine pussy, and you didn’t think you could go any deeper.

Gripping her thighs and spreading it as far apart as you can, you thrust impossibly deeper and your hips slap against Natasha’s.

Her eyes roll back, and she arches off the bed as you continue to thrust and make a nest for yourself inside her.

“Y/N, ungh– please, fuck—” Curled toes wrap around your back as she writhes against the bed.

With the way your cock bulges against her skin, you’re quite sure you could actually split Natasha in half. She’s clawing at your back, calling out your name to the ceiling.

When you pull out, Natasha whines, velvet walls clenching tighter around to keep you deep inside. But then you thrust all the way in again and a scream rings around your dorm room.

You don’t give a flying fuck about the noise level as you pound into Natasha, splitting open her pretty little pussy. “So fucking tight and wet,” you moan into her ear. “All for me, baby?”

It’s fucking possesive, the way you manhandle her to look at her rolled-back eyes and slack jaw.

“Mhm– yes! Oh God, yes, please, Y/N!” Natasha shrieks, clenching so tight you swear you can feel her wet pulse through the huge strap-on.

But it isn’t just any strap-on, and Natasha realises this with a breathy gasp, because it’s a squirting strap-on, and then you’re unloading into her ruined cunt with a deep growl.

Natasha wails, legs in the air, as you pump your seed into her pussy. It’s thick and flows out in pumps, and she milks your cock dry.

“Good girl, Nat,” you breathe, rocking in slow motions so she can recover from her high.

Finally, you collapse on top of Natasha as she lets out a breathy laugh. “What happened to not fucking the same girl twice?”

“You’re infuriating,” you grunt, rolling your hips once in retaliation. You delight the small victory of Natasha whimpering under you.

Natasha rolls her eyes at your impertinence, leaning up to press a small kiss on your forehead. “Infuriating? More like irresistible.”

It’s your turn to laugh, grasping her hips and pulling her impossibly closer. “You’re right,” you whisper truthfully. You think you could stay like this forever.

“Stay if you dare,” Natasha whispers, letting her hand trace over the curvature of your angled face. As you lay above her, you turn your head so that your lips brush against her palm.

Your warm lips are so delicate that Natasha could almost weep, and that’s all the response she needs before breathing a gentle sigh, hence letting sleep drift her consciousness away.

For the first night amongst many, a quiet calm settles in your dorm room ‘til the sun rises again.

***

Don’t fall for the player.

Once upon a time, that used to be a warning, circulating within the hallways of Avengers Institution, whispered under hushed breaths and divine lips.

Tried and true, was the rumour that every single girl in this school would eventually fall victim to The Player’s effortless charisma and unstoppable magnetism.

And this might be true, because whenever you strolled the hallways or scored a touchdown, you were bound to have admirers cheering your name or flirty winks thrown in your way — However, there was a catalyst. A change, if you would.

Boys looked on in jealousy, girls looked on in intrigue. (Or maybe jealousy, too.) What used to be a smooth mouth and wandering hands became a delicate kind of control, saved for only one particular student.

Gone was your blatant charisma and swagger in treating other girls, because now there was only one on your mind — Natasha Romanoff. Be it in on the bleachers, in the hallways, or during dorm parties, never were you seen without the girl who always got what she wanted.

And that included the very subject of the mantra that defined Avengers Institution:

Don’t fall for the player.

so... this was one full month of work. i've never been this dedicated to a singular project. wow. uh, please reblog. it's the only true way of supporting your little creators on this app, so help me out here. thanks for reading. out of curiosity, which part did you like the most?

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

[whiskeyskin]

This

Premise: Astarion begins to understand how hellish it is catching feels.

• Astarion x afab!Tav • 18+ • M rating • MDNI

Astarion's POV, reference to blood feeding, warmth and comfort, hating the fact he's falling, light PinV, lotus pose, sensual, romantic, playful, past trauma's getting in the gods damned way, reliving bad memories, understand, love, deciding not to have sex, feels

2.6k words

Thank you to @casualya for this beautiful picture 😍💜

•°•°•

Astarion gasped, his mouth and throat coated in their delicious blood. So decatent, so warming and sweet. He felt intoxicated by it. A smile curled across his lips, still breathing heavily, mouth open.

"Can you taste the whiskey?" Tav asked, through a murmur of light-headedness and amusement.

Astarion hummed in appreciation against their soft, taut skin. He adored the way they smelled after he fed. Like warm lust, soft bedding and comfort on a rainy day.

He hated it.

Especially when they softly rubbed his back in soothing circles, making his resolve wane further.

His eyelids drooped as he slowly blinked against the lulling feeling of being with them like this. Naked and intimate but with no immediate threat of sex.

"I can," he licked his lips, catching drops of their taste in the creases of his mouth, "Is that why you taste especially warming tonight, my dear?"

He lazily dragged his tongue over the two slowly oozing pierce marks; the evidence of his condition inflicted on another.

Tav shuddered and grazed the back of his neck to lightly fist and twirl his hair. Astarion grasped the Amulet of Silvanus around his neck, muttered the incantation and the tent flooded with blue healing energy.

Tav's naked chest pressed against his own as they inhaled deeply, carried by the spell's energy. They sighed out and peppered kisses against his forehead to the side of his cheek, their skin now feeling similar temperature, instead of his usual cool against their warmth.

There they sat, facing each other in relaxed embrace, Tav's splayed legs hooked over his own. The rhythm of Tav's breathing a sweet lullaby as he closed his eyes, leaning his temple against theirs in complete bliss.

It was awful.

All he'd wanted was a little promise of protection. For them to fall for his manipulations and honeyed words. To use his extraordinary talents and devastating good looks to his own advantage for a little tet au tet. Sex for protection.

Not this. Not kindness and understanding. Not feeling rested and nurtured and important. Feeling safe, truly safe with them. With all of their tadpoled rabble, in fact.

He could feel the warmth radiating off their core as they sat like this, the blood he'd drained from them headed only one possible place.

He could smell them. The allure of their sex. Their want and need for him. Their siren's call to sheath himself fully inside them. But with Tav, there was the safety of knowing that it need not go any further than this, unless he wanted it.

While they didn't understand the full severity of his complicated relationship with sex, they were acutely aware of it and always insisted on his unabashed consent and when it wasn't, they'd simply dressed themself, said goodnight and left for their tent.

It had left him flabbergasted.

That was the most erotic part of sex with Tav for him. The he had that power. That control to say "No" and they would obey.. listen.. allow it.

He wouldn't be forced to go through with it. Wouldn't be compelled to do it. Wouldn't do it to avoid lashings. They would simply get dressed and leave for their own bunk.

However that stint ended the first night Tav had suggested to sit like this together while feeding, for the sake of intimacy; completely naked, with no sex at all. They'd walked out of tent without a word, leaving him unexpectedly frustrated.

He'd riled himself wild the rest of the next adventuring day with the notion of fucking with free-will, that they'd been fucking every night since in some fashion, or another.

The freedom to have sex only, and if only, he wanted to but to still have the electricity of the warm up act? He could feel himself growing harder with the thought.

"Should I ignore it?" Tav whispered against the shell of his ear.

Astarion swallowed, traces amounts of the blood still present. He pulled them even closer, the head of his cock jutting against their swollen lips. Tav made a small gasp, then he felt a small smile against his skin before a kiss was pressed there.

"Tell me we don't have to.." he started, and fanned his fingers out across their back.

"Never. We never have to do anything unless you want to." Tav answered, shaking their head softly.

Astarion's eyes fluttered closed, "Tell me you'll leave if I asked you to." He said, trying to suppress a moan, as his fingers dug against the musculature of their back.

"Without question." They replied. Astarion squeezed his eyes shut tighter and bit his lip.

This. This was something he'd never had. Freedom to say no.

He'd hadn't experienced this, not in over 200 years. Someone who respected his choices, his opinions. Someone who empowered him to take chances in his own abilities, to find confidence in new skills. Someone that he found himself searching for in a crowded place. Someone that openly gave themselves to him without expecting anything in return. Someone who he.. cared for.

Gods below.

"Do you want me to leave?" Tav asked, their tone non-threatening and understanding.

Astarion shook his head and pressed his face into the crook of their neck - his safe place, his haven.

It was Hell.

He pulled them even closer, the bedroll unbunching as he lifted them higher on his thighs and spread their sweet lips apart.

His hard length glided from their clit to their entrance and gently prodded, their hole twitched against the intrusion then relaxed.

Tav breathed a moan and leaned back their head, exposing their neck to him again. Both of them began to writhe with miniscule movement, rocking against each other.

His cock butted from the position he'd tried to suavely place himself in and slid wetly up the length of their vulva.

They chuckled breathless and contented, "Why does sex never go as smoothly as it does in novels and verse?" Tav mused, tilting their head in amusement.

He softly snorted a laugh and burned the brand of his kiss against their clavicle, then smirked out the side of his mouth, "Indeed, my love. I need a little help it seems."

He gently thrust upwards, his cock gliding against their pink, glistening lips, so they would understand what he meant.

"Picking at the lock but need an extra hand to open it?" Tav laughed softly, reaching between them to gently push his length into the correct angle for this position. Astarion flexed his thighs to afford more space and lift them higher.

Their wet folds made deliciously slick noises as his cock slid into place and his head was engulfed by their tight entrance.

They both gasped, their breath mingling as they moaned together. Tav bit their lip and gently rolled their hips to tease his tip, to sucker and release as he barely entered them.

Suddenly, he was plagued with his well practised, tired and loathsome feeling of revulsion and hatred. He tried to push it back, to contain it to the subconscious part of his brain.

He pulled himself back, to look down at the sensation. A low twang of lust to hit in his belly watching the head of his cock disappearing into their waiting vagina, massaging and teasing him.

Tav's hand was resting on his lower abdomen to keep him in place, the other wrapped around his neck.

"You feel so good, my darling."

Tav smiled seductively, but said nothing.

Again, the feeling of revulsion reared up inside him, filling his throat with bile. He shook his head against it, snorting breath through his nose.

"Tell me it feels good, Tav."

"Always, Star."

Tav slid their hand from the back of his neck to delicately capture his jaw, feather light and soft. He leaned in desperately, folding in on himself to get closer.

He was taken back to the palace, to that bedroom.. to the hundreds of faceless underneath, or on top of him.

He gritted his teeth, and strained against it. He blinked back the visions, willing himself through it. He just needed to get through it and everything would be fine. He just needed to find another way through it than his usual routine of disgust and revulsion at what he was doing.

It wasn't a victim, not another body to appease Him. It was Tav. It was..

"We can stop-" came Tav's voice, concern tinged their tone.

"-No," he protested, "Don't you dare." He warned with a devilish snarl, kissing them deeply, tongue lashing with theirs.

He wouldn't be beaten by it. Wouldn't let Cazador keep ruining his life.

Astarion gripped then curve of Tav's ass to pull them toward him, to make them full with his cock but they dug in their heels to stop him.

"Wait, let me.." they trailed off, leaning themselves backwards with one arm to give then leverage.

They rolled their hips upwards in languid circles, using their strength to hold themselves up higher.

Astarion stared down at their meeting. His pale purple head dipping shallowly into their hot, pink cunt. Their combined slick glistening as his tip reappeared from their entrance. He almost swallowed his own tongue.

He never looked at it before Tav. Where the sexes met. It disgusted him. Why would he. He would always look away, or look between the mark's eyebrows. Never in the eyes and never watched how bodies moved with him.

"It's beautiful, isn't it? How I envelope around you, welcome you inside me?"

"Y-yes.. my d-darling," Astarion struggled, feeling his cock thicken as he stared down at Tav's inviting folds.

It felt like he was being choked from desire as the feeling sent electricity through his hips and down to his toes. The slow, deliberate friction suckering against his most sensitive part.

However, despite his efforts, the elation was soon tainted by nausea and self-loathing.

Gods he wanted to be normal. To experience and enjoy sex the way you're supposed to. To have the ability to relish in the delights of the carnal, not to be repulsed by them.

He wanted it desperately. Almost as much he wanted Cazador dead. He wished he could give himself fully without the baggage and hurt and trauma he carried.

They deserved more than him. Deserved to be with someone that could make them truly happy. That didn't come with emotional scars that dug so deep they'd never fully heal.

What could he possibly have to offer, except his exceptional ability in bed?

He wrapped an arm around Tav to help take the weight and slid them down his cock another inch, to envelop his tip completely.

Tav whimpered and bit their bottom lip.

Pleasure clenched low in his gut and Astarion moaned, and sought out their nipple to suck and bite on. Something tangible, something physical. To keep him present, to keep him centred. Something to show his affection for them, how they made him feel, what they were doing to him; despite his past creating road blocks.

Tav gasped and heaved their chest upward, legs splaying further. Astarion bucked in rhythm to add to motion.

"I adore watching you like this. Spread for me. Moaning just for me.."

It was true. He did. He just desperately wished that the act itself wasn't marred by sickening, cloying hatred.

He was so conflicted. He understood that this was different; the feelings when he was with Tav were unlike anything he'd experienced for those torturous decades, but the other darker side of himself refused to relent it's vice-like grip.

"I'm very happy for you, Star but I'm going to get a cramp if I don't move." Tav chuckled, resting themself back down onto the bedroll, his cock popped out and now felt cold from the lack of warmth.

"Well, can't very well have that, can we?" He mocked with a true playfulness only they brought out in him, "Shall we change positions in a very sexy and alluring manner, my dear?"

"Oh, not our usual tangle of limbs and curse words that come from us trying to extracate ourselves?"

"Perish the thought. I'm a consummate professional."

"Professional bastard."

"That too."

They giggled softly within each others embrace, then pressed a familiar kiss. Astarion lingered just a second longer than they did before Tav scooched themselves back and stretched out their legs, groaning.

"Ugh, I swear this adventuring lark is tough on the old bones." They complained, impersonating an elder in the warbling tone.

"Your bones are hardly old, mine are far older than yours."

"Your bones are also Elven and Vampiric, and therefore immortal. So yank those reigns, Grandfather." They sassed, pointing and flexing their feet, stretching out their legs. Astarion gave a genuine laugh.

His chest ached. He didn't know why. It was a dull, throbbing ache that seeped warmth into the deep reccesses of his soul.

His brows creased together at the odd sensation and swallowed, embracing it. At least it was different to self-loathing. It was calming but made his body feel like it was struggling for air. He recognised it.. vaguely.. from his early years of enslavement.

Guilt poured over him, dousing the warmth gathered in his chest. Reliving the scant moments of connection and the internal conflict that followed, the fear of disobeying, the desperation of attempted escapes.. the darkness.

"You alright, Star darling? Looking a little peaky, even more peaky than your usual snow white self." They flexed their eyebrows at him with a smirk.

He swallowed, "Oh, yes. I'm fine." His answer was automatic.

Tav's brow twitched, "What is it?" Their tone was soft, light but with a pull of seriousness. Astarion swallowed again, gazing at them, reclined and comfortably naked, in the amber glow of the candlelight.

He couldn't talk about this. Not now. Not yet. He wasn't ready. Not here.. when the world seemed so far away. He had to keep it out. Keep Him out. He wanted to stay in this bubble with them. Inside his tent, in their small patch of nowhere. Not yet. Don't take them away yet.

"Hey, hey.. talk to me. You're worrying me now." They leaned up to grip him arms but stopped short - a gesture toward his dislike of being touched when these memories overcame him.

Gods. Why were they so nice to him?

"Absolutely nothing. But are you alright, my dear?" He asked, trying to deflect, "Are we tired? Does the poor, frail human need their rest?" He taunted with a babied voice, lightly pinching at their soft thighs.

"I will end you if you don't stop jiggling my thighs." They threatened emptily, with a grin and a raised brow.

"Beautiful thighs," he objected, shuffling closer to them and pulling them back into him, "I often get lost in thoughts of losing myself between those thighs." He flashed them a dangerous look, shielding them from the horrors beneath.

He just wanted to return to their previous engaged activity; he wouldn't let his past win.

He wanted to bury himself deep within them and paint their walls. Claim them. He wanted to stay inside them as they lay in the afterglow, warming his cock and keeping his seed pressed within.

But at the same time, he wanted none of that.. because it was all tainted. Even though it was with Tav. It still.. hurt.

He palmed the curve of their hips beneath the splay of his hands, up to their waist and down the cup of their behind. He took the meat of their thigh and brought it to his mouth. He sucked and kissed at their smooth skin.

"And I have also fantasied about you between my legs." They admitted, as nonchalantly as if they were discussing the weather, "whether it's your cock, or your mouth. It doesn't matter which. Although, when it's your mouth, it shuts you up for a while, so that's a massive boon." They smirked, as Astarion caught up with the joke quickly and squeezed at their soft flesh to tickle them.

They writhed and laughed together, as Tav protested between cackles, while he dared them to repeat.

Breathless from enjoyment and glee, they laid back, settled into each others arms. The last titters rumbling, as they coiled limbs around each other.

Several moments of silence passed easily around them. Tav's breathing soothing him once more, bringing him back to the calm, chasing away all thoughts of his tormented past.

"I do adore laying with you like this, when it's just us and.. it's just us." A quiver strained his voice, a strange gripping sensation held his chest and threatened to surge outward but he caught the feeling and held it tightly before it overcame him.

Gods, not this level of Hell again.

"Mm, me too." They whispered, gently stroking his forearm.

A few more wordless moments passed before them, "Star, is it alright if we don't have sex tonight?"

Astarion's head jerked, an oxymoronic wave of relief, surprise and disappointment tumbling over him, "Of course, if that's what you want?" He propped himself up on his elbow.

They nodded, scrunching up their nose, "It is, yeah. I'm quite sore and bruised. Apparently Silvanus' blessing doesn't extend to aching bones and tender vaginas," They shot out a giggle together, "I'm not used to having sex every night. It's a lot for me," They made an uneasy face, "It's why I wasn't letting you in any further than the tip, if I'm being completely honest. Are you disappointed?"

"Well, naturally I am a little.. but.. well.." He looked into their warm eyes, and it's glow radiated into him, "If we're being honest with each other; I'm a little relieved. I wouldn't mind a break."

"Oh, thank god." They breathed with a sigh of relief, smiling widely.

"You don't have to sound so elated." He teased, with faux indignation.

"No, no. It's not that. It's just.. I didn't want to come up short in the bedroom for you. I mean, you're used to a lot of sex and-"

"Darling," He stopped them with a hand, "Consent flows both ways, you know? If you're not feeling it, tell me for God's sake!"

Tav's unease dissolved in front of this eyes, "Thank you, love."

Tender fingers reached for his chin and he willingly followed them down for another sweet kiss.

"Also, you're not going to believe this but I was maybe doing the same with you. I didn't want to let down the fantasy of being with a Rakeish Vampire."

"So, we've both been competing with our own ego's and projected expectations, even though the other was feeling similarly?" Said Tav plainly, pointing out the irony.

Astarion nodded and Tav laughed without humour.

"Well, I suppose that's why they say communicating is key to a good relationship." They shrugged, giggling gently.

A relationship.

Is that what this was?

He'd not been in a "relationship" since well before his turning.

Was that what the warmth inside him had been trying to tell him? Had his cold, dead heart been beating during this time they'd spent together and he hadn't thought to notice it?

Had he developed.. feelings right under his own nose?

Gods below.

"What? You've gone all quiet and pensive again." They rubbed his shoulder to pull him from his stupor.

"I have?" He blinked.

"Yes, you do it a lot," They twirled a curl between their fingers and shaped it around his ear.

Suddenly his vision started to blur, and instead his mind was filled with their first time at the Tiefling party. They'd done exactly the same. He was still inside them, and therefore still dissociated from the event. They'd pulled him back by fixing a stray curl. He'd smiled in genuine affection at the motion.

And in the Crèche. They'd just finished the gruelling fight against the Inquisitor, the others had been looking for an escape away from the main entrance, where the Githyanki hoard waited. Tav had walked over to him to check on his wellbeing, and absent-mindedly stroked a blood-soaked curl out of his face.

And the Underdark. In the Sussur Grove. They'd told him how beautiful he looked bathed in the light of the magnificent arcane tree. That was the first time he'd kissed them. Truly kissed them. Without a plan, or manipulative word. He'd just wanted to kiss them. They'd threaded his hair around their fingers at the nape of his neck into a tight curl that he'd tried to keep pristine.

The gesture was so gentle, so miniscule, so innocuous, yet so monumentous to him; a simple thing that brought up not nightmares from his past, but treasured memories from their time together. Moments not drenched in hate and fear, but in adoration and affection.

"What is it you're thinking about with that particular facial expression, I wonder." They traced a faint scar on his shoulder, smiling up at him.

Gods, he wanted to say it. Could he say it? Was he even capable of it..

Eventually, he said, "I am used to a lot of sex but it's sex that I didn't want."

Tav paused, their eyes searched his face, and raised a hand to cup his cheek. He leaned into it like a cat rubbing against it's favourite human.

"I didn't have anything, not even my own body. I did as I was told for so long, I'd quite forgotten what it was like to want."

Astarion scrunched up his face, emotion from uncharted territory replacing the repugnant bile that once fought it's way out. He placed his hand on top of theirs and brought their palm to his mouth, pressing a firm, almost desperate kiss.

"This," he started, staring down at the person he'd willingly die for, "this is what I want."

Tav's eyes began to fill, as they pursed their lips over their smile to conceal it and failed miserably. They brought their other hand to his cheek and brushed away a tear he hadn't realised had fallen, thumbing another away with the other.

"I know. Me too."

They gently pulled him down to lay with them, wrapping arms and legs together, melted into each other.

They fit perfectly together; a practised position of theirs.

His favourite position of theirs.

Tav gently kissed his forehead and held him closer, twirling their favourite curl behind his ear. They soaked into each other, perfectly in-sync. Bodies and minds intertwined and existing in pure harmony and peace.

His haven. His safe place.

Shit.

•°•°•

Room for more? There's always time for more smut and sweetness 😜

[manifesto-of-a-femcel]

Beautiful Movies All Girls Should Watch

A list of movies that touch on coming of age, romance and complex female emotions.

May (2002): A socially awkward veterinary assistant with a lazy eye and obsession with perfection descends into depravity after developing a crush on a boy with perfect hands.

Audition (1999): A widower takes an offer to screen girls at a special audition, arranged for him by a friend to find him a new wife. The one he fancies is not who she appears to be after all.

Helter Skelter (2012): Top star Lilico undergoes multiple cosmetic surgeries to her entire body. As her surgeries show side effect, Lilico makes the lives of those around her miserable as she tries to deal with her career and her personal problems.

Ginger Snaps (2000): Two death-obsessed sisters, outcasts in their suburban neighborhood, must deal with the tragic consequences when one of them is bitten by a deadly werewolf.

The Craft (1996): A newcomer to a Catholic prep high school falls in with a trio of outcast teenage girls who practice witchcraft, and they all soon conjure up various spells and curses against those who anger them.

Malèna (2000): Amidst the war climate, a teenage boy discovering himself becomes love-stricken by Malèna, a sensual woman living in a small, narrow-minded Italian town.

Perfect Blue (1997): A retired pop singer turned actress’ sense of reality is shaken when she is stalked by an obsessed fan and seemingly a ghost of her past.

Rosemary’s Baby (1968): A young couple trying for a baby moves into an aging, ornate apartment building on Central Park West, where they find themselves surrounded by peculiar neighbors.

The Virgin Suicides (1999): A group of male friends become obsessed with five mysterious sisters who are sheltered by their strict, religious parents in suburban Detroit in the mid 1970s.

Sucker Punch (2011): A young girl institutionalized by her abusive stepfather retreats to an alternative reality as a coping strategy and envisions a plan to help her escape.

