#a curse at the hands of others is injustice no doubt

[softbean]

everything she deserves 🌼

[imagionationstation]

Today on the Mikey Is Not Abused news

Research shows that 78% of the “Poor Mikey” fanclub claims that Mikey is incapable of standing up for himself, whether that be because he fears further abuse, fears his brothers in general, suffers from intense depression, an abuse sort of conditioning, or *insert other incredulous views here* (Statistics may not be entirely accurate and should be used with caution).

Unfortunately for them, Mikey does knows how to stand up for himself and it has been shown that he can speak his mind to even the main abuser, Raphael, and walk away unscathed.

Astonishing claim, I know, but the facts prove themselves.

Mikey has brought up beliefs on several occasions, but his lack of awareness outside his own mind often disproves his own claims.

Years of leprechauns, cream cheese demons, and certainty in cupcake uprisings have worn down his brothers’ trust in his word on many different subjects. This is not his brothers ignoring him out of spite. This is merely because he has proven himself to be an unreliable source when it comes to reality.

His lack of interest in taking most battles and training sessions seriously grate on his brothers’ nerves and often lead them to doubt his prowess and abilities on the field. Mikey being the youngest and earning all of their must protect with life instincts doesn’t exactly help his case. He knowingly brings much of their wrath upon himself- with tauntings, and purposefully infuriating acts, and the constant reappearance of Dr. Prankenstein.

When Mikey doesn’t go gun-hoe or call Raph out for a whack on the head, it’s probably because he’s conscious enough to know he likely said/did something stupid, or because he purposefully did something annoying.

However, if he sees an injustice affect another by his brothers’ hand, he will be the first one to stand up and correct it.

Mikey is proven to be more likely to speak his mind when it comes to others around him getting retribution that he deems underserved.

IN FACT, a few of the only times fans actually see an aggressive argument/challenge poised to a brother is to Raphael, often in regards to his crass judgement.

Take Fourfold Trap as an example:

“I got the answer for you! Karai’s a lost cause!”

“Don’t say that, dude!”

Mikey shoves at Raph’s shoulder to make him face him and they both begin yelling/bickering/roughly gesturing. Mikey is in no way scared of how Raph will react to this and is immediate in getting physically aggressive and speaking his mind.

Not normally how someone who’s been abused all their life would act towards the main abuser, I think. Not convincing enough?

Well, The Curse of Savanti Romero is another:

In it, Renet is seen admitting to her mistake of letting Romero loose. Raph responds by immediately coming down on her for it, even though she understands and regrets her mistake.

Mikey has zero hesitations about jumping into the picture.

“You really are the worst time traveler ever! The worst!”

“Back off, bro! She needs our help!”

Psychology of most abusers would not point to this kind of situation going well. If this were the case- in no universe would Raphael have relented under his brother’s glare and stepped away, especially not after being shoved and yelled at in front of someone outside the family. That would be seen as a calling for punishment.

Moving away would be letting the abused assert dominance and think that they’ve gotten away with a win.

If this were really an abusive relationship, then Raphael would have had a far more violent reaction to his youngest brother butting in.

Instead, he growled, glared, and then relented. He could tell this was not an issue that could be further challenged. Mikey was standing his ground, intensely meeting his glare, and so Raph stepped away.

Now, have there been times where Mikey felt like he was left out or being ignored and that made him feel insecure?

Yes. Absolutely. Mikey Gets Shellacne is a prime example.

But, have the abusers, his older brothers, been made to share similar feelings of being unable to rely on their brothers at one time or another? Perhaps due to his direct or indirect actions? Why, yes.

Because, as hard as it is to believe, every person in that family has made mistakes when dealing with another family member. Relationships are hard. Not one person, or mutant, is perfect, and facing or accepting insecurities is always a fact of growing up.

Is this to say Mikey never stands up for himself?

No. Not even close.

Is it ever portrayed as something big and dramatic as a focal point of an episode? No. Because it doesn’t need to be.

If Mikey holding onto resentment and depression from how his brother abuse him was meant to be part of his character, it would have been a plot point in the episode where they’re literally in his brain. There would have been the slightest hint of something going on somewhere in that chaotic realm.

Instead, Mikey’s brain welcomed all of his brother with open arms.

And the true, inner Mikey runs ecstatically toward his brothers and into Leo’s open arms for snuggles, no more scared of his brothers inside his mind than outside of it.

The only time that he has thoughts of “my brothers are so mean to me I should run away” is the episode The Croaking, where he takes accountability and has the realization that his brothers aren’t the jerks that he thought they were when he ran off…

“Dude. Your brothers sound awesome.”

“Yeah. They are… Even after I trashed the house.”

Mikey doesn’t often react violently to his brother’s teasing because there’s not a reason too. He understands that his brother’s pick on him, but in reality, he picks on them too. It’s not a big enough deal to point out unless an evil planet is letting Angry Mikey consume all of his thoughts and then everything is terrible.

Mikey can stand up for himself. Mikey will always stand up for others.

And that brings this article to an end. Subscribe for more!

Next time, we’ll discuss why Parasitica May or May Not have a worse reputation than it truly deserves. Cowbunga!

[svtdarlingbby]

Only For You- MingyuxReader mafia!au Part 1

pairing: Mingyu x reader; featuring Seventeen and NCT genre: mafia au / gang au warnings: weapons (guns, knives), violence, blood, cursing, kidnapping word count: 2129

"You dumbass, how did you get hit too?" you groaned as you leaned against the hard wall, applying pressure to your left side, trying to ignore the new searing pain in your left arm.

"Shit..." cursed Mingyu as he stumbled into the ground, blood dampening his black dress pants.

It was the middle of the night, and you and Mingyu finally completed the weeks long mission you and your team of mafia had been planning. However, a quite severe miscalculation had been made.

You see, Jun, the spy of the plan assured you that there would likely only be two targets maximum.

"Trust me, I only ever saw these two discuss targeting Seungkwan. I'm pretty sure the others don't know about their plan" affirmed Jun.

However, just when you and Mingyu were about to put an end to the thugs who planned to assassinate the socialite Seungkwan you were hired to protect, you were suddenly met with not two but six unruly men.

You weren't scared by any means; you could fight a group of grown men somewhat efficiently. Plus you had Mingyu on your side. Mingyu didn't really seem like mafia material. He had this demeanor about him that you swore would be helpful if he were a famous celebrity of some sort. He had it all: looks, charisma, humor. However he was not stupid. He used his charms to his advantage, to appear inconspicuous to the untrained eye. Most people would never suspect Mingyu to be a professional assassin in the mafia.

And then there was you. Maybe you were just hardened by the world you were born into, but you knew you weren't like Mingyu. Sure, there was no doubt that you are good looking, beautiful even. But you'd describe yourself as a farce. You hated injustice, yet you were in the mafia. The mafia that mercilessly kills people. Your targets are by no means innocent people, yet there is a part of you that finds the irony of being a source of physical beauty that was wired to be so violent and deadly. And yet, that was your strength, the main reason why Seungcheol saw your potential when he found you killing a man who had harassed a schoolgirl earlier on the bus.

And that's why Jihoon, Seungcheol's right hand man, decided to pair you with Mingyu for this mission. Even if you could not see it, you and Mingyu were perfect for this plan.

The night went as planned, with you pretending to be Seungkwan's disgruntled ex who wanted him gone and Mingyu being your rich fake boyfriend who was willing to pay anything to see his competition gone. Sweet talking your way to the other gang, you and Mingyu eventually led two of them outside the venue. They introduced themselves as Jisung and Chenle. Presumably, these two were the assassins who wanted to negotiate pay and such.

As you walked outside the venue, Mingyu noticed one of the assassins looking at you. He could see the lust in Jisung's eyes, the way his eyes scanned every inch of your body as you moved along. Mingyu felt a pang of jealously. Sure you weren't his real girlfriend but he just couldn't help but feel that this assassin was disrespecting not only you but himself also.

"Let's keep heading toward the back," suggested Mingyu as he placed a hand on the small of your back.

You couldn't help but to subtly shudder at his action. Mingyu was just playing a part, you kept telling yourself. If he's supposed to be your boyfriend in this case, then he's got to act like it too.

The four of you eventually found yourselves in the dark behind the building of the venue. You guys began to negotiate pay but through it all you felt that one sleazy assassin's eyes wander your whole body. And he was very obvious about it. Mingyu once again picked up on this and instinctively drew you closer to him, allowing his larger frame to slightly shield you from Jisung's lustful gaze. Once a price was agreed upon, the plan would soon truly begin.

"Just let me get my checkbook out," said Mingyu as he reached a hand into his pocket.

Just as the assassins were anticipating to get rich, you sneak out from behind Mingyu and pull out your gun and shoot Jisung.

"What the fuck?!" exclaims Jisung as he fell backwards upon impact.

Part of you forgot you were dealing with trained assassins in the case, especially after being ogled at. The other assassin Chenle immediately pulled out his gun and fired it, the bullet grazing your side.

"Shit!" you interject, catching Mingyu's attention as he finishes the guy off effectively shooting him.

"Y/N! Are you hit?" Mingyu asks looking behind him.

"Yeah, but it's okay. It's not as bad as it looks the bullet only grazed me" you explained, taking a deep breath.

Just as you both thought you had finished the job, you were suddenly ambushed from both sides by four other men.

"We knew you two were too good to be true, right Jungwoo?" sneered one of the gang members.

"I see the princess isn't doing so great. Maybe we should let her prince feel some of her pain, right Yuta?" laughed another as he glared at Mingyu.

You and Mingyu huddled against one another, back to back, guns pointed.

"How did the rest come out?" you whispered.

"My guess is the other two might've been wearing a wire" hypothesized Mingyu as you felt him quiver ever so slightly.

The four thugs slowly began to creep toward the two of you making the standoff more concentrated. You felt more nervous by the second.

"Y/N. Run" whispered Mingyu.

"What?" you whispered in confusion.

"You heard me, run. I know you'll have a chance of escaping. You'll be able to tell the guys what happened. Hurry, you're already hurt," he hurriedly explained.

"I can't leave you, we are partners for a reason," you whispered as you stood your ground and leaned closer to him, feeling the blood from your side soak through your clothes and onto him.

"Y/N..." sighed Mingyu, the pain evident in his hushed voice.

"Follow my lead," you whispered as you suddenly dropped to the ground.

"Shit..." you groaned somewhat dramatically. Yes, the area where the bullet grazed you hurt like a bitch but maybe it could help you out of this situation.

"Y/N!" Mingyu exclaimed, seemingly following along.

"Aww, the princess can't handle a gunshot," mocked Jungwoo, "you'd be the perfect little-"

He was cut off when you shot the other thug Yuta next to him, effectively stunning him. Using this to your advantage, you shot one of the guys cornering Mingyu's side.

"Kun!"

Mingyu seemed to understand your distraction, and he pulled the gun on Jungwoo. There was only one guy left who kept his gun aimed and the two of you yet the fear was evident in his composure. You managed to get back onto your feet while still pointing the gun at him. Yet you felt the blood loss beginning to get to you as you stumbled upright.

"Who are you?" asked Mingyu, voice full of authority.

"H-haechan of NCT," said the thug timidly.

"You're not leaving here alive," said Mingyu coldly as he pulled the trigger. The man did the same, yet his gun was aimed at you last second.

You yelped in pain as the bullet made impact with your upper left arm.

"Y/N!" yelled Mingyu as he looked behind him. In this moment of distraction, Jisung from earlier used the last of his strength and jabbed Mingyu in the thigh with his hidden knife before falling to the ground in a heap. As he tried to breathe through the pain, he noticed you make your way closer to the building.

"You dumbass, how did you get hit too?" you groaned as you leaned against the hard wall, applying pressure to your left side, trying to ignore the new searing pain in your left arm.

"Shit..." cursed Mingyu as he stumbled into the ground, blood dampening his black dress pants.

"Mingyu, you're bleeding a lot," you said in horror as you noticed just how much blood Mingyu was losing despite not being shot like yourself.

"Must've hit an artery," he whimpered through the pain, trying to apply pressure to his thigh.

"Oh my god," was all you could say as you practically crawled toward Mingyu, your side and arm searing in pain. But that pain didn't matter in this moment. All you could think of was Mingyu.

"Y/N, forget about me. Use the strength that you have to run. Go alert one of the guys. I'll be okay," he managed to say through the pain as his vision began to blur.

"But, but, I don't wanna leave you!" you were losing your composure as the thought of Mingyu dying in this very moment haunted you.

"You'll save the both of us if you try to get help now! Listen, Y/N. Today was crazy, and to be honest, I don't know if I will actually make it," he hissed through the pain, "But I couldn't stand the thought of those gross assholes even looking at you. You're someone special to me Y/N, and I want to continue protecting you. So please, just go find one of the guys," he pleaded.

"Mingyu," you murmured, cupping his face with your hand as he melted into your embrace the more tired he became. Mingyu looked up at you, his eyes pleading you to stand up and get help. So you did as you were told, stumbling to your feet and trying to move as fast as you could despite your injuries.

You decided to stumble toward the parking lot; your getaway van would probably be there. Even though it was dark, you were hoping and praying one of the boys would see your unbalanced and injured form immediately. And that's when you saw the black van approaching you.

"Thank god, they found me," you sighed in relief as the van pulled up next to you.

The door to the van revealed a very different group of guys instead. And an ominous feeling made a place for itself as a pit in your stomach.

"Get her," said one of the men, who appeared to be the leader.

Before you knew it, you felt two pairs of arms grab you and shove you into their van.

All the while Mingyu continued to fight the urge to pass out, you were the only person on his mind. He couldn't tell how much time had passed, but he suddenly saw Minghao and Seokmin running toward him, bombarding him with questions he couldn't yet process. He felt his fellow gang members lift him off the ground and into the dark van that had shortly pulled up.

"Thank god Y/N found you," he mumbled as he leaned against Minghao.

"What? Y/N isn't here?" said Minghao as he placed Mingyu in a seat and began to address his wound.

Suddenly an overwhelming sense of dread overcame Mingyu. "She's not???" he felt himself begin to panic. Where had you gone?

"Calm down Mingyu, what happened?" said Wonwoo as he placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, trying to calm him down.

"Y/N- I told her- she's hurt! I told her to find you guys!" rambled Mingyu, his face painted with fear.

"Okay, we'll drive around the vicinity of this building and be on the lookout. Joshua, Hansol, and Soonyoung, look for Y/N inside the building" ordered Seungcheol calmly.

"Mingyu, you need to calm down," said Minghao as he continued to examine Mingyu's wound, "We'll find Y/N, just explain to me how you got hurt and what happened."

Mingyu took a deep breath and explained to the boys what happened. However, it was evident he believed something was severely wrong since he couldn't stop shaking as he recounted the night's events.

Meanwhile, you found yourself in an unfamiliar van clutched by unfamiliar arms as you stared at many unfamiliar men.

"Are you Y/N L/N?" asked the leader.

The pain in your arm and side only grew more severe, but it was pure adrenaline that managed to keep you alert in this situation.

"Answer me," he said, his cold eyes staring into your soul.

"Release me," you simply stated, maintaining eye contact.

"She's a back talker. Johnny?" asked the leader, gesturing to one of the men holding you.

This Johnny guy simply nodded and suddenly you felt a gun pressed to the side of your temple.

"So, are you going to cooperate with us then?" asked the leader, sneering at you.

Hiiii I'm back lol! Wrote something a little out of my comfort zone but its spooky season so hey why not! LMK what you think! I'll try to have part 2 uploaded soon!

[two-white-butterflies]

coaxed you into paradise

Chapter Two: The Greens Description: Saera Targaryen was her father's forgotten daughter. Years following her marriage with Ser Harwin Strong, she catches him in an affair with her sister and seeks solace in the arms of her uncle. Not realizing that the consequence of their affair is just as dire as her sister's. Warnings: Pregnancy masterlist

<< previous chapter

SAERA SITS DOWN outside of the room, her heart filled with fury, and her mouth hoping to curse a thousand times. Rhaenyra has offered her great dishonor by simply offering her babe to hold. And Harwin, even more dishonor by not leaving her.

Ser Criston Cole stands in front of her, as she resists a scoff. It seems like his time in Kingslanding gave him tack. Now he was just as greedy as all the other knights in the kingdom.

"Who should I offer the congratulations to?" he questions as she raises an eyebrow. He smirks, and turns towards the closed door. "To the princess? Or to your husband, the father?" he repeats himself and she chuckles.

"Ser Criston," she begins as her breath begins to drip with disdain. "Princess," he replies as she looks up at him. She gathers her gown and stands up, reaching to his level. "What you speak of is treason, and its consequences are one worth your head." she ends their conversation as she begins to walk away once more.

It seems that there is no solace for her in Kingslanding, no solace in the arms of her husband who was currently preoccupied with her sister. Saera needed Daemon — she needed somebody to be on her side.

A dragon alone in this world, was a terrible thing.

HARWIN ENTERS THEIR SHARED CHAMBER and smiles at his wife. The only thing that filled his heart was doubt as of the late. He was sure that the rumors about Rhaenyra's pregnancy have already reached Saera's ears —  and judging from her easy to anger demeanor, she was already pissed with him.

"Good morrow, Harwin." she greets as she settles her book down on the table. He had the broad shoulders of the Rhoynar, and he seemed to be the perfect protector for Viserys' second daughter. "Good morrow, Saera." he greets as he sits down beside her.

If her sister was boldness and rage, then Saera was as calm as spring. It unnerved Harwin to no end —  how his wife could remain idle and cold despite the whole realm scheming behind her back. She was strong in that regard, and Harwin loved his mortal emotions.

"It's such a shame that Prince Jace inherited his grandmother's Baratheon blood — shame that he doesn't have my family's valyrian features." she remarks as Harwin frowns. "He is still a Targaryen," he defended as she raises an eyebrow.

"Well that cannot be denied," she replies as she goes back to her book. She pauses for a while, pondering if it would be the right time to ask Harwin for an explanation. "I've heard rumors, Harwin," she states as he sighs loudly.

Saera's anger would be one that no water could extinguish. There was a time where they both loved each other — Harwin believed those times never left. But what he did was a betrayal worth blood. And he would pay for it in due time.

"Rumors about?" he acted clueless as she glares at him, pretending to focus on her book. "Rhaenyra and you. I didn't want to believe it at first — but Prince Jace looks exactly like you." she responds trying to leave out the fact that she already caught them red handed.

She reaches for him —  a part of her heart still belonged to the heir of Harrenhall. Just a word from him, and she would allow herself to forget about their horrendous past.

"They are rumors, Saera." he shuts her down and she bites the insides of her cheeks. She wasn't sure what she wanted him to say. She wanted him to admit to his injustices. To beg on his knees for her forgiveness and start off in a clean slate.

She smiles and nods. Silence would suffice for now.

THE MAESTER'S OFFICE WAS COLD, there was a dripping of water behind her. She's been fatigued for a long time now — always vomiting, and always induced in nausea. She had her doubts — her uncle rarely pulled out when they made love.

"You're pregnant, my princess. Judging from your stomach, it must've been 3 turns of the moon since." The Maester states as she smiles, placing a hand on her swollen stomach.

next chapter >>

taglist: @sweetybuzz25 @newtsniffles @loveandlewis-reads @lovecleastrange @julkaamazing @schniiipsel @mirandastuckinthe80s c

[tavshortfortavern]

Tav x Durge brainrot (DurgeTav?)

If Dark Urge was a companion and could be romanced (haven't played origin yet but will go off based on canon Durge: white dragonborn male, sorcerer)

Enemies to Lovers trope

Villain has amnesia and remembers nothing but had such strong feelings (and obsession) to the hero they latch on to them upon meeting bc they "feel like they could trust them" trope

Foils to each other. Tav tried to reach out to Durge at the beginning when they first met, when he was a cult leader and they were a simple adventurer. Tav who saw a person in him and pulled out whatever was left of his humanity that was locked away bc of his father. Durge doing the opposite and seeking out the worst in Tav. Their selfishness, their bloodthirst in battle, their penchant for chaos and anger at injustices. They bring out these hidden sides to each other that they rather have had stayed secret and it fuels the hatred.

Both understanding each other on a level no one else has in their lives.

The shared history. The endless chase and hunt. Every time they faught seared into each other's memories that Durge gets flashes of in dreams while they have amnesia. The way they know each other's tells and can predict what the other can do next with scary good accuracy.

It translates to them being very good fighting together. This fact is discovered when in a party together early on in Act 1. They instinctively know how to work around each other and strategize a plan using each other's strengths. Tav takes the front and covers Durge from incoming enemies. Durge counterspelling any spells heading towards Tav and sniping range enemies from afar.

The moral dilemma Tav faces leaving the Bhaalspawn, chosen of Bhaal, leader of his cult and their worst enemy alive, existing in camp. Every night when he sleeps Tav stays awake deliberating that chance to finally end him. Bring justice for all the lives he's ruined and mutilated.

Tav is not like the rest of the companions. They KNOW what Durge has done. Seen it with their own eyes. It's irredeemable. It's vile. It's a tragedy. Hells Tav might have been hurt or tormented by Durge. Many times they could have been his victim. Old Durge wanted them dead for all the times they stood in his way, vowing to sacrifice them to his father at his temple.

Yet when they look upon the sleeping Durge in their bedroll his draconic face is frowning, squirming. Creating expressions they never thought he could make. He's experiencing a nightmare obviously and he looks agonized, terrified. Tav's bleeding heart takes over.

He doesn't remember what he's done. He would have no idea why he should be killed or punished. He's trying not to give in to the urges. He's trying to be better. That's what Tav sees over the course of the journey. It doesn't sooth all of the guilt and doubts they have, but it'll do.

Durge having no memory of anything, wandering around after the Nautiloid crash trying to peice together a memory, anything that could tell him his past. Trying not to give in to these horrible thoughts, having no clue where they come from or why he has them... Then they see a face. Them. Them. Them. It's t h e m. Who are they? He both does not recognize this new face but he feels like he knows them.

He sees their face. They see him. That expression on their face says it all. They know him. But that look in their eyes, the emotions. Alarm. Fear. Disgust. Anger. Many more unpleasant ones. He does not know why. He does not know why they brandish their weapon at him. Or why they curse his existence, claiming they won't let him escape alive this time. This time? They faught before?

Then the tadpoles kicks in. Tav realizes he has no memory. Whatever wrong he's done remains oblivious to him. This was the truth. Conflict clouds Tav's judgement. Can they really fight him now, when his hands are raised in surrender and pleading to talk instead. He's already acting different.

A temporary truce is struck. With the added condition that Tav would be watching him closely.

He tries to ask Tav of his past but they remain frustratingly vague. They were enemies. He's killed people, many people. Not much else but some part of him stops asking. Growing more afraid of the truth.

Tav is the only one who takes him seriously when he confesses his urges. Ties him up at night and prevents him from murdering anyone. He's grateful but Tav simply tells him they were only making sure he wouldn't take more lives. Coldly untying him in the mornings before leaving.

They soften around act 2. The rest of the companions know now of his urges. But Tav remains to be the one who guards him at night. This time the coldness in their tone is gone as they reassure him it'll be over soon. When he apologizes through gritted teeth, their eyes are softer.

Durge starts to remember more things. His self hate deepens when memories pertaining Tav resurfaces. They all involved him hurting them. Wanting to do terrible things. The loathing in past Tav's face. He distances himself from then. Feeling wretched.

Tav, who had been learning more about this new Durge, who looked wistful at children's games, who liked making puns and could joke, who was nice to people and wanted to help those in need, starts to soften around them. Thinks this could have been the real Durge all along were it not for his father's influence.

Idk

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Ten

January is long, and February, somehow even longer. It brings with it the kind of biting cold winds that make my face hurt and indignance rise inside me at the injustice of having to be outside in it. I try to manoeuvre my useless fingerless gloves over my knuckles as though they might provide even the tiniest bit of extra heat to my hands, but it’s already too late. I’ve let the cold invade, and by now there’s nothing I can do to prevent the cold spasms that rip through to my bones. 

It is five in the evening. I’ve been here since the morning, once Simon reluctantly allowed me to take a day of work away from the studio, but it’s been relentlessly cold since I arrived. The sun will set in an hour from now and I will lose the light, so I forge on anyway, tracing a careful line with the nozzle of the spray paint along the brick at the gable end of the bookshop that commissioned me. It is my first mural on a building, not a window, but nobody seemed to doubt my ability to do it when they approached me. Nobody except for me, and while I didn’t express it, I doubted it, and I still doubt it, even now. 

 I reach around at my feet for the cherry red paint can and rattle it before spraying a wide, confident arc across the brick. Does it look good? Does any of this look good? I’ve been nose to nose with it for so many hours now that I can hardly even tell what it is. The paint stains my finger tip red. Just about every inch of me must be dusted with paint at this point, as the wind has been blowing it back on me in clouds and leaving speckles all over my skin and clothes. I eye the streak of teal paint that has run down the side of my middle finger and dried there, and I silently curse at it, knowing how badly it will stain as I pull my vibrating phone from my pocket. 

Don’t suppose you’re free for a call tonight? 

I wish. I’m never free anymore. 

Sorry, I have a date at the medieval torture chamber. 

Gym with Shane?

Yep. 

And in those rare times that I am, Jude isn’t. We’ve been missing each other for weeks, like trains passing on the tracks, what with my work, the increase in commissions, more cards to design, I’ve been finding myself cooped up in the studio until late into the evening sometimes. And Jude, he’s working hard on his final projects. He spends as much time in his studio as I do. Sometimes the only meaningful correspondence I’ll get from him in a given week is a photograph of whatever modernist chunk of plaster or clay he’s working on lately, and this week is shaping up to be another just like that, only I’ll be the one sending some hasty close up of a few swipes of paint and trying to convince him that I’m getting paid to do this. 

We haven’t caught up in so long.

I like to imagine that he’s desperately sad about this fact, miserable and missing me terribly, when in fact he’s probably just bored at home again, Jonas likely out somewhere without him and whatever silly movie he’s put on the television has stopped being entertaining. 

At this rate I won’t see you until I come over.

Yeah, what the hell. How have we not spoken in over a month?

Probably because I hate you and I’m avoiding you. 😉 We’ll have a proper catch up in Berlin. 

He sends me a crocodile emoji, which has become our private code for “goodbye” as in, “See you later, alligator”. I type one back and get on with what I was doing, and paint another broad, sweeping line in that delicious cherry red paint. I last ten more minutes without an interruption, and there is a voice from behind me. 

“Well.”

I whirl around. “Ugh, hi Shane.”

“Delighted to see me, are you?”

“Honestly it’s a bit like a bad omen when you appear.”

I yank my protective mask from my mouth while he huffs out a laugh. “Ready for the gym?” I groan in protest, but I gather my things anyway, stacking all of the spray paint bottles into a giant canvas bag and rolling up the tarp. We stop by Mezzotint to store all of it in the studio and let me change out of my painty clothes in the employee bathroom and then we take the Luas into town to the gym. 

Shane decides to show me mercy, and lets me spend our session in the pool, so while he heads to the gym and does his usual routine, I swim lengths of the fast lane and keep strict count of the number so that I can brag about it when he comes to use the health suite. I reached a point suddenly, a month or two ago, where my lungs and limbs didn’t burn so badly during my swimming lessons, and in fact, despite the inevitable dread that the gym instils in me, once I’m actually in the pool I find myself enjoying it. I swim to the end, turn and come back, over and over as the smooth hands on the big clock rotate, and finally I anchor myself to the lip of the pool as Shane crouches in front of me, hair wet from the shower. 

“How many?” He wants to know. 

“Sixty lengths.”

“Many breaks?”

“None.”

He nods with approval and says “good stuff.” Which is the highest compliment available. I struggle out onto the tiles with trembling arms and follow him to the health suite sauna where we sit, ragged breaths, and the water that rolls off our bodies dissolves into mist as it drips onto the benches. 

“How’s college?” I say. 

“Grand.”

“Full on now, I’d say, is it? With the final exams kind of looming on the horizon a bit.”

He shrugs. “I dunno, I suppose so.” 

Shane did not fail his Christmas exams. He didn’t pass them with flying colours by any means but Shane being Shane, has never once done poorly at anything he has attempted. As far as I know he has never failed a test, and it’s evident by now that it’s not for lack of trying. The final exams are Claire’s newest worry, as she’s convinced he’s yet to open a single textbook. 

“And the football?” I venture, and watch as his shoulders slump. “It’s good, it’s busy and all. I dunno. I’ve a few things to kind of think about in terms of it. You know, like, some things to consider.”

I nod. “Must be tricky to balance it all, like what with the training and college and all. I can’t imagine how hard it is.”

He glances at me with a furrowed brow as though what I’ve just said has nothing to do with what he was talking about, but he throws me a consolatory “Yeah.” anyway, clearly not bothered to explain what he meant. 

“Pity you can’t come to Berlin.” I pivot. “It’d be nice if you were there, like, I know you’ve visited before and all, but I think it’ve been a fun friends thing to do altogether. Not often we all get to hang out now that we’re so busy.”

“Nice for Claire to have time away on her own though.” He says. “I think a bit of distance would do her good, a bit of space.” and I wonder if he means from Dublin or from him. 

“I’m a bit nervous to go.” I admit, which prompts him to look right at me for the first time since we came inside. “Why?”

“I’m not sure, I suppose it’s been years since I’ve been out of Ireland, like, been in a different country with a different language and… like, I dunno I suppose I’m nervous to be around Jude and all his friends.”

“They’re just more of the typical artist types, nothing to get that excited about.” He eyes me for a moment before adding “They’re not going to think you’re uncool, or whatever it is that you’re worrying about. Nobody cares about that type of thing except for you.”

“I don’t care if they think I’m uncool.” I lie defensively. 

“Right. So is it about Astrid then? Do you think she’s going to tear you a new one?”

I stare at him, startled. “What are you on about?”

“Astrid, like.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

He rolls his eyes and gets up, slinging his towel over his shoulder. “I’m sure you don’t, Evie, you fecking dope.” He says, and then pushes his way out into the cool air of the poolside. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[sprout-fics]

The Hunted

(A Haunted! Din Djarin x F! Reader Mini-Series)

Ending Two: Slain

Read (Here) on AO3

Word Count: 2.8k

Rating: Mature

Tags: Din is Haunted, Dark! Din Djarin, Possessive Din, Protective Din, Possession (By the Darksaber), Abduction scenarios

Warnings: Abduction, Prisoner scenarios, Major character death, Suicide TW, Unhappy ending

Summary:

You hate yourself for what you're about to do. Yet your path seems lain out before you with no alternative in sight, embedded into sinews of your very being. It's tempting to scream and cry and lash out at the stars themselves for the injustice of it all. Yet no matter how you try to struggle, to think of any other course of action you come up desperately empty-handed, and you see only one way to save him.

The Darksaber whispers to you even in wakefulness.

You don't have a choice.

(Special Note: Feel free to check out my Haunted Din playlist, made to accompany this fic!)

Tag List:

@adancedivasmom @writeforfandoms @arctrooper69 @devstinyy @bunnyteefs @zwiiicnziiix @leithatnight @againstacecilia @mina2000alex @dankest-farrik @stupendousladydinosaur @telltale-vixen @grogusmum @shadeblade16 @besk4r-recs

(Reply to or reblog this post to be added to future tag lists!)

By proceeding further you acknowledge you have read the listed warnings and tags

---

You don't have any other choice.

Din takes you away, limp in his arms as you succumb to the weight of sleep. Despite all you had done, despite the distance you had fled, it had ended in this. In some ways it was always meant to- with you trapped in the spider-web spun by the Darksaber, the invisible silver threads made of unbreakable beskar. They wrap around you slowly in sleep, winding around your limbs and throat and seizing your heart in an eternal, sinister grasp.

When you wake it is to the smart of pain just behind your ear. As you trace a finger over the sharp ache you feel it- the tiny oval bump of a tracer that Din has implanted you with while you were unconscious. Despair fills you, the sensation so quick and vile it threatens to spill up your throat.

There's no escape.

Even if you were to run Din would find you in a matter of hours, not weeks. You doubted he would be so gentle on your next attempt.

You cry.

You cry and Din comes rushing to your form from the other room as you curl into yourself on the bunk of his ship. As much as you’re disgusted with what he's done you still cling to him, seeking out the comfort he gave you once so very long ago, before this curse seized him. He whispers to you, his bare hands petting your hair and his voice tender as he vainly tries to reassure you.

“Safe.” He croons, and you know the truth is anything but.