Piggy (2022): An overweight teen is bullied by a clique of cool girls poolside while holidaying in her village. The long walk home will change the rest of her life.

The Love Witch (2016): A modern-day witch uses spells and magic to get men to fall in love with her, with deadly consequences.

Pearl (2022): In 1918, a young woman on the brink of madness pursues stardom in a desperate attempt to escape the drudgery, isolation and lovelessness of life on her parents' farm.

Girl, Interrupted (1999): Based on writer Susanna Kaysen's account of her 18-month stay at a mental hospital in the late 1960s.

Black Swan (2010): Nina is a talented but unstable ballerina on the verge of stardom. Pushed to the breaking point by her artistic director and a seductive rival, Nina's grip on reality slips, plunging her into a waking nightmare.

Gone Girl (2014): With his wife's disappearance having become the focus of an intense media circus, a man sees the spotlight turned on him when it's suspected that he may not be innocent.

Jennifer’s Body (2009): A newly-possessed high-school cheerleader turns into a succubus who specializes in killing her male classmates. Can her best friend put an end to the horror?

Bones And All (2022): Coming of age romance about two cannibals

In the Mood for Love (2000): Two neighbors form a strong bond after both suspect extramarital activities of their spouses. However, they agree to keep their bond platonic so as not to commit similar wrongs.

Brokeback Mountain (2005): Ennis and Jack are two shepherds who develop a sexual and emotional relationship. Their relationship becomes complicated when both of them get married to their respective girlfriends.

Call Me By Your Name (2017): In 1980s Italy, romance blossoms between a seventeen-year-old student and the older man hired as his father's research assistant.

Maurice (1986): Two English school chums find themselves falling in love at Cambridge. To regain his place in society, Clive gives up Maurice and marries. While staying with Clive and his wife, Maurice discovers romance in the arms of the gamekeeper Alec.

Y Tu Mamá También (2001): In Mexico, two teenage boys and an attractive older woman embark on a road trip and learn a thing or two about life, friendship, sex, and each other.

Caroline (2009): An adventurous 11-year-old girl finds another world that is a strangely idealized version of her frustrating home, but it has sinister secrets.

Corpse Bride (2005): When a shy groom practices his wedding vows in the inadvertent presence of a deceased young woman, she rises from the grave assuming he has married her.

[lovelyhan]

— promise ring ⟢

no one would've guessed that the daughter of the town’s royal mage has a soft spot for the clumsiest fire elemental in the entire realm. but when the crown prince suddenly asks for your hand in marriage, you're forced to consider how you feel about a certain lee jung chan a lot more seriously.

★ FEATURING; chan x reader (ft. joshua x reader)

★ WORD COUNT; 21k words

★ TAGS; fantasy, royalty, childhood friends, mutual pining, love triangle, LOTS of drama, jeonghan being a menace, slow burn, angst, smut

★ NOTES; full disclosure that the plot to porn ratio is probably 80:20 so if you're simply looking for filth, i might not recommend this,,, but if you're down for 20k words of slow burn childhood friends to lovers topped with a juicy love triangle with our best boy chan, then this should be perfect for you <3

this is part of the secret garden, a svthub spring collab and the it's complicated series!

★ SMUT TAGS; vanilla, lots of making out, unprotected sex, touch starved chan and reader, first time, body worship, dom/sub undertones, lots of loving n endearing language during the act bc they've pined for each other long Enough, corruption kink if you squint but chan doesn't rly act on it

★ TAGLIST; @cheolhub - @pretty-trustme - @just-here-to-read-01 - @idkmelkro - @dejavernon - @venusrae - @jeonghancvunt - @jyiiscool - @jiniesclub - @junhui-recs - @bldelaine - @featmia - @fruitzcup - @hoeforhao - @candidupped - @emmmui - @billboard-singer - @caratochan - @novalpha - @dahliatopia - @0717luv

When you wake up, it’s to a strange feeling that something big is going to happen today.

You open your eyes to radiant sunlight filtering into the room through a crack in the curtains. The songbirds chirp happily by the windowsill as the rest of the town prepares to meet the day head-on. You lie in bed for a few minutes more, wondering what’s causing your chest to stir with misplaced anticipation. None of the annual festivals are drawing near and you’re certain you haven’t forgotten anyone’s birthdays either.

The sensation carries over as you head to the Academy with your father. Being from the family who founded the school several decades ago, he makes it a point to uphold the legacy your ancestors have left behind. That includes being at the school grounds an hour before any of the formal magic classes are scheduled to start, apparently.

Some students arrive much earlier than both of you, practicing spells and incantations in the small quadrangle as a means of preparing for their assessments later in the day. You giggle to yourself when you spot one of the older mages—a water elemental named Seungmin—fumble with his technique a little. 

Whether intentionally or not, his friend, Changbin takes the brunt of it—his robes rendered sopping wet from the water that Seungmin had (accidentally?) blasted him with. Though it doesn’t take much to undo the damage since Changbin is easily one of the best fire elementals in the Academy. With one snap of his fingers, his clothes are instantly dry. 

There are times (like this) when you envy the versatility of fire magic. But your father once told you that the gods grant each person with their respective elements for a reason. Instead of questioning their grace, you must show your gratitude by mastering what you've been blessed with instead. 

Yours comes in the form of nurturing all the plants and flora you set your eyes on. It’s for this reason that you still bother to come to the Academy even if you’ve already completed its scholastic program over three years ago. 

Despite your father constantly insisting for you to find a job that suits your talents in the royal capital, you prefer to impart your magical knowledge to the other students in your hometown instead. 

In fact, you don’t miss the wistful look in his eyes as you part ways for the day—him to the headmaster's office and you to the greenhouse at the edge of campus.

As you direct yourself to your destination, that feeling from earlier is yet to subside. Though much more muted now that you’re surrounded by fellow mages both students and faculty alike, it still remains. Quiet yet foreboding, as if telling you not to let your guard down just yet.

So lost in your own thoughts, you startle at the sound of someone calling your name in the distance. 

“Thank goodness you’re here!” One of the junior mages, Chaewon groans before bracing her hands on her knees to catch her breath. “He’s done it again!” 

A worried smile stretches across your lips. Life in your hometown is but a cycle of doing the same things over and over everyday. You don’t particularly mind the monotone of your routine—you’re at peace with it, honestly—but if Lee Jung Chan keeps accidentally burning someone’s precious plants, you’re going to have to make a few changes.

Chaewon leads you to the crime scene swiftly, explaining how your best friend set fire to the monsteras she personally grew from little seedlings with an irritated pout. While you’re completely sympathetic to Chaewon's plight—being her mentor and all—you can’t help the soft laugh that bubbles in your chest at the story.

“Why are you laughing?” she whines. “You’re not gonna let him get away with it just ‘cause you’ve been friends since you were babies, right? I worked so hard to enchant those plants with exotic flowers!” 

The two of you arrive before you can issue an apology on Chan’s behalf. Not that your best friend wouldn’t have already expressed his remorse directly to Chaewon the moment the monsteras caught his flames. 

You can easily spot the repentance in his posture as Chan stands awkwardly outside the greenhouse. From the looks of it, he’s currently being lectured by a school instructor who’s also named Chan, though most of the students and staff call him Chris for easier identification. 

You’re certain that Chris has it all under control. Though you’re not sure how, since he’s a non-elemental mage. You can’t exactly see him putting out a fire with musical magic no matter how good he is, but you’re grateful for his intervention still. 

“I know you only wanted to help out, but Chaewon isn’t the headmaster’s daughter. She’s yet to learn how to properly foolproof her handiwork against clumsy fire elementals.” Chris sighs deeply, arms crossed with a serious look before his eyes catch yours from the distance. “Speak of the devil…”

One would expect Chan to be mortified at the sight of you. After all, he did just inadvertently fuck up Chaewon’s project for her elemental assessment this month. As her mentor, you have all the right to rain hell on earth in the name of your precious student, but the thing about you is that you can never get mad at Lee Jung Chan—no matter how badly he messes up sometimes.

“Hi,” he squeaks with a small wave. “I swear I was just watering Chaewon’s plants ‘cause they were looking kind of…dry.  I do it for you all the time right? But then a cat snuck inside the greenhouse and knocked over a bunch of pots from the high shelves. It scared the living daylights out of me and—”

“Chan, have you at least apologized to her?” you sigh, patting your student’s head while she shoots Chan a hard glare from where she’s hiding behind you. 

“O-Of course!” he stammers, hands flying everywhere in an attempt to express his damage control better. “I even asked Chris where I can get seeds so I can replace them for her! You know I never leave any debts unpaid.”

It’s difficult to keep your mask of professionalism in place when he’s being so unintentionally adorable. Right now, you’re one of the Academy’s respected alumni as well as an instructor that many students look up to. You wouldn’t make the mistake of fawning over your best friend while he explains his not-so-innocence, but that doesn’t mean it makes keeping up appearances any easier for you .

“I told him that BamBam sells everything under the sun at his shop in the next town over,” Chris informs you with a tight-lipped smile. “Though Chan might have to be careful when talking to that guy. He’s a bit…”

“Eccentric?” you supply.

“Exactly.”

“Can he do that now?” Chaewon huffs impatiently. “I was meaning to start another experiment after I made sure this one didn’t fall through, but I guess I’m back to square one.” 

You flash your student a placating stare, rubbing her back in soothing circles. “Hey, your next assessment isn’t until the end of the month, right? You don’t have to rush. Besides, I’ve been thinking about teaching you how to brew your own instant growth potion.”

The enticing promise of a new technique visibly piques Chaewon’s interest. She gasps, taking your hands in hers before letting out a loud shriek. “Really?! You’re really going to teach me that? You know there are no take-backs once you say it, right?”

“Yes, I know.” You chuckle. “Now go head off to class. You have Chris here for first period, right?”

Your student groans. “Yeah… I still don’t know why I took musical theory as an elective.”

“You talk like I’m the worst instructor among the school faculty,” Chris huffs before walking back to the path leading to the main building. “Come on, Chaewon. You’ll be late.”

“How can I be late if I’m with you, though?”

“If you don’t stop being smart with me, I’ll tell BamBam to switch your monstera seeds with venus flytraps.” 

As the two of them bicker all the way to the entrance, you’re left alone with your troublemaking best friend. Chan still has his shoulders set as if the guilt from his earlier actions is still fresh in his heart. You sigh, gesturing for him to follow you into the greenhouse before stepping inside the enclosure.

Out of all the projects you’ve dedicated to mastering your elemental magic, the Academy’s greenhouse is by far your most renowned feat. It started as a pipe dream during your first year of attendance and in your final year, you managed to convince the board of elder mages to build the greenhouse with the help of your father.

Of course, since he’s a royal mage—the town’s representative in the courts of the royal capital—you won’t deny that he might’ve pulled a few strings here and there to make your dreams a reality. 

(If you can recall correctly, you once heard Chaewon’s friend, Yunjin jokingly whisper something about nepotism during one of the on-field classes you held.)

But whatever the means, the greenhouse proved to be an effective medium for magic of varying affinities. Both elemental and non-elemental mages often stop by to test their ideas about innovative applications of their powers. 

Some water mages have tested if plants can purify contaminated samples from the upstream river. A spatial mage once tried to clone a bonsai tree by multiplying their cells in an exact mirror image. 

And your best friend often tests the limits of what he can and can’t do around all the flora—given his magical constitution.

“So I’m guessing you already forgive me?” Chan asks with a sheepish smile on his face. “I promise I’ll just help out somewhere else when you’re not around. Baekho’s been inviting me to the magical combat wing a lot these days, but I need to think about it first ‘cause…you know.”

You do know. And out of every single person who knows Lee Jung Chan, you like to think that you understand his predicament better than anyone else.

Both of you started studying at the Academy at the same time, but you’re the only one who got to graduate after senior year. This made Chan ineligible for any sort of teaching position, since official employment required being an alumnus of any recognized magic school in the realm. The most he can be offered is a spot as a teaching aide and none else.

You’re well aware that because of that smudge on his track record, coupled with his clumsy tendencies, people often assume that Chan is a failure of a mage. A fire elemental who has no idea how to wield his own flames.

But what they don’t know is that in terms of raw power alone, even your father agrees that Chan surpasses every single student that’s ever had the pleasure to graduate from this school. The reason he can’t control his own flames is because of how potent they are. How powerful and all-consuming they can be if kept unchecked.

Your father once offered to bring him to one of his friends in the southern cities—someone who can help Chan tame his powers in ways he failed to guide him to. But your best friend declined, insisting that someone who can’t control their own flames doesn’t deserve the time and hospitality of anyone outside your hometown.

To this day, you still haven’t forgotten the resignation in his voice as he said the words. Like he’s so certain that all he deserves is to be some aberration kept in the shadows. You’ve always hated it whenever he sells himself short, but it’s not as if you can do anything about it if he’s so complacent with where he is now.

“Hey? You’re spacing out on me all of a sudden.”

You blink, nonplussed by Chan’s voice despite the fact that you’ve been standing with him inside the greenhouse for over five minutes. He’s posed a respectable distance away from any of the potted plants and flowers in the vicinity—standing so still, you almost find it funny.

“What made you drop by so early in the morning anyways?” you ask in an attempt at small talk. Your first class of the day doesn’t start until an hour, so you can afford to squander some time. “Don’t you usually get out of bed at noon?” 

“Hey, I get out of bed at eleven!” He insists as if that’s any better. “But anyways, the reason I showed up so early is because someone made a wrong delivery to my house. Ma was so surprised to see a huge crate at our doorstep, but she was even more surprised to see it was addressed to you.”

…A delivery? For you?

“What do you mean?” you wonder, head craned with confusion. “What was inside? Did it say who it was from?”

Chan shakes his head before pointing at the far end of the greenhouse. There, you see the massive wooden crate he must be talking about. “A bunch of flowers in a plant box with no return address. Maybe it’s one of those scholars from the capital who want you to study them again? You did work on a research project about hydrangeas last month right?” 

Strange flower delivery aside, you gape at him—heart fluttering at his thoughtfulness. “You remember that?” 

“Of course I do,” he says easily. “Now are you going to check out the crate so you can tell me what those flowers are or are we gonna stand in the middle of all these highly flammable plants all day?”

You don’t even bother asking how Chan managed to transfer such a huge thing from his house to the greenhouse. He must’ve asked help from Mingyu, another instructor’s aide who does a lot of heavy lifting around the school. Or maybe he even roped Baekho into this whole thing.

Either way, as soon as you open the mystery package, it’s as Chan described it: a plant box brimming with an assortment of flowers arranged in a way only professionals can put together. All the vibrant blooms are expertly placed so that one wouldn’t outshine the other and whoever sent this, they’ve certainly earned your approval. 

“So which is which?” Chan wonders as he peeps inside the crate again.

“Well,” you start, hands tracing each flower delicately. “This one is called a primrose, the dark pink ones are chrysanthemums, while the dantier flowers are carnations.”

As you explain how different they are from the other, it’s hard to miss how Chan struggles to keep himself from reaching into the crate to touch them. You feel kind of bad, but you know he’s only holding himself back because he doesn’t want to unintentionally start another fire. 

“What do they mean? In the language of flowers?” he wonders. “You always go on and on about how each one has its own special meaning. What about these guys?”

You ponder on it for a moment, actively recalling what you’ve been taught. “Hm. Primroses usually represent youth and optimism. Chrysanthemums are for friendship, and carnations…”

When its meaning flits to the forefront of your mind, your eyes widen as an abrupt realization hits you in the next moment. Your gaze drifts back to the flowers as Chan patiently waits for you to continue, and that’s when you notice something strange inside. 

Tucked in the middle of the assortment of lush flowers is a small envelope that wasn’t there before. The flap is enclosed with a familiar wax seal: the royal family’s crest. 

You’ve seen your father open enough letters from them to recognize the sigil pressed into the bright red wax, but you’ve never once received one for yourself. 

“Carnations signify fascination. Love,” you continue, swallowing the lump in your throat. “But I’m sure whoever sent these doesn’t know all that. They could’ve just picked these out because they’re pretty to look at together.”

Chan looks unconvinced. “Why don’t you open the envelope? I’m just guessing here, but maybe it was made to respond to your magic specifically? It would explain why it didn’t appear when I first checked the flowers out.”

For all his foolishness, he might actually be on to something this time.

But instead of brimming curiosity, that bothersome sensation from earlier surfaces again. It cloys in your chest, stirring your heart with trepidation before sinking like a stone in the pit of your stomach. 

Your hands go clammy as you inspect the envelope as if it’s hiding a beast so it could swallow you whole. The royal family hasn’t given you any reason to even be remotely wary of them, but your reluctance refuses to waver.

In the end, you choose to brush it off, picking at the seal until it detaches from the envelope. When you take out what’s inside, the familiar scent of rich red roses laces the fine parchment. 

It’s fairly easy to figure out who the sender is after that.

The greenhouse falls silent as you read through the letter’s contents. You’re acutely aware of Chan’s equally engrossed stare, but with each passing second, you grow more and more cognizant of the fact that this is definitely the reason why you awoke so keyed up first thing in the morning.

“Prince Joshua, huh?” He whispers somewhat disbelievingly before turning to you with curious eyes. “I figured you were friends since your father brings you along to the royal balls so often. Didn’t think he was this into you though.”

You didn’t either. You can hardly call the prince who’s second in line to the throne your friend, much more, a romantic prospect. Sure, Joshua is always hospitable whenever he catches you nursing a drink in the ballroom before asking for a dance, but you never would’ve imagined he harbored those kinds of feelings for you. 

What’s more is, though you came from a highly regarded lineage of mages, there isn’t a drop of royal blood in your veins. But here he is, asking you to be his fiancée all while giving you the prettiest flowers you’ve ever received.

“Do you think it could be a mistake?” you mumble, reading over the letter once more to make sure you aren’t dreaming.

Chan rolls his eyes. “Look, that’s clearly your name he mentioned at the top. And don’t you think that someone as important as Prince Joshua will be more careful about sending out gestures of grandeur? He can’t just give any beautiful girl flowers, you know.”

His words shouldn’t faze you as much as they do. It’s always been easy for Chan to compliment people when the chance arises and he’s called you beautiful dozens of times before. Sometimes teasingly, more often genuinely. 

It’s so strange. The most sought-after man in the kingdom just asked for your hand in marriage, but here you are—heart doing somersaults all because of your best friend’s easy admission.

Oh, heavens, you muse to yourself as Chan goes off on a tangent about how you’re mandated to get him front row seats to the wedding. 

This is going to be difficult.

“That’s good news!”

When you dragged Chan to your father’s office once all your classes for the day were finished, you expected him to at least mull over Joshua’s abrupt proposal a little longer. It’s not that he was strict about the men you let in your life, but he looks much too elated for someone whose daughter is on the brink of being married off to someone else.

Well. When that ‘someone else’ is Prince Joshua, you think the proposal holds more weight than it otherwise would with any other commoner.

“But I don’t understand,” you tell him, chewing the inside of your cheek. “Why does Prince Joshua want to marry me all of a sudden? He hasn’t expressed any sort of romantic interest in me before, so why…?”

Your father chuckles from behind his desk, one finger guiding the drink from his glass with magic so he can spin it around in circles. Water elementals can be so strange at times. 

“If I told you the prince has felt the way he claims in his letter for a good few years now, would it help you consider the proposal better?” he asks before putting the stream of wine he’s playing with back to its proper place. 

“Wait a moment,” Chan pipes up from his seat. “Are you saying he’s been in love with her for a long time now?” 

“Well, I’m not sure of the specifics, but the prince informed me of his affections a few months ago to seek my approval,” your father explains before leaning back into his seat to cast you a fond stare. “But I told him that regardless of what I think about the whole ordeal, the final decision isn’t up to me at all.” 

The weight of their stares suddenly falls on your form.

You swallow thickly, having known all this time that your father wouldn’t possibly push you to go through with the proposal despite how happy it made him. It’s not that you don’t think Joshua is suitable to be your husband, but…

“Isn’t he taking things a bit too fast?” you ask dryly. “He could at least court me first—”

“My sweet girl, you know the way things work at the castle are much different from how they are in this small town of ours,” your father sighs. “You’ve heard about the royal assimilation period, yes?”

You have. It’s a sort of probationary period imposed on non-royals who wish to marry into the family. You know of a few acquaintances who had to spend a full year in the castles of other kingdoms without setting foot outside the premises during its entirety. At the time, you found the idea of isolation dreadful and that you can’t ever see yourself being in their place.

Now here you are, at the brink of being tied down to a prince you barely even know.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t spend a chunk of your day thinking about the pros and cons of marrying into the royal family. Becoming princess consort means you’ll be given a voice in the political court of the castle. Though your father does just fine in representing your hometown as its royal mage, being part of the regency itself grants you more authority over the decisions being made for the kingdom’s sake.

The thought of being able to improve the quality of life in your hometown as well as bringing more adequate funds for the Academy makes the offer all sorts of tempting. This is the place that made you who you are today, and you’d want nothing more than to give back however you can. 

Plus, the thought of being married to Prince Joshua isn’t as daunting as it was when you found his letter hidden between the flowers he’d given. Since you had the whole work day to think about it, you managed to get over the initial dread and actually consider how having him as a partner would be.

His reputation as the kingdom’s most esteemed gentleman precedes him even in other places. It was once a popular opinion that Joshua would marry and settle down much sooner than his older brother, Jeonghan simply because of how adored he is among the people. Yet he’s already halfway through his twenties without any prospective partners.

Until now.

“I think you should accept his proposal.”

It shocks you that Chan is the one who tells you that. You stare at him with glaring disbelief while your father merely raises an eyebrow with mild interest before his lips break into a grin. “See? Even Chan over here agrees. I know it’s a bit much to suddenly become the fiancée of someone so important, but you’ll get to know each other better during the assimilation period anyways.”

Chan nods in agreement. “Besides, we can still visit you every now and again, right?”

The smile on your father’s face falls. “Oh, about that… Prospective royals aren’t allowed to entertain visitors that aren’t immediate family until the assimilation period concludes. But you can send letters if you end up missing each other too much.”

Your father says the words in such a light-hearted manner, you’re sure he didn’t say them in jest. He knows how close you and Chan have been since childhood; knows how important he is to you. If you accept Joshua’s proposal and whisk yourself off to the castle, it would be the longest you’ve gone without seeing your best friend in your entire life.

With Chan added to the equation, you realize that it’s not your level of familiarity with Joshua that makes you so reluctant to go through with it, nor is it the idea of being isolated from the outside for an entire year. 

It’s the fact that you won’t be able to meet Chan for its entirety.

“Well, it’s not like it’s something you have to decide on right away,” your father interjects when he senses that the atmosphere has dipped. “I’ll keep in touch with the prince about the whole thing, but I’m sure he’d like you to take your time anyways. This is a lifelong commitment we’re talking about after all.”

This is ridiculous. Well, not as ridiculous when you remember you’re now of marriageable age and the prince has been harboring feelings for you for longer than you thought. 

Still… 

When you look at Chan, you half-expect him to at least comment on your father’s words, but he merely grins as if he’s completely on board with the idea.

Yet you can’t help but notice how that smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

You end up accepting Joshua’s proposal a week later.

From what you could tell when he responded to your letter, the prince was ecstatic. He went into great detail about how he promises to make the entire assimilation process comfortable for you and that he can’t wait to have you at the castle. What makes the entire exchange all the more endearing is the fact that he’s genuinely apologetic about the abruptness of his proposal and that he honestly didn’t expect for you to agree.

You didn’t either.

If Joshua was ecstatic, your father was over the moon. When you informed him that you’re exchanging correspondences with the prince about the entire arrangement, he was quick to put together a farewell party when the final date of your assimilation period has been set in stone. 

In other words, the past month was extremely busy for you. It consisted of several back and forth trips to the royal capital so you and Joshua could get all the paperwork involved done together. He’s just as sweet and accommodating as you remember—making the whole process less intimidating than it’s supposed to be. The more time you spend with the prince and soon-to-be-fiance, the less nervous you are for what’s to come.

The anxiety finally wears off by the time your farewell party comes around. Your father made sure to invite close friends and family as well as a few of his students and yours. Chaewon was in tears at the news that another mentor is going to be assigned for her because of the circumstances, but you promised to keep in touch when you come back.

Although once you’ve had your final conversations with most of your guests, you start to feel how wary you are from interacting with so many people at once. Eyes scanning through the small venue your father rented for the occasion, you attempt to look for a single person—a pout tugging at your lips when you can’t find him amidst the crowd.

No one knows Lee Jung Chan better than you do, so you’re right on the money when you venture out to the nearby river—immediately spotting him sitting alone by the banks.

You can only guess how many stones he’s already skipped across the stream, but Chan doesn’t even flinch as you settle down beside him, pulling your legs to your chest so you can rest your chin on your knees.

“You haven’t come here in a while,” you murmur quietly. “Something on your mind?”

“Mmm.” His eyes are pulled straight forward as if still lost in thought. You sigh before opting to stew in the sound of the flowing river—gazing at the slowly setting sun in the far horizon.

It hits you at that moment just how much you’ll miss him. Quiet afternoons with your best friend have become few and far in between ever since you started teaching at the Academy. Now that you’re Joshua’s fiancée, you don’t even know if you’ll ever get to watch sunsets with him like this again. The thought fills you with that same sinking feeling that you only learned to overlook recently and it must show on your face because Chan is quick to turn to you with a curious look on his face.

“You nervous?” he asks. 

You shake your head. “Not really.”

“Then why do you look so…”

“So?”

“I don’t know…that.”

“You have to be specific, Chan.”

He huffs, taking another stone from a pile he collected at his side before skipping it across the water. “Well, you look like the way you did before your first magical assessment. Remember when the headmaster called me to sleep over because you were practically shaking with anxiety? Even if you’re literally from the best sorcerer family in the city?”

“Hey! Just because my father is good at everything doesn’t mean I am too!”

“But you don’t have to be good at everything.” Chan smiles and you’re unprepared for how your heart lurches at how breathtaking he looks. “You just have to be yourself.”

A pause hovers in the midst of the conversation and you can feel the heat starting to creep up your cheeks. If your best friend notices, he doesn’t let you know.

“I remember that you aced that assessment. Scored highest in our entire year too,” he recalls with a hint of fondness. “I think you’ll do just fine in that assimilation period. Wait, no. I know you will.”

You’ve always admired how easy it is for Chan to uplift others, despite the harsh words some people have used to put him down countless times. It’s like he soaks up the negativity in his life and lets it all out in a more productive manner. 

The steady flowing stream rings in your ears as the silence sets yet again, heart threatening to beat out of your ribcage as you drink in the sight of your best friend. Rays of muted sunlight filter through the trees onto his face and it makes the kind grin on his face glow even brighter.

Chan lets out a choked up sound when you immediately pull him in for a hug. He’s speechless for a couple of seconds—wondering what on earth got into you. In the end, he lets out a defeated sigh and returns your embrace with twice as much affection. 

“Sounds to me like you’re perfectly okay with marrying off your best friend to some guy,” you murmur jokingly, breathing in his scent like it’s your last. Burnt sugar and just a hint of musk. 

He laughs and the sound vibrates across your skin. “Prince Joshua is not some guy. And why wouldn’t I be happy that you’ll be married to such a great person? He can give you everything, you know? Even if I used to give all the dudes who got close to you back then a lot of shit, I know the prince will make you happy.”

Happy…

That’s something you haven’t really considered ever since you and Joshua started making the preparations for your assimilation. He’s a good prince who values his people over his own interests and he’s also a gentleman that always considers your input in every step. 

But not once did it ever occur to you that marrying him would equate to your own happiness.

The thought fills you with shame—especially knowing how much Joshua has done for you for the past month. You tell yourself that maybe it’s because you still don’t know him that well; that you just need a little more time before you can think of him as a person who can make you genuinely happy and not just someone who you have to marry for the sake of your town.

If there is someone who makes you feel that way without breaking a sweat, however…

Chan shoots you a puzzled look when you break away, rising back to your feet all while tugging at his arm. Still, he lets you pull him up—a determined look settling across your features.

“Follow me.”

During weekends, the Academy only grants entry to both students and faculty until mid-noon. But luckily for you, you’ve spent years sneaking into the greenhouse when you were still carefully cultivating all the plants you have on display.

Chan voices out his concern when you bring him inside, muttering something about trespassing on school territory but he tails you from behind anyway. 

The plant box full of dazzling flowers he brought a month ago isn’t here anymore—having been planted safely in the garden of your house. In its place is a brand new shipment of flowers you ordered from BamBam about two weeks ago.

Chan hasn’t seen them yet since he’s made it a point to avoid the greenhouse while Chaewon is in the middle of her experiments. But the curiosity in his eyes shines when you show them to him.

“These are called forget-me-nots,” you say, a warm smile tugging at your lips. “They aren’t that rare, but…they’ve always been my favorite. The first time I saw them was in a forest near the southern cities, where Father taught me the names of all kinds of trees and flowers.”

Chan nods with an expression that tells you he doesn’t quite get it, but is happy for you nonetheless. You stifle a laugh and his face immediately reddens as he clears his throat. “Um, why’d you ask BamBam for these though? They look kind of…simple compared to everything else you already have here.”

“It’s because they’re so simple that they stood out to me, silly,” you chuckle. “That forest was teeming with the most exotic plant life I’ve seen. Flowers of all shapes and colors, trees that grew up to the clouds… Even in such an abundant forest, simple flowers like these grew unassumingly by the side—still thriving despite being considered inferior.”

When you stare at Chan, you realize how much these flowers remind you of him. And it’s for that reason that you’re about to ask him a huge favor.

“Can you take care of them for me while I’m gone?” you whisper—voice carrying a hopeful tone. “I know it’s a tall request but—”

“Are you kidding? Nothing’s ever a tall request from you.” He huffs. “Of course I’ll do it.”

Your mouth hangs slightly agape—not expecting Chan to agree to it so easily. It takes you a moment to pick up your train of thought, but when you do, you break into an even wider grin. 

“Really? Notorious plant-killer Lee Jung Chan is agreeing to take care of a bunch of flowers for an entire year?” you tease. 

“Hey, you’re the one who asked, so why are you suddenly questioning my credibility?” The pout on his face just makes you want to tease him even more. “I’m probably going to end up burning a few of them by accident, but I won’t be seeing you for a long time. This is the least I can do while I wait for you to come back, right?”

You are going to miss him so much, it makes your heart hurt.

Unlike earlier, Chan immediately reciprocates the hug you pull him into. You bury your face in the crook of your neck, ingraining the scent of him in your mind so that you’ll never forget your best friend even if you tried.

“I’ll come back for them in the spring,” you whisper. 

Chan hums, his thumb tracing idle shapes along your shoulder blades. “Is that a promise?”

It feels like forever before you break away from him, but when you do, the desolate feeling you got from the thought of being apart from him goes up in smoke. Chan raises an eyebrow when you reach into the plant box to pluck two forget-me-nots from the soil—enchanting the blooms with your magic so the stems could morph into rings.

One for you and one for Chan.

“It’s a promise.”

“Miss, you’ve got a letter again.”

You’re in the middle of reading up on a compilation of the kingdom’s annual state of affairs when your handmaiden, Sakura, finds you in the castle gardens. She gathers her skirts with one hand while the other carries an unassuming envelope. It’s routine at this point.

“Thank you, Kkura,” you murmur before flashing her a warm smile. “Has Prince Joshua returned yet?”

She shakes her head. “The peace talks between the four kingdoms are taking much longer than anticipated. Although he and Prince Jeonghan should be back by tomorrow, if what the socialites are gossiping about in the main plaza are true.”

You stifle a soft laugh. “I bet Prince Jeonghan’s stirring up trouble in a foreign court as we speak.”

“You can say that again,” Sakura agrees with a withering sigh. “One of the reasons the king won’t easily let Prince Jeonghan take his place is because of his constant deviance. I’d bet my salary that he was just waiting for Prince Joshua to take up a wife before handing him the crown instead.”

“Kkura, the others might hear,” you scold, but there’s a chuckle wedged between the words. “Well, if a miracle happens and they arrive home earlier than expected, you know where to find me.”

“You’re very diligent about reading, aren’t you, miss?” She comments, impressed. “I know a couple of princess consorts in the making, but you’re probably the only one who cares to read about the technicalities of running a kingdom. Most of them are only in it for the chance to marry into a royal family.” 

“Those waiting for me back home wouldn’t be very proud if I only leeched off my engagement with Prince Joshua,” you say a-matter-of-factly.

“You mean your father?”

There’s a pause in the conversation—one long enough for you to suddenly be cognizant of several things at once. The water running from a nearby fountain. Birds chirping before migrating into their nests for the night. In the silence, you let your eyes wander to the rings in your fingers.

A diamond engagement ring that probably costs more than what you’ve earned in your entire life on your ring finger and a bright blue forget-me-not wrapped around your pinky.

Right. Sakura doesn’t know about… 

“Yes,” you tell her, but there’s hesitation in your voice that you hope she won’t hear. “He’s been very thorough about giving me advice on how to make the best decisions for a lot of people.”

“As expected of a royal mage,” she sighs, “Oh well, I’ll leave you be, miss. If your father is as thorough as you say he is, then I can only imagine what he’s written in that new letter.”

Well, she’s not exactly wrong.

After exchanging farewells, Sakura bows her head with a practiced curtsy—saying something about supper being ready in an hour or two before leaving you to your own devices. When you find yourself all alone once more, you rip open the envelope with a hint of excitement buzzing on your fingertips. 

It’s been about three months since you’ve left your hometown and started your assimilation period. During those three months, you were constantly fed with a multitude of information that comes with being part of the regency. From etiquette classes to foreign relations—your teachers all expected you to take everything they told you to heart. 

While the process sounds much too tedious, especially for someone who’s quite literally stuck here for another nine months, Joshua always took it upon himself to make sure you wouldn’t feel too bored with all the stringent formalities. 

He’s wonderful company—never running out of stories to tell. From childhood embarrassments at the hands of his older brother to his own share of mischief that’s always overshadowed by the gravity of Jeonghan’s, Joshua kept you constantly entertained.

Your fiancé even suggested that the two of you sneak out into the city sometime just so he could show you that pub near the outskirts that he enjoys frequenting while undercover as an ordinary citizen. Of course, the offer sounded tempting at first, but you rightfully declined out of respect for both the royal family and the tradition that has kept the kingdom going for so long.

However, Joshua isn’t always here to keep you company. Being one of the most important figures in the kingdom, he and Jeonghan are regularly called in and out of the castle to attend to some business that their parents are too busy to sneak into their own schedules. 

It’s during your fiancé’s bouts of absence that you look forward to your next form of entertainment—all the letters sent from home.

Just as you’ve told Sakura, your father accommodates all your questions about ruling over one’s constituents as much as he can—telling you to pay attention to the needs of the people above all else.

But aside from the detailed notes he leaves you with, there’s always another letter wedged inside the envelopes he sends to the castle every fortnight.

Hey.

How are you? Has the prince been treating you well, still? Sorry I couldn’t write to you last time. Training’s been hell and Jongkook hasn’t let me breathe for the past week. When the headmaster told me that becoming that guy’s apprentice wasn’t going to be easy, I didn’t think he was that serious. It’s a miracle I haven’t gotten third degree burns from all this temperature training.

Things are a little a lot different in the southern cities compared to home. Everyone is as mean as they could be. Jongkook called it the survival of the fittest and I kind of get where he’s coming from. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to see someone smiling every now and again, right? It’s a good thing I’m allowed to go home every week, or else my sanity would’ve disappeared before we could even see each other again.

About your flowers: have I told you that Chaewon’s helping me maintain them whenever I’m away? We’ve buried the hatchet and agreed to look after your forget-me-nots together! But she kind of emphasized that she’s doing this for you and not because she’s completely forgiven me for the monstera incident. But hey, progress is progress, right?

I checked them out personally when I got home today. They seemed more vibrant than usual. Almost like they’re happy to know I’m back. Seeing them made me think how I’d probably feel when your assimilation period is over. Ah, but I’m running out of parchment to write on. Sorry about that. There isn’t much going on with me anyways. 

Tell me about your classes when you write back, yeah? You also mentioned a pub that Prince Joshua wanted to sneak you into last time. Did you go through with it? Did you have fun? I can’t wait to hear from you so the story better be exciting!

P.S. If the prince himself encourages you to sneak out of the castle, would you consider doing that so we can wander around the main plaza sometime?

P.P.S. That was a joke, by the way. Don’t have the royal guard arrest me. 

P.P.P.S. But if you’re up for it, I wouldn’t say no.

Chan writes his letters the same way he talks in real life. You can almost hear his voice inside your head as you go through every word. You’re glad that he still has enthusiasm to spare over receiving tutelage from someone as important as Kim Jongkook, but even you can tell that his training is no walk in the park. 

There were tears in your eyes when he first broke the news. You thought he’d spend his entire life without getting the proper guidance he needs to hone his powers. But a month after your departure, Chan quickly kept you up to speed about his newfound mentor with a promise that he’ll be the best fire elemental in your hometown by the time you got back.

But with how he bemoans the rigorous training in his letters, you ponder if he sometimes gets hit with the thought of quitting halfway. While his excruciating routines are a far cry from the year’s worth of assimilation classes you’re required to attend, you like to think that you and Chan have a similar threshold for the things you’ll willingly bear without complaints. 

Though you’ve already accustomed yourself with your life at the castle, it’s a no-brainer to say you’d choose to leave for home in a heartbeat if given the chance. But your conscience won’t let you entertain the idea for too long, especially knowing how much you owe it to your hometown to persevere until the end.

That’s why even if you’d want nothing more than to see your best friend, you decidedly draw a fine line between your responsibilities and your heart’s desires. You want so badly to meet Chan again even if that means sneaking past the royal guards, but you’ve never really been one to bend and break the rules for selfish reasons like that. 

Instead, you tuck your best friend’s letter away in the envelope beside your father’s. Nothing but the sound of the water spilling from the fountain rings in your ears. 

As you stare at the pretty blue flower tied at the base of your pinky, you wonder for the hundredth time if you’ve made the right decision at all.

Prince Joshua is easy to love.

By your sixth month in the castle, you can genuinely say that you’ve at least developed a kind of attachment to the prince that borders on romantic. He’s handsome, thoughtful, kind, and many other traits that would only quantify him as a perfect husband. 

Jeonghan regularly catches your gaze lingering several seconds too long on your fiancé every suppertime and it’s no surprise that the eldest prince would tease you to the ends of the earth for it. Saying something along the lines of if you’re already making moony eyes at him now, what more when you finally tie the knot?

It’s something that always flusters you no matter how many times Jeonghan brings it up. But it’s not because you’re embarrassed about what you feel for Joshua. It mostly stems from the fact that you don’t know what to feel for him.

Despite having lived under the same roof for six months, you’re still unsure of where your heart stands when it comes to Joshua. It’s a standstill of emotions that frustrates you to no end. You know nothing will be lost if you just surrender to your budding feelings, but it’s like there’s something always holding you back. 

When the king hosts an overdue gala in the castle, you finally realize what it is.

It’s been more than half a year since they last held one within the premises out of respect for your ongoing assimilation. But now that you’ve passed the six-month mark, the royal court deemed it appropriate to give you more exposure to social functions such as this.

You’re understandably nervous for your first public appearance as Prince Joshua’s fiancée. Sakura has told you about how ruthless the kingdom's nobles could be when it comes to unearthing other people’s business. But your handmaiden assured you there’s nothing to worry about since you’ve done flawlessly with your classes since day one.

So there you are in front of the ballroom, arm linked with Joshua’s as the queen introduces you to every single noble in attendance. You wonder if the prince can tell just how nervous you are but you can at least hope that your smile can convince a hundred other strangers otherwise.

“Hey,” he whispers—eyes still riveted towards the crowd.

“What?”

“You don’t have to be so uptight.”

You try your best not to make a face. “Easy for you to say, Mister I’ve-been-attending-galas-since-I-was-in-the-womb.”

Joshua chuckles softly. “But you’ve been attending these frequently, too. That’s how we met, remember?” 

“Yeah, but I’ve never been the center of attention!”

“Well…” He pauses before shifting his gaze towards the crowd—his mother’s sweet voice echoing throughout the ballroom as she tells everyone how excited she is to welcome you to the family soon. “If it helps, there’s a certain someone in the crowd that’s definitely rooting for you.”

Your confusion visibly shows on your face before you follow his line of sight. You knew your father would be in attendance as is required of all royal mages, but it’s not him that you spot in the crowd.

It’s Chan.

He’s a lot different than you remember—looking much too dapper to pass as the boy you knew as your best friend. He’s donned in expensive-looking garbs, the maroon silk of his tunic hanging loosely off his frame. His hair is slicked back and styled in a way that would make anyone think he was from one of the noble houses. Even the manner he’s holding a glass of champagne looks way too sophisticated for someone you frequently teased for his lack of etiquette and—

There’s a woman hanging off his arm. A woman you don’t know, but looks just as breathtaking as any maiden inside this damn ballroom.

Who is she? Chan has never mentioned any new friends in his letters. Hell, he didn’t even tell you he was going to be here tonight. Instead of feeling at peace with the fact your best friend is finally in front of you like Joshua assumed, all it does is stir a plethora of unpleasant feelings in the pit of your stomach.

“Now that we’ve got the formalities out of the way,” the queen says with a smile—snapping you out of your trance, “how about we let our stars of the night lead the first dance? I know the lot of you have missed our parties. On behalf of the royal family and your future king and queen, we hope you’ll enjoy this night of music and liquor. Have a good evening, everyone.”

Forcing yourself not to think about how the queen just referred to you and Joshua as the kingdom’s future king and queen, you let your fiancé lead you to the dancefloor. Joshua is careful as ever as he helps you down the polished marble steps—that handsome smile never leaving his face. You feel like your heart would’ve fluttered as the two of you exchange the opening bows, but your heartbeat is all over the place knowing Chan is here watching everything unfold.

“You remember what we practiced, right?” Joshua murmurs as the orchestra starts the song. 

“U-Uh, yeah,” you stammer—hoping your hands aren’t sweating through your silk gloves. “I won’t step on your toes anymore. Promise.”

“That’s my girl.”

His smooth-talking is not doing you any favors, but you try to dance the same way you practiced with for weeks. The thing about Joshua is that he always makes things easier for you—be it your engagement or some opening dance his parents requested for you to do. He’s so unbelievably accommodating that your initial nervousness easily falls away as the music continues to fill the ballroom.

You only notice that the other guests have already paired up with their own partners on the dancefloor when Joshua twirls you around and hands you over to a noble gentleman you find vaguely familiar. He grins at you when he receives his next dance partner, mouthing “You can do it,” before he spins her away. 

This is the part that you barely rehearsed for. Joshua simply told you to have fun and the rest will come easily. His unhelpful advice threw you off a little, since you were so accustomed to doing things by the book—to abiding by the rules that have been set. 

Your current partner—Hyunjin, as he introduced himself—seems to pick up on your nervousness.

“You’re the kid of one of the royal mages, right?” he asks. “I’m the same. You’ve done this partner exchange thing before, haven’t you? I’ve seen you around a few times in the past.” 

You laugh dryly. “Yeah, but I’m just really nervous today.”

Hyunjin laughs. “Understandable. Don’t think about it too much and just let the music guide you through it.”

Well that’s easier said than done. The noblemen in the kingdom must have some sort of dance class where they’re taught to just take it easy because that’s definitely something you can picture Joshua saying to you as well. 

But as the orchestra continues to play song after song, you find your initial inhibitions ebbing away with each partner that passes. Hyunjin is right—you have done this before and you’re slowly remembering how fun it feels to dance with strangers in the middle of the castle’s ballroom. 

As the last few songs start to play, there’s no trace of nervousness left to be seen on your face. You’re finally in your element.

Until you finally find yourself in the arms of the same person who amplified your anxiety in the first place.

“Hey,” Chan greets with a soft smile as he fits one hand over your waist and entwines the other with yours. “I thought I’d never be able to get to you.”

You spend a couple of seconds just gawking at him, but your body thankfully still moves to the rhythm. Chan has the gall to stifle a laugh at your reaction and you nearly step on his foot on purpose.

“What are you doing here?” you hiss as he twirls you around. 

“Whoa. Don’t get so worked up. The headmaster invited me, so my presence here is completely legal,” he responds, that stupid smile never leaving his face. “Anyway, you look beautiful tonight.” 

“Thanks, but you could’ve at least told me you’ll be here!”

“Now where’s the fun in that?”

You want to snap at him and scold him for taking you by surprise like that. Part of you kind of wants to ask about his date for the night too, but past the frustration, you’re still glad to see him. It’s been too long and you know you have lots of catching up to do in person. So instead of an endless barrage of questions, you simply bask in the feel of being in your best friend’s safe hands after going so long without him.

You lose yourself to the music. At that moment, it’s as if you and Chan are the only two people in the world—contained in your own little bubble. When your gaze lands on the hand clasped with yours, your heart soars at the fact that he’s still wearing the ring you gave to him all those months ago.

A forget-me-not at the base of his pinky—much like your own.

“I’m not sure if I can steal you away for a quick chat after this so…” He purses his lips together as if he’s unsure of what to say. “You’re doing great. The queen seems enamored with you from what I could tell from her speech, so I hope you won’t put yourself down like you always do. You’ll be the best princess consort ever.

“And you seem really happy with Prince Joshua. I’m glad.”

Before you could even issue a response, he’s already turning you over to your next partner—making the words dissipate on your tongue before you can say them out loud.

Your next partner is none other than your future brother-in-law and you’re not sure if this is a good thing or not.

“Having fun?” Jeonghan asks with mirth coloring his tone. 

“As much fun as someone who’s wearing heels all night can have,” you sigh as you match his careful yet precise movements. “Am I really going to have to do this all the time once Prince Joshua and I are married?”

The older man hums. “Mmm… You and Shua getting married? Not too sure about that, love.”

You furrow your brows at him. “What?” 

“Ah, forgive me. I was just teasing,” Jeonghan muses with a sleazy look that’s rubbing you the wrong way. “It’s just that…I noticed you and that last partner of yours have matching rings, as well. Seems too good to be a coincidence on my end, but I could just be making the wrong assumptions.”

You don’t know why, but your chest seizes with panic—immediately explaining to Jeonghan that Chan is your best friend and nothing else. It’s not that you’re ashamed of him, but…

“Relax, little dove. I never insinuated otherwise,” Jeonghan chuckles. “But if you’re going to settle down with my brother, I suggest you do it with an unwavering heart. That’s all.” 

You know you didn’t do anything remotely wrong, but Jeonghan is making it seem like he’s just caught you red handed for a crime you aren’t aware of committing. The same cheery smile lingers on his face for the entire dance, but there was an uncharacteristic seriousness in his words when he told you that last part.

A quiet voice inside your head tells you that you completely deserve the suspicion. 

“Go find your fiancé for the final dance, love,” Jeonghan says with one last gentlemanly bow. “It’s only fair to  properly conclude something you started together.” 

Something tells you that there’s a double meaning behind his words, but even with how much time you’ve spent with Jeonghan, you still can’t easily parse what he means to say. Despite this, you do as you’re told—weaving through the crowd of visitors in search of Joshua.