You curl into him, hating yourself all the while, even as tears spill hot and fast down your cheeks and your throat cracks with your sobs. Your hands tangle into his cape, into his arms, wishing you could leave bruises on his skin in the same way he’s inflicted pain on your soul. The unbearable weight of despair forces the air from your lungs and the strength from your bones.

Din curls up beside you on the bed, simply holding you, waiting for the cries to abate. They don't, not for a long time. You're too exhausted to fight him, to scream at him over what he's done. The fatigue of running, of constantly being on the move and being haunted by the shadow of paranoia for weeks has drained you of that much. When you cry in despair your voice is lifted up into his waiting lips- and unable to do anything else you surrender to him, let his touch comfort you as much as it destroys the fabric of your soul.

And silently, you feel your heart shatter over your own fate, knowing now exactly what your destiny is.

The chance comes the second day after you've been taken. You think it's that long. It's hard to tell in space, where Din keeps you like a fragile, trapped bird. There’s nowhere to run here, and even if you were to outsmart him and seize the controls of the ship you have nowhere to go. So instead, you lay beside him, watching his chest rise and fall under the flat of your palm.

He's asleep- perhaps for the first time in weeks. His form has gone slack beside you on his bunk- absent of his armor and helmet. Without them you can see exactly how much weight he’s lost, as if the saber is a parasite eating away at the tendons of his muscle. His face seems gaunt, there’s deep bags under his eyes. Had you not known better you would swear he was deeply ill. Then again, you suppose he is, suppose you both are now.

You're laying on the bed next to him, tracing the beautiful planes of his face and trying not to cry at the horrible treachery you're about to commit.

You hate yourself for what you're about to do. Yet your path seems lain out before you with no alternative in sight, embedded into sinews of your very being. It's tempting to scream and cry and lash out at the stars themselves for the injustice of it all. Yet no matter how you try to struggle, to think of any other course of action you come up desperately empty-handed, and you see only one way to save him.

The Darksaber whispers to you even in wakefulness.

You don't have a choice.

When you shift in Din's arms he doesn't wake. Not even as you sidle away from him, roll to the other side of the bunk and wrap his cloak to your body in a murmur of comfort does he stir. You breathe in the scent of him, letting the air loose with a shuddering sigh that rattles your entire frame. Even that does not disturb Din within the confines of his dreams.

Not even when you press a soft kiss to his lips that tastes of regret.

There's so much you still want to say- to do. You've dreamt of the years spent with Din, of growing old and possibly starting a family. The weight of it feels immense, unbearable. A part of you still desperately hopes for that future, strains for it with all the strength of your spirit. Yet those hopes and dreams are now soured by the Darksaber- taken away against your will just as you had been. You know deep in your bones that there's no going back now.

It's only once it's too late, once you've stood and let your fingers grasp the hilt of the blade does Din finally awake. It’s as if the mere whisper of your fingers over the hilt beckons him back to consciousness, as if the blade is an extension of his own body. He blinks once, twice, trying to reorient himself with the world around him. Too late does he notice you at the foot of the bed, with the cursed sword held tightly in your grasp.

"Cyare?" He asks at first, and you can hear the drowsy confusion in his voice, can hear the way he echoes your name in an attempt to understand the vision before him.

You don't answer him, instead closing your eyes for a brief moment, tears welling in your eyes as you take two, three steps back, away from his reach. Your entire body is shuddering- the primal part of your brain screaming vainly in protest at the action you are about to commit.

"Let it go." You demand, voice warbling, fragile. "Let me get rid of it."

Din stares at you, and without his helmet you can see his eyes- confused, scared. Yet at your demand that expression only transforms into a resolve you don’t recognize, his eyes somehow dead and empty, like he's repeating words that don't truly belong to him.

"I can't- I need it to protect you." He says, and for a moment you hear just his voice until it deepens with the inflection of something else.

You swallow thickly, hands shaking as they clutch the saber. You can hear the barest whispers of it at the back of your thoughts, lurking, waiting for your moment of weakness. You try to ignore them, but like shadowy tendrils from the deep they grasp at you, try to drag you under the ocean of madness.

"All I've ever needed was you, Din. Please." You speak again, words trembling and desperate. You lift the saber higher, and you see Din's eyes flick down to it widening when they realize that the top of the blade is pointed at your form.

"P-put the blade down. Please." He says suddenly, standing. You jolt away at the motion, taking another step back as he raises a hand towards you. Din freezes, and you see for the first time since this all began the true amount of fear inside of him in that moment. You seize on it, grasping tightly and refusing to let go.

"Say you'll destroy it." You try again, voice cracking as you beg him to concede, to let this nightmare end.

Din's unsteady silence is all you need to hear.

You swallow, feeling a horrible, wrecked sob cling to the back of your throat.

This is it then. You should have known better, shouldn't have let yourself reach for the thinnest threads of hope that still existed within you. the truth of it all is irrefutable now. You'll be trapped here until you finally give in to the curse of the blade, until it eats both of you alive. Din will never give up the Darksaber, holding to it like the lifeline you once were, all in the vain excuse of protecting you- even as he slowly kills you.

You refused to let that happen. You had made a promise.

You're going to save him.

"I love you, Din." You whisper, and in those words you infuse the unfathomable, tremendous depth of your affections, as if those three words can express just how much this man has come to mean to you.

"No. NO!" Din yells abruptly, voice rising as he’s bolting towards you- realizing too late what you intend to do. His hands are open to seize the hilt from your grasp. But it's too late.

"I'm sorry." You gasp, just once, voice a desperate, hopeful whisper as you stare up into Din's eyes-

...and ignite the blade.

You feel it for just a moment, the horrible, flesh-eating inferno that burns through muscle and bone- straight through your heart where you keep all your regrets. You don't even have air to scream, to utter a single sound as you stare wide-eyed up at Din, listen to his scream that seeks to shake the very foundations of the galaxy itself. All you can feel is the pain, the utter torment of your own betrayal and regret that blots out the stars themselves.

Your legs fail you as a set of familiar arms wraps around you for the last time.

A hand settles over yours, and you barely notice as Din gently lets his finger skim over the switch to deactivate the crackling blade of darkness that has torn you in two. As soon as it vanishes you gasp, and then cry at the way air seems to flood your veins with hot, white agony. Yet you don't even have the ability to weep, not as silent tears streak down your cheeks and your mouth forms the sound of Din's name.

You're being shifted, but the world feels dull, cloaked in a strange haze that you know the name of. Death.

You're dying.

Din is cradling you in his arms, and you can hear his voice, having faded from a scream into sobs as he rocks you back and forth within his embrace. His head is bent over you, and after a moment you feel the warm drop of a tear that isn't yours against your cheek.

"No, no, please." He's crying, begging and pleading against the inescapable wheels of fate. "Mesh'la, I'm so sorry. Please, please no."

There's a strange weightlessness to your body, as if you're floating. The only thing to tether you down is Din's touch as he brushes your hair away from your face, bends his forehead to touch yours as his sobs tickle your skin.

"Din." You choke, and that word alone threatens to consume all the strength left in you.

"I'm here." He whispers, cries, his forehead braced against yours. "I'm here, cyare. I'm not letting go."

"Din." You whisper again, voice hardly a whisper. "Look at me."

He does, and when he does you see there's something in his eyes that's changed. They seem brighter somehow, alight with tears but no longer shadowed by the darkness that has clung to him for so long. You manage a small, tired smile at the sight, trying to raise a trembling hand up to his face. He catches it, holds you palm flat against his cheek and you sigh at the feeling of him, of your dearest, beloved Mandalorian.

"I'm sorry. Please forgive me." You murmur, feeling dark blood at the back of your mouth and pour over your tongue.

"No- don't. I can't- please don't leave me." He begs, and the sound of his voice, so afraid and full of despair threatens to ache even more than the fatal wound with which you've inflicted upon yourself.

"I know." You whisper. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." You can't apologize enough. For leaving him- now, and all that time ago. If you had stayed, then maybe, maybe...

"Why did you do that?" He gasps suddenly, hand tightening around yours to the point of a pain that you don't feel. "Why would you leave me again? After I finally found you?"

You try to speak, but when you open your mouth there's a rush of blood that dribbles past your lips and you choke on it for a moment, letting out a small whimper at the pain of forcing it back down.

"I had to save you- I had to stop you." You manage, staring up into his beautiful brown eyes, the same ones that haunted your dreams for so long. "I couldn't let you live like this."

Din sobs, and the sound threatens to break you further than you already are. He's pressing a kiss to the inside of your palm, and you lament the fact that you can no longer feel it.

"I was supposed to protect you." He gasps, his shoulders shuddering as he weeps. For a moment your mind drifts, untethered by the sensation of your own body. You imagine those shoulders framing his back that your eyes always followed as he walked ahead of you, stood in front of you to shield you. You imagine them outlined in the darkness above you as he whispers your name, connects to a part of you that he and only he can.

You close your eyes, feeling suddenly so very heavy. Yet you still manage to speak, to tell Din the words that have been inside of you for so long:

"You've always protected me. Now it's my turn."

You can feel yourself going slack in his arms as the remnants of your strength slowly fade away. Din panics, grasping harder at you and shaking you as if it will somehow bring you back from beyond the brink. He can't control the crack in his voice as he begs you to stay.

"Please don't- please don't leave me. No, cyare-"

"I'm sorry Din." You whisper, words barely audible now. "I'm sorry. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. Please forgive me."

"N-no. Cyare. No not yet- no please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I ever touched it. I'm sorry I failed you. Just- don't- I need you. I love you."

You open your eyes then, and even as the colors around you fade you can still see his eyes, as beautiful as the day you met him. You blink once, forcing your stare to stay open, to see him and only him until the very, very last moment

"Din." You marvel as the world begins to fade beyond your reach. "Din, you're so warm."

Then, with the final, last bit of life left in you a smile graces your lips, washes over your features in a momentary, divine serenity.

You did it. You saved him.

----

He sees the moment you pass over to the other side, sees that beautiful light fade from your eyes even as your lips tug up into a smile.

You go cold in his arms, and Din weeps until he can't anymore, feels his shoulders heave with dry sobs. Yet no matter how he cries, how he begs the stars themselves, there's no going back. You're gone, and it's all his fault.

He led you to this, even as the saber whispered the promise of protection at the back of his mind, even as he tried to see your bright smiling face every time you looked at him in fear.

If he had just listened, if he had just gotten rid of the blade then you wouldn't be here in his arms, having taken the only path left to you, the one you thought would save him.

Din holds you to his form, rocks you back and forth and tries to plead with destiny to return you to him...

Only for the cold, dreaded silence of space to be his only reply.

Gently, he sets you down, lays you perfectly still where you've fallen, beautiful and lovely as you ever were. Your eyes gaze up towards the heavens, to a place where he can’t see. It doesn’t matter, because he’ll be there soon enough.

Din takes the Darksaber and lifts it to his heart in his despair.

.

.

.

BAD END

[deancasbigbang]

Title: Nothing Much to Lose

Author: marchember

Artist: Jojo

Rating: Teen

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Length: 85000

Warnings: undefined

Tags: #Howl’s Moving Castle fusion/AU #more movie than book #characters from the HMC universe #Hatter Dean #Wizard Cas #adventure #bickering #enemies to friends to lovers

Posting Date: October 27, 2022

Summary: Dean’s life as a Hatter is predictable and well-worn, his days filled with taking care the Family Business in the small town where everyone knows him by name. It doesn’t leave much space for adventure or excitement, and that’s fine. He has his job, taking care of his mother’s legacy, his friends, and his genius little brother going places.  All signs points to this being all that the Fate has in store for Dean - until an unexpected nighttime meeting with a mysterious wizard on a run from the law leaves him suddenly involved with precisely the kind of shady magical dealings he’d avoided all his life.  Struggling with an ineffable curse, his familiar life turned suddenly upside down, the search for a remedy leads him straight back to the person who started it all - and who unfortunately seems to be a bit of a dick. And since when things like that even happen to older brothers?

Excerpt: Dean realised his mistake the second the words left his mouth, but it was too late. He saw the soldier’s eyes widen, and his face contort further in a maddened scowl, lips drawn, showing ugly, yellowed teeth. He watched, transfixed, as the guy raised his fist, and managed to think that “drunk, pummelled to death by assholes” was definitely not how he wanted to go, when a low, gravelly voice cut through. “Thats enough.” The soldier stopped mid-motion, frozen. Dean blinked a few times, before taking his eyes off the fist suspended in front of his face. He might’ve had gotten a little cross-eyed.  Quick survey of the scene told him that the other soldier was immobilised as well. Behind him, the tramp stood with his left arm outstretched. He somehow looked decidedly less scrawny and grimy, even despite the dirty longcoat and general unkemptness. His blue eyes almost seemed to glow.  He made a shooing motion and mumbled something unintelligible, causing the soldiers to turn and walk away in complete silence, their moves weirdly stiff and unnatural, then sighed deeply.  “You just had to insert yourself into this situation, didn’t you?” he asked Dean, a displeased scowl on his face. “Typical. Every day in this country there is a thousand injustices and nobody bats an eye, but when I need to be left alone suddenly there are wannabe heroes falling from the sky.” He looked derisively at the staircase behind Dean. “I can’t depend even on human callousness.” “Hey!” Dean reddened, rapidly growing to regret his decision to stand up for the guy. “I could swear ‘thanks’ is the customary phrase when somebody bravely comes to your rescue like that.“ “‘Thanks’?” Dean goggled as the weirdo actually gesticulated the air quotes. “You come in, you interfere with my… activities, pointlessly run your mouth and force me to save you, ruining my plan, and you expect to be thanked?”  “Well, excuse me for wanting to help a down-and-out like you getting the crap beaten out of him-” “It’s a disguise,” he hissed, waving his hand up and down, and huh. If Dean had had any doubts about the guy being a wizard (not that he had any, after the puppeteer show with the soldiers), they’d dissipate right then. With every pass of his hand, the man seemed to wipe off the hobo persona. His clothes got clean and less wrinkly, although the terrible coat remained shapeless, sagging from his shoulders. His dark hair was no longer matted with sweat and grime - now it looked messy, like the guy was carding his hands through it just a minute ago. Dirt and the grubby beard disappeared from his face, leaving behind only a slight five o’clock shadow and a pissed off expression. He even seemed to grow a couple inches. “Not bad,” Dean praised. “I’d lose the coat, though.”

DCBB 2022 Posting Schedule

[thedragonagelesbian]

Guilt, hate, secret, and skin :)

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

oc asks: not so nice edition

guilt: What is your OC guilty about? How do they handle their guilt? Do they try to avoid guilt, or do they accept it?

Any time someone else gets hurt on his watch, he's going to feel responsible for it and feel guilty about it. For DA2 Cyrus, big moments include Carver and Leandra's deaths, Bethany being taken to the Circle, and the entirety of The Last Straw and its fallout.

BG3 Cyrus doesn't shoulder as much of that just because he hasn't had any close interpersonal relationships since leaving Baldur's Gate (or, in the case of Ranger Cyrus, since killing [redacted] and leaving Iriaebor). He still feels a little bad about leaving Baldur's Gate in the first place instead of staying after the orphanage burned down, but it's been decades at this point, and he's been able to mostly put that to rest.

The real moment of guilt for pallybarb Cyrus comes with breaking his oath-- he feels so awful for letting everyone down, for falling short of his expectations for himself, and for taking time for himself to process and deal with that instead of swallowing it down to focus on stopping the Absolute. He doesn't want to face that guilt because he doesn't want to face any of it.

Similarly, Shadow Sorc Cyrus feels guilty any time his Came Back Wrong weirdness takes up any time or space that could've been better spent trying to get the tadpoles out of their skulls.

Ranger Cyrus is the only one of them who has any legitimate reason to feel guilty, specifically for the harm he perpetuated as [redacted]'s right hand. And he does, but he already came to terms with that culpability, accepted that that guilt wouldn't do any good for anyone without action, and for a time worked to redress it.

hate: What does your OC hate? Why? How do they act towards the object of their hatred?

Any version of Cyrus is going to hate people who use power to hurt others and the institutions that they represent-- whether that's the templars and the Chantry in DA2 or Gortash and the Steel Watchers in BG3. Injustice, exploitation, cruelty, and, of course, hurting people he cares about are easy ways to light the fire of his righteous and violent fury.