You find him near the orchestra, dancing with the same woman whose arm was linked in Chan’s earlier tonight. There’s an dazzled look on her face that you’ve seen on the other ladies your fiancé has danced with and you chalk it up to the usual enchantment people are subjected to when they’re in Joshua’s company. He has that effect on people, it seems.

But she promptly snaps out of it when her eyes drift off to you—whispering something for Joshua to hear before the prince spins around with a welcoming look. He grins like he’s oh-so happy to see you and even if you know you should feel just as elated…

All that swells in your chest is guilt.

“They want us to what?” 

A few days after the royal gala, Joshua pays your bedchambers a visit early in the morning. Sakura had just finished helping you into your corset and dress when the prince came knocking and despite your initial surprise, you gladly welcomed him at the doorway.

“Mother and Father want us to pay the local orphanage a visit,” Joshua reiterates the same words he just mentioned a minute ago, bemusement clear on his face. “They’ve been dispatching royal mages to hold magic classes for the young mages there lately. Jeonghan is usually the one who oversees it, but he has something more urgent to take care of today.”

Your throat bobs at the news. “But…I haven’t completed my assimilation yet.”

Joshua waves away your concerns. “About that. Since you’ve done such a remarkable job with your training thus far, and since you’ve apparently enamored dozens of guests the other day, I asked Father to reconsider the restrictions that come with the process.”

Enamored dozens of…? You shake your head, focusing on the matter at hand. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the assimilation period is still in effect, but we’ve decided to…rectify a few of the rules that come with it,” Joshua explains with a cheeky smile. “Once royal protégés like you have passed the half-year mark, you’ll be allowed to go in and out of the castle as you please.”

Your jaw nearly drops to the floor. Is he being serious? Or is this a test? 

“Come on, you’re making that face again.”

“What face?”

“Like what I’m saying is too good to be true.” Your fiancé pouts. "Don’t you want to go out? If I was stuck for six months in the castle without getting a taste of the outside, I honestly would’ve gone insane. Abiding by the one year rule is simply inhumane and it should’ve been amended a long time ago.”

…There he is again—making things easier for you like he always does.

You’ve never once thought of the castle as a prison, but… You did miss the outside. You miss early morning strolls in parks, weaving through markets to buy produce from local vendors. It’s been so long since you’ve had actual freedom that you forgot that you were quietly longing for it at all.

And Joshua went out of his way to give you just that.

“Okay,” you tell him—cautiousness still evident in your tone, but much less pronounced.

“What time do we leave?”

You have a feeling that the gods are out to smite you today. 

No, really. They are. Because what sort of sick game is at play right now? Just when you thought you’ve found even more reasons to stick by Joshua until the end, they decide to throw a curveball at you in the form of…

“Oh, hello,” Chan greets with a stunned look when he appears behind the double doors to the orphanage—white marks that suspiciously look like cake batter smeared across his face. “I didn’t know that you were coming today. Prince Jeonghan said—”

“Yeah, Prince Jeonghan was busy so here we are,” you speak before Joshua could even explain, which you think is all kinds of rude, but your mouth starts running before your brain can even process the fact that your best friend is right in front of you. “Pray tell, what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same, princess-consort-in-the-making. What’re you doing outside the castle?” Chan laughs as he opens the door wider with an apologetic bow given to Joshua. “Forgive me, Your Highness. We’re always just this familiar with each other.”

“So I’ve been told,” Joshua chuckles before turning to you. “Didn’t your father tell you? Chan is his newly appointed aide. He’s dealing with something in your hometown right now, so he often sends him to tend to matters like this in his stead.”

No, your father did not tell you anything about this at all. Your incredulous expression shifts between your fiancé and best friend as if you’re waiting for the punchline of some joke shared between them.

It never comes.

“I-I see,” you say instead, clearing your throat before looking at Joshua again. “So is there anything I need to do?” 

“Mmm, you can go meet the children with Chan while I talk to the orphanage directress,” he suggests. “You’ll be alright with that, right Chan?”

Your best friend nods. “Of course, Your Highness.”

“No need to be so formal with me. My fiancée's friends are mine as well,” the prince chuckles while he shakes his head. “I best be off to the directress’ office. I’ll come find the two of you after. Does that sound alright?”

“Yes, of course,” Chan answers. “It’s a pleasure to have you.”

Joshua grins. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

And that’s how you found yourself in the  orphanage’s communal kitchen—rounding up children who might or might not hurt each other with their own play magic.

They were apparently in the middle of baking a cake for the directress when you and Joshua made your unannounced visit. From how smitten the kids are with Chan, you figure that he must’ve been spending a lot of time here lately.

Your best friend mentioned that he has a new…sideline going on, but you never imagined it to be this.

“Channie, who’s this?” Iseul—as Chan introduced—asks while he eyes you with a doe-eyed look. “Your wife?”

“Iseul,” reprimands one of the other kids. This one’s Eri, if you recall correctly. “That’s rude…”

The boy laughs nervously before fidgeting with his fingers. “O-Oh, sorry. I just thought so since she’s wearing the same ring Channie’s wearing.”

As if on cue, you and Chan both glance at your rings—two forget-me-nots stare back. 

Your best friend is the first to address their curiosity. “No, she’s not my wife.”

Iseul cranes his head. “Then why’re you two wearing matching rings? The directress told me that only people who are married can do that.”

“That’s not necessarily true,” he chuckles before walking towards the brick oven in the middle of the kitchen—striking the coals with a precise shot of flame magic. A quiet ember immediately smolders beneath. “We wear rings as a symbol of a promise we made to each other. Isn’t that right?”

Trying not to look too stunned with his precise technique, you clear your throat. “Um, yes. Chan is my best friend. We make promises all the time.”

You kind of fear that the explanation might not be enough for Iseul, but surprisingly, he just nods in understanding. “Ohhh. Just like me and Eri then!”

At the mention of her name, Eri’s face goes red, but she doesn’t make any moves to deny it. 

“Yup. Just like you and Eri,” Chan agrees with a laugh. “Come on. Let’s put the cake we worked so hard on in the oven. You want to give this as a gift to the directress, right?” 

Ten minutes later, the other kids joined the fray as they watched the cake rise inside the oven. You and Chan watch them carefully from a distance, making sure no one comes too close to burn themselves. 

“Sooo,” your best friend starts, leaning against the wooden counter. “Did the prince sneak you out or?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “No. But he did negotiate with the king to overhaul the terms that come with the assimilation period. Once someone manages to last for six months, they’re allowed to go outside.”

Chan whistles. “Now that’s a guy who’ll do anything for his wife. Uh, future wife.”

If those words were uttered by someone else, you would’ve felt flattered. It’s an honor to have someone like Joshua as your fiancé. He’s done more than enough for you over the past year and you can’t even begin to comprehend how you’re supposed to pay him back for his kindness.

But when Chan says them, it fills your chest with a feeling you can’t name.

“Anyway,” you begin, “were you planning on telling me that you’re Father’s aide now or was I just going to find that out from Prince Joshua after all?” 

“Hehe, sorry,” he says, sounding anything but apologetic. “I…kinda wanted to keep it a surprise until your assimilation period is over. But turns out, I could get to see you much sooner after all.”

You roll your eyes despite the smile that creeps up your face. 

It’s common practice for royal mages to appoint aides that they’re training to be the next royal mage. You can only imagine how much Chan has improved over the last six months to have garnered your father’s approval like this. That man’s standards are crazy high.

But then again, you’ve always known that Chan was always cut out to be an amazing mage.

As the children’s attention shifts to Eri, who’s being egged on by Iseul to ‘do that trick with the flowers again’, you find yourself quietly observing them. With red cheeks, Eri relents—snapping her fingers once before a pretty sunflower materializes out of thin air.

That casual display even catches you off guard. 

At your side, Chan stifles a laugh and you shoot him a dirty look. “You and Eri have the same elemental affinity. She doesn’t know her way around plants yet, but she can make flowers from sheer will alone.”

That’s…quite impressive, actually. You haven’t met a promising mage with an affinity for plant life since Chaewon. And Eri is barely ten years old. 

“I bet she’ll grow up to be a fine mage,” you comment fondly as you keep your eyes on the kids. 

Just as you say the words, Iseul claps his hands enthusiastically—lone spurts of fire jumping from his fingers. The other kids all exclaim as they avoid the flames before telling Iseul to knock it off.

“Uh, yeah. Iseul is a fire elemental,” Chan says dryly. “He’s also kinda having trouble controlling his powers. But don’t worry, that’s why I’m here.”

At that moment, you realize that a lot can change in the span of six months. Before you left your hometown, you never would’ve imagined Chan being responsible for another child’s magical progress. You were so used to hearing him putting himself down that the confidence he now exudes surprises you. In a good way. 

Whatever he went through in the southern cities, you think of extending your gratitude to his mentor, Jongkook. You can only imagine what he put your best friend through for him to have this much trust in himself and his powers now.

Chan heaves a laugh that he pulls from the bottom of his stomach when one of the kids douses Iseul with a magical spray of water. It’s a sound you’ve longed to hear for months and now that his laughter is singing in your ears, you can’t help but stare at him a little too fondly.

What’s more is that he still has cake batter smeared across his cheek. You wonder if he genuinely isn’t aware it’s there or he’s just keeping it on for laughs. Still, you unconsciously lean closer—raising your hand to brush your fingers across the cream. Your best friend visibly startles at the gesture but makes no moves to shy away from your touch.

With your faces inches away, you start to realize just how close you’ve gotten. You can almost feel the hitch of his breath across your skin and… 

Has Chan always been this handsome?

But those few precious moments are immediately shattered like glass when Iseul gasps and points to the entrance of the kitchen. “Look! It’s Prince Jeonghan!”

You and Chan break apart like you’ve both been burned by Iseul’s flames. Confusion races through your brain because you were told that Jeonghan was busy today, so why…?

“Common mistake, but I’m not Prince Jeonghan. I’m his brother,” Joshua clarifies as he steps into the kitchen with a bright smile. “It’s nice to meet all of you.”

One of the other kids gasps. “Are you a prince too?” 

“He is.”

It surprises you that Chan is the one to speak up—having moved away from the counter and closer to the kids. You feel your heart twist when he leaves, but you shove down the emotion since Chan is beaming like he always is.

“He’s Prince Joshua and he’s getting married soon,” he continues before gesturing to you. “To her, actually.”

The children let out noises of awe, blinking up at you and Joshua with mouths agape like they’ve just witnessed someone do a neat trick with their magic. You can feel your face heat up at the sudden attention and you would’ve been glad to know that Joshua—for all his confidence and wit—isn’t faring so well either.

If only you weren’t so put down by the fact that your best friend just drew a fine line between the two of you. A line that he probably, definitely won’t cross.

“That’s right. If all goes well, we’re having the wedding in six months,” Joshua agrees quietly—his initial shock morphing into fondness. 

“Whoa! A royal wedding?” Iseul gasps. “Are we invited too?”

The atmosphere proceeds to blur into a buzz of questions that Joshua is happy to accommodate. For children who are probably no older than twelve years old, they seem very engrossed in the relationships interspersed between the royal family.

You wonder if Jeonghan had a hand in their particular interest in the matter, but you don’t ponder on it too much because Chan eventually excuses himself from the kitchen—asking you to watch over the cake while he goes to check on the other kids playing in the backyard.

Your eyes stay riveted to the entrance even when your best friend is long gone.

You’re not sure how you’ve managed to last nine months away from home, but here you are.

As the end of your assimilation draws near, so does the royal wedding that’s been the talk of the capital for weeks now. Ever since you’ve been given freedom to go out of the castle as you please, you’ve made several friends among the elite socialites. 

They’re always dying to get their hands on an inside scoop about what you and Joshua have planned for the final quarter of the process, but you often turn these requests down before convincing one of the ladies to tell you about the diamond necklace her husband got her for their anniversary. 

It’s a scheme that Sakura told you in passing: if you want to get the nosy ones off your back, just trick them into talking about themselves instead. 

Speaking of your handmaiden, she’s been busy booking you several trips to the most renowned boutique in the capital. With only three months left until the wedding, you’re expected to look out for the perfect dress to wear on that special day. 

Despite knowing that you’re more level-headed than most marriageable women your age, you have fantasized about what you would look like in a wedding gown. Although sixteen year-old you never would’ve considered getting to sample the designs of well-known tailors across the kingdom, much more being fussed over by the royal family itself.

What you pictured was a simple wedding in your hometown—donned with a dainty white dress that didn’t boast much glamor and glitz. The only visitors would be your family, some close friends, along with your colleagues and students. A spring wedding always seemed perfect to you, and whenever you imagined yourself walking down the aisle, the person waiting for you at the altar is—

“Oh my goodness,” the seamstress behind all the stunning dresses you're trying on gasps when she lets herself inside the dressing room—eyes glittering like rhinestones. “You look absolutely stunning! I definitely like the fit of this more than the others, miss!”

You startle out of your careful reminiscing as your brain zones back in on your reflection in the mirror. This dress is as white as an angel’s wings and though she is completely right about it easily being the best you’ve tried on so far, it’s a far cry from the one you dreamed about wearing as a teen. 

You’re not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

“You think so?” you murmur, pushing down those past preferences into the furthest vestiges of your mind. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Aside from wedding gowns, the queen often consults you about the venue of the wedding. You’re actually quite surprised with how much agency they’re allowing you over the necessary decisions, but she insisted that it’s only fair for her future daughter-in-law to have a say with how her own wedding is going to pan out.

“I was thinking of holding it in the castle’s courtyard for all the kingdom to see,” she tells you over afternoon tea, a kind smile settled on her face. “That’s how all royal weddings usually take place, but I thought we could use some fresh input, you know?”

“Fresh input?” you repeat. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but I don’t think I can follow…”

The queen shakes her head. “Silly girl, I’m asking if you have another venue in mind! Your ideas about royal politics have always been refreshing to hear, so I figured that you must have an alternative sitting inside that pretty mind of yours.”

The moment the words leave her lips, you immediately picture the riverbanks back in your hometown. It’s not a place that could accommodate hundreds upon thousands of guests like royal weddings should. But if you were to settle with a more intimate gathering, that would be your best bet.

Of course, you tell the queen none of this.

“I think holding it at the courtyard is a splendid idea already, Your Highness,” you tell her with a smile that you don’t quite believe in. “After all, there’s no place like home.”

Another thing to consider is the guestlist. Even if this is an event that the royal family encourages the entire kingdom to look forward to, only a select few are allowed inside the castle premises. 

For some reason, Jeonghan is the one saddled with the job to curate who gets to witness you being hailed both as Joshua’s wife and as princess-consort. He’s hard at work when you find him in the castle library one day, buried in stacks upon stacks of invitations with a look on his face that screams why am I even here?

Curious, you slide into one of the empty seats at the table. “I didn’t think they’d hand you a job so tedious.”

“They didn’t,” Jeonghan frames the words with a sigh. “I volunteered ‘cause I know it would make Shua happy.”

“You can make your little brother happy in other ways too,” you joke.

The older prince hums as he scribbles onto a fine sheet of parchment. “You’d know a lot about making my brother happy, now would you?”

Jeonghan has a reputation for being a scheming, sharp-tongued prince. You’re fully aware of this, but getting to live with him for almost a year made you see sides of him he doesn’t usually show to the public.

Though not as openly as Joshua does, he cares for his family and the staff in his own, quiet way. You like to think that his subtle thoughtfulness even extended to you during these fateful months in the castle. 

But after that fateful encounter in the ballroom during the six-month mark of your assimilation, something told you that you no longer had the privilege of being on the receiving end of his support.

“It’s kind of ironic, really,” Jeonghan muses before dipping his pen into the inkwell. “I’m willingly overseeing this blasted guestlist despite the fact that my brother is getting married to someone who doesn’t even love him. But I suppose it’s an older brother’s job to cater to the fantasy until he sees things for how they are on his own.”

“Your Highness, forgive me but it’s rather bold of you to assume that I don’t harbor an ounce of love for my fiancé,” you tell him outright, lacing your fingers together tightly on your lap. 

Right next to the lavish ring Joshua had given to you, a forget-me-not sits unassumingly by its side. 

Jeonghan laughs. “Really? That’s quite amusing, since I think it’s even bolder for you to choose responsibility over the man your heart truly longs for.”

Silence rings in the room like white noise and you aren’t able to school your expression into neutrality fast enough to escape Jeonghan’s observant eyes. The complacent set of his jaw clues you in on just how much he actually knows and you aren’t certain about what to make of it.

“Whatever you think is going on with me and…that person,” you start, the address tasting like acid on your tongue, “I guarantee you that it’s long gone. He’s the one who made it clear several months before and I never once intended to go back on something I already started.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes before pointing the tip of his quill at you. “You know, things would be much easier if you were just a gold-digging commoner and none else.”

Your face twists with offense. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he retaliates as he leans back in his seat. “If you were in this for money and power like every other woman out there, Shua would’ve called off the engagement much sooner. But even I know that you’re too good for that.”

Your momentary vexation with Jeonghan blurs into confusion in a matter of seconds. Is he making a jab at you or complimenting you?

When he recognizes the puzzled look on your face, he heaves a long-winded sigh before putting down his pen altogether.

“Let me put it this way: you’re objectively the best princess-consort-in-training that I’ve had the pleasure to meet. You do everything you’re told flawlessly—sticking by the book at all times if you can help it. You’d even sacrifice your own happiness for the sake of others. 

“While that sense of responsibility would make for a great leader in the future…my little brother doesn’t deserve to be loved as half-heartedly as you love him.”

Your heart thumps inside your ribcage as if it was a prison it longs to break free from. Part of you knows you should refute every single thing that Jeonghan just said. It’s what a future princess-consort should do. 

But every time your mind flashes back to that old spring wedding fantasy you conjured up in your hometown, Chan’s lovely smile burns itself into the back of your eyelids.

Wordlessly, Jeonghan goes back to work and you stew in the silence of the library much longer than you have to. It’s only when one of the servants calls both of your attention to have lunch in the dining hall that he speaks again.

“You still have several weeks to make up your mind, little dove,” Jeonghan whispers slowly the moment you both enter the dining hall. It doesn’t help your case when Joshua perks up in his seat at the sight of you walking inside with his older brother like he hasn’t given you an ultimatum right then and there. 

“Make sure each one counts.”

You don’t really receive letters from Chan anymore.

He’s stopped sending them together after you last met him in the orphanage. Your father explained that he’s been entrusted with several tasks both in and out of the Academy and that those take up most of his time. 

You want to tell him that your best friend never once missed a letter even during those hellish days he spent in the southern cities, but in the end, you decide to keep your silence.

Thoughts about letters that won’t come are the last thing on your mind when winter falls upon the kingdom. The preparations are in full swing despite the fact that there’s still a month left before the wedding itself and because you refuse to be a sitting duck that lets everyone do all the work, you decide to contribute every now and again.

But even if there’s a sense of accomplishment in being able to help around, this season has always been your least favorite. 

You’re a mage who practices with plants and flowers alike, so it’s only natural for you to feel under the weather this time around. The fact that you’ve scarcely gotten to practice your magic ever since you set foot in the capital does little in contributing to your peace of mind as well.

Your hometown is teeming with plant life that you could nurture with the simplest spells. Inside the stone walls and marble floors of the royal castle, there’s barely anything that requires your constant care. 

It’s a given that royals tend to avoid relying on magic for all matters concerning the regency. You were taught that cleverness and wit are the two things that will keep you alive among the foreign courts of other kingdoms and that things like magic can be entrusted to the royal mages instead.

But all it takes is a withering winter to make you realize that you don’t want your magic—the very core of who you are—to dwindle into nothingness.

It’s for that reason that you find yourself heading over to the castle gardens despite the fact that you promised Sakura that you’d start practicing for matrimonial dance with your usual instructor this afternoon. The sun has barely peeked beyond the clouds these days, but you’re convinced that you’ll at least find comfort in the flowers that grew sparsely inside.

There, you find Joshua crouched next to a shrub of carnations.

He’s dressed down today—comfortably enough to let you know that he doesn’t have any plans for the meantime. Your fiancé is examining each bloom with such rapt attention, you’re convinced he didn’t even notice your arrival. 

Surely enough, as you take the first step to approach him, he rises back to his full height—turning around with a vibrant carnation in his hand.

Everyone inside the castle uses their magic so infrequently that you sometimes forget that you and Joshua share the same elemental affinity. Maybe that’s the reason it was so easy for you to get along with him for the past eleven months. 

But you know better than most that there’s more to it than just that.

“You’ve been very busy lately,” Joshua comments with an easygoing smile. “I barely see you these days.”

You sigh, tucking your cardigan closer to your form. “If I’m not helping with the wedding preparations, I’m holed up in my bedchambers. I…don’t really like winters.”

“Neither do I,” he chuckles. “But my duties won’t stop just because I loathe the cold. I’m sure you understand that well.”

The quiet settles over the both of you like a blanket of snow—making you wonder how you used to deal with long winters in the past. 

Then you remember a boy who’s always brought warmth in your life without even trying. Nights spent sleeping in front of the fireplace, tucked in the warmth of his body no matter how harsh the blizzards could be. Collective yearning for the day the snow finally melts and spring returns with a flowery smile. 

But that’s the thing—it’s all in the past.

“Can I…ask you something?”

The hesitation in Joshua’s words makes you stare at him pensively. 

He always sounds sure of himself. Attractively confident. Not in a way that others would find obnoxious, but the complete opposite. There’s a reason why Joshua is so loved in his own kingdom yet right now, you’re starting to see the cracks forming on his gentlemanly demeanor. 

“What is it?” you murmur softly despite dread slowly sinking its claws into your skin.

Joshua tilts his head up to the overcast sky like he’s wondering if it’s going to snow today. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, inhaling deeply before meeting your eyes again.

“Are you certain you still want to go through with the wedding?”

This…oddly feels like the time you found Jeonghan in the library. The guilt you’ve been harboring for the longest time festers at the implications of his question and you wonder if everything you’ve worked so hard on for the past year will come crashing down today.

“Of course,” you tell him but you’re well aware Joshua knows a lie when he hears it. 

“Really?”

“Is there something specific that you wish for me to say?”

He sighs—the cold starting to materialize with each breath. “No, nothing in particular.”

“It’s just that I believe it would be unfair of me to impose marriage when your heart already belongs to someone else.”

The water running from the fountain is all that plagues your ears yet Joshua’s admission doesn’t evoke the visceral reaction you had to Jeonghan telling you nearly the same thing. Hearing the words come from your fiancé’s mouth doesn’t instill you with guilt.

No… This is something much closer to acceptance.

“I once thought that your time in the castle would give enough leeway for us to get to know each other better,” he continues with a sad smile. “And it did. I’m certain that we’re much closer now than we were a year ago. But… I was a fool to think I could ever get you to love me the same way you love him.”

You’re immediately seized with the need to placate him somehow. After all, you were taught that it’s a wife’s duty to ease her husband’s troubles should he confide in her.

But you’re not Joshua’s wife. 

(And from how this conversation is going, you might never be.)

All of a sudden, something that Jeonghan said to you in the library resurfaces in your mind. At the time, you were too frustrated with him to actually process the words, but suddenly all of it makes sense.

I suppose it’s an older brother’s job to cater to the fantasy until he sees things for how they are on his own.

“You’ve known all this time,” you tell him incredulously. “Why… Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want you to think that you were obligated to love me for my sake. That’s something that should never be imposed,” he murmurs, twirling the flower in his hands almost wistfully. “I assumed that…maybe if I just gave you enough time, it would come to you naturally. But sometimes things just don’t work out the way you thought and that’s okay.”

If you weren’t trembling in your shoes a minute ago, you certainly are now.

“Joshua,” you whisper. “What are you saying?”

The smile on his face never wavers even as he crosses the distance between you and pulls you into a sound embrace. It catches you off guard for a second because Joshua has never initiated this kind of contact during your entire stay. 

But even with the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the fact that your mind immediately compares it to how it feels to have Chan’s heat permeating your skin…

It only means that this engagement is as good as over.

“I wanted to say thank you,” Joshua whispers back—one hand smoothing across your hair as he holds you in place. “For giving yourself the chance to love me. For being selfless enough to do everything you’ve done so far. I used to admire your self-sacrificing tendencies, but…

“Now I’m sure it’s high time that you chose yourself for a change.”

You don’t know when the tears started to fall, but you find comfort in the crook of Joshua’s neck as you sob into his arms. He doesn’t say a word as you let it out—all the years you spent looking after others, putting their wellbeing first before your own.

You’ve gotten so accustomed to taking responsibility for everyone around you that it never really occurred to you that things don’t have to be that way.

You’re allowed to choose yourself. You’re allowed to be selfish. 

“Go,” Joshua murmurs against the crown of your head. “Go back home. You deserve as much.”

You look up at him, sniffling. “B-But the wedding—”

“There won’t be a wedding,” he reassures with the same sad smile that breaks your heart to see. “You don’t have to worry about a thing. I’ll explain the situation to everyone. Right now…you have to go because your father informed me that he’s leaving soon.”

As if you haven’t already been given enough to deal with in a single day, you feel like an anvil has been dropped into the pit of your stomach.

“What do you mean?” 

“Lee Jung Chan was assigned to travel to another reputable magic school on the other side of the continent to build an alliance with the Academy,” Joshua explains swiftly. “He leaves tonight and won’t come back in a long, long while depending on how the initial negotiations turn out.”

An alliance…? 

Is that what he’s been so preoccupied with these days? So much that he can’t even spare the time to write to you anymore?

Before the next bout of tears could spill from your eyes, Joshua calmingly tucks a loose tuft of your hair behind your ear. He looks at you with so much adoration and longing that you briefly entertain the possibility of you loving him unconditionally in another life.

You hope he’ll be happier there.

“There’s a carriage waiting for you at the gates of the capital,” Joshua says. “Leave now while you still have time.”

You want to say something. To apologize to him. To thank him. To tell him that he deserves the world and much, much more. 

But all you do is slide off the diamond engagement ring from your finger, handing it to Joshua with an apologetic look before bolting to the castle entrance—not even sparing him a single word in goodbye.

Venues? Wedding gowns? Invitations? None of these mattered anymore.

Not when you're about to lose your best friend—the love of your life.

Joshua tries not to think about how your hand looked now that it was devoid of his gift; how all that remained is a promise ring that he should’ve taken as a sign to give up a long time ago. 

Just as he hears the commotion stirring down the winding halls, Joshua looks up at the sky again. When he closes his eyes, he feels the first few snowflakes land on his face—cold and solitary, much like himself.

Even so...

You broke his heart in the middle of winter, yet Joshua still looks forward to the flowery smile of spring.

The moment you arrived at your hometown, you weren’t sure where to start looking. For one, the coachman who brought you here said that your father was out of town for undisclosed reasons. You couldn’t exactly march up to the headmaster’s office in the Academy to interrogate him about Chan’s whereabouts. 

That’s why you opted to start with your best friend’s house openly greeted by his mother with a shocked expression as she asks what on earth you were doing so far away from the royal capital.

“Uh, it’s a long story,” you tell her sheepishly as you try not to shiver too much from the cold. “I promise I’ll keep you up to speed, but for now I really need to find Chan.”

She hesitates for a moment and you chalk it up to the fact that Chan’s mother must be thinking she’s going to have a hand in something illegal if she helps you. After all, she’s always had good instincts when either you or her son were up to no good.

But you tell yourself that this is probably the most good you’ve done for yourself in a long, long time. 

In the end, she directs you to the Academy—saying something about Chan wanting to deal with a few things first before he leaves. With just half an hour until nightfall, several students can be seen walking out of the gates after a long day. Some just pass by you without a word, while others throw second glances over their shoulder—as if they couldn’t believe that you’re back either. 

You recognize those kids to be some of your former students, but you can’t bring yourself to stop for a quick chat—simply hoping they’ll forgive you for your haste.

But through the thundering of your heart, you hear a familiar voice call your name in the crowd.

“You’re back!" Chaewon remarks with a delightful gasp before tackling you with a firm embrace. “Why didn’t you tell us you were visiting? Did you bring Prince Joshua with—?”

“Chaewon, where’s Chan?” you interject almost desperately.

Your old student blinks up at you, rightfully confused. “Um, he’s going on a trip for a while. Yunjin told me just now that she saw the other royal mages that gathered here leave on their horses an hour ago. Why? Did you need something from him?”

The news makes you feel like your head has been submerged in murky waters—cloying your senses until you could no longer make sense of what’s around you. Chaewon flashes you a disconcerted look, asking if everything is alright. 

You want to tell her that you’re fine, but you can’t find the words. Your mouth feels cottony and your eyes are starting to sting. Instead of answering, you turn on your heel, biting down the guilt that comes with dismissing one of your favorite students as you run towards the opposite direction.

Chaewon calls out for you several times, but you don’t look back.

Maybe you should just head back to the castle and tell Joshua that this was all a mistake—a lapse in judgment that can still be taken back. You should just see your assimilation through until the end. You’ve already made it so far, after all.

But you just know, deep in your gut, that Joshua wouldn’t accept that so easily. He made it clear that he wants you to want him with no holds barred. Not because you feel responsible for his feelings. Not because the love of your life has already left. That’s just who he is as a person.

Not wanting to burst into tears for the second time today, you find yourself walking towards the greenhouse—craving that familiar solace you always get whenever you’re inside. Your father told you he was going to keep an eye on it while you were gone and you figure that he’d been telling the truth when you find the enclosure just as you’ve left it. 

Several of your personal experiments seem like someone enchanted them with time suspension magic—looking the exact way they did before you left almost a year ago. Among the other plants and flora are other pieces you don’t recognize. You figure that these must be Chaewon’s work and you remind yourself to compliment her once you sort yourself out. 

But when you don’t spot a certain plant box you were looking for, a frown roots itself on your face.

Did Chan move your forget-me-nots somewhere else? The vibrant blue flowers should’ve been easy to spot even amidst the lush blooms all around you, but there’s nothing like that in the vicinity. 

You take your search outside for reasons unknown. Perhaps it’s the restlessness of just staying in one place when you know the very symbol of your promise with your best friend is nowhere to be found. As you make your way out, you glance at the single flower sitting at the base of your pinky—sadly wondering if Chan is even still wearing his. 

But the moment you make it to the back of the greenhouse, you’re much too stunned with the sight that beholds you.

What once was a vacant patch of grasslands is now filled to the brim with forget-me-nots that glow vibrantly in comparison to the bleak gray winter. Despite the drop in temperature, the field of blue flowers stretches on until the borders of the Academy and you have to pinch yourself and make sure you’re not dreaming. 

Then, as if this situation can’t get any more unbelievable, you spot someone crouched in the middle of the field of forget-me-nots.

Your best friend.

Chan doesn’t immediately notice you—seemingly lost in thought, just like the day you found him by the riverbanks a year ago. For someone that’s leaving on an indefinite trip to the other side of the continent, he surely doesn’t look dressed the part, having opted for his comfortable cotton tunic and trousers instead of the garbs royal mages and aides are required to don.

You don’t think twice. You just run.

He lets out an undignified yelp when you tackle him into the ground—palms heating up with a flare of his magic with the full intention of blasting away the intruder. But when he finds his best friend lying right on top of him amidst the forget-me-nots, he’s engulfed with a different kind of heat entirely.

“You asshole,” you hiss with teary eyes, beating your fists weakly against his chest. “You’re going away for a long time and you didn’t even bother to tell me? Am I suddenly not your best friend anymore?”

There’s nothing more that Chan hates than seeing you cry, but he loathes it even more when he’s the cause of your tears. He doesn’t even know if you’re actually here with him. You should be back at the royal castle, preparing for your wedding and not sobbing because of your best friend.

But the warmth of your body nestled on top of his own is much too real. It’s the same sensation he’s craved since you left. The same feeling he’s always longed for, for as long as he can remember. 

And he’s not such a glutton for punishment that he’ll deprive himself of it any longer.

Chan cracks a barely there smile, the breath of his laughter materializing in front of him as he reaches up to tuck your hair behind your ear. He’s not sure if your face flushes because of him or the cold, but he likes to think it’s the former.

“Hey, I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures, opting to save his many questions for later. “Dunno how you found out about the trip, but I backed out of it last minute. Told the headmaster that I’m not the best with negotiations and that I might unknowingly start a war in the process.”

He half-expects you to either laugh in his face despite the clearly distraught expression you’re wearing or fume at him for being so ridiculous. You probably made the trip from the capital to your hometown just to see him off and he’ll understand your frustration at the fact that his participation was rendered null and void.

But you do neither of these things.

Instead, you curl your fingers into the fabric of his shirt—pulling him up and leaning forward at the same time. 

You’d be lying if you said you never thought about kissing Chan at least once in your life. But you can attest to the fact that you didn’t imagine it to happen while you’re freshly broken up from a year-long engagement—snowflakes starting to fall in the field of flowers you asked him to take care of.

Those he promised to take care of.

“I love you,” you whisper breathlessly, hands trembling from where they grip Chan’s clothes as you force your breathing to even out. “I’ve always loved you and I’m the biggest idiot in the world for not accepting that sooner.”

Chan gazes up at you in stunned silence, lips moving as if meaning to say something in return but the words evade him. But just when you’re about to emphasize your point again, Chan raises an arm to  shield his eyes with the back of his hand.

“You’re lying,” he chuckles almost helplessly. “You’ve got to be messing with me.”

A scowl stretches across your lips. How could that be his first reaction? You thought he’d be elated that you came back and professed your feelings. 

But then you entertain the possibility that…what if you’ve read the entire situation wrong? What if Chan never had any feelings of the romantic kind for you at all?

What if you risked everything for nothing?

“Lee Jung Chan,” you whisper threateningly. “I left the Crown Prince himself in a heartbeat when I found out you were going away. Made the entire trip from the capital to here just for the slim chance of seeing you before you left. I even kissed you outside in the middle of winter because I was so fucking glad that you’re here to stay. If that isn’t genuine enough for you, then what else do you want me to do?” 

Your best friend lowers his hand and you try not to waver at the sight of his puffy red eyes. He sucks in a deep breath that almost whistles down his throat before taking one of your hands and lifting it closer to his face.

At the base of your pinky is the same ring he’s never once taken off since you gave it to him.

As night falls and the endless snow falls upon your hometown, two lone figures in a field full of flowers remain undisturbed in their lonesome. 

For some, love is something you don’t give half-heartedly. For others, it should never be imposed.

For you, it’s a whirlwind of emotions that you could never quite figure out how to deal with.

Yet when it comes to Lee Jung Chan, you realize that love has always been easy.

“Chan,” you sigh into the cold air of his bedroom as your best friend peppers your neck with kisses much too heated than you expected. “S-Slow down a little.”

He breathes out a laugh that sounds much too airy for your liking. Chan detaches his lips from your skin as he flashes you a gummy smile. “Slow down? I’ve been waiting for you my whole life. I don’t think I can slow down anymore, princess.”

You have to fight the urge to hit him with his choice of words. “Act any more cheeky and I’m walking out of your house.”

“Duly noted.” 

Then his mouth is back on yours. 

The trip back to Chan’s house—a new, one bedroom apartment near the town square, not his mother’s house—was a bit tricky. For one, you had to walk around where virtually everyone knows you to be Prince Joshua’s fiancée, answering questions about what you’re doing back home with the wedding coming up so close. 

You keep your answers curt and short—not wanting to ignite the scandal of a lifetime before Joshua can even prepare the ample damage control. That and each time someone mentions how happy they are for your engagement, you can feel Chan’s eyes boring into the back of your head. 

So now you’re here, crowded beneath your best friend on his mattress as he kisses your breath away. 

You’ve never done this before. The most daring thing you’ve done with Joshua, who was literally your fiancé for almost a year, was that last hug you shared before you left the castle for good. So you suppose no one can blame you for feeling so lightheaded from the feel of Chan’s lips pressed against yours alone.

It doesn’t help that, even through his desperation to leave no space between the two of you, there’s still caution weighted beneath his desire. He could probably sense the hesitation in your movements as you reciprocate his vigor—kissing back almost awkwardly despite how good his kisses are making you feel. 

“Open your mouth a little for me,” he murmurs, one hand cradling your jaw as you let out a little whimper. “Come on, don’t get shy on me now. I promise you’ll like it.”

Not wanting to keep either of you waiting for much longer, you do as you’re told—opening your mouth just a tad wider right after Chan kisses you again. He easily muffles the gasp you make with his lips when you feel his tongue lick into your mouth. The sensation makes gooseflesh prickle your arms and he coaxes out another embarrassing noise from you—one too salacious for others to hear freely.

“See? What’d I tell you?” he whispers breathlessly against your lips—a strong arm coiling around your waist as he pulls you against his body. “You like it that much?”

You nod meekly. Chan laughs.

“I wanna try something. Hold on.”

Confused, you watch your best friend take a spot beside you on his bed, legs sprawled across the mattress as he tugs you closer to him. You resist his ministrations for a moment as you try to figure out what on earth he’s planning to do. But then it dawns on you. 

He wants you to sit on his lap.

“Too much?” he asks with a hint of caution, to which you quickly respond with a shake of your head. 

“Just…surprising,” you admit as you settle your hips across his thighs. 

You kind of want to ask where he even learned about all this, but part of you doesn’t want to know the answer. Picturing Chan lying with someone else like this is enough to kill your mood, so you decide to push the thought far away until you could no longer remember it.

Despite how…strange and new this is to you, it’s much more comfortable than having his weight press you down into the mattress. Not to mention, you can just brace your hands on Chan’s shoulders as he licks further into your mouth—fingers laced behind the small of your back as you continue whimpering into his kisses.

Gods above. Will you even get out of this alive?

“You taste so sweet,” Chan murmurs before carding his fingers through your hair. “Much better than I imagined.”

You find it in you to chuckle in spite of yourself. “You’ve been imagining this?”

“Enough times to grant me admission to an asylum,” your best friend replies with a sigh as he continues combing your tresses. “I’m crazy about you, if that isn’t obvious enough. Wanted to kiss you so bad back in the orphanage when you leaned in way too close.”

You didn’t know it at the time, but looking back at it now, you definitely felt the same. Now you’re not sure whether or not you should treat Joshua’s untimely entrance in the kitchen that day as a miracle or a curse. 

“I did too,” you profess with little hesitation, tracing the curve of his lips with your thumb before resting your forehead against his. “We’re so stupid. If only we admitted our feelings earlier, we wouldn’t be in such a huge mess.”

Chan hums. “You mean…if I just spoke up when you got Prince Joshua’s proposal, you would’ve rejected it?”

“Of course I would,” you nearly exclaim. “I’ve loved you since we were kids, Chan.”

“Ditto. Guess we have lots of missed time to make up for.”

When he claims your lips again, it’s charged with want so potent you can almost taste it on your tongue. Chan presses your body even closer to his, if that’s even possible and as he continues building up the fever pitch of your desire, you start to shift uncomfortably on his lap—slick beginning to pool between your thighs the deeper he kisses you. 

The evidence of his own arousal pokes against your middle as well—leaving Chan a groaning mess each time you unknowingly jerk your hips to chase after the barest hint of friction. You don’t know where all this will lead nor do you know what comes after.

All that matters is that Chan is with you right here, right now.

Your clothes all come off one by one. Chan doesn’t forget to drag his lips across every inch of newly exposed skin—a quiet, unrelenting profession of his feelings. He wants to engrave himself into every part of you; to leave his mark so that you’ll remember him still even if he only gets to have you for the night.

But what Chan just doesn’t get is that your heart has already been set on him since the start.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers, trailing his calloused fingers along the sensitive curve of your waist when he lays you down on your back. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t like.”

It’s so Chan of him to be this concerned about your boundaries. But you don’t know how else to say that you want nothing more than to take things all the way aside from tugging him back down for another breathtaking kiss.

“Is it going to hurt?” you ask, genuinely curious, just a tad bit afraid.

Your best friend purses his lips, the heat of his body offering you some much needed comfort as he plants another kiss on the corner of your mouth. “It will for a while. But I’ll ease you into it and make you feel good. I promise.”

Chan says the words like you have anything but trust in him. You know he needs a verbal confirmation out of you, but you’re both too embarrassed and too aroused to give him the green light out loud. Instead, you nod your head twice—leaning closer to his ear to whisper:

“Okay. I’m ready.”

Your best friend sighs out something that suspiciously sounds like gods, I love you, before burying his face in your exposed chest—lips latching onto one of the pert nipples as he massages your other breast languidly. The wet sound of his mouth getting to work makes your face flush several shades of red and your sex to leak even more slick than it already has. 

There’s just something so arousing about how careful Chan is with your body. He handles you like you’re the most precious thing in the world and throws your mind into an inexplicable haze.

But then again, maybe you’re just that in love with the guy.

You visibly tense underneath his touch when you feel him start to prod his fingers along your glistening seam. You’re so sensitive that you twitch from the slightest contact and Chan sighs a laugh into your chest when he feels it.

“Relax,” he murmurs. “I can’t make you feel good if you’re too high-strung.”

“Easy for you to say,” you huff. “You’re not the one who’s about to be fucked into oblivion.”

Chan startles from how easily the words fall from your lips—mouth agape like a fish out of water. You wonder if you said something out of turn but when he kisses you for the millionth time today, you notice something else eclipsing his ready set gentleness.

Something more carnal.

“You can’t rile me up by talking so filthily like that,” he whispers hoarsely. “I’m trying to be a good lover by taking things slow. Promise you won’t catch me off guard like that again?”

You shake your head with a laugh. “Chan, you know I don’t make promises I can’t keep. But I'll try~”

“Fuck. Alright. I can work with that.”

When he eases a finger inside your awaiting heat, you find the sensation a little uncomfortable. It’s like having something inside you that doesn’t quite belong there. Chan analyzes your reactions in the silence as he continues prodding your entrance—looking for any signs of discomfort like a hawk as he experimentally thrusts that single digit in and out of you.

“F-Feels weird,” you mumble. “Is it supposed to feel weird?”

“I guess you’d feel that way if it was your first time,” he chuckles and your eyes narrow at the implication behind his words. “But I’ve got to loosen you up if I don’t want to hurt you.”

So this wasn’t his first after all. Though you want nothing more than to hear tales about former escapades, you decide to grill him about it later. 

You’re about to question how something like this can do that before Chan robs you of your capacity to think coherently, curling his slender finger inside you until he brushes a spot that has your muscles spasming underneath him. A wicked smile finds its way to his face as he slips in another finger so easily—the pads grazing that sensitive patch of flesh to coax out the same reaction from you.

“Still weird?” he laughs. 

“Good…” you whimper, grinding your hips shamelessly into his hand. “Feels so good, Chan.” 

Your best friend sighs as he watches you slowly cross the threshold between awkward curiosity and the beginnings of an enjoyable time. You’re wet and wanting—just like how he hoped you’d be and the way your tight walls clench around his fingers barely tempers the raw anticipation that sizzles in his veins. 

Gentle. He needs to be gentle. 

He doesn’t want to lose control when he’s waited oh-so long for this moment.

But god fucking damn are you making it so hard when you’re moaning so prettily for him.

“C-Chan,” you mewl and he feels you tighten even more around his digits. “It feels weird again… Like something’s coming.”

He sucks in a sharp breath before pressing open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. The sensation makes you buck further into his hand and Chan can only do so much to keep himself from just fucking you into the bed.

“Let go,” he tells you before flicking his thumb across your puffy clit. “Let it all go, beautiful. Don’t be scared. I’m right here.”

The newfound stimulation blindsides you in a way you didn’t expect—reducing you into a mumbling mess of arousal beneath your best friend as he continues tracing tight circles around the sensitive nub. Your first (of many) orgasms crashes over you like a tidal wave and you sigh out his name so needily, he can barely contain himself for much longer. 

But he doesn’t rush you no matter how pent up he is—he won’t, he won’t, he won’t. 

Besides, the sight of you so fucked out from taking his fingers alone—lips parted, chest heaving, eyes pulling in and out of focus—is a reward in and of itself. 

“You still with me?” your best friend checks in with a concerned look, wiping the sweat that beads across your forehead with the back of his hand. 

But the moment his skin makes contact with yours again, you absentmindedly grab his hand—pressing a soft kiss on his knuckles.

“I’ll always be with you.”

Gods above. He doesn’t deserve you.

When he’s sure you’re ready, Chan positions himself right before your entrance—carefully nudging your thighs apart as he fists the angry red erection he’s been sporting all night. The sight of his cock makes you blush, but you figure there’s no point in acting coy now that you’ve made it this far.

“You know what to do when I do something you don’t like, right?” 

You nod—not really hearing the words with how transfixed you are on other things. “Y-Yes.”

Chan offers up a lazy smile. “That’s my girl.”

You take all of him inch by unbearable inch—your walls meeting the stretch that his girth offers with mild resistance. His fingers are child’s play compared to this and you force yourself to power through it despite how it burns. 

Of course, Chan doesn’t miss a beat despite how hard you try to conceal your discomfort.

“I’m hurting you, aren’t I?” he asks with an apologetic smile, wiping the tears that are pooling in the corners of your eyes. “I’m sorry. Just a bit more and you’ll get used to it.”

“You promise?”

Your best friend brings an outstretched pinky close to your face—the same pinky with the ring that started all of this staring back at you. The moment you hook your own finger around his, your best friend murmurs:

“I promise.”

Chan is quite patient despite the fact that he’s balls-deep inside of you—keeping the innate desire to just ram his length into you until you’re a sobbing, crying mess for him. The Academy’s best graduate, the kingdom’s sweetheart, his perfect best friend. All reduced to tears on his cock.

“Chan,” you breathe in deeply, having finally accustomed yourself to how he stretches you out. “Y-You can move now.”

Shit. You sound so shy, so innocent.

How could he not give you what you want?

The first outward drag of his hips pulls a pretty little whimper out of you and an even prettier moan when he thrusts back in. Chan sighs as he minds the pace he’s set, cradling your face with one hand as he steadies you with the other.

“I love you,” he murmurs, pressing a featherlight kiss on your nose. “More than there are stars in the sky, more than how many flowers you’ll ask me to look after while you’re gone.”

His sweet words are subverted with a harsh thrust that he does experimentally to see how you’d react to it. When Chan doesn’t see any indication of pain or dislike, he repeats it—again and again until he can feel you coating his length in the slick of your leaking arousal. 

“Feels so fucking good around me,” he rasps, keeping himself from biting into your shoulder because he isn’t sure of how you feel about those kinds of marks just yet. “Perfect… You’re so, so perfect. I’ve never loved anyone else as much as I love you.”

It feels a bit worrisome, admitting all this in the heat of it all. Chan fears that you would find his words a tad disingenuous. For all he knows, you’re thinking that it’s your wonderful cunt making him say all these sweet nothings. 

But you’re too far gone yourself to even think about the specifics.

“Deeper,” you beg, lacing your fingers around his neck as more tears start to cascade down your cheeks. “Need to feel you deeper, Chan.”

You’re going to be the death of him—this he’s finally sure of.

The fat head of his cock batters your poor, abused pussy with the vigor of someone who’s been waiting for you all his life. Chan babbles out a mantra of compliments and praise all strung together in a haze of pleasurable delirium as your nails start to rake across his back. 

“Want you to be mine forever,” he sighs against your lips—his hot breath fanning against your face. “Can I have you? For the rest of my life?”

Even in the throes of passion, the answer comes to you so easily.