He also hates feeling powerless, specifically powerless to take care of others. This relates obviously to the sense of guilt that this inspires. His Whole Thing is protection, and he doesn't understand himself as having much value or identity beyond that, so when that protection fails or is insufficient, he can get quite angry about it.

Adjacently, depending on the timeline, he really hates being lied to with the intention of manipulating him and taking advantage of his giving and trusting nature. This is the case for DA2 Cyrus from Act 3 onward and for Ranger Cyrus.

secret: What's one secret your OC never wants anyone to know about them?

That he hurts. That he's tired. That he has doubts.

skin: How comfortable is your OC in their skin? Do they grapple with anything that lives inside them—a beast, a curse, a failure, a monster? How do they face the smallest, weakest, most horrible version of themself? Are they able to acknowledge it at all?

He Isn't. The intensity of his alienation of his body varies from version to version, stemming from understanding himself first and foremost as a tool for saving others, from being unable to separate himself from his armor and his titles.

I don't know if you count oathbreaking as a curse, but if you do, all versions of him are cursed! Pallybarb Cyrus is filled with divine absence and silence, Ranger Cyrus lost at least a century of his lifespan in a life transference spell that aged and weathered him, Shadow Sorc Cyrus Came Back Wrong, and DA2 Cyrus is so cursed in such weird noncanonical ways that I just call it the Problems for ease of reference.

As you might imagine, Cyrus struggles a lot to acknowledge his weakest self, as he struggles to acknowledge any self. Any version of him will come to rely on friends, loved ones, and partners to help him with that process-- to be able to hold onto him when he can't hold onto himself and help ground him in the world through physical intimacy.

[tired-reader-writer]

[“Still though, that's surprising,” Nosey says, leaning against a wall. “I thought you two were father and daughter.”

Freeze doesn't move. True to his title his stands still, frozen in that pose with folded arms— though she doubts he was named The Freezing Alchemist for that.

“I picked her off the streets of East City.”

“East City? How'd she end up in East City? What about her parents?”

“Dead,” she says flatly.

She opens the chest. It's got holes in it, bullet holes, the colour it once must've been now faded into a dull, dusty version of its old self. Doesn't matter, so long as it's still usable.

“Dad was—” and the word tastes of disappointment, of discipline, of distance, of... of... “Was a bluecoat.”

Nosey makes a sympathetic noise. “Your poor mother. Shouldn't have married a bluecoat— no offense to you, McDougal— There would've been good men back home, she really shouldn't have left Ishval for a—”

“No,” she says, putting their things in the chest, there isn't much anyways and a little dust won't kill them. They'll deal. “My mother was Amestrian.”

She doesn't turn around to see it, but she can practically feel Nosey's eyes going wide. “Then your pa, he was—”

“He wanted to change Amestris.” There's a stone where her heart ought to be, she thinks. An admirable dream, some would say. But to her it never was within grasp. Even the her of many years ago, a wide-eyed kid with a hopeful heart, even she knew it was a stupid dream.

Change? By being upstanding citizens? Take all the abuse, all the ridicule, stand and take it all, never raise a hand, even to protect themselves? She remembers rulers on her knuckles, of cruel laughter, of vandalized desks, of hungry nights and cold dark rooms, all the injustice in her little life.

Change won't come to good little citizens, it just won't. They'll have to seize it by the throat and drag it to where they need.

He stayed with the military even to the bitter end, until he was taken away— presumably to be executed or imprisoned for life.

Some part of her dimly wonders if he was turned into a Philosopher's Stone, too. Like those other Ishvalans. Like the rebels who refused to keep fighting for Amestris.

She's broken out of her thoughts when they hear a loud thud. There's someone hollering from another room— and Nosey curses under his breath as he hurries that way. Fucking clumsy dolts.]

[explorya88]

**Warning: Content Advisory**

This fanfic contains sensitive and serious themes that may be difficult for some readers. If you are uncomfortable with topics such as [Violence, moral questionable behaviors, explicit contents and many others], it's advisable to reconsider reading further. Your well-being is important to me, and i encourage you to prioritize your emotional health. Take care, and thank you for understanding.

This short tale is placed one month before the interlude.

Lust II: Maledictus Liberi (The Cursed Children), too many epithets.

In this story Dracaena is Darius and Fang (SWM MC) daughter from the future like Trunks of Dragon ball series.

Dracaena while playing Injustice: Gods Among Us, recall when she choose to merge with the seed of Divashma.

Twenty six day ago...

Dracaena: I'm here to stop the bad future to come to pass, kill Kozholok and save my parents, mommy Fang and daddy Darius, tell me how merging with you is supposing to help me?

Seed of Divashma: Young Dracaena, merging with me grants you the power to alter the course of destiny, absolute freedom from stupid things that doomed your timelines and your loved one like morality, restraints, shame. Together, we shall rewrite the future and vanquish the looming threat. Are you ready to merge with embrace this power?

The only reason that Dracaena is listen to it its because it is a gift from her father...but giving that Kozholok still on the loose she must be careful so she ask a proof of its trustyworthness so the seed of Divashma tell her to sleep so it can show her its offer to her. In the ethereal realm between dreams and reality, Dracaena found herself surrounded by swirling energies. The Seed of Divashma manifested before her in a luminous display, offering glimpses of a harmonious future. Scenes unfolded like pages of a book, showcasing a world where her parents, Fang and Darius, lived without fear, laughter echoing in a peaceful land.

Seed of Divashma: Dracaena, witness the beauty of a world untainted by Kozholok's darkness. With our union, this reality can be yours to protect and cherish.

As the visions played out, Dracaena felt a profound sense of purpose and responsibility. Yet, a flicker of doubt lingered in her mind. She questioned

Dracaena: How can I be certain these visions are not illusions? What guarantee do I have that merging with you will bring about the promised future?

Seed of Divashma: Trust is forged through experience. As we merge, you shall gain the strength to discern truth from falsehood. Together, we will navigate the currents of time and rewrite the destiny that awaits us.

Dracaena, bolstered by newfound determination, nodded in agreement. With a deep breath, she entered a state of meditation, prepared to merge her essence with the Seed of Divashma. The energies intensified, enveloping her in a cocoon of transformative power, setting in motion the journey to reshape the threads of fate, as the process of merging commenced, the Seed of Divashma resonated internally with a subtle coo, observing Dracaena's innocence and determination.

Seed of Divashma: Ah, sweet and naive, yet courage flows within her veins like a river. Little does she realize the weight of the destinies intertwined. Together, we shall navigate the currents of destiny, and in her journey, she will discover the power within her heart.

The seed of Divashma created by her father as her birthday gift, is ready to guide and witness the unfolding saga through the eyes of its chosen vessel. Dracaena still sleeping in a vivid dream, her mind conjuring up a passionate scene of intense pleasure. In her dream, Yvette and Vinca were engaged in a raw and primal display of lovemaking. Vinca's skilled tongue explored every inch of Dracaena's wet and eager pussy, flicking and teasing with a fervent desire. Meanwhile, Yvette's hands worked their magic on Dracaena's breasts, massaging, squeezing, and delivering tantalizing spanks that sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body.

Yvette (breathlessly): Mmm, Dracaena, you breasts so soft. I can't get enough of them.

Vinca (moaning): I love how you squirm and moan, my love. You're so responsive to my touch.

Dracaena (gasping): Yes, don't stop... I want more. Yvette, spank me harder. Vinca, lap up every drop of my wetness.

Yvette (grinning): You asked for it, my naughty girl.

She brings her hand down with several sharp smacks on Dracaena's breasts, leaving a delightful sting.

Vinca (licking her lips): Mmm, your juices are flowing so freely, my love. I'll taste every drop, savoring your essence.

The room was filled with the intoxicating scent of sex, punctuated by the sounds of moans and gasps of pleasure. Dracaena's senses were overwhelmed as she witnessed her wives indulging in the most intense and rough form of love, filling her mind with a mixture of desire, excitement, and a hunger for more.

Dracaena (moaning): That's it, both of you... Fuck! I'm so close. Keep going, take me over the edge.

Yvette (whispering in Dracaena's ear): We're going to make you come so hard, my love. Your pleasure is all that matters right now.

Vinca (pressing her tongue against Dracaena's clit): I can feel you tightening around me, baby. Come for us, let go.

Dracaena (crying out): Yes! Yes! Oh fuck, I'm coming!

In the passionate haze of their dream, Vinca positioned herself above Dracaena, aligning their pussies so they could rub against each other in a delicious friction. With a gentle yet firm pressure, Vinca's wetness mingled with Dracaena's, creating a tantalizing sensation that sent shivers of pleasure through both of their bodies. They moved in a rhythm, their hips grinding together, seeking more pleasure with each intimate contact. The sensation was so intense that it felt as if their bodies were merging into one, becoming lost in the intoxicating blend of desire and ecstasy.

Vinca (moaning): Oh, Dracaena, your pussy feels so fucking good against mine. I love the way our wetness mixes, creating this incredible heat between us.

Vinca's voice was filled with desire as she continued to rub herself against Dracaena, their bodies moving in sync. The sensation of their intimate connection overwhelmed her senses, heightening her pleasure with each delicious movement.

Vinca (breathlessly): Yes, baby, grind against me. Feel how our pussies slide together, how we become one in this intoxicating rhythm. I want to feel your wetness, your heat, all over me.

Her words were a mix of longing and lust, reflecting her deep yearning to be completely entwined with Dracaena. Vinca's hips gyrated with a fierce passion, seeking more delicious friction, as she lost herself in the euphoria of their shared pleasure. Vinca, wishing to give her wife true ecstasy, she tapped into her abilities to enhance Dracaena's pleasure, she order her shadow to take a tangible form, and delicately caressed Dracaena's womb, specifically targeting her ovaries. With a gentle touch, the shadow massaged and stimulated Dracaena's ovaries, intensifying her pleasure to new heights. Dracaena's moans grew louder as the combination of Vinca's grinding and the shadow's sensual touch sent waves of ecstasy coursing through her body. The sensation of her ovaries being teased heightened her pleasure, creating a unique and intoxicating experience that she had never felt before.

Vinca (whispering): Feel it, my love. Let the shadow's touch bring you to new heights of pleasure. Surrender to the sensations coursing through your body.

Dracaena's body trembled with pleasure as Vinca's shadow continued its sensual manipulation. The combination of physical and magical stimulation pushed her towards the pinnacle of pleasure, her body tensing as she approached a mind-blowing climax. Yvette, driven by her own desires, straddled Dracaena's face, positioning herself in a way that her wet and eager pussy was just inches away from Dracaena's waiting mouth. With a commanding tone, Yvette asserted her desires.

Yvette (assertively): Lick my pussy, Dracaena. Taste me. Pleasure me with your tongue.

Yvette's voice brimmed with dominance, as she took control of the moment, commanding Dracaena to fulfill her desires. Dracaena, eagerly obedient, complied, her tongue reaching out to explore the folds of Yvette's pussy, tasting her wetness and responding to every movement and pressure from Yvette's hips.

Dracaena (muffled): Yes, Yvette. I'll pleasure you. I'll lick you just the way you want.

With each flick of her tongue and gentle suck, Dracaena lavished Yvette's sensitive areas, immersing herself in the act of pleasuring her wife. The room filled with the sounds of Yvette's moans and the wet, rhythmic sounds of Dracaena's oral attentions, as they both surrendered to the intoxicating dance of pleasure and dominance. Yvette, fully immersed in the moment, proced to focus to her wife's breasts. With a firm grip, she squeezed and massaged Dracaena's breasts, reveling in the softness and fullness of her flesh.

Yvette (sensually): Mmm, your breasts are so beautiful, Dracaena. They're meant to be pleasured, to be worshipped.

Yvette's touch was a blend of desire and control as she kneaded and squeezed Dracaena's breasts, her fingers exploring every curve and contour. Dracaena's moans of pleasure mingled with the wet sounds of their passionate encounter, filling the air with an intoxicating symphony of pleasure.

Dracaena (gasping): Yes, Yvette. Your touch feels amazing. Keep pleasuring me, show me how much you desire my body.

Dracaena's voice dripped with a mixture of need and surrender as she reveled in the sensations coursing through her. Yvette's touch on her breasts heightened her pleasure, sending waves of desire crashing through her body, leading her closer to the edge of complete ecstasy. Yvette, Vinca, and Dracaena continued their passionate dance, their bodies entwined in a frenzy of desire. The room echoed with their moans and cries of pleasure as they approached the pinnacle of their orgasms. Their movements became more urgent and erratic, their breaths quickening, and their bodies trembling with anticipation. Each touch, each thrust, and each caress fueled the fire within them, igniting a storm of pleasure that threatened to consume them entirely, as their climax surged through their bodies, their voices merged in a symphony of ecstasy, their screams of pleasure filling the air, waves of intense pleasure washed over them, their bodies convulsing with the intensity of their orgasms, releasing the built-up tension and leaving them spent but utterly satisfied. Their cries of pleasure reverberated in the room, a testament to the raw and unrestrained passion that had consumed them. In that moment, they existed solely for each other's pleasure, indulging in the deepest depths of their desires until they were spent and satiated. Then the dream shift, Dracaena's dream raids unfolded with calculated precision, her subconscious navigating a realm where desires denied in waking life became treasures in the dream world. Under the watchful gaze of Tyrant Darius, none dared to oppose her whims. She pilfered toys that had eluded her in childhood, adorned herself in dresses denied, and indulged in a plethora of Pokémon delights. In the midst of her dream raid, Dracaena exclaimed...

Dracaena: Finally, my stolen childhood reclaimed! Toys, dresses, and Pokémon wonders, all mine for the taking!

Tyrant Darius: Seize what was denied, my daughter. Let none challenge your desires. This world is yours to command.

Demons, humans, etc...: But, she takes everything! What about our possessions?

Tyrant Darius: Like me she is the sovereign. Cross her, and face the consequences.

Dracaena: No one can deny me now. I am the ruler of my own kingdom and none shall stand in my way! YES! YES! YES!!! Merge with me seed of Divashma!

Seed of Divashma: As your wish.

Dracaena: Oh, the merging with you seed of Divashma is an incredibly intense and pleasurable experience. It's like being enveloped in a wave of raw, primal energy that courses through every fiber of my being. The sensation is electric, as if a hundred hands caress and explore my body, igniting every nerve ending with desire. The merging of energies creates a symphony of pleasure, overwhelming my senses with a heady mix of pleasure and ecstasy. Every touch, every stroke, every movement is heightened, amplifying the pleasure to unimaginable levels. It's an experience that leaves you gasping for breath, trembling with pleasure, and craving for more.

It goes for six hour, six minutes and six seconds until Dracaena fully merged with the seed of Divashma, Dracaena, her senses now attuned to the merged power within, rises with a newfound energy. She looks around, the world itself seeming to respond to the shift in her existence.

Seed of Divashma (voice resonates with an ethereal authority): Dracaena, bearer of our merged essence, you stand at the threshold of a destiny inscribed in the annals of revolution. This world await your touch, and your father, Tyrant Darius, anticipates the manifestation of your prowess.

Dracaena, feeling the surge of power, steadies herself. Her eyes, now reflecting a glint of both uncertainty and determination, meet the unseen presence of the seed.

Dracaena: I can feel it, the power coursing through me. I am ready to embrace the legacy, to make my father proud. The dominion he envisions shall unfold under my influence.

The surroundings seem to respond, shadows elongating and swirling as if acknowledging the awakening of a force. Dracaena, with a newfound aura, steps forward, a willingness to shape the world in alignment with the aspirations of his Tyrant Darius and the seed of Divashma.

Seed of Divashma: The tapestry of revolution awaits your touch, Dracaena. May your journey carve the path to greatness and mayhem. The legacy of your father shall flourish through your dominion.

Dracaena lets out a mighty roar that echoes through the refuge. The air itself shivers in response to her newfound strength, as she warps outside, her form begins to shift, transforming into a colossal, feathered serpent.

Dracaena: Behold the embodiment of chaos! I am the serpent of dominion, the herald of my father's legacy! I am Metstlisiuateotl Iuik in Tonatiusiuateotl, Ipixkiuh Iuik in senyelistli Altepeuh!!!

[Goddess of the moon and sun, Guardian of my family Kingdom!!!]

The adversaries, caught off guard, gaze in awe and terror as Dracaena, in her colossal serpentine form, maneuvers with an effortless grace. With a voice that resonates like a tempest, she speaks to those who dare challenge her.

Dracaena: Your resistance is but a fleeting breath in the winds of destiny. Kneel before the might of Tyrant Darius, for his legacy courses through my veins.

The adversaries, realizing the overwhelming force before them, attempt futile defenses as Dracaena, with calculated precision, asserts her dominion. The chaos unfolds in the clash of powers, and the once defiant foes find themselves overpowered by the sheer might of the serpent of chaos, Dracaena with a majestic sweep of her wings, unleashes a torrent of chaotic energy as the demons before her, unable to withstand the sheer force, disintegrate into swirling dust. Her howl reverberates, a proclamation of dominance that echoes through the chaotic battlefield.

Dracaena: Witness the might of my father's bloodline! I am Tonakapilli

[Shining child]

I am the harbinger of chaos, the serpent of dominion.

As she revels in the defeat of her father's enemies, a dark euphoria emanates from Dracaena. Her colossal form weaves through the remnants of the opposition, each movement a display of power, and her howls become a symphony of triumph.

Dracaena: This is the legacy of Tyrant Darius, a legacy I now wield with unbridled might. Let his reign!

Trudy, witnessing the awe-inspiring manifestation of Dracaena's power approaches with a zeal that borders on reverence, her eyes glitter with a mixture of admiration and fervor.

Trudy: Dracaena, Ahmiki Iluikoatlsiuateotl!

[Immortal feathered Goddess serpent!]

Your power is a spectacle, a symphony of chaos that would make even the most daring demons cower. Tyrant Darius, your father would be proud.

Dracaena, her colossal form now regaining a more humanoid appearance, blushes under Trudy's praise. The remnants of her chaotic howls still linger in the air.

Dracaena: Trudy, you've been a loyal friend, and your support means more than you can imagine. But I have yet to prove my worth to my father, Tyrant Darius. The chaos I bring forth today is just the beginning.

Trudy, undeterred, caresses Dracaena's cheek with a zealous affection.

Trudy: The beginning indeed! The madness and might you've exhibited are beyond remarkable. The dominion of your father flows through you, and with each conquest, you carve your place in the legacy of your father kingdom.

Dracaena smiles, a blend of humility and determination in her eyes.

Dracaena: I'll weave a tale of chaos that i hope my father will marvel at. My father dominion shall flourish, and our family legacy will be etched in the eternity of pandemonium.

Dracaena, her eyes now attuned to the chaotic currents, senses the presence of other demons lurking in the shadows. With a focused inhale, she draws in the surrounding air, gathering the essence of malevolence. As she exhales, a swirling miasma envelops the unsuspecting demons, freezing them in a spectral paralysis.

Dracaena (whispers): In the dance of mayhem, none escape its grasp.

The miasma snakes through the air, a potent concoction of her newfound power. The demons, caught within its ethereal tendrils, become statues of their former selves, immobilized by the poisonous energy. Trudy, observing the scene, is filled with both awe and excitement.

Trudy: Dracaena, you've mastered the art of subjugation with a mere breath. The enemies stand frozen in the shadows of their own weakness.

Dracaena, with a wicked grin, surveys the paralyzed demons, deciding their final fates. She decide to play with them first, so she take her colossal feathered serpent form coiling around the paralyzed demons, squeezes gently, reveling in their helplessness. The feathered scales press against them as she taunts their feeble resistance.

Dracaena (sinister hiss): How fragile your malevolence is, demons. The Immortal feathered Goddess serpent now holds your destiny in her coils.

Trudy, standing by, watches with a mix of fascination and amusement.

Trudy (smirking): Their arrogance crumbles in the face of true chaos. Dracaena, you wield the power of your father with finesse.

Dracaena (mockingly): Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Your malevolence is but a fleeting shadow in the vastness of chaos.

One of the demons, attempting a defiant retort, struggles against the constriction.

Demon: You cannot ... gasps ... contain our power.

Dracaena tightens her coils, emphasizing their futility.

Dracaena (with a dark chuckle): Your power my toys? Mere whispers in the tempest of chaos. Submit to the dominion or vanish into the abyss.

In the dance of shadows, Trudy marveled at Dracaena's mastery. The once defiant demons, now ensnared, were mere playthings in the colossal feathered serpent's coils. The thrill of witnessing the manifestation of Tyrant Darius's legacy surged through her veins. As Dracaena mocked the demons' feeble attempts at resistance, Trudy couldn't help but smirk the balance of power had shifted, and the dominion they sought to establish was asserting itself with every twist of the feathered serpent's body as Dracaena's forked tongue flicked out with sinister precision, it danced across the immobilized demons, delivering a sensation that bordered on both discomfort and amusement the feathered serpent, reveling in the play of power, took delight in underlining their vulnerability.

Demon 1 (struggling): What madness is this? Unhand us, monster!

Dracaena's tongue continued its intricate dance, teasing and tickling, while Trudy observed with a dark satisfaction.

Demon 2 (with strained laughter): Is this the extent of our defiance? A monster's mockery?

Dracaena (mockingly): Your defiance is but a pitiful whimper in the grand symphony of chaos. Embrace the truth, your power is inconsequential.

Trudy, enjoying the spectacle, couldn't help but smirk at the demons' futile attempts to resist the serpent's playfulness. In the unfolding chaos, the echoes of their mocking laughter began to dissolve into the realization of their own insignificance. Dracaena satisfied with the demons' realization of their powerlessness decides to plunge them into a new realm of horror. With a subtle gesture, she unfurls her colossal serpent form, releasing the coiled demons.

Dracaena (whispers): Into the waking nightmare, let reality mirror your deepest fears.

As the demons regain their mobility, the surroundings warp into manifestations of their darkest nightmares, the air thickens with palpable dread as their own fears materialize before them.

Demon 1 (panicking): This... this can't be real! It's just a nightmare!Dracaena, her eyes gleaming with mischief, observes their torment with a touch of sadistic satisfaction.

Demon 2 (frantically): Make it stop! We submit! We beg you!

As Trudy return to watch over and protect Fang, she cast a vigilant gaze, ensuring the safety of her friend amidst the swirling chaos Dracaena orchestrated. The refuge, though now enshrouded in a magical wall, remained a sanctuary under Trudy's watchful eyes. Meanwhile back to Drracaena.... Dracaena savoring the demons' anguish in their manifested nightmares, shifts her focus to an illusion that plays on their deepest fears. With a subtle command, the once solid ground beneath their feet seems to liquefy into an abyss, giving the illusion that they are sinking into the road.

Demon 3 (frantically): No! What is happening? We're sinking!

Dracaena, with a hauntingly calm demeanor observes the terror etched across their faces.

Demon 4 (desperate): This can't be real! Make it stop, monster!

Dracaena, amused by the demons' desperate pleas conjures a swirling whirlpool, intensifying their illusionary descent into insanity.

Dracaena (with a sinister chuckle): How amusing that demons, who revel in chaos, call me a monster. Let the abyss consume you, for in chaos, I find my true form.

The demons, caught in the tumultuous illusion of sinking, clutch at each other in futile attempts to escape the inexorable pull.

Demon 5 (screaming): This is madness! Make it stop!

Dracaena: Madness, you say? In the grand tapestry of chaos, your feeble notions of reality are but threads. Embrace the madness, for I am the embodiment of your deepest fears.

Sensing the perfect moment to amplify the surreal nightmare, she unfurls her majestic wings. With an otherworldly melody, she begins to sing, her voice resonating with both beauty and malevolence. The haunting notes wrap around the demons like ethereal tendrils, making them susceptible to the impending illusion.

Dracaena (🎶): In the madness where insanity dwells,

A serpent's song, its eerie spells.

Whispers in the dark, illusions unfold,

A nightmare dance, a tale to be told.

Upside down, in my domain you'll sway,

As my song weaves the night and day.

Reality bends to my sweet refrain,

In the symphony of chaos, feel the pain (🎶).

As the song permeates the air, the demons, entranced by the melodic malevolence, find themselves succumbing to the whims of Dracaena's illusion.

Demon 6 (hypnotized): What... what is this enchantment?

Dracaena, with a triumphant gleam in her eyes, continues her haunting serenade, manipulating the very fabric of their perceptions.

Dracaena (🎶): Dreams and nightmares entwined,

In my illusion, truths you'll find.

Suspended, upside down, you'll be,

Dancing to the chaos, eternally (🎶).

As the last note hangs in the air, the demons, now fully ensnared by Dracaena's illusion, dangle upside down in a surreal dance orchestrated by the serpent of dominion, the suspended demons begin to perceive a myriad of ferocious creatures closing in on them.

Demon 7 (panicking): Bears! Sharks! Tigers! What is happening?

Dracaena, with a wicked grin, intensifies the illusion, each creature appearing with vivid, nightmarish realism.

Dracaena (tauntingly): Welcome to the menagerie of chaos. The predators of your deepest fears are here to greet you.

Demon 8 (frantically swatting at unseen attackers): Get them off! Get them off!

Suddenly, a colossal serpent, its scales gleaming with an otherworldly iridescence, materializes before them.

Demon 9 (stammering): Look! It's a massive snake! We're its prey!

The serpent, a creation of Dracaena's malevolent whims, hisses with an unearthly resonance. Its eyes, gleaming orbs of chaos, fixate on the suspended demons, intensifying their terror, the illusory serpent lunges, the demons, trapped in their surreal nightmare, feel the phantom coils constricting around them. Their hearts race with terror as the chaotic zoo becomes a twisted stage for their imagined demise.

Demon 10 (voice trembling): This is madness! This is madness! This is madness! This is madness!

Nahara the seer, and Quillain the silent shadow, materialize from the shadows as Dracaena weaves her illusions.

Nahara: Playing with your prey, Dracaena? How childsh.

Quillain: She's right, my young serpent.

Dracaena, her eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief, addresses them.

Dracaena: Not playing, Nahara, Quillain. I aim to master my powers within before the inevitable reunion with my father, Tyrant Darius. The dominion he envisions must be wielded with precision.

Nahara (smirking): The serpent seeks mastery. An endearing endeavor.

Quillain: Be wary, Dracaena. The balance between mastery and madness is delicate. Your father legacy is both a gift and a curse.

Dracaena (with determination): I'll navigate my powers, Quillain. When our father arrives, I shall present him with a dominion sculpted by my own hands.

Nahara: Impressive words, Dracaena. Now, let us witness the fruits of your "training" mastery.

Dracaena, with a subtle gesture, shifts the illusion once again. The demons, still suspended in the chaotic menagerie, now perceive themselves being pursued by colossal, gloating figures, phantom giants that revel in enumerating everything wrong about them.

Gloating Giant 1 (with a booming voice): Pathetic creatures! Your every flaw exposed for all to see. How entertaining!

Gloating Giant 2 (mockingly): Look at them squirm, like insects caught in the web of their own insignificance.

Nahara and Quillain, watching the spectacle unfold, exchange amused glances.

Nahara (chuckling): A delightful touch, Dracaena. Exposing their vulnerabilities with illusions.

Quillain (smirking): The giants of mockery, unveiling the demons' insecurities. Quite the theatrical insanity.

As the gloating giants continue their phantom pursuit, Nahara and Quillain revel in the demons' futile attempts to escape the relentless scrutiny of their imagined flaws. Dracaena, with a glint of satisfaction, observes the orchestrated chaos, a manifestation of her growing mastery over the illusions that dance in the shadows of her power. Dracaena still in her colossal form casts an ominous shadow as she opens her massive maw, ready to consume them and assimilate their essence into her mad being as she is hungry for food at last. The demons, suspended in their phantom torment, gaze in terror as Dracaena's maw inhales with a force that defies the very fabric of reality. The illusory creatures, once a manifestation of their fears, distort and dissipate into the swirling abyss within her. As the demons are fully assimilate, the outside world bears witness to this grotesque display of supreme power. Dracaena, now infused with the assimilated essence, stands as an embodiment of the power that dance within and around her.

Dracaena: Let's see a film!

Nahara: Fair enough, Dracaena. Let us reunite with Trudy and Fang. A film sounds like a fitting diversion while we await the grand reunion with Tyrant Darius.

Quillain (smirking): A normal film in the midst of chaos? An intriguing choice.

As they reunite with Trudy and Fang still sleep in her room, a sense of camaraderie prevails.

Nahara (to Trudy): Dracaena's growth have taken a rather entertaining turn.

Trudy (smirking): I'm sure they have. Perhaps a film is just what we need.

As they settle in, the shadows of night embracing them, they prepare to enjoy a film, finding solace in the brief respite before Tyrant Darius arrives to usher in a new era of dominion and pandemonium.

Dracaena: The future, the world and all of what is contained in it is ours, your kingdom is over Kozholok and our kingdom shall rise and will be eternal! Muhahahahaha!!!

[jjungkookislife]

Crybaby [Ch.4]

pairing: namjoon x f. reader

genre: f2l, fluff, angst [18+]

wc: 8.5k

warnings: cursing, oc gets babied a lot!, oc cries a lot!, alcohol use/mentions, anxiety, oc is self-conscious, self-deprecating thoughts

date: April 16, 2022

A few days later, you find yourself on Jungkook’s couch, curled up to his side while Yoongi wraps his arms around both of you despite lying behind Jungkook. Sometimes you felt bad intruding on their couple's time, but both men had assured you that you were more than welcome to join them whenever you wanted to.

You were thankful for them. You’re not sure what you’d do without either of them and you didn’t want to think about it.

“I’m sorry about before,” you apologize, your fingers lacing with Jungkook’s. He squeezes your hand.

“Hush, there’s no need for that. We can talk about it if you’d like, but we won’t force you to. We were just worried about you…” Yoongi says as his hand laces with yours on the other side of Jungkook.

“Is Namjoon home?” you ask, moving your head off Jungkook’s shoulder to look at both of your friends.

“Nah,” Jungkook shakes his head, his black hair covering his eyes. He blows it away but all it does is ruffle it before Yoongi’s moving it out of his face.

“Thank you,” Jungkook chirps, cheeks tinted pink. “Namjoon went with Hoseok and Jin to some bar downtown. He won’t be home till late. You can talk freely.”

“I told him…” you say, trailing off as you rest your head back on Jungkook’s shoulder. He wraps his arms around your waist to pull you closer to him. Yoongi looks down at him, the two exchanging a look, conversing silently.

“Told him?” Yoongi licks his lips as he quirks his head, hoping you’re both on the same page.

“Yeah, about me and how I am,” you explain briefly. “That’s why I was out of sorts that day.”

Jungkook suddenly has everything click in his mind, but why couldn’t you have just told him that on Sunday? Why did you have to run away from him and everyone else?

“That’s why you ran,” he sighs. “Did you want to tell him?”

“I mean, sort of?” you’re unsure. “It kind of just happened. I woke up from a nightmare and I ran into him. I don’t really know how it even came up. It’s all a blur,” you admit as you turn to look at your friends.

“What did he say?” Yoongi prods.

“He said wishing I was different was an injustice to myself and everyone who loves me,” you clear your throat, suddenly feeling awkward under their penetrating gaze.

“That’s true,” Jungkook nods in agreement. He knew his brother had a way with words and he knew he’d take care of you just like he did. After all, Namjoon was well aware that the both of you were (platonic) soulmates and he’d never do anything to destroy that bond the two of you shared. Namjoon knew how important you were to Jungkook, which is why it made it so hard to hide his feelings despite Jungkook’s meddling.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had to open myself up to someone new,” you continue, pushing Jungkook’s hoodie sleeve up to expose his tattoos. You traced the small heart on his hand absentmindedly, a habit of yours you developed to calm you down. Other days, when you were in a panic of sorts, Jungkook would take out some washable markers and allow you to color in the outlines of his tattoos.

“It’s challenging, no doubt. But Namjoon cares about you as the rest of us do,” Yoongi assures you. “We wouldn’t let just anyone in.”

Jungkook nods in agreement with his boyfriend. “I’d never let anyone hurt you, Baby. Not ever.”

“Thanks, Kookie. You too, Yoongs. I love you both so much. I’m sorry for worrying you and running off.”

“Ah, stop apologizing or I’m pushing you both off the couch!” Yoongi exclaims jokingly, sticking his tongue out at you. You turn to look at him, sticking your own tongue out in return.

“What did I do?” Jungkook huffs at his boyfriend, a fake scowl on his face.

“You’re her co-conspirator!” Yoongi exclaims, giving Jungkook a peck on the cheek. “Besides, you two are making my legs go numb.”