“I’m yours,” you cry out as he angles his cock just right and grazes the spot that makes you see stars. “I’m yours, Chan. Always yours. Forever yours.”

Your mind crumbles as your release crests out of nowhere—coherence draining from every recess of your mind while Chan fucks you through your high. He snaps his hips unforgivingly as he chases his own orgasm. His fingers leave red imprints on your thighs with how firmly they dig into your supple flesh and they stay there even when he finally pinpoints his release. 

The two of you collapse onto the mattress with shallow breaths, sweat-slicked skin sticking to each other with how close your bodies are. When your mind finally returns to the shores of reality, you dare to crack your eyes open—only to see your best friend looking back at you with a tired smile.

This is the man who saw you cry over a stick fort that he accidentally stepped on when you were kids. 

The one who thinks you’re still pretty even when your face is rife with tears and snot.

The one who skips stones with you in the river at sunset. 

The one who keeps you warm by the fireplace during every winter.

The one who defended you from classmates who accused you of being a fraud that rode on her father’s coattails. 

The one you’ll gladly spend the rest of your life with.

You think you should find it strange how Joshua suddenly comes to mind now that you’re finally where you want to be. But if it weren’t for him, you never would’ve gotten that final push to be selfish—to choose yourself for once and not feel any ounce of remorse for doing so.

If it weren’t for him, you never would’ve felt what true happiness feels like.

“So…” your best friend starts as he pulls a blanket over your naked bodies. “For tonight’s pillow talk, you get to decide the topic of interest.”

You snort. “Okay. What are my choices?”

“Hm. The first is: what are we going to do now that we’re together-together when the entire kingdom still thinks you’re still Prince Joshua’s fiancé? You still owe me a story about how the engagement fell through, by the way. Unless I’m actually a homewrecker…?”

Rolling your eyes, you playfully slap his chest. “What’s the second option?”

He grins at you cheekily. “What pet names can I use on you while we’re having sex because…I honestly held back the entire time ‘cause I didn’t know what you were comfortable with.”

“I don’t really mind anything,” you say. “Just…nothing too degrading?” 

“Alright.” Chan nods. “What do you say about lovebug?”

The suggestion is met with a scowl, making Chan giggle underneath the covers.

“Not a fan? How about my little dew drop? My chrysalis blooming into a beautiful butterfly? My hundred year-old tree that never ceases to amaze me with your beauty? My spectacle in an endless galaxy? My—”

“Lee Jung Chan, if you don’t shut up right now, I might just march back to the capital right this moment after all.”

Chan responds to your threat with a needy whine as he cages you around his arms. Your best friend nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck with a sulky pout.

“No! You’re mine. I don’t care if everyone else thinks otherwise.” He huffs and you entertain him with a laugh before Chan eventually disentangles himself from you—the playful expression on his face morphing into something more sobering.

“I was serious about the first pillow talk suggestion, by the way,” he murmurs. “Once the news breaks out, it isn’t going to be easy for any of us.” 

“I know.”

Chan raises an eyebrow at your nonchalance. “Hm? You’re usually the type to psych yourself out way too much when problems like this arise. Who are you and what did you do to my worrywart of a best friend?”

Paying his teasing no mind, you lean in to press your lips to his. The moment Chan’s shoulders sink in surrender, you smile against his mouth.

“Honestly? I don’t really care about what happens,” you admit, tracing the outline of his chest with your finger. “As long as I’m with you, I think we’ll be alright.”

Chan is quiet for a while—a loving look glazing over his eyes at the sight of you.

“Yeah.” 

Your best friend presses another kiss to your temple, lacing your fingers together.

Two forget-me-nots finally find their way back to each other. 

“We’ll be alright.”

⟢ end notes: and that concludes the longest oneshot i've ever written for a seventeen member :') honestly considered breaking this into parts, but decided not to in the end bcs telling their story in one go felt like the best way to go about it! shoutouts to my good buddies and pals from svthub for the constant support and pep talk they offered while i was writing this monster of a fic. freya, my bridgerton sunbae, and zeta, my favorite wonwoorideul (real), thank you tons for your lovely input <3 your silly comments on the doc always made me smile. ofc i won't forget nana who gave me an...interesting list of pet names chan would unironically use on his s/o lol that said, thank you for reading! i hope you enjoy the other fics posted under the spring collab! all writers who contributed poured their hearts into each piece <3

this is part of the secret garden, a svthub spring collab and the it's complicated series!

[shanastoryteller]

HAPPY HALLOWEEN GRANDMA!! You already know what I want, nay, what I crave when the days get shorter and the only thing that brings me any solace is my favorite rarepare. Please, Tonks x Percy siat - specifically something abouth Tonks telling Percy about her powers maybe, just an incredibly intimate scene please and thank you 😩🧡

The first time Percy rushes to the St. Mungo's on the heal of a battle and bursts into Tonk's room, he doesn't understand why he'd needed to threaten his way in in the first place. She's stripped to her underwear and looks perfectly fine.

But there are three healers surrounding her and completely ignoring him. "Time?" the oldest asks, her hair pure white and her face a layer of wrinkles.

Tonks closes her eyes. "Eighty seconds."

"External first," she says briskly. "It doesn't do us any good if you bleed out."

She breathes out.

Then blood floods across her body, soaking the bed instantly as wounds big and small erupt over her skin. In some places he sees flashes of what he thinks are bone.

Tonks doesn't scream as magic starts flying, and he doesn't either, keeping himself plastered to the wall.

"Internal," the healer says.

What little of her skin he can see beneath the blood pales and they're casting more healing spells, longer and more complicated the any he's heard before.

"Head," she says. "Go slow."

Tonks swallows and then there's another rush of blood as her eyes roll and she passes out and all three of the healers are flinging spells with a speed and intensity he didn't know was possible.

He's almost grateful that he can't see what injury they're treating.

Then the other two step back and the old healer casts a diagnostic spell that Percy tries to interpret and can't. Her shoulders drop and she says, "Good," casting a scourgify to take care of the blood and pulling the blanket over her with a flick of her wand.

She turns, noticing Percy for the first time. Instead of anger, she just raises an eyebrow. "You're the boyfriend, then?"

He really hates what that implies about how often Tonks needs to be treated by healer quite this talented. "Is she going to be okay?"

His stomach had twisted itself in nots but it finally starts ease when she gives a short nod. "We'll let her get some rest and keep her overnight from observation." She tilts her head to the side. "I'd kick you out, citing the no visitors policy for this ward, but you're already here. Seems like a big of wasted effort."

"A bit," he agrees, pulling a chair next to Tonks's bedside and collapsing into it. "Thank you."

~

Tonks wakes up slowly, feeling the hospital sheets that she hates with the smell she can't stand and she's already trying to figure out how she can get herself released early without bringing Nanu's wrath down on her.

She pushes herself upright - or tries to. She can't mover her arm.

She looks down, alarmed, but her arm is just being used as a pillow.

By Percy, who's asleep and hunched over her bed. Percy, who needed to be coaxed and cajoled into leaving his desk for so much as a tea is here. He doesn't even have any scrolls or work spready out. She wouldn't blame him if he didn't, but he's just here, and from the way his clothing's rumpled he's been here for a while.

Tonks's heart feels so full.

She's going to marry him.

He only just accepted that they were dating, so she'll give him some time before introducing the concept of marriage, but she knows. This man is going to be her husband someday.

[alphajocklover]

Like OMG hunty! This is like totes, such a fun little site you have here. Apps, charms, and all that like. So here is like the stitch bitch, I’m this super swishy liberal queen but like I’m also an actor. And I’m up for this part and like I totes don’t know why my agent even thought of it for me. He’s this super conservative, awful straight douche. Like totally obnoxious. Crude. Belittles women and guys like me. And like I said super conservative. And I was wondering like omg, this is silly but is there anyway you could make me fit the part?

I’m glad you like my work, though I’m a little offended at how you put it. Calling it ‘a fun little site’ makes me worry you might not be taking what you’re getting into very seriously. Being transformed is incredibly serious business. You’ll be giving up your identity, or at least a large part of it, to become someone else. And even the safest ways of doing transformations can go horribly wrong. Taking on that risk for a movie role… either you’re a fool, or an incredibly dedicated actor. Possibly both. I’m going to assume it’s just the latter for my own conscience, and because if that really is the case… I’m actually pretty impressed. To go as far as to use unnatural means to alter your body and mind so you can better fit a role… it speaks to a passion for your work that most people never find. So even though I’m still a little offended… I’ll help you. More than that, I’m going to make you one of the greatest actors of all time. This isn’t going to be an easy task. I know you specifically asked for help fitting into this one role, but if you’re going to become a truly great actor, you’re going to need range. Playing only straight douchebags will only get you so far. You’re going to need to be able to change to fit whatever role you’re playing, which means an ongoing transformation. Those aren’t very easy to pull off. There are ways to do it, but my work isn’t sophisticated enough to do those. I’m a decent TF reporter, but actually doing TFs is still fairly new for me. A spell could work, but it would take much more magic than I have. I’m not even sure a talented wizard could pull off a spell like that without a coven to back them up. My next option would be nanobots or something, like the kind the Douchebag Revolution uses. But I’d have to get some from the revolution, and then reprogram them… and I’m not exactly an expert programmer. Programming is hard enough, but programming nanobots? Magically charged nanobots? Yeah that's not happening. I could always ask my Uncle’s friend Nick, the devil I’ve mentioned before, since his magic can do some truly incredible and complicated things, but for something this big he’d definitely want your soul. Even the wishing supernova might not work, as wishes this complicated are incredibly hard to pull off right. None of the other methods I’ve mentioned before would work well either… so if we’re going to pull this off, we’ll have to use something different. Something new. Something like… A potions set! Now, that probably sounds a little strange. I mean, considering how complicated I just told you this transformation will be to pull off, making it work with some magic cocktail probably sounds crazy. The thing is I’m not giving you one potion. I’m giving you dozens of them. In the box you’ve just received are a large amount of potions, each one set to transform you into a different movie cliche. We’ve got one that will make you into a hardboiled detective, one that will turn you into a sports star, and even one that will make you into a superhero. And those are only some of them. Take a potion that's the closest to the role you want to get, and for the next 24 hours you’ll have the personality of that person, all while still remembering your true self. With this, you will literally be the perfect method actor! And with a little extra magic, people won’t even realize you’re doing it. They’ll just think you’re a great actor! With the set of potions I’ve given you, some hard work, and a bit of deception, you just might be the greatest actor to ever live. And when you’re not playing a role, you can always have some fun with the potions in your regular life. Why don’t you try one now? This one looks interesting. ‘The Action Hero’.

Ok… wow. That worked really well. I wasn’t sure it’d be this effective but I guess I’ve got a knack for potion making! I’m glad you like your new body so much. I would too honestly, look at those pecs! And the personality transformation aspect seems to be working well too, considering the hint of superiority in your smirk and how you can’t keep your eyes off the delivery woman's tits. Enjoy being a straight, douchebag action hero. And if you ever need a potion refill or anything specific, just let me know. Now stop flirting with that girl and get going, you’re going to miss your audition!

**I'll admit, I think this one might have gotten a little bit away from me. I've been thinking about potions a lot lately, and the idea of an actor literally transforming to fit a role really excited me. I know the person who sent this probably wanted a bigger focus on the douchebag part of the TF, but I got so excited by the idea. I hope you still like it, and feel free to send in another on**

[dailyadventureprompts]

Adventure: The Big Ambitions of Baron Bittly

Monsters from the primal expanse of the Drovidiin Wilds have been appearing without warning in the kingdom's heartland, somehow teleported hundreds of miles to rampage through towns and cities. After more than one skirmish with the beats, your party has ventured to the bordertown of Thimblewell on the edge of the wilds, seeking answers.

Adventure Hooks:

Though the party have heard whisperings of the beast attacks before, their firsthand exposure to the phenomenon comes when they hear screams and cries coming from the town's fancy playhouse. An acid spitting drake has somehow found its way inside the building during the middle of the performance and its rampage threatens to bring the house down.

Tasked with tracking down a crew of bandits that've been plundering local caravans, the party's raid of the outlaw's encampment is thrown into chaos when one of their targets breaks open an innocuous crate, pulls out a glowing glass canister and smashes it in the middle of the melee: unleashing a beast in a burst of blue light into an already chaotic final battle.

The party find a strange tension when they arrive in the town of Thimblewell. Though the settlement has a long history of being beset by monsters from the primeval wilderness it borders, there've been no attacks for the past several years and no one seems to want to talk about why. Eventually a disgruntled former guardsman points them in the direction of the local landholder, an amateur mage with a reputation for conducting strange experiments. He fails to mention that said mage has a defence system built into his manse, and that he's been expecting the party's arrival for some time.

Background: Irnett Bittley was never a mage of large talent, both because he was unable to summon up the showy displays of elemental mastery that would have earned him a living as a court wizard, and because his self important streak made him too proud to ever suffer suffer through an apprenticeship. He was a great mage, destined for great things, and the fact that others couldn't see that was their failing.

Tired of being challenged or denied by people who genuinely knew better, Bittley picked up stakes and went to the boonies seeking to find a pond small enough to consider him a big fish. He found it in Thimblewell, a little town sorely in need of a handymage, and he could have been happy and well liked there if the need to be great wasn't etched on his soul. Thimblewell had a monster problem, and while Bittley was no battlecaster he did have a knack for bindings and containment spells. If he managed to catch a monster by supprise while it was distracted by the local millitia he could shrink it down and hold it in stasis, effectively defeating the monster by kicking the can indefinitely down the road.

The townsfolk heaped praised upon him for his heroics, only to have their goodwill spat right back in their faces as Bittley started asking for increasingly steep "donations" to keep his enchantments in place, all but threatening to release the beasts again if his impromptu tax wasn't paid. Fast forward a couple of decades and Baron Bittley has become rich enough to buy himself a title and become Thimblewell's defacto ruler.

Still not content to be a backwoods landbarron, Bittley's latest scheme is to sell his stockpile of captured beasts one by one to unscrupulous individuals who are in need of a good monster: thieves in need of a distraction, poachers and collectors trafficking in rare specimens, nobles who'd prefer an untraceable and indiscriminate means of assassination. This enterprise is making Bittley even more rich, but with success comes paranoia, and we all know how dangerous a paranoid mage can be.

Challenges & Complications:

1: The drake was intended as a means of assassination, targeted at a countess and her heir attending the playhouse's performance in one of the box seats. As the party runs in to save the screaming commoners, they'll potentially be diverted by the countess's guards, intending to save their employer's life before anyone else's. Saving the noble might earn them a rich reward at the cost of many lives, but choosing to look after the common people will earn them the ire of the acid-scarred heir, who watched them save the rabble while his flesh burned and his mother was crushed to death under rubble.

2: After the party have defeated the bandits, they'll find three more of those arcane canisters left in the box, each containing its own miniaturized monster waiting to be unleashed. The caravan the bandits robbed was smuggling these beasts to a buyer with dangerous aims, meaning the caravan's owners now have good reason to want the party silenced. Do the party report their findings? Extort those who hired them at the cost of a knife in the back? Or do they just take their offbrand pokeballs and run, dreaming of the chaos they can cause.

3: Baron Bittley knows the party is coming for him thanks to his spies in town, he also knows he could never hope to take them in a fair fight. Thankfully he’s got access to magic, so he doesn’t need to fight fair, allowing them into his home only to catch them in a trap that will shrink them down to a few inches tall, whereafter it’s a simple matter of mage-handing them over into the basement bound dowry chest/prison he’s made for all those in town who’ve dissented to his rule over the years.

Thankfully the tiny townsfolk have been working on a jailbreak for some time now, having painstakingly sawed their way out of the box while their inattentive overlord’s been distracted domineering the world outside. The greatest hurdle to their escape has been the wild landscape of the junk fulled manor basement, filled with various pests that’ve become arcanely mutated from the leakage from the mage’s lab on the floor above. The party will need to engage in some borrowers esque traversal across the basement, up through the walls, and into the lab if they have any hope of reversing their predicament.

Artsource 1

Artsource 2

[autumnmobile12]

Feminism in Castlevania

One of the things I liked about this series was how it represented both positive feminism and toxic feminism.

The positive elements are small and carry their weight through the tone they set, as they should. If displays of feminism are over-the-top, then they become pandering and discredit the message they are trying to send.

Despite this series's flaws, I will forever appreciate the hell out of the fact they didn't go with the 'reformed chauvinist' character arc for Trevor. When he's first made aware of Sypha, she's just the Elder Speaker's 'grandchild.' Gender neutral term. And when he finally meets her and realizes she's a woman, his only reactions is, "Granddaughter, then." There's no overt reaction, there's no patronizing comment of how 'it's too dangerous for a woman down here.' "Granddaughter, then," is the only comment he ever makes that she's female, and that's all the series needed to set the tone for that part of his character.

It shows he's not against women fighting.

It shows he doesn't view women as weaker or inferior.

It shows he's aware women are capable of fighting and sees nothing wrong with that and sets the building blocks for the fact that Belmont women were fighters and this is nothing new to him.

It shows he's doesn't blame Sypha for putting herself in this predicament with the Cyclops by going down there in the first place. (Actually, considering he went into the catacombs under the assumption she was dead, he was probably relieved he didn't have to haul a corpse back to the surface.)

Show. Not tell.

The only thing he really questions is why she was sent down there alone, but he ultimately decided it wasn't his business. And he figures it out later when it's revealed she's her caravan's only mage.

The other part worth considering is while he's perfectly willing to insult Alucard, he never insults Sypha the same way.

He also doesn't make a habit of protecting her. They are both equally balanced in watching out for each other during their fights in Season 3 and Season 4. The only time Trevor says he'll protect her is in the Hold and that's only because he knows she's busy setting up a complicated spell and carrying out the bigger part of their master plan. In this context, he's not even her protector; he's just back-up.

Alucard's treatment of Sypha is similar, but they sadly don't have too many moments where they talk one on one. He's polite to her and I honestly feel this is his parents' influence of raising him to be a gentleman. (I mean, Lisa doesn't hesitate to call out Dracula for his lack of manners during their first meeting.)

Greta introduces herself as the headwoman of Danesti.  Nobody questions that. Hell, St. Germain even comments it's a shame someone with her talents was wasted in such a provincial area like Danesti. Rude, but this is more of a dig at Wallachia being a backwater, uncivilized sty and nothing at all about her being a woman in charge.

We can also see this to a lesser extent with Zamfir being the unquestioned leader of Targoviste's resistance, but again, we don't get a lot of info.

I've already done an earlier post on Carmilla, so I'm going to reiterate a few of those points here: A huge part of Carmilla's character and motivation is her disdain for men.  Hector is a just a tool to her.  Dracula’s Generals are made up of men.  The vampires are ruled over by a ‘stupid, old man.’

There's also the fact she just doesn't care about her sisters. She refuses to give credit to Morana for her part in handling the logistics of their invading army, which Striga calls her out on. So she's still putting herself above the others. But the really telling part is her reaction to seeing Isaac in her final episode. If she cared about Lenore in any way, she would have demanded to know if she was still alive, did he kill her, what had he done? Instead, she's still shouting about how the world is full of idiots and she's better than everyone else.

This isn't feminism. This is pure arrogance, bitter vindictiveness, and plain narcissism.

Unlike Morana, Striga, and Lenore, Carmilla never talks about their plan of conquest in the terms of safety or security. It's always to the tune of vengeance or even just to prove she can do it. It's always about her fury of being treated as 'less than' because she and her sisters were just women. And it all culminates in a cowardly suicide because she couldn't stand the thought of losing to a lowly human like Isaac.

I don't want to be too harsh with Carmilla. I do like her as a character and I think she's a brilliantly written foil to Sypha as far as the feminism angle goes. This is also the medieval period where the conventions of society more often than not benefited men. I get it, I really do. But a tragic backstory still doesn't excuse toxic behavior.

[juvenillia]

~ Death of Peace of Mind ~ 09: change

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!reader

photo credits go to very talented @ave661

a/n: welcome to the first turning point, enjoy the fluff till it lasts *rubs her hands devilish*

CW/TW: none, just a fucked up mission and Johnny is a teasing ass

wordcount: 3k

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Simon couldn't shake his thoughts away. No matter what he did, no matter if he was awake or not, they always lead to one person. Always circling around you, like a wolf around its prey. The way he despised you, the way he wanted to shove you into this training mat to show you where your place should be. And now? He sat at a table, listening to Johnny's rant about the dramatical dream he had last night and couldn't keep track of the words from the Scot as soon as he caught site of you entering the mess hall. His eyes automatically got dragged to you like a moth to light. Still wearing the same hoodie, you did when he frightened you in the kitchenette this morning. The exhaustion still clinging onto your body. He didn't know what made him go so under your spell, but he couldn’t avert his eyes. The image in his head started to transform and he couldn’t tell if he liked it or not.  But he didn't saw the same person anymore, nothing like you were back in the briefing room on day zero.

He didn't saw the threat anymore; the threat he believed you were. He saw an ambitious soldier. He saw a comrade, a member of the 141, and a part of him wanted to see a friend. He wanted to be a friend you could reach out to. He wanted to provide you with a comfort he himself found in this team. His eyes never leaving your figure, examining every little move you made. It was ridiculous how fast an opinion can change. It felt weird, but from the earlier despise and mistrust was nothing more left. Replaced with an interest, a deep longing to understand your mind. He knew himself how complicated a life like yours could be. Letting people in was never a choice someone would easily make. He knew what pain, both mentally and physically, has to be endured. A pain most out standers would never understand, even if they say they appreciated your service. He knew how all that left scars deep into the soul and he knew that someone would rather turn cold and distant than to go through all of it again. Still, he wanted to take a look, he dared himself to get a glimpse of insight of your mind, maybe even your heart. You were nothing than honest around him and he did appreciate it. He appreciated the way you talked with him about topics he would never talk about. But he would like to listen to your voice. With every fibre in his body would he listen. Even if there were only fractures of both of your stories shared with each other, there was a bond formed that gathered him a stability. A stability your presence provided him. A stability only Gaz, Price and Soap could provide until now, but now you're a part of it. A part of Ghost's life and maybe - maybe if he would be honest with himself - he wanted you to be part of Simon's life as well.

"Aye. Lt. Are ya even listin'?", Johnny snapped his finger in front of him, before following Ghost's eyes back to you and a smirk flashed over his face. "A bit distracted, eh?", the Scot added with a mischievous tone. Ghost sent him one of his typical glares before averting his gaze back to the empty plate in front of him. "Patience isn't my best trait.", he just said calm. Johnny looked confused at him; another voice could be heard but before he could question it any further. "Well, we should be glad that we have enough time to breath between the operations at this point.", Kyle said out of the blue while sitting down next to Johnny. Gaz had no idea what the intentions of the earlier talk hold, but he supposed it was about the amount of time spent on base right now. "Are yer makin’ good progress?", Johnny gave him a curious look, while he still watched how you got yourself a coffee. Simon noticed too. How couldn't he? He was already observant from the first day and is memorizing every routine around him, and it's a thing it made him frown behind his mask. Around this time, you would still cling to a good cup of tea. You would first switch to coffee later after noon, when the work still needed your whole attention. "Aye. She really is good in tracing patterns and solving puzzles. That's a huge assistance.", Kyle said while stirring his tea. His voice still filled with some tired roughness. Simon wondered how much sleep you got. He worried – but only the slightest and just for professional purposes - that it wasn't enough at all. "Price really found our missing piece with her, eh?", Johnny laughed and waved you over, inviting you to sit with them. Ghost's eyes immediately trailed back to your figure. A strange feeling, a feeling he never knew, starting to boil in the bottom of his stomach. A feeling he couldn't label. He dismissed it with his usual concern. Concern about the wellbeing of this team and now, that you were a part of it, it only made sense that he worried about your wellbeing the same amount.