“Suck it up, buttercup,” You giggle, lying back on Jungkook’s chest.

“Yeah, suck it up, buttercup,” Jungkook repeats, chuckling when Yoongi rolls his eyes at the both of you.

“I don’t see why I always end up being the big spoon,” he grumbles. Jungkook pokes his side. "Do you wanna switch?”

“No, it’s easier to toss both of you off the couch from here,” Yoongi shrugs.

“Anyway,” Jungkook says, ignoring his boyfriend. “Have you talked to Namjoon? He didn’t mention that you’d told him.”

“He found me after I left. He took me out for ice cream and we talked some more. We’re friends now,” you smile brightly.

“Where did he take you?” Jungkook raises a brow, his tone suspicious.

“Nowhere special,” you lie, but Jungkook knows better. The human lie detector that he is, can spot it a mile away.

“Liar!” He calls you out immediately and you blanch.

“What? No!” you protest too quickly, voice a higher pitch.

“He took you to The Creamery, didn’t he?!” Jungkook asks, sure of himself as he sits up, tugging you onto his lap.

“Okay, okay! He did and it was delicious!” you smirk, ruffling his hair.

“What’s The Creamery?” Yoongi asked, puzzled.

“It was mine and Joon’s secret ice cream shop,” Jungkook grumbles, tickling your sides. You laugh, falling into him and Yoongi. “But I guess our Crybaby is in on it now.”

“Why am I not in on it?” Yoongi pouts.

“You will be. I don’t think Namjoon will mind,” Jungkook smiles, kissing Yoongi hastily before he’s pulling you off his lap. “We can even get Tae and Jimin to come.”

You grin, walking to the door to grab your purse off the coat rack. Yoongi stretches as he rises from the couch, popping his joints before he pats down his pockets to make sure he has his phone and wallet.

“I’ll drive,” Jungkook volunteers. Yoongi shrugs, not caring either way as he takes Jungkook’s car keys from the bowl on the entrance table.

“We’ll be in the car waiting,” Yoongi calls to him as Jungkook makes sure the stove is off and rummages around the living room for his wallet. Not that he needs it since Yoongi would offer to pay like always but he should at least have his license on hand.

Not too long after, Yoongi is sitting across from you and Jungkook, his ice cream cone in hand.

“I can’t believe you kept this a secret from me,” he moans as he licks his ice cream. His eyes flutter shut as the sweet treat sits on his tongue.

“I had to,” Jungkook laughs, his own ice cream sitting in a waffle bowl on the picnic table. He grins when he looks at you, “You know, Cherry Brown Cow is Joon’s favorite.”

“Oh? I didn’t know,” you fib. Jungkook laughs, shaking his head. Sure.

“Scoot over, Min,” Jimin huffs as he plants his butt down on the bench beside Yoongi.

“Where’s Tae?” You ask, looking over your shoulder but your friend is nowhere in sight.

Jimin rolls his eyes, “He’s still picking out a flavor. I didn’t want my ice cream to melt so I left him. He’s sampling all the flavors but I know he’s gonna end up getting vanilla, like always.”

You giggle, typical Tae.

“So I guess this isn’t our secret anymore, Kook?” Namjoon chuckles as he approaches the table.

Jungkook blushes, “Oops?”

Namjoon rolls his eyes playfully at his brother before taking a seat beside you.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you breathe, ignoring the rapid palpitations of your heart.

“Okay, what did I miss?” Taehyung asks as he scurries to the table with a cone. None of you are surprised to see it’s plain vanilla with a pinch of sprinkles. You gag, sprinkles were disgusting.

“What brings you here?” Yoongi inquires, eyebrows scrunched together.

“Jimin texted me asking for directions,” Namjoon shrugs. He’d made sure to get Hoseok and Jin home before coming out to join you. He wasn’t upset that his secret spot wasn’t a secret anymore, now he could share it with you and all his new friends.

Your friends easily fall into conversation with each other, and you manage to ignore the heat of Yoongi’s gaze as Namjoon leans in closer to talk to you.

“Do you want some? It’s your favorite,” you offer him your ice cream cone, and Namjoon hesitates for a second before leaning in and taking a small bite. He grins, thanking you. It makes butterflies swirl around in your stomach. Your heart thuds harshly in your chest. Heat rises to your cheeks as you murmur a tiny, “You’re welcome.”

The dimpled smile Namjoon gives you, sends your heart soaring to your throat, your mind going haywire as you blatantly stare at his grin. Has he always been this beautiful? His eyes so bright and filled with warmth? Has his aura always brought peace to those around him? Was it normal for you to feel uncharacteristically safe in his presence?

Namjoon quirks his head, bemused. Was something on his face? Or could you hear the rapid pounding of his heart? Could you tell he was nervous and his hands were growing sweaty despite resting on his jeans?

You look away, unable to hold his gaze much longer. He chuckles, resting his chin in his palm as he places his elbow on the table. He tunes in and out of everyone’s conversation, his eyes glued to your profile as you continue to eat your ice cream. He notices the way you purposely avoid his gaze, and he knows it’s out of being frazzled. Do you know you affect him the same way?

“So pretty,” he utters softly, barely audible but your hearing must be impeccable because you turn to face him, a softness to your gaze that overpowers the self-consciousness you typically feel around him.

“What?” you ask sheepishly, unsure if you’ve heard him correctly.

Namjoon is at a loss for words; barely able to breathe as your lashes flutter once, twice. Your gaze is curious and demure, there’s a hint of uncertainty that delves in the corners, but that just gives him more courage to restate his words with more confidence.

“You’re so pretty, Crybaby.” His words have your mind whirling with thoughts, but you’re incapable of wording any of them aloud. Is it normal to feel this way? Or does he have some sort of hold on your brain to render you incoherent with just his words?

Namjoon laughs gently. How is it possible for someone to be so cute? So adorable?

Without even registering, Namjoon’s fingers stroke your cheek delicately. He’s in awe of you, of your beauty, of your being. You always seem to have him under a spell when you’re near and he honestly doesn’t believe he wants to be set free. He’d gladly stare into your eyes forever, hold you in his arms until he took his last breath, treasure you in his heart until the very end.

Crybaby.

His Crybaby.

Jimin shares a look with Jungkook, the two seemingly communicating in silence about the two friends sitting on Jungkook’s left. Yoongi has no qualms about staring blatantly at the both of you; he wants his Baby to be safe and although he’s come to cherish Joon as a friend, you’re the baby of the group. He sees you as a little sister, and his (future) brother-in-law better be careful with your heart just like Yoongi is with Jungkook’s. He’s never really taken on the role of an older brother before, but you pulled that out of him naturally. He just wanted what was best for you but he knew better than to meddle… unlike his loving boyfriend who was scooting into your side to push you further into his brother. Subtle.

Understanding what had gone on between the two of you that night and how you're both acting now, filled in a lot of blanks for Yoongi. He never wanted to push you into speaking about anything you didn’t want to or weren’t ready to share; he knew from experience that pushing you to speak just backed you into a figurative wall and made you feel worse. Yoongi had made it his mission to build a safe, warm, trusting environment where you could share with him (and Jungkook) if—not when— the need arises.

“Quit staring,” Jimin grumbles as he raises his ice cream cone to his lips to hide them, but honestly, it’s not like you and Namjoon would even notice if he hadn’t. The both of you were in your own little world, so far from earth, it didn’t even matter.

“Not staring,” Yoongi shrugs, turning his gaze to his boyfriend, who’s smiling brightly. Yoongi knows it must be hard for him not to meddle more than he already has but to be fair, Jungkook’s never seen you like this with anyone. Not in a long, long time. And he was aware that he was getting ahead of himself, hearing wedding bells in his head as he imagined you as his sister-in-law.

“Jungkook,” Yoongi is cautious with the volume of his voice, his foot gently kicking at his boyfriend’s, hoping not to draw your attention. At this point, he doesn’t think a meteor would catch your attention or Namjoon’s for that matter, but there’s nothing wrong in trying to be discreet�� unlike his loving partner who gawks at the two of you with hearts in his eyes. “You’re being too obvious, love.”

Jungkook finally rips his eyes off you, “I am not!”

“Shh,” Yoongi hisses, an eyebrow raised in your direction. “You’re gonna make them look over here.”

“Please, a T-Rex could stomp on our table and Namjoon would still manage to keep his eyes locked on her,” Jimin scoffs. Taehyung is oblivious to his surroundings, rising from his seat to go inside the shop for another cone.

Jimin’s words are true to an extent, though. Namjoon is still caressing your skin, his thumb swiping the corner of your lips where you had a bit of ice cream. He pops his thumb into his mouth, licking it clean as your eyes widen in surprise.

Namjoon chuckles, cheeks flushed pink as he scoots closer to you. You don’t even care about your ice cream anymore, some of it melting over the cone to meet your fingers.

“Finish your ice cream, Crybaby,” Namjoon instructs with a smirk as he grabs a napkin from the small pile in the center of the table. He cleans your hand as best as he can before he’s rising from the table to throw the used napkin into the trash can.

Jungkook nudges you with his elbow, wiggling his eyebrows at you before he’s kicked under the table by his boyfriend.

“What are we doing this weekend?” Taehyung asks as he rejoins the group with his cone in hand. This time he surprises you all when he has chocolate instead of vanilla. It was rare for your friend to deviate from his favorite flavor.

“We can head to that bar you went to if it’s good?” Jungkook leans forward to look at his brother as he takes the seat beside you once again. Namjoon blinked owlishly, taking a second to process what his brother’s said.

“Oh, sure. It was decent, even for a weeknight,” Namjoon shrugs.

“Would you wanna go, Baby?” Jimin asks you.

“Sounds fun. Especially if we all go,” you agree easily. It makes Taehyung eye you suspiciously but says nothing as he continues to eat his treat.

Jungkook asks his brother more about the bar they had gone to, wanting to know as many details as possible before he’s looking it up on his phone, exclaiming excitedly when he sees it’s near one of his favorite clubs.

You finish your ice cream whilst listening to your friends talk. Namjoon scooted in closer to you to better hear his brother and the plans for Saturday night. You flush with heat when you feel his thigh press against yours, your heart fluttering in your chest. You try to keep cool, not wanting to short circuit from the mere touch. Jimin notices though, a small smile tugging at his lips. As long as you were happy, he’d support whatever decision you made concerning Namjoon.

Namjoon is unaware of his effect on you as he leans closer, his body so close to yours you can smell the light scent of his cologne. Oh, how you’d love to be wrapped up in his arms and cuddling into him to smell him as long as possible. You find his scent soothing.

You involuntarily shiver from his proximity and he immediately notices. “Cold?”

You nod, unsure of what else to do. Namjoon smiles down at you warmly, easily taking his jean jacket off and draping it over your shoulders. You pull it closer to you by the sleeves, overwhelmed by his scent but comforted all the same. You quite like the feeling.

“I gotta get going,” Taehyung pouts. “I have work early tomorrow.”

“We’ll see you all this weekend though,” Jimin assures as he waits for Taehyung to slide out of the bench so he can get up without kicking the younger man.

“See ya!” Jungkook waves at them.

“Bye! Text me when you get home!” you call after them.

“We will!” They shout in unison.

“I hate when they do that,” you grumble, making your remaining friends laugh.

“Babe, don’t forget, we need to go to the store to get stuff for your lunch tomorrow,” Yoongi reminds Jungkook, who groans.

“Do you wanna come along, Crybaby?” Jungkook asks you as he gathers the trash from the table before rising from his seat.

“I should get home,” you say, muffling a yawn poorly.

“I can take you home,” Namjoon volunteers, his ears burning red when his brother and Yoongi give him a look. “I-if you want.”

Jungkook walks to throw the trash as Yoongi rounds the table, his hand lacing with Kook’s, “Whichever is fine with us, Crybaby. We don’t mind.”

You freeze, looking at the three men. You hated being put on the spot like this! Making decisions made you shut down, and the last thing you wanted to do was hurt anyone’s feelings by not going with them.

Jungkook notices the panic in your eyes, quickly letting go of Yoongi to kneel beside you, his hands on your thighs.

“Look at me, Baby.” You do so, tears welling up in your eyes already. Jungkook’s heart aches at the sight. “Why don’t you let Namjoon take you home, and after work tomorrow, I’ll make you dinner? Does that sound good?”

A single tear rolls down your cheek as you swallow the knot that’s formed in your throat. The panic slowly unravels from your body as you find it easier to breathe once again. You nod, agreeing with Jungkook as he wipes away your tear. He smiles softly at you, his fingers tilting your chin up so you’ll look up at him.

“There’s our girl,” he says sweetly when you give him a ghost of a smile. “I love you.”

Your eyes flutter shut as he leans in to press a kiss on your forehead, his arms wrapping around you to squeeze you tightly.

“I love you too,” you whisper, overwhelmed with love for your best friend. He squeezes you tighter until you wheeze before he laughs and releases you.

“My precious Crybaby. What I wouldn’t do to see you smile,” he says, kissing your cheek before giving his brother a stern look. “Get her home safe.”

Namjoon nods, swallowing thickly as Jungkook rises to his feet to walk to his boyfriend. He laces their hands together before they wave at the two of you, reminding you to text them when you get home safe.

After they’re gone, Namjoon rubs the nape of his neck sheepishly… had he overstepped? You were friends now, sure, but you hadn’t been alone since Sunday and he didn’t know if you were comfortable with him taking you home.

“Ready?” you find yourself asking, rising from the bench and slipping your arms into his jacket, pulling it close to your chest as you drape your cross body bag over your chest.

“Y-yeah,” he stutters, clearing his throat as he curses himself out in his head for being a bumbling fool in front of you. “I’m over here.”

You walk beside him in silence, spotting his car not too far off. You enjoy the night chill as the wind ruffles your hair as you walk. Namjoon’s scent fills your nose as you pull the jacket tighter, inhaling profoundly.

“Do you remember how to get to my house?” you ask once you’re in his car, seatbelt strapped snuggly over your chest as Namjoon pulls out of the parking lot and onto the road. His phone is in your hands as you look through his playlist, surprised he’s updated it since you were last in his car. You can see some of your favorite songs have been added, and it makes your heart flip in your chest.

“Yes, I do. My sense of direction isn’t the best but I promise to get you home safe,” he assures you, smiling at you as you play a song.

“I’ll hold you to it,” you giggle before singing along. Namjoon likes your voice, albeit you’re a tad off-key, he doesn’t care. He’s glad you can feel relaxed around him, comfortable enough to sing in front of him and just be yourself, even if he can feel a tidbit of resistance. He won’t rush you, won’t pressure you to break down your walls for him until you’re ready to let him fully in.

*

“See, I told you I’d get you home safe!” Namjoon cheers as he pulls into your driveway, parking the car.

“Okay, but I only doubted you a little,” you tease, a smile tugging at your lips. It makes Namjoon’s heart skip a beat.

“That’s… fair,” he chuckles, shaking his head.

“Thanks for getting me home,” you say as you unbuckle your seatbelt. Namjoon waves you off, “It’s no problem, Baby. I wanna make sure you’re always safe.”

“I appreciate it, Joonie.” You bite your lip, you really didn’t want your time with him to end, but you had to be up early tomorrow for work. “I’ll see you this weekend?”

“Of course!” Namjoon nods.

You open the door, turning to look at him and leaning in to kiss his cheek before you have time to psych yourself out. “Thanks again, Joonie!”

Namjoon is star-struck, dumbly nodding as you giggle, shutting the car door and skipping up to your front door. He places his hand on his cheek, and he swears he can still feel your lips on his skin. You wave once you unlock and open your front door, shouting “bye!”

Namjoon manages to wave, unable to breathe for a second as he sees your door shut. You’d kissed him. His cheeks flush with heat, a dimpled smile appearing on his lips. Sweet Crybaby.

“Crybaby!” Jimin throws himself on you, his arms wrapping around your waist. You smile, hugging him back as he squeezes you tightly before letting you go.

“You look amazing!” he whistles as he eyes you up and down. You smile bashfully. “You think so?”

Jimin nods, motioning for you to spin. You do so, feeling his gaze and a few others as Taehyung, Hoseok and Jin appear in the living room.

“Well fuck,” Hoseok blurts, a bright grin illuminating his face. “You look wonderful, Crybaby.”

“It’s not too much?” Your wavering voice doesn’t go unnoticed and it’s Jin who shakes his head. “No, you look beautiful. And wow! Your dress has pockets!”

You nod excitedly, putting your hands in your pockets and spinning around once again, a giant smile on your face. Crisis averted.

“How many phones can you fit in the pockets?” Taehyung asks curiously as he stuffs his phone in one pocket before Hoseok, Seokjin, and Jimin are stuffing their phones in the other pocket. Yoongi appears, shaking his head as he sees you stuffed to the brim with phones before Hoseok eggs him on to add his. Reluctantly he does so, surprised to see it fits. However, he thinks you’re at your limit, so he removes his phone before it has a chance to clatter on the floor.

“What are you doing?” Jungkook questions as he pops in from the kitchen, a drink in hand.

“They’re stuffing her with phones,” Yoongi replies coolly.

“Please, don’t act like you weren’t a part of it,” Jimin scoffs, rolling his eyes playfully. Yoongi smiles sheepishly, “So what if I was?”

“At least you won’t lose your phone tonight,” Seokjin chuckles, taking his phone from your pocket and then Hoseok’s.

“Let’s go drink,” Jimin says, taking his phone from your pocket. He kisses your cheek before he goes to the kitchen followed by Jungkook, Yoongi, and Seokjin. Hoseok excuses himself to go to the bathroom and Taehyung wraps his arms around you. “I’ve missed you, Baby. I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“You saw me the other night for ice cream,” you remind him. He chuckles, his chest shaking against yours. “You’re right. We need to hang out soon. You’re the only one who will listen to jazz with me and there’s a new club opening up soon. Will you go with me? Pretty please?”

You can’t resist his adorable smile or the way he bats his lashes, and when you smile softly, he knows he’s got you.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you! You’re the best, Crybaby! We’ll get dinner beforehand and we’ll make a night out of it!” Taehyung is nearly bouncing with excitement, twirling his arms around in a circle before Jimin is hollering for him to come to the kitchen.

Jungkook calls for you right after, asking what’s taking the both of you so long. You start to follow Taehyung, but Namjoon comes out of his room, adjusting his shirt. You can’t help but stare at the way his biceps nearly bulge out of the seams, your mouth watering at the sight.

“Hey,” he greets you with a smile you hope is only for you. It makes your insides warm, and you hope you don’t stutter.

“Hi!” you chirp, overly excited, immediately reprimanding yourself internally for it. “Hi.”

“Are you excited for tonight? You look beautiful,” he compliments genuinely and your heart is skyrocketing to the moon, bursting and dispersing among the stars.

“I-yeah. Thank you, Joonie!” you break eye contact, feeling hot all of a sudden.

“Crybaby! What’s holding you up?” Hoseok calls, peeking into the hall. He whistles, wiggling his brows as he goes back into the kitchen. You laugh, rolling your eyes as you head toward the kitchen.

“Finally, Baby.” Jungkook hands you a drink, your favorite. You thank him as you lean against the counter. Namjoon enters soon after, greeting his friends before Jimin is handing him a drink. He murmurs thanks, leaning against the island, his eyes on you.

You try to listen to the conversation around you, but all you can zero on is Namjoon. Even if he turns slightly to join in on a conversation, it’s not long until his eyes are meeting yours again, your heart thundering in your chest. It causes you to chug your drink, setting the cup down before Jimin’s got another ready for you. How he drinks alcohol like water, you’re not sure but you’re glad he’s got another drink ready for you. If nothing else it gives you a distraction from Namjoon and how heavenly he looks tonight with his forehead on display, a rare occurrence. A delightful occurrence.

“Are you going to save a dance for me, Crybaby?” Hoseok smirks, wiggling his hips. You laugh, shaking your head. “You know I don’t dance much.”

“I don’t know why, Baby. You’re good at it,” he assures you. Jimin nods in agreement, but you shake your head. “Not really.”

Hoseok doesn’t push, wrapping his arm around your shoulder to pull you close. “If you change your mind, you come and find us, okay?”

“Sure,” you fib, sipping your drink.

After the third round of drinks, Yoongi deems everyone tipsy enough to head out. Rides are ordered and you’re paired off into groups. Jimin, Hoseok, Taehyung, and Seokjin in one car. You, Yoongi, Jungkook, and Namjoon in another. Namjoon grabs his jean jacket that you’ve hooked on the coat rack upon your arrival, shrugging it on. He can smell your scent on it, and he realizes he quite likes how it meshes well with his. He’s not entirely sure why his heart somersaults in his chest…

Unfortunately for him, he’s made to sit up front. You’re tucked in the backseat between Yoongi and Jungkook, both men’s thighs pressed against yours. You idly play with the black material of your fishnets as Jungkook rambles excitedly about the new drink he’s wanting to try.

Namjoon looks over his shoulder at a light, he catches you already looking at him. You squeak with the embarrassment of having been caught. Namjoon chuckles, turning to face forward once again. He hopes someday you can feel a hundred percent comfortable with him.

“Finally,” Jungkook groans as he gets out of the car. He extends his hand for you as Namjoon appears behind him. His eyes roam over to your legs as they get out of the car, the fishnets you’re wearing making him gulp. He’d refrained from staring too long in his home, but now that his alcohol-addled brain was in control, he found it insanely hard.

“She’s got eyes,” Yoongi grunts as he rounds the car.

Namjoon wonders if an asteroid can take him out if he wills it hard enough.

Luckily, you don’t hear Yoongi, too busy watching your step as Jungkook laces his hand with yours as Seokjin strolls up toward your group, followed by the others.

You easily get into the building, heading straight for the bar. Taehyung gets you a barstool immediately, helping you onto it before Yoongi opens up a tab for you, Jungkook, himself, and Namjoon.

“We’ll have some drinks here and see if it’s worth the hype. If not, we can go next door,” Jungkook assures you as he orders a drink for you.

The music is loud, you can barely hear yourself think. It’s decently crowded, but it’s still considered a little early to be out. You’re not surprised when half your friend group disappears into the crowd, all eager to mingle and have a good time.

Usually, they’d take turns staying with you at the bar, but Jungkook had promised to be at your side for the night. However, you urge him to go dance with Yoongi as Namjoon stands beside you.

Jungkook sends a look to his brother, silently communicating before Jungkook gives in. He takes his drink and Yoongi’s hand to head to the dance floor.

“Thank you for staying with me,” you shout into Namjoon’s ear.

“Don’t mention it, Crybaby.” He grins, his fingers brushing your cheek. You smile, leaning into his touch in the slightest.

Namjoon falls into conversation easily as you finish your drink. He has you drink some water in between, which you do to clear your mind a little bit. Some of your friends have stopped by for a quick chat, but have ultimately disappeared in the sea of bodies moving on the dance floor.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. It’s a text from Jungkook in the group chat, wanting to round up the herd so you can pop in next door.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” you shout over the music. Namjoon nods, helping you out of the barstool. “I’ll walk you. There are too many people here.”

You nod as he takes your hand in his. You can’t keep yourself from squeezing it. It fits so perfectly in yours. You admire the way his arm muscles look under the strobe lights as he pushes his way through the crowd. He’s so strong, you think as you clear through the crowd with ease.

“I’ll wait here,” he tells you as you reluctantly let go of his hand.

You’re quick to use the bathroom after standing in line for a few minutes. You’re happy to see Joon is right where he said he’d be.

“I’m back,” you chirp.

He takes your hand once again, your heart melting into a puddle. Why does holding his hand feel so right?

“This is so much better,” Seokjin says as he fans himself. Hoseok agrees, pinching his shirt to fan his chest.

Jungkook had called ahead, reserving a booth for you on the second floor. You were thankful to be able to sit down once again. You’d been to this club before, and you knew eventually you’d end up on the dance floor with Jimin or Jungkook, whichever gave you the best puppy-dog eyes.

Another drink appears in front of you, and you take it gratefully. Namjoon is still at your side, and you’re all taking a few moments to regroup. Hoseok brought along someone he met at the bar next door, easily falling into conversation with her while Seokjin conversed with her friend. The four rise from their seats, heading to the dance floor.

Jimin and Taehyung have sat beside you, talking animatedly as they sip their drinks, both eager to get back out on the dance floor.

Jimin turns to face you, his hand resting on your thigh to get your attention. “Do you wanna dance, Crybaby?”

“Sure,” you answer, surprising him. He doesn’t give you a chance to change your mind before he pulls you up with him, grabbing Taehyung with his free hand. You have a split second to grab Namjoon, startling him as he’s pulled out of the seat to join you.

Jimin holds your hand tightly as Taehyung clears a path for the four of you on the dance floor, his broad shoulders making it easy to get through the sea of sweaty bodies.

Anxiety immediately bubbles in your stomach when you come to a stop. Jimin squeezes your hand, offering a gentle smile, “It’s just us. Nobody else is looking.”

You swallow thickly, nodding as Jimin begins moving to the beat easily with Taehyung. Your hand is still in his as he spins you around to face Namjoon.

You gasp, stomach tied in knots as you meet his gaze. He offers you a soft smile, his dimples becoming prominent and your heart flutters shamelessly in your chest.

Your hands reach out for him, giggling when he comes to you easily. He’s just as flustered as you, but seeing you smiling and eager to have fun is all he needs for him to relax and fall into step beside you.

Jimin smirks, releasing your hand as he steps away from you to give you and Namjoon room to dance. Taehyung watches the two of you curiously, curls bouncing as he dances with Jimin.

“What do you think?” Jungkook asks his boyfriend as the two look over the dance floor, spotting you and Namjoon rather easily.

“I think you need to let them figure it out on their own,” Yoongi chuckles, wrapping his arm around Jungkook’s waist.

“You’d think so, huh?” Jungkook shakes his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “I just want them to be happy. It’s easy to see they care for each other.”

“It’s not our place. We’re not matchmakers, Kook.”

“You’re right,” Jungkook sighs, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before turning to his boyfriend. “No more meddling. I promise.”

Yoongi smiles, pressing a kiss to his boyfriend’s temple, “I’ll hold you to it.”

Dancing with Namjoon was a different experience than with any of your other friends. For one, he kept his distance, which you appreciated. He knew better than to push your boundaries, but that also meant his gaze was on your face instead of the back of your head. You were used to being sandwiched between your friends, hands on your waist, and their chest pressed to yours or your back. You didn’t have to worry about looking them in the eye when you danced, which allowed you to dance freely, without judgment and anxiety over your moves.

The rapid beating of your heart rivaled the loud rush of blood in your ears. Why was it so loud?

Namjoon knows he shouldn't stare at you. He can’t help it though, you look so cute swaying to the music, avoiding his gaze at all costs. He tries his best to look away, but any time he does, he unwillingly catches the gaze of someone else… which makes him panic at the thought of someone cutting in between you and him. He wants to stay at your side, that was the sole reason he’d agreed to come out. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you… or the kiss. It had been such a long week for him. He had ended up counting down the seconds until he saw you again, and you did not disappoint.

“Are you okay?!” Namjoon shouts over the music. You nod in response, moving closer as the crowd pushes. Jimin is still nearby with Tae, but now they’re chatting with a few people, easily distracted by the chance to socialize. However, Jimin keeps an eye on you from his spot, not wanting you to think he’s left you on your own.

“Yeah,” you answer but Namjoon knows you’re lying. He moves closer to you, his hands cupping your face and you meet his eyes. They’re beautiful. They’re so dark, they’re almost black but you know better. You know they look like pools of sweet melted milk chocolate on a summer’s day when the sun hits them just right. You know they hold love, friendliness, compassion, and trust in those gorgeous eyes. Maybe that’s why your racing heart slows into its normal rhythm after a moment. His touch is delicate, handling you as if you were fragile, one of a kind. And he supposes that you are. Cliche as it sounds, nobody has aroused these feelings in him in such a long time. He’s at a loss just like you.

Namjoon’s tongue peeks between his lips, swiping along the bottom one to moisten it before doing the same to the top. You’re in awe of him. How can his touch have this effect on you? You wish you were anywhere else but here. You wanted to be alone with him, to have him hold you until you felt safe once again. Can he read the panic in your eyes? Has he bypassed all the obstacles to your heart?

“Focus on me, baby,” he instructs, his gaze darker but the softness somehow remains. You gasp when you realize the only time he’s had that look in his eyes is when he looks at you.

Namjoon smiles warmly, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles into your skin. You’re under his spell. You’re in too deep… and you don’t care. You wanna fall deeper. Headfirst into the ocean of mystery and wonder that is Kim Namjoon.

“Crybaby,” he chuckles, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. You melt against him, whining when he pulls away. “Spin.”

It takes a second for you to comprehend what he’s said before he’s taking your hand and spinning you once, twice. A giggle escapes you, a wide grin appearing on your lips.

Crisis averted… for now.

“Joonie!” You squeal with laughter, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. You take two steps forward, wrapping your arms around Namjoon’s neck to pull him into a hug. It’s short, but it leaves you breathless.

The pounding of the music becomes background noise as you dance with Namjoon. Your worries are pushed aside as he keeps your body moving along to the beat until you find yourself in between him and Jimin with Tae behind Jimin.

Your back is pressed against Namjoon’s. His hands rest at your waist, while Jimin’s are on your hips, pulling you into him. You’re familiar with his moves, easily keeping up as you let the music take over, forgetting all your worries when you’re in Jimin’s hands.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. Anxiety bubbles in your stomach, your head no longer addled from its alcoholic haze.

Everything is too much! You’re hot, you’re feeling claustrophobic, and you can’t take the stickiness of dried sweat on your skin.

“Joon,” you say his name in a tone that drives panic to his very core. You lick your lips, fanning your face and he’s taking your hand, ceasing his movements and yours.

Namjoon is grateful for his large body, easily pushing people out of his way with small apologetic smiles. Nobody bats an eye as you follow after him until you’re safely wrapped up in him.

“Let’s get you a water and head outside, okay?” He asks, getting the bartender’s attention. He gets you a glass of water and you chug it before setting it on the counter. Namjoon takes your hand and your heart flutters in your chest before becoming overwhelmed by the crowds.

“Just focus on me, Crybaby,” Namjoon says softly, his hand cupping your face gently.

“Okay,” you nod, inhaling profoundly as you squeeze his hand. Namjoon pushes the crowd of dancing bodies with more force as he tugs you along the path he’s creating, ignoring the glares and curses he receives. It takes a few minutes to get to the exit but once the two of you step outside, you instantly relax.

The bouncer gives the two of you a look but Namjoon assures him you’re fine. You nod in agreement before following Joon a little ways from the entrance.

There’s a thick silence between you, more so on your part than his. Your heart is still racing from the adrenaline, and your lungs don’t quite expand like they’re supposed to. Namjoon steps in front of you, offering you his hands to hold, to cement yourself to reality in fear that you’ll lose yourself to the dark thoughts that linger on the edge of your mind. You’re grateful and even in the chill of the night, your breaths come stuttered but Namjoon says nothing, only offers comfort.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing you chose to say once your initial panic wears off. Namjoon immediately goes to wave off the apology but you shake your head. It’s easier for you to apologize than to be waved off and even if sometimes you apologize for things that don’t require it, Namjoon will learn your ways.

“I didn’t mean to pull you away from the fun,” you lick your dry lips, avoiding his gaze. “You can go back inside. I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t wanna go back inside,” Namjoon shrugs but he’s being honest. He has no intention of leaving you, much less to be crowded in like a sardine.

You click your tongue but don’t respond. After all, you’re only in charge of yourself and he’s only in charge of himself. You look down the street, groups of friends and lovers walking hand in hand, talking animatedly as they go from bar to bar and you almost wish it were that easy for you to just let go. But it’s not, and you need to be rescued from your surroundings time and time again; a burden to your friends.

“Stop that,” Namjoon says firmly as he takes your face in your hands and sees the cloudiness in your eyes. You exhale but it makes you shiver as you keep your tears at bay. Your throat aches with the strain of unshed tears and you curse yourself again for putting him in this predicament.

You go to apologize but Namjoon just hugs you. His arms are strong as they wrap around you, his large hand cradling your head as he assures you that you’re safe and that he (nor any of your friends) wish you were any different. They love you for you, even if you cry a little more than most.

You chuckle wetly, sighing heavily as Joon eases up on your hold and the fluttering of your heart just makes this moment all that more important.

“You know, you’re almost as spooky as Jungkook,” you sniffle, wiping at your eyes.

“How so?” Namjoon asks as his hands settle on your shoulder, holding you to his side.