You slowly walked over, "Mornin' ", you said with an exhausted smile. Everyone greeted you in their usual manner. Your eyes didn't dare to look at Ghost. Earlier today you had no problem being in his presence. Too tired, too exhausted, too broken to care. But now your mind gave you again some images you'd rather forget about it. His glance lingering on you gave you already a warmth spreading across your cheeks. "You already on it again?", Kyle exhaled softly, looking at the cup with coffee on your hand and you nodded. "Need to crack it." - "Sit with us and eat something. Then yer can get back to the codes.", Johnny looked at you, still a bit concerned but after all just caring. You shook your head, "Later, can't relax until it's done." Ghost knew what you were up to. He did it himself so often. Burying yourself with so much work that your mind will be distracted, that will keep your brain busy so the demons couldn’t come in. He wasn't the right person to lecture you about it, so he stayed quiet. Price would sooner or later come at you for this behavior, he always did with Simon. His eyes never left you, not even when you already were on the way back to the IT department, to get the intel deciphered.

As you sat in the calm surrounding from the room you worked the last day on, sipping your coffee to get your brain back to work, your mind once more travelled through the last week. A week filled with so much emotional mess and growing you hadn't felt within the six months of trying to adjust to a normal life. Those four men achieved to turn your point of view and provided you with a place you want to protect to. Shoving the dreams aside, because they were only side effects of your needy and horny period brain. You found yourself surrounded by people you want to keep around people you want to fight for. A chuckle escaped your lips as you let the mouse cursor dance over the files on the screen. Change wasn't always a bad thing, sometimes you just need to lay back and let it happen. But that is easier said than done.

"What's so funny, Sergeant?", Kyle sat next to you and turned on the computer in front of him. "Nothing, really.", you said wearing a tired but soft smile. "Oh c'mon. Share with the class.", he placed a mug full of hot tea next to him and rummaged through some papers in front of him. "Nope, you gonna make a fuzz about it.", you jokingly pout. "As though! Tell me!" - "Attention to the task Garrick."

You didn't tell him of course, you went back into the piles of data and from time-to-time Kyle would approach you again, ask what was on your mind. He was determined to find out, and even more determined to share with the whole class aka Johnny. If you learnt something about Gaz, then you totally knew he loved to gossip. You knew he wouldn't keep quiet, and you weren't so sure if you already were down to commit that you found a liking in them. You were not good with that kind of stuff. Praising someone for a good work done, no problem. Admitting your feelings that you had when having them around you, no way. But you bet they already knew anyways. Especially Price. Your behavior towards them changed, even when they treated you almost the same as from the beginning, it changed. It changed because you changed around them. It was more warm-hearted, looking out for each other, and it was more genuine. Literally looking forward to spent time with them.

You tried to make out what brought the change, but you couldn't care too much. The way you laughed at Johnny's stories, the way you could have philosophical arguments with Kyle, the way Price always had an open door for whatever you needed, and the way Ghost was somehow always nearby. It granted you a safe zone. Something you thought you lost about a year ago. Something you thought you would never find again and still you were here. And you would make sure, that you really deserved it, that the trust you earned was justified.

Kyle would be gone sometimes, picking up a fresh coffee for both of you and something to eat. He made sure you would eat and take some breaks, even if it was just for a quick smoke or a walk around the building. He had to promise Johnny to force you to, because the Scot himself had too much on his plate with the recruits today. Him and Ghost were assigned for the training session with them and there he couldn't easily sneak away to look after you.

But what he could do was to annoy the shit out of his Lieutenant. "C'mon Lt. Dae like her. Admit it.", he cooed with a mocking tone. To be honest, Johnny had no problem with the idea that Ghost already finding his peace with you at all, but it still was unusual that it happened that fast. " Don't know what ya mean.", Ghost said stern while eyeing the rookies during their tasks. "Yer bum’s oot the windae?" - "Bloody ‘ell, MacTavish, speak English." - "I said yer talking rubbish.", this only earned him some of the usual Ghost snarl and Johnny laughed while bumping his shoulder into Ghost's. Johnny knew better, he saw it and he already planned on pushing his Lieutenant as far as possible.

The clock stroke seven when you finally stretched your limbs out. Your tired eyes hovering over the screen and just in that moment you saw something. You reached out to shamelessly hit Kyle's arm with your palm a few times to get his attention. "What?!", he shrieked from the sudden impact. "Do we still have the intel from that Russians base?", you didn't look at him, your eyes were pinned onto the monitor. Gaz looked at you with some disbelief but reached out for some hard drives and put them into his computer. There was just a little thing, a little side note, you missed while looking through the intel for god knows how often. Gaz pulled out some of the reports from the intel and there was the same note. With that little symbol you had reached a turning point. Scanning every line for more hints to put those two together. Frisking for the tiny hint. But nothing could stop you now. This little word ignited a determination within the two of you and you kept searching and searching until you found some clues. The base you frisked last week was indeed linked to Popow and with that also to the Camilo incident. "Fuck...", you exhaled and Gaz only nodded. It also meant that you missed something important while tearing the base apart. You immediately reported your lately gained information to Laswell and Price, who started to map out an emergency plan. You had to do something. Your informant back then had told you the base was empty, nothing to worry about but after your latest discovery it would quite possible that the base was still in active use. Therfore you had found way too less guards in there. It made no sense at all. But you couldn't do anything about right now. You got all information out of the files and the rest was up to your superiors now.

It was almost nine by now. Gaz tapped softly at your shoulder, "C'mon. Let's go the common room. I'm gonna make us some tea and you relax a bit." - "Do I have a choice?", you chimed while following Kyle around the base. With every step you took closer to the common room, you could feel the soreness in your limbs raise. The exhaustion from the past days creeping up your body. Gaz was the first to enter the area, closely followed by you. Johnny was in his usual spot on the smaller couch, Ghost across from him on the larger one. "Gonna make us some tea. Want some, Lieutenant?", Kyle said while directly moving to the kitchenette. Ghost only hummed in appreciation. "Yer fuckin Brits with yer tea.", Soap mocked while smiling teasingly at you. Usually, you would have taken the place right next to him, but at this moment you wanted to lay down properly. As properly as possible on that couch. Your body literally begged you for some good old cozy rest. So you walked over to the couch with the masked man, not paying much attention to him, you flinged yourself onto the longer part of the l-shaped-couch, throwing an arm over your face, and letting out a long exhale. The arm should guard you from the embarrassment that still clung onto you, while being right next to Ghost, but also to shield your exhausted eyes from the bright lights.

"That bad, eh?", Johnny teasingly nudged your foot that hung lack from the couch with his own. "Worst case scenario.", you said while not removing your arm from your face nor reacting to the impact of Johnny's touch. "What do you mean?", it was now Simon's voice echoing through your ears. "We messed up.", Kyle started to explain while handing Ghost a cup, and waited for you to sit up to take your own. So you did. Leaning into the comfort of the couch listening to the men brag and discuss the situation you found yourself in. You tried to keep track of everything, but you were too tired and you could feel how your body wanted to get the rest it needed.

Just the sudden feeling of weight on your right shoulder dragged your attention to the gloved hand resting there. You blinked in confusion at the masked face next to you. "Sorry, what?", you didn't even realised someone was talking to you. Especially not that it was him. "You look sick, Sergeant.", he stated calm, not removing his hand from your shoulder. His touch felt utterly comforting. Your head fell back into the couch. "I'm fine. Just tired.", you exhaled while clinging onto the mug in your palms for your dear life.

Without a warning you felt a soft palm onto your forehead, and then your cheek. "Yer burning.", Ghost had removed his hand from your shoulder, took his glove off and placed his hand onto your face. It was gentle and hesitant, it didn't lingered there for long anyways. Still definitely longer than he intended. But his touch felt so weirdly good and dear. "Maybe you should get it checked.", Johnny intervene. Kyle giving you a concerned look as well. You shook your head, "I know my body, okay? It's always the same during this time of the month.", you sighed. The heat on your cheeks were totally blamed due your period, but the closeness from your Lieutenant only made it worse. All three men exhaled with a little and nearly inaudible 'oh', not wanting to push the topic any further and decided to rather trust you on this.

The men, mostly the two across from you, talked about the whole situation. Ghost only added some comments, his eyes always tracking your figure from aside. Checking if your status got any worse. His eyes did widen in surprise as he could catch a glimpse of your head completely falling back, eyes closed and lips slightly parted. Your chest lifting in regular and deep pace. You were asleep, so deep asleep you didn't care about the other two men laughing wholehearted. The view in front of his eyes made something within the cold wall around himself melt. A slight smile creeping onto his lips. A genuine smile hidden behind his mask. He gently took the mug out of your hands and placed it on the coffee table in front of you. He didn't dared to avert his gaze from your figure. The peaceful sight of you silently snorring gave him a strange feeling of pleasure. You felt safe enough around them to fall asleep right here and now. This had to be the greatest compliment someone like Simon could get.

Johnny smiled at you while Kyle only shook his head. "Says she knows her body but doesn't know when to rest.", he chuckled.

taglist: open just lmk

@yyiikes @saffronimagines @originaldeerhottub @illuminwtesz @killergoddess97 @kaelaiscool

[lookingfts]

Multi-Chap Fics Pt. 1

If you’re newer to my work, or Kanthony fic in general, I’ll do a few posts sharing my works! First up, multi-chapter stories that have actual plots (as opposed to the purely smut or fluff fics, which we will address in a future post). They are all modern AUs. Part 1 of 2:

Sharp Edges: Kate dates Ben after she’s rejected by a love-phobic Anthony. But old feelings resurface two years later, when Kate discovers that Ben has cheated on her on the first day of a family holiday at Aubrey Hall.

The Consultant: Anthony and Kate had a brief relationship in uni and went their separate ways. After ten years, Kate invites Anthony - a successful consultant - to work with her growing company.

Like I See You: Kate is in a dry spell, so Siena sets her up with Anthony - a very talented phone sex professional that creates several problems for her.

If I lose myself tonight and Say my name (a series): Kate has hated Anthony since they met, but especially after he broke her sister’s heart. Anthony has long nurtured an attraction that borders on obsession. They make an agreement: Kate will spend one night with him, in exchange for the money to take care of her family and get out of debt.

You Make Me (A Complete Mess): Kate strikes up a friendship with Violet Bridgerton after a painful divorce...only to find herself with a complicated attraction to Violet's son.

Stay tuned for more!

[cheerleaderman]

Rolene Orielle

The heir to their family who has complicated relationships with their family expect their cousin due to finding out the truth behind their birth/upbringing.

Twst Rapunzel

Basic info

Age: 16

They/them

Height: 169 cm

Birthday: June 21

Voice claim:Jp- Akira Asai - Call of the night. Eng - Haruri Fujioka-ouran highschool host club

Hometown: Sunrise Kingdom

Year: 1st

Dorm: Wonderling (My Alice dorm)

Dominant hand: right

Nickname: sunny, lene, sunfish (Floyd)

Favorite food: different kinds of soups, anything with nuts , waffles, smoothies, gummy Candy

Like/hobbies: painting, boating, picnics , sunflowers, ducks, rock climbing, archery, chameleons, dancing, lanterns

Dislike: being stuck in one place, uncomfortable shoes

Family: Flori Orielle(they call each other siblings)Lorelei Orielle (aunt ) Elian (uncle -deceased) Edeline Orielle (mother ) Oliver Orielle (father ) Elise Orielle (grandmother-deceased) Ludwig (grandfather)

Best subject: Art

Talent: doing hair, painting, climbing, tying nots

Unique Magic - Make the Clock reverse

Can reverse back any inanimate object back to its previous state up to 24 hours. They need to specify the time in the spell if not it will reverse to a random state within 24 hours

(More under cut)

More info

Rolene is someone who is loyal to the people the care about

Sometimes they use their magic to make their painting come to life

Is kinda naive in a sense due to living most of their life in isolation sometimes not understanding social ques

Others put pressure on them since they the heir to their family

Has a bit of an identity crisis learning of how they were born and the different positions that they and Flori are in. They question why their aunt still loved and cared for them despite her life work was taken from her to save their life even though she told them she never blamed them for anything

Their hair is slowly turning more brown over the years and with cut their hair when they’re 18

Usually sneaks out not getting caught only really Flori is able to catch them

Doesn’t have that close of a relationship with their parents due to the whole situation but is warming up to them current , they also still have love for their aunt

Very skilled on creating things but mainly focuse on painting

Has a pet chameleon at home named Pastel

Does know some healing magic and all ways have a mini first aid kit on hand

Please stop climbing the building how did you even get up there

Loves going and exploring the many forests in their home country

disgusting by their grandfather

Learned archery from their Aunt

Backstory

One of the lost royal children and the heir to the grand duchess when their aunt ran away with them and their cousin Flori. Living in a cottage in complete isolation from the world for 14 years believing that she was their mother and Flori was their twin.

The two learn many skills but Rolene was mainly interested in the arts with many paintings on the walls of the cottage. Even with all these activities Rolene grew curious about the world growing restless. At first Mother said no telling the two about the dangers of the world. Flori was able to convince her to take them into the forest making Rolene very excited whenever they go out.

At 14 when Mother went out for errands Rolene and Flori snuck out to get some flowers from a field they found last time. When they returned they found the site of their home being searched by guards. The two ran away hoping to find their mother but after searching for hours they fell asleep by a lake later to be found by the grand duke their father.

Adjusting to the new environment was difficult especially with all these new expectations. You must not do this or that was hard for Rolene’s more care free self. They will start to see the difference in treatment between them and Flori by the staff making them refuse lessons and staff staying by their sibling side. Even when learning that Flori wasn’t actually their twin it didn’t change anything.

After a while their mother sat Rolene and Flori down to tell them about what happened around their birth and why Flori’s mother ran away with them. When pregnant the duchess started to fall ill and everyone was looking for a way to heal her and save Rolene. When many medics couldn’t find anything that’s when their grandfather took Flori’s mother life work that still hadn’t been perfected and gave it to her lucky it succeed and she started to get better and Rolene was born healthy. This led to Flori’s mother getting obsessed with the health of Rolene constantly checking up on them it wasn’t as bad since Flori’s father was there to calm her but after his death everything took a turn for the worse. Their grandfather has been pressing for a marriage even after the death of her fiancé leading to her breaking point and disappeared with both children as she was watching both at the time.

divider

[artistactorathens]

Netflix being a bitch and canceling Every Good Queer Show Ever is absolutely not going to stop me from posting about DBD, so if you’ll allow me I am going to be so incredibly normal about my fanfic naming system for @painlandweek a couple of weeks ago (which was a wonderful event full of insanely talented fan works, go check out the collection on AO3 when it’s back from the dead)

This is more for me than anyone else, and it’s going to be a long one — incoming Overly Complicated Naming System under the cut

So, here are the names of my Painland Week fics:

1. Phantom Chills (sickfic)

2. Ghost Stories (myths/legends)

3. Spirit Moves (confession/first kiss)

4. Shadow Boxes (domestic au)

5. Dead Letters (canon divergence/casefic)

6. Vision Boards (free day)

7. Soul Searching (soulmate au)

They’re all [synonym for ghost] [plural noun], which started as an accident; I named Phantom Chills and Ghost Stories, realized the pattern, and ran a marathon with it. They also all have double meanings (a literal meaning and a figurative one) and I wanted both meanings to apply to each fic to the best of my ability. I think I did pretty well tbh, I’ve outlined the meanings/how I applied them as well:

- phantom chills: chills that aren’t real (i.e. as the result of a spell), can also be a ghost feeling cold (Charles relives the symptoms of his death)

- ghost stories: stories meant to scare your friends (like the one Fraser tells Charlie), can also be ghosts telling each other stories (like the ones Charles and Edwin tell each other)

- spirit moves: from “as the spirit moves” aka bring spontaneous (Edwin asking Charles to kiss him), can also be a ghost shooting his shot (also Edwin asking Charles to kiss him)

- shadow boxes: fighting inner demons (like Edwin’s internalized homophobia), can also be a ghost with a lot of boxes (Edwin and Charles had a lot of collectibles to pack before moving into the office)

- dead letters: letters you can’t deliver or return to sender (like Uncle Francis’s letter to Kit that can’t be delivered any more bc they’re both dead), can also be a ghost’s writings (Edwin — he wrote the poem)

- vision boards: pasting up ideas for the future (like what board games to play? Or just how nice it looks), ghosts playin board games (they do in fact do that this one was a bit of a stretch)

- soul searching: doesn’t end in an s, means finding yourself (like Charles and Edwin) and finding each other (like Charles and Edwin)

Alright that’s it lol sorry for the long post. SAVE DEAD BOY DETECTIVES!!!!

[space-mermaid-writing]

You cat stephen fic was perfect!💘

I was wondering If you could write a cat tony fic where stephen accidentaly casts a spell on him cuz he was being annoying😅

I did my best to write a cat!Tony story that lives up the cat!Stephen fic. I hope you like it 🐈 (As so often, this got way longer than planned; and that's also why you had to wait so long for this...) Beta by KJ :)

Summary: Stephen looked at the pile of clothes from which a very clearly not amused cat looked back. “Well, shit…”

Tags: cat!Tony, magical shenanigans, panic attack, normal cat behavior, fluff, fun, bordering on crack, don’t take this too seriously, just the regular everyday weirdness of magic man and engineer guy

Ko-fi | Masterlist | Cat!Stephen | Read it on AO3 | Word count: 5.4k

Cat for a day

Stephen looked at the pile of clothes from which a very clearly not amused cat looked back.

“Well, shit…”

His previous anger was forgotten, replaced by mild annoyance,  as always when Tony touched something he wasn’t supposed to touch.

Well, he hadn’t touched the relic per se. Not with his hands anyway. But something in his aura – or Vishanti knew what – had triggered the relic and activated it mid-argument.

It hadn’t been anything important they had been arguing about, merely another technicality. Sometimes Stephen wondered why Tony bothered coming over into the Sanctum he loved to criticize the interior of; when they almost always ended up arguing about something.

It might have something to do with the fact that they were dating; which was a recent development. Tony could always change his mind… until then Stephen would happily welcome him into the Sanctum.

Anyway, that wasn’t the point here. The point was that Tony was now standing on four legs instead of two. And he was way more furry than he should be.

Stephen did this thing where he raised his brow totally unimpressed. “That’s what you get for touching stuff you shouldn’t,” he said in his best ‘I told you so’-voice.

The cat huffed and the noise he made sounded rather hoarse; as he had yet to figure how to use his new voice. The intent of his words was clear though. At least to the sorcerer.

“Well, you did something to that globe, because I didn’t use magic and I’m pretty sure you didn’t spontaneously develop a shapeshifting talent in the past five minutes.”

The cat climbed out of the pile of fabric. More noises came out of that tiny mouth. Stephen had no idea what he said but it sounded a lot like complaining. He waited until Tony was done and stared up at him, expectantly.

Only then did Stephen move his hands for a spell. “Stand still while I get you back. And don’t yell at me when you find out you are naked. None of this is my fault.”

He performed a simple counter spell; it was standard procedure really.

It did nothing.

Stephen tried two other spells – Tony remained a cat.

Something wasn’t right here and for the first time, the sorcerer felt uneasy. Turning Tony back shouldn’t be this complicated. He didn’t like to not know what was going on.

“I need to do some research,” he hesitantly admitted.

His words seemed to trigger something in the feline. Tony suddenly felt like he couldn't breathe. His chest was too tight, and everything around him too big. His little body tensed and a weird noise escaped him, some kind of wheezing from deep within his lung.

“Tony.”

The cat didn’t seem to hear him. He was shaking and looked like he was five seconds away from running off. Stephen's hand gently grabbed the feline’s neck – right at the spot where a mother carried their kittens – and he applied soft pressure.

Tony had never been a kitten, but he stilled anyway.

“Deep breaths, Tony. In…and out… in…”

The cat slowly but visibly relaxed. He was still not making a move, but his eyes were more present; not as clouded as they had been moments before.

“You with me?” Stephen asked and got a small meow in return. He let go of Tony tentatively. The cat remained pressed to the floor for a second. Then he sat up, the shaking not yet completely gone, and looked around as if embarrassed by the panic attack.

There was no one around; they were all alone.

“Let’s go to the library.” The cat nodded, then yelped when he got scooped up into Stephen's arms. “I got you,” the sorcerer soothed him.

He was careful not to touch Tony’s chest since he was pretty confident that this weak spot had been transferred to the new body.

Tony was smart enough not to wriggle. Instead, he snuggled into his arms.

Tony was actually quite a cute cat; a brown and black tabby. Funnily enough, his facial hair had been translated into the fur pattern.

Stephen turned to walk away, but then remembered something: he shouldn't keep clothes lying around randomly in the relic room. With a flick of his hand, he teleported them ahead into the library.

He himself took the path on foot so as not to expose Tony to any more magic.

Besides, it wasn't far.

Once in the library, he set Tony down next to his clothes on a couch. "I need to get some books. Make yourself comfortable. It won't take long."

He disappeared between the shelves.

Tony looked after him. Another wave of panic rose briefly, but he quickly swallowed it down.

It was fine, he told himself. Stephen would fix this.

He decided to simply not think about the fact that magic had affected his body without Tony’s consent. His mind was still the same; it was only just his body that had changed.

He let out a frustrated noise, that sounded very much like a growl.

Oh yeah, and he couldn’t talk anymore. At least not with his normal voice. Stephen seemed to understand the sentiment well enough though.

That reminded Tony of something and he searched for his phone in the pocket of his pants.

It was difficult to pull out the device if you had no thumbs. Or any fingers at all. But after a few slippery attempts, he finally managed it.

And was immediately facing the next daunting task: using the touch screen.

It took him a while to figure out that his nose worked quite okay with the tech. Tony opened the app for writing notes – he had never used it before. Normally he talked to Jarvis. That was way faster and Jarvis knew how to filter his waterfall of words.

Now writing with his nose one letter at a time was frustratingly slow. Jarvis had been alerted when Tony unlocked the phone, but probably kept his quiet to wait for what happened because he couldn't identify Tony's voice nor his fingerprints.

Tony was halfway through his explanation when the A.I. finally spoke up. “Sir, am I right in assuming that you got turned into a cat but you are still able to understand English?”

The cat looked into the camera and nodded. “Meow.”

“I need you to confirm your identity,” Jarvis nevertheless demanded the safety measure that Tony had introduced to him.

The cat typed the combination of numbers and letters into his phone. They vanished as soon as he finished.

“Identity confirmed. Do you require medical attention, Sir?”

Tony denied it and told Jarvis to put his calendar on hold for the day until his situation got sorted out.

It was inconvenient to spell everything out, but this was his only way to communicate at the moment.

By then Stephen was back with his pile of books. He noticed the cat's head peeking over the back of the couch.

“You alright there, Tony?”

“Meow?”

He took that as a ‘yes’ and sat down to open the first book.

Tony curled up but soon enough he was bored. For one, he wasn’t in the mood to relax. Plus, he had never been one for idly sitting around; not as a human being, and not as a cat either.

He stretched; first his front, then his back legs. He then yawned widely.

His new body felt more agile. Lighter. His chest still hurt, as well as his left front leg. His shoulder had never fully healed.

Nevertheless, he had no trouble jumping off the couch silently. His tail flicked.

Everything seemed taller; the furniture, the ceiling. Tony had to crane his neck up; and decided immediately that he wasn’t a fan of this fact.

If Stephen noticed he left his place, he didn’t react and Tony took that as an invitation to leave the library in order to find food. Getting accidentally transformed had kicked up his appetite and he felt hungry. Purposeful small steps led him to the kitchen. Fortunately, he had no problem operating on four legs instead of the usual two.