“You’re almost spot on at reading me, though I’m sure my crying gives it away.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having emotions,” Namjoon offers but you shake your head.

“There is when they’re as amplified as mine.”

Namjoon clicks his tongue. “I said what I said.”

Your thoughts wander for a moment. The night breeze ruffles your hair and rattles your bones. Namjoon watches you intently, and he realizes it’s something he’s been doing a lot lately; studying you. It’s no wonder he’s gotten such a good read on you but he doubts he’d be like his brother any time soon. The two of you were like two peas in a pod; almost like twins. Jungkook had mastered the art of you and Namjoon could only hope one day to catch up.

“I feel the safest with you seven.” You break the silence, a faraway look in your eye as you try to dissociate, but Joon’s presence is too hard to ignore. “When I’m in that canopy of safety, I feel unstoppable. Being around so many people rattles me to my core and it makes me freeze. I tend to run, but you knew that already.”

Namjoon nods, stepping beside you, “do you wanna go home?”

“I can’t leave them all in there. They’ll wonder where I’ve gone and I’ll make them feel like that day…” you trail off, turning to look at the entrance. You can already feel your phone buzzing in your pocket from calls and texts of your concerned friends who have noticed your disappearance. You probably have two minutes before they storm out in a pile on the sidewalk.

Namjoon looks down at his phone, and sure enough, his brother’s name lights up the screen.

“Your comfort and safety matter to me, to us, above everything else. They’ll understand. We can go home right now and nobody would be upset with you. That’s what you’re worried about, isn’t it?” What talent he has to hit the nail on the head, maybe his studying has paid off.

You nod, swallowing thickly as the familiar burn in your throat makes itself known. Namjoon takes a moment to text his brother back, assuring him that you’re safe but overwhelmed. He’ll be taking you home and despite Jungkook offering to leave with your friends in order to offer comfort, Namjoon insists it’s best not to overwhelm you. Jungkook gives in, promising to leave soon after.

“Come, Baby. Let’s get you home.” Namjoon reaches out his hand for you to take and you do so easily as he leads you to a taxi. He opens the door for you, waiting until you’re buckled in before he slides in after you.

Namjoon rattles off his address to the driver, and it’s not too long before he’s getting out, linking his hand with yours to lead you to the front door.

When he unlocks the door, he helps you out of your shoes, helping you to the kitchen, where he has you sip on a bottle of water. Under the bright fluorescent lights, he can see how red and puffy your eyes have gotten. His heart aches as he sees you, but he knows it’s what you're used to. He offers some painkillers for the aches and then sends you off to the bathroom.

When you join him, he’s set out a change of clothes for you. A pair of sweatpants from Jungkook and one of his sweaters. You thank him as you get back in the bathroom, running the shower to get the smell of smoke out of your hair, something you cannot stand.

“You can sleep on my bed,” Namjoon states when you walk back into his bedroom. You sit on his bed when he goes to shower.

He’s not surprised you haven’t moved an inch since he’s been gone. Namjoon decides to sit beside you anyway.

It takes you longer than you care to admit to finally speak. What is it about Namjoon that renders you speechless? Sure, you were still getting to know him and you had spent time alone with him but never to this degree. It wasn’t uncomfortable by any means and you appreciate him sticking by your side when he could have easily dumped you off with Jimin and Taehyung or even Jungkook and Yoongi. The fact that he hadn’t, made your heart skip a beat.

“Thank you for coming with me,” you offer him a small smile. He smiles in return, his dimples nearly make you swoon.

“No need to thank me, Baby. That’s what friends are for,” he says gently as he presses a kiss to your forehead. You flush over the feel of his soft lips on your skin.

You know there’s no convincing him of staying the night at your side, not wanting to cross any boundaries no matter how much you assure him you’re fine. He’s heard from Jungkook and his friends just how long it takes for you to get comfortable around newcomers and though he’s had small victories here and there, he knows better than to push his luck out of fear of making you uncomfortable.

“Will you stay until I fall asleep?” You ask him meekly as you slowly pull the blanket over your body. Namjoon is grateful he’d done laundry that afternoon.

“Of course, Crybaby. I’d do anything for you,” Namjoon responds sincerely and he realizes how deep he’s in already… and yet, it doesn’t terrify him.

Under Namjoon’s watchful eye, you settle into his bed. He tucks you in, staying over the blanket so he can leave without rustling you. There are a few inches between you but Namjoon doesn’t mind, his fingers gently stroking your hair as you ask him for a childhood story about him and your best friend, looking for a distraction to clear your thoughts so you can get some sleep.

Namjoon is one to please, so he does as asked, listening to your breathy chuckles and sleepy giggles as he tells the story of how Jungkook lost his swim trunks going down a water slide ages ago.

You listen to Namjoon’s deep voice, following along with his story until you’re lulled to sleep, comforted by his voice and the scent of him that lingers on his sheets and the sweatshirt.

Namjoon stays until your breathing evens out, your eyes shut as you slip into dreamland. He strokes your cheek lightly, his knuckle barely grazing your skin.

Oh, what he wouldn’t do to ease your mind always, to give you the comfort you so greatly deserve. To kiss all your worries away and hold you when he can’t.

Oh, Crybaby, you don’t know what feelings you arouse in him.

<< previous // next >>

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls Extra 1

- ao3 -

Lan Xichen spent a lot of time learning his family’s rules.

They were important to his uncle, who raised him, and that meant that they were important to him. They were his heritage and his birthright, and anyway he loved his uncle and it made him happy which was good enough for Lan Xichen, but that didn’t make learning them easy or anything. Each rule had to be learned both by itself and in context with others; it wasn’t as simple as memorizing a list and calling it done. You had to learn them and know them and then live up to them to the best of your ability, and that was the work of a lifetime – which Lan Xichen, now six years old, had been informed was an awful long time.

Moreover, though his uncle had never said so, Lan Xichen had heard from the other people in the sect that learning the rules was important because following the rules would make sure he didn’t turn out like his father, who had let down so many people in their sect. Many of the elders said things like that when his uncle wasn’t around, though his uncle never did – his uncle spoke well of their father, although in abstract tones, but sometimes he looked sad about it, too, and therefore Lan Xichen was determined to listen and learn the rules well so that he would never disappoint his uncle the way his father had.

Of course, there were other advantages to learning the rules.

The commentary, for instance.

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

1

Talking behind other people's backs is prohibited.

“Unless it’s really funny,” Lan Yueheng said, and – as always – seemed not to notice the way Lan Xichen’s uncle glared at him. “Oooh, actually, let me give you an example, I just heard the best story –”

-

“If you don’t understand those around you, you will be at their mercy, rather than they at yours,” Wen Ruohan said, perfectly poised and with a sharp smirk, just the way he always was unless he happened to be talking to Lan Xichen’s uncle. “How better to learn to understand people than to know what others say about them when they are not around?” His smirk widened. “Look at what people say about me.”

-

“What are you supposed to do if you don’t?” Lao Nie asked, grinning wickedly. “Say mean things about them in front of their faces instead? I can do that!”

-

“I mean, if it’s news, it’s not gossip, right?” Cangse Sanren said, tapping her cheek while pretending to be thoughtful as if it would hide her great big smile. “I’m sure that’s how I learned it, and I was a very good student – no, no, don’t listen to what your uncle says!”

-

“Well, I wish my mother would do less of it,” Wen Xu said, rolling his eyes. He’d come along to visit with his father again the way he always did – he was always tagging along with his father, really, and his father indulged him more often than he probably should, according to both sects’ elders. Not that Wen Ruohan listened to anyone but Lan Xichen’s uncle. “Sometimes I think that’s all she does! It’s boring!”

-

“If you mean what you say and say what you mean, then your friends will never doubt you whether you are in front of them or not,” Nie Mingjue said, then frowned. “I mean, I think?”

-

“Listen to A-Jue,” Lan Xichen’s uncle said when Lan Xichen reported on the discussions, throwing up his hands in disgust. “He’s the only one of the lot of them worth anything.”

“It’s his mother’s contribution,” Lao Nie opined.

“It’s certainly not yours,” Wen Ruohan said. “Anyway, what was wrong with A-Xu’s answer? It was accurate.”

“It has nothing to do with the rule!”

“That’s because I’ve already mastered it years ago,” Wen Xu said cheerfully. Surprisingly cheerfully, given that Nie Mingjue was sitting on him again; maybe he’d gotten used to Nie Mingjue always winning.

Lan Xichen’s uncle rubbed his forehead. “A-Xu, if you really want to go copy the rules on humility a few more times, you don’t have to wait for me to instruct you to do so –”

“He’s right, though,” Cangse Sanren cackled from her husband’s lap. “Madame Wen is an amazing source of gossip, but it does get a bit boring sometimes. You can’t punish him for being right!”

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

2

Do not succumb to rage.

“Unless there’s a very good reason,” Lao Nie said, picking Lan Xichen up in one arm as if he weighed as little as a feather, and Nie Mingjue in the other just as easily, even though he was much bigger. “In the world there are many injustices, and it is your duty to fight against them with everything that you have – if you are wholly above the feeling of rage, then you have forgotten your empathy, and soon will follow the crooked path into indifference.”

-

“The issue is succumbing to rage,” Wen Ruohan said. “You can be angry, or even furious, but you should always maintain your self-control. Once you’ve mastered yourself, you can master others.”

-

“He means get revenge,” Wen Xu said knowledgably. “You get angry, then you get even.”

-

“Oh, rage?” Cangse Sanren asked, rolling up her sleeves. “Well, as it happens, I’m going to go have a chat with your mother, I’ll give you a good demonstration of –”

“You are doing no such thing,” Lan Xichen’s uncle said, exasperated. “Get back here.”

-

“It’s a waste of time,” Lan Yueheng said. “Getting angry takes time and energy. Why not be happy instead?” He thought about it. “Well, I mean, sometimes cursing a little bit when something goes wrong is nice. Even the calmest concoction needs to blow off steam sometimes to retain its equilibrium!”

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

3

Do not disrespect your elders.

“And I,” Wen Ruohan said, looking positively gleeful, “am the eldest.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Lan Xichen’s uncle said at once. “Xichen, you hear me? Don’t listen to him.”

-

“There’s a difference between disrespect and disobedience,” Cangse Sanren said. “Being old doesn’t mean being right, it means that there’s a greater probability that they’ve encountered something in their lifetime that will give them an insight you lack. You should honor and respect their insight, but always make your own decisions in the end.”

-

“I mean, you could always listen to me, instead,” Lao Nie said. “I’m your elder too, aren’t I?”

-

“Don’t listen to either Uncle Wen or my father,” Nie Mingjue said, looking long-suffering. “They both like to play tricks.”

-

“Wait,” Lan Yueheng said. “I’m an elder? Since when? That’s a terrible idea!”

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

4

Do not take advantage of your position to oppress others.

“Don’t listen to Wen Ruohan,” Cangse Sanren said.

-

“Don’t listen to Sect Leader Wen,” Lan Yueheng said.

-

“Definitely do not listen to Hanhan,” Lao Nie said. “At all. In any way.”

-

“Probably best not to listen to A-Xu’s dad,” Nie Mingjue said, and glanced over apologetically.

“No, no, you’re right,” Wen Xu said, nodding furiously. “He’s kind of awful about these sorts of things.”

-

“They’re all being absolutely ridiculous,” Wen Ruohan said. “I’m perfectly reliable on such matters. After all, what’s the point of working so hard to obtain and maintain power if you don’t oppress those that deserve it? If you don’t take advantage, who will?”

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

5

Do not make assumptions about others.

“I used to assume that Cangse Sanren was  a normal human being,” Lan Yueheng said. “Goes to show what I know, right?”

-

“I used to assume that Wen Ruohan was a perfectly normal self-absorbed murderer that would keep his greedy hands to his own people,” Cangse Sanren said, sounding irritable. “And not have perfectly ordinary rogue cultivators followed around by complete weirdos because he’s secretly worried about them like a mother hen!”

-

“I used to assume that people would be grateful when someone rescued them and their husband from near certain death,” Wen Ruohan said.

-

“I used to assume that the funniest thing in the world was watching Hanhan argue with your uncle,” Lao Nie said, chin on his hands. “Little did I know that adding Cangse Sanren to the mix made it even funnier.”

-

“Grown-ups are stupid sometimes,” Wen Xu said. “That’s why you have to verify everything they say for yourself.”

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

6

Embrace the entirety of the world.

“By being righteous,” Nie Mingjue said.

-

“By taking it all over, as far as I can tell from my father,” Wen Xu said.

-

“Depends on what you define as the world, doesn’t it?” Lao Nie said.

-

“Be ambitious,” Wen Ruohan said. “Define it broadly.”

-

“I mean, I don’t think your arms are quite long enough yet, the world’s pretty big,” Lan Yueheng said. “But I pick you up and swing you around, maybe they’ll stretch a little. Want to try?”

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

7

Do not associate with evil.

“I mean, it’s true, but you have to think carefully about what you categorize as evil,” Lao Nie said. “Just being a man-eating nation-destroying inhuman amoral nine-tailed fox isn’t automatically enough to qualify, right?”

-

“That’s, uh, a really weirdly specific example,” Lan Yueheng said. “I feel like at least three of the things on that list probably rise to the level of evil? Or have I missed something?”

-

“Lao Nie said – oh no, not again,” Wen Ruohan said, and patted Lan Xichen on the head before he stalked out the door. “I’m the only evil you should associate with, you hear me?”

-

“I bet she’s got teeth in interesting places,” Cangse Sanren said. “I’ve got to meet her…hmm? Evil? Does that really matter? It’s going to be funny.”

-

“She’s not evil,” Nie Mingjue said. “She’s pretty nice, actually. She calls me ‘meatball’ and ‘pork bun’ and says I’m so cute that she wants to eat me right up.”

-

“I’m pretty sure she means it literally,” Wen Xu said. “Gear up, Xichen! We’ve got to go save Mingjue!”

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

8

Do not tell lies.

“People don’t believe the truth, so why not tell it?” Cangse Sanren said.

-

“Using the truth makes your misdirections more believable and your critiques more devastating,” Wen Ruohan said.

-

“Why would you even want to lie?” Nie Mingjue asked, puzzled.

-

“There’s a difference between not telling lies and not having the slightest bit of tact,” Lao Nie said, rubbing his face. “Maybe you can help A-Jue figure that out.”

-

“Silence is always a good alternative when you don’t want to admit to stuff you’ve done that maybe, just maybe, might annoy some people,” Lan Yueheng said, looking over his collapsed laboratory with a wince. “Not that I’d know anything about that, of course.”

-

“Telling a lie will only get you into more trouble later when they figure it out,” Wen Xu said. “Because then they’re angry at you for what you did and for lying about it. It’s just not worth it!”

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

9

Do not disregard the rules.

“Unless they’re really stupid,” Lao Nie said.

-

“I mean,” Nie Mingjue said, wrinkling his nose. “As a general rule, yes. But it’s different if following the rules would permit injustice to happen, that’s for sure.”

-

“It’s a matter of picking what rule is the relevant one,” Wen Ruohan said. “Be thoughtful, and you can have the moral high ground in any situation…your uncle is irritatingly good at that.”

-

“You’ve got to know what the rule is before you break it,” Wen Xu said. “That way you can decide if it’s worth the cost of breaking it or not.”

-

“If there’s any you think are wrong, you should say something,” Lan Yueheng said. “The rules are a gift handed down from our ancestors and ought to be respected, but each of us has a duty to put in our own thoughts as well – our contribution to the next generation down. Anyway, your uncle will probably be able to put together a reasonable argument as to why changing the rule is appropriate and truer to our sect’s principles than the version carved on the wall. He’s good at that!”

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

10

“I want the rules to be a foundation under your feet,” Lan Xichen’s uncle said. “They should give you confidence in your actions and pride in your family and sect; they should not feel like they are binding you. If they are, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”

Maybe if it was just Lan Xichen and his uncle, the two of them and maybe also little baby Lan Wangji and the rather unreliable Lan Yueheng and the even more unreliable Lao Nie, Lan Xichen would immediately and unhesitatingly agree, and then never say anything anyway no matter what he felt. He loved his uncle so much, and every one in a while his uncle seemed so sad; he couldn’t bear to be the one to add more pain and burden to his uncle’s shoulders, already weighed down with the expectations of the sect that should have been his father’s responsibility