On his way downstairs he heard a noise and his ears perked up. The Cloak of Levitation hovered at the top of the stairs. It had no face but its collar was tilted, watching the feline with curiosity.

“Mrew.”

The cloak flew down to him to prod the cat, who tried to evade it. Tony made a disgruntled sound and fended off the fabric with his paw.

He had already noticed from Stephen’s interactions that the Cloak of Levitation showed little understanding for personal space. And apparently, it wasn’t yet quite sure what to make of this cat. If it even recognized him as Tony or perhaps thought this was a new pet.

Tony continued on his way, with the cloak following him. Tony glanced over his shoulder at it but didn’t object.

In the kitchen, he faced a new challenge: doors. More specifically, cabinet doors.

Tony jumped onto the counter and tried to get into the upper cabinet that he knew stored toast. He had to stand on his hind legs, and reach up with his whole body to try and open the cabinet door.

It turned out to be rather difficult.

He barely kept his balance  and pushed his paw into the narrow gap to swing the door open. It opened a little – and fell back close immediately.

The cat huffed in annoyance.

His gaze fell on the coffee maker. He needed one of those drinks. However, the mugs were also stored in one of the upper kitchen cupboards.So he was back to the same problem there.

Suddenly he understood why cats liked to push things off counters. He was very tempted to do the same with a nearby vase; out of sheer frustration.

That was when the cloak – which so far had simply watched him; or whatever it was that it did, hovering in the middle of the room – came over to him and opened the cabinet Tony had failed to pry open.

The cat meowed a thanks.

Now, jumping up into the upper cabinets was complicated by the fact that the compartments down low were fully packed. Tony stood on his hind legs and stretched up again to analyze his options; but before he could even try to start something, the cloak had taken out the bag of toast and set it down next to Tony.

That gave Tony an idea and sure enough, after some trial and error in communication, Tony had a decent sandwich and coffee in front of him shortly afterwards.

Tony took back any quip he ever threw at the cloak; that thing was a saint.

He ate his sandwich with relish. The texture felt weird in his tiny mouth. It wasn’t really made for this kind of food. But it tasted passable enough that he wasn't bothered by it.

The Cloak of Levitation stayed at his side, fascinatedly studying him. With a corner of its fabric it petted the cat’s head, and this time Tony let it happen; only his ears flicked, irritated more by the gesture than the actual action.

He heard voices approaching. It was a conversation between two sorcerers who entered the kitchen and Tony looked up. He did know apprentices came to the Sanctum for their studies or to do whatever it was magic people did around here – so he wasn’t alarmed when he didn’t recognize their faces.

They, on the other hand, stopped right in their tracks when they saw a feline on the counter right in the middle of what seemed to be the Sorcerer Supreme’s lunch snack: open packets of cheese and ham, a glass of pickles and toast and butter.

The butter knife didn’t quite make it to the sink but was lying on the edge of the sink, turned so that the blade reached dangerously far over the edge of the counter and threatened to fall off at any moment.

They were also pretty sure coffee wasn’t supposed to be served in a cereal bowl.

Hovering next to all the chaos was the Cloak of Levitation, who did nothing to prevent the cat from eating food that wasn’t for felines.

“Hey!” One of the sorcerers shouted sharply, and that triggered something in Tony’s cat brain.

He froze for a second. Then he took what was left of the sandwich in his mouth and bolted. He jumped on the floor and zipped right through the sorcerer’s feet. They tried to catch him but Tony was way faster, dodging their grip.

He ran down the hallway and through an ajar door. The room was unoccupied by people; Tony went under the couch anyway. Only then did he stop and catch his breath.

His little heart was beating fast in his chest. It was a strange feeling: it hadn't been fear that had made him leave the kitchen. However, it still felt like a fight-or-flight reaction. He didn’t want anyone to come between him and his food.

It was very atypical of him – but then again, it was a weird day. So Tony let it slide.

He peaked from under the couch and found that no one had followed him. Not even the cloak, which was – honestly – a bummer. It had been very useful.

Tony turned around to continue his meal when he noticed a pair of eyes in the darkness back under the couch.

They glowed yellowish with an eerie intensity, piercing through the darkness. Focused on Tony they seemed to follow his every movement, every breath, every heartbeat. And they were way too large for any creature to fit under here.

The shadows clung to it like a shroud, an inky blackness that seemed to devour the faint light falling under the couch.

This wasn’t natural.

The hairs on the back of Tony's neck stood up and his instinct yelled: danger! He held back a hiss, but was ready to bunk off at the slightest sign of an attack.

The eyes didn’t come closer. They did glance at the rest of the sandwich though.

Cautiously, Tony stepped to the sandwich, not taking his eyes off whatever it was that lurked in the shadows. He pulled the top part of the bread off and pushed it towards the creature; the yellow eyes watching the movement. Then it opened its mouth and for a moment Tony saw sharp teeth and a long tongue.

Then the bread was gone and Tony heard a satisfied noise. The yellow eyes close and don’t open again. They were gone.

The shadows were still present.

Tony took the leftover sandwich and moved out from under the couch back into the light. The feeling of imminent danger was gone but he wasn’t taking any chances.

_______________________

It was already dark outside when Stephen leaned back and rolled his neck and shoulders. The research had taken him longer than anticipated, mostly because he was diligent and thorough.

“Tony,” he called over to the couch.

He got no reaction.

Maybe he had fallen asleep. Yet, when Stephen thought about it, he had never seen Tony be quiet for so long. Normally he was always talking, mumbling to himself, and sharing his thoughts half-aloud.

The sorcerer stood up and stepped around the couch. He saw the reason why it was so peaceful: the couch was empty; there was no cat in sight.

Stephen looked around. “Tony?”

Still, no answer.

“I swear to the Vishanti, if he walked through the wrong door and fell into a black hole, I will call pest control to get him out.”

He left the library and reached out mentally to the Sanctum to figure out where Tony was. He felt several presences in the building – not surprising, as apprentices often studied here. But all of them were gathered in groups; he couldn’t make out a single figure alone.

Worry spread through Stephen and he set off to search for Tony.

“Tony?”

_______________________

“Meow mreew.” [“Anyway, it has a base plate of pre-famulated amulite surmounted by a malleable logarithmic casing in such a way that the two spurving bearings were in a direct line with the panametric fan.”]

Tony elegantly dodged the hand that wanted to pet him. He didn’t want to be touched by someone he barely knew for an hour.

“I’m pretty sure it’s from another dimension,” one of the apprentices said about the cat that they had found in the Sanctum. “Maybe it came with Master Reese. He recently went to Ektra’vall. This cat is way too smart to be a regular feline.”

Tony turned his head towards the young man, who stared at him.

“He just winked at me!”

Tony laughed, which came out as some weird purring noise.

He had found this group of young wizards and their books in one of the study rooms. They probably should be doing some homework or whatever task they had been assigned. But as soon as they spotted the unfamiliar cat they had coaxed it onto the table.

Tony liked the attention, thrived under it even. He had lectured them about turbo encabulators; not that they understood a word he meowed. Still, they were delighted by the chatty cat and talked to him. The result was two different conversations going on.

At one point, one of the apprentices conjured a packet of string cheese out of thin air and fed it to the cat. Tony was pretty sure that Wong would get an aneurysm if he saw the food right next to the ancient-looking books – but that wasn’t Tony’s problem.

He was just a cat. It was liberating. There was no pressure; nobody knew it was him. There weren’t any expectations.

Tony humored the wizard kid who used a pen as bait for him to play. He pounced at the end of the pen with his paw. Being a cat helped his mind to stop running a mile a minute.

His ears perked up when he heard the door open and he spotted a speck of blue. Oh, this was going to be fun.

“Shouldn’t you work on your evocation studies?”

The apprentices hadn’t noticed the Sorcerer Supreme approaching and his voice caught them by surprise. They winced and turned towards him to bow respectfully.

“We are working on it,” the boy that had fed Tony pointed at the scripts. It didn’t help their case that a) he still had the string cheese in his hands and b) the tabby cat was sitting on one of the books, washing its face by licking its paw and preening his face.

The feline seemed unperturbed, like a regular cat. But Tony couldn’t fool Stephen.

“Really?” Stephen raised his eyebrow. “Because it rather looks like you all got distracted by Tony.”

The apprentices exchanged glances, throwing their attention at that piece of information.

“The cat’s name is Tony?”

“Is that short for Plutonium?”

“Will he stay longer at the Sanctum?”

They were all talking excitedly to each other.

Stephen tilted his head. His eyes met Tony’s, who looked way too smug. He was clearly enjoying the situation. Well, at least one of them had fun.

“The cat will not stay. Go back to your studies. I expect them by tonight.”

“Master Doctor Strange, it is already night.”

Huh, Stephen hadn’t noticed.

“Then you better hurry up. Tony, come with me. I have a few spells for you.”

Tony yawned before jumping off the table to follow the sorcerer, while one of the apprentices gasped quietly. “Dude, Plutonium is totally the Sorcerer Supreme’s new familiar pet.”

Tony turned back to him and made a displeased sound. He was no pet of anyone.

Holding his head and tail high, he walked at Stephen’s side. The tall sorcerer made big steps and Tony had to hurry to keep up.

He didn’t like that.

From this new perspective, Stephen was freakishly tall.

“Good to see you’re still a menace bothering people.” There was a smile on Stephen’s lips.

“Mrew miaow.” [“It’s called being bored. It’s not like there’s anything better to do around here.”]

Back in the library, the pile of books on Stephen's desk seemed to have grown even more. Tony jumped onto it. An easy task; he had perfect control of his body by now.

From the higher ground, he looked expectantly at the sorcerer.

“I did some research on the relic. Although it is stored in the Sanctum Sanctorum, it is occasionally used for teaching purposes in Kamar-Taj to demonstrate the fusion of different types of magic from several dimensions. Therefore it’s not surprising that it showed unprompted activity … anyway, you should be back to normal in no time.”

Stephen called upon his magic and used it to draw glowing lines into the air. It was a delicate pattern that formed into a sphere. When it was finished, Stephen let it fly over the cat and with a snap of his fingers it burst into golden sparks that rained down onto the feline.

Tony looked at it in awe. It was beautiful. He lifted his paw to catch a sparkle. It felt cool and melted into his fur, like a snowflake.

He still was a cat afterwards. Judging by Stephen's face, this was not the desired result. He looked distraught and tired. But it was gone in a second; then the determination was back.

“Maybe if I adjust the parameter.” The sorcerer reopened a book. “When you consider the magical volume... and that the relic may have stored traces of extradimensional magic…" Stephen mumbled further explanations to himself.

Tony didn’t even understand half of it. He watched and waited.

Stephen tried a new spell. And then another.

Sighing, he dropped into the chair and ran his hand through his hair, avoiding looking at the cat.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured. He wasn’t used to failure. “I will fix this. I promise.”

The ball of fur jumped onto his lap, letting out a high-pitched “Chirrup” to get his attention. Warm feline eyes met Stephen’s.

The sorcerer raised his hand to Tony and the cat headbutted it, prompting him to scratch the cat behind his ears. Contented, Tony leaned into the touch. He was purring soothingly as if he wanted to reassure Stephen everything was fine.

The sorcerer would have smiled at that sight if he wasn't so worried and disappointed in himself. He couldn’t let Tony down.

“I will go over everything one more time. Maybe I missed something.” That would be a first. Stephen was very accurate regarding research. He turned back to the books. Tony stayed on his lap, curled up.

_______________________

Stephen browsed every single script on the table but couldn’t find any mistakes. One of the spells should have worked.

He concluded that he needed more books. The answer was somewhere in the library. It always was.

Stephen stifled a yawn. Hours spent pouring over dense volumes had taken their toll, leaving his mind heavy and his eyes strained. His concentration had waned, and the words on the page blurred before his weary gaze.

But he had to pull through, for Tony’s sake.

Tony wasn’t a fan of magic. Understandably so. He had told Stephen about his encounter with the witch. Or at least parts of it.

Stephen was pretty sure he had downplayed it. From what he had heard, Stephen was still furious about the violation. What the witch had done to Tony was basically torture.

Tony only tolerated some magic because he liked Stephen. They took their relationship slow, step by step.

But now Stephen had screwed up and he wouldn’t be surprised if Tony hated him after this. Or at least wanted to take a break from the sorcerer and magic in general.

Stephen's eyes were unfocused in the distance, his thoughts drifting off. He didn’t realize it until something gently touched his beard.

When he looked down, he noticed Tony was watching him.

“Sorry,” Stephen muttered. “Go back to sleep.” He rolled his shoulders. The tension from the responsibility had settled in a knot between his shoulder blades that ached intensely. But it was no use; he had to pull himself together.

Tony tilted his head and then – as he came to a decision – he shook it. “Meow.”

“Not yet. But I’ll find the right spell.”

Apparently, that was not what Tony meant. He jumped off his lap and pawed at Stephen’s pants, motioning him to follow, meowing loudly.

"What is it?" Alarmed by the cat's sudden stubbornness, he followed him to the couch, where the engineer's clothes were still lying.

The cat hopped onto the cushions and patted them with his paw.

Stephen frowned, not sure if he understood correctly. “You want me to sit on it?”

“Mrew.”

“Why?”

Tony just stared at him and waited.

Stephen was too tired to argue and with a sigh he gave in. Tony was back in his lap as soon as the sorcerer sat down. He circled once to find a good spot before he moved into a perfect loaf, purring again.

Stephen petted the soft fur. “Now what?” he asked.

Tony blinked up at him with one eye.

“You want me to take a break?”

“Brrep.”

Stephen sighed again – this time because his body relaxed a bit. “Fine. Five minutes.”

It didn’t take a whole five minutes until the sorcerer's breathing became deep and even. His fingers moved slower and slower in Tony's fur until they finally stopped altogether; Stephen had fallen asleep.

Happy with that result, Tony closed his eyes as well.

_______________________

There was a noise on the other side of the couch that alerted Tony. He hadn’t heard anyone come in and decided to investigate.

He climbed onto the armrest and stared at the table Stephen had occupied. What he saw should have surprised him, but somehow it didn’t.

A ghost version of Stephen hovered in the air – cross-legged - browsing the books. The books seemed to be regular books and not ghost books; at least they weren’t transparent.

Ghost-Stephen turned a page and that had to be the noise that Tony had heard.

Tony knew about astral projecting; he had seen it before when Stephen's body looked like he had fallen asleep meditating. But he had never caught a glimpse of the sorcerer’s astral ghost version.

“Mreewp.” [“You know that’s called cheating.”]

Ghost-Stephen looked up, surprised, when he saw that Tony was addressing him. “You can see me?”

“Mroow.” [“I’m looking at you, ain’t I?”]

“Huh.” Stephen put his book down and floated over to the feline. “That’s interesting. We assumed cats to be able to perceive several planes, but we never had proof.”

“Groow mrem.” [“That’s great for you. Can we go back and focus on the problem at hand: getting me back?”]

“Yes, pardon.”

“Thank you, I-…” Tony stopped mid-sentence, staring at Stephen in that weird non-blinking way. “You understand what I’m saying?”

Stephen paused as well, realizing that – yes, he did. “It appears so. It must be because I’m currently in the astral dimension.”

“You mean ghost town?” Unimpressed, Tony jumped onto the floor and then walked over to the table with the books. There he first got on the chair and then onto the table. Truth be told, he was relieved to finally have a normal conversation. One where both sides knew what the other said.

“You’re still cheating on the taking a break part,” he remarked.

“Are you complaining I’m trying to find a solution to your problem?” Stephen floats around the table. He reached out to pet Tony and the cat leaned in the surprisingly solid touch.

“I didn’t say that,” he murmured. “Just pointing out a fact.”

“Mhm.” The sorcerer didn’t sound convinced. He continued to give back scratches all the way to that sweet spot right before the tail.

The cat got low but stretched his butt upwards. Purring louder than ever, he then flopped onto the side and was about to stick his belly out at Stephen when he realized what he was doing. Scowling, he pulled himself back up, ignoring Stephen's smug smile.

“That’s definitely some kind of cheating.”

“We had a lot of cats on the farm I grew up on.”

Stephen rarely talked about his childhood. Tony mostly knew the basics. Therefore he absorbed these kinds of snippets of information, adding them together like a big puzzle. There were still many gaps.

“More volunteers for your Hogwarts transmutation class?” He tried to dig deeper.

Stephen was quick to correct him. “You did not transmute. You shapeshifted.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Everything but the result. It’s a completely different course of action. You see, with shapeshifting a person shifts into a different living being. In most cases into a different species; although not always. While during a transmutation it changes the substance – regardless if it’s a living being or a objec-…” Stephen paused. His face told Tony an idea had struck him.

And he was right.

“Metamorphosis… I haven’t thought about metamorphosis. Normally, it wouldn’t be relevant, but since the source of magic lies in a relic, it’s actually quite possible.” He floated over to the shelves, looking for a specific book.

Tony stayed on the table, watching him. “Do you know how to reverse it?”

“Oh yes, it’s rather easy – if you know what you’re looking for. Ah, there it is…” Stephen thumbed through the book until he found what he was looking for. "Metamorphosis explains how you were able to have such good control over your new form straight away. Without any familiarization phase. And why there are some striking matching features between your forms.” Especially the facial hair and eye color.

Stephen returned to the desk.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“I was ready five hours ago.”

Stephen’s face fell, sobered up, and the guilt was back. He mumbled another apology.

Tony felt awful for mentioning it; being a cat hadn’t been that bad. Even if it hadn't been voluntary.

Ghost-Stephen disappeared into thin air and a second later human-Stephen stood up. Some magic was safer to perform when he was on this plane.

He stepped to the cat, who was waiting for yet another attempt. Only this time, he actually felt something.

The magic wrapping around him was bright and he had to close his eyes for a second. It felt like he was stretching after sitting in the same pose for a long time. His joints were cracking like he had slept uncomfortably.

It didn’t hurt, rather it felt right.

Then it was gone and Tony opened his eyes. He was still sitting on the table, but now as a human again. The air suddenly felt more chilly.

Oh yeah, his clothes were still on the couch.

And Tony was naked as on the day he was born.

He noticed the dark blush spreading on Stephen’s face. They hadn’t reached that stage of their relationship yet, but Tony didn’t mind showing off. Plus, it was nice to know that his body still got that kind of reaction.

Stephen realized he was staring and cleared his throat, averting his eyes. “You should…” He trailed off, vaguely gesturing towards the pile of clothes.

Tony slid off the table. “Don’t play coy. This is what you get.”

His words made Stephen blush even more. Tony hadn’t taken his partner to be this shy. Somehow it was endearing.

He grabbed his pants. “Well, it’s good to be back.” He pulled his pants over his butt, when suddenly there was something in the way. Confused, he turned his head – and found a cat tail attached to him. Human-sized, very fluffy and in black and brown.

It twitched, nervously.

“Stephen…” He looked at the sorcerer, demanding answers.

“There might have been a slight mishap.” Stephen’s voice was hoarse and not in the slightest apologetic. He was back to watching Tony. Watching the top of his head in particular, Tony noticed.

With one hand still holding his pants in place, Tony reached up. He flinched when he touched fluffy ears. Feline ears.

Stephen licked his lips. He wasn’t blushing because he was shy. It was because he was very much turned on by the unexpected turn of events. But he didn’t dare to say anything since he wasn’t sure how Tony would react to yet another magic-caused alteration.

Only when he heard a chuckle escaping Tony’s lips, did the tension leave him.

Tony found the situation absurd. He had had a long day and honestly, he was just glad to have his thumbs back. “I hope you have some alternative clothes for me. Otherwise, I have to go naked from the waist down and possibly traumatize Wong for life.”

___________

Tony's secret code to identify himself to Jarvis: -y0u kn0w wh0 1 am-

[canonicalcryptid]

Any fanfic writers getting back into DA wanna compare notes on magic, I’ve had my head in my hands for like a month 🫠

Magic

-As per dragon age, tenets of magic:

1.)Magic comes from the Fade, the Fade exist regardless of mages.

2.)Magic runs in family

bloodlines, like genes it can skip generations.

3.) all mages are connected to the Fade and can pass into it in dreams, although being aware of the Fade and controlling dreams is a rare skill(Ex.Feynriel).

4.)all mages can become possessed by spirits/demons from the fade, it’s denizens. Those possessed by demons become Abominations. Those possessed by spirits can coexist with them, although they may take on traits of the spirit or affect the nature of the spirit.

4.5)Mages can communicate with spirits/demons when awake also, although it usually requires a honed spell(Ex.Rezaren), sacrifice(Ex.Merrill) or natural talent(Ex.Spirit Healer Discrp). Those who can detect and speak with spirits are called Spirit Mediums/Seers(Ex.Rhys/Isabelas mother).

5.) Mana is a mages ability to use and control magic. Mana, like stamina, has a limit. Mana, like stamina, increases with training. It is possible for a mage to injure or kill themselves from mana-overexertion. Lyrium increases mana temporarily.

5.5a)Magic affects the users physical body(Ex.Anders intro scene).

5.5b)Magic has a limit and a range. Magic is difficult to use without a staff unless trained. It needs a focus(Ex.Dark Fortress Comic Final Fight/Wraiths of Tevinter Intro Scenes).

6.)Lyrium resists magic but also enhances it. {LYRIUM BURNS THROUGH MAGIC}

7.)Teleportarion, resurrection and physically entering the Fade are known to be impossible.

*NON-MAGES CAN ALSO BE POSSESSED BY SPIRITS/DEMONS.

THINGS DA DOES TOO MUCH:

-Mages can draw on a sudden unlimited well of power when in danger.

-All mages can use blood magic on the first try.

-All mages can become possessed by spirits/demons while awake, on command, when in danger.

Me.)

1.)Most circle mages aren’t very strong, even though what they’re doing is usually more complicated(because of glyphs). Their mana levels are low and while they’re drilled in a curriculum, the materials they have access to are limited. Enchanters naturally can do more improvised spells and have more mana but even then their knowledge is forcibly curbed after a certain point to prevent them growing too powerful with age.

2.)Apostates can either do a little of everything or one school magic very well because it comes naturally to them.

2.5)A MAGES MINDSET AFFECTS THE MAGIC THAT COMES NATURALLY TO THEM.

3.)Channeling magic through the body can damage it.

4.)Magic is done more effectively when using/knowing pre-written glyphs. The language of it is lost, maybe except in Tevinter, but certain runes mean the same thing consistently and forming them in different combinations has different effects.

4.5a)Circle mages are taught to form the glyphs they plan to use out of light, so they’re trained to do the same thing consistently.

4.5b)Magic can also be ‘felt out’ but the results vary based on skill and/or emotional state.

4.)Spirit/Healing magic and Entropy Magic are two sides of the same coin. Both invoke minor spirits. Healing mends by flowing the Fade through people, and Entropy damages by flowing the Fade through people. Both are the ‘feel it out’ type of magic.

-I made Levi experience Entropy Magic as ‘sour’ but every mage probably has their own sense of the different schools.

5.)Necromancy is Not a ‘feel it out’ type of magic and takes a lot of preparation and spell work to do without injury.

6.)’Common schools’ of magic are common (sans Tevinter) because they’re easily understood and passed around- ‘mages burn down their house’ is a common sentiment, so many mages first spell is fire. But, if the concept was widened there would be more variety naturally.

7.) Blood magic is so strong because it’s offering a sacrifice. A spirit/demon possession is a mental sacrifice. Blood magic is a physical sacrifice. It’s about fortitude, not intention though. It’s why blood magic can be enacted using someone else’s blood and why a spirit/demon can possess the unwilling.

Things I’m Not Touching:

-Magic is like breaking the concept of reality? Don’t dream it be it?? The scope of this is way too big for what dragon age actually puts on the page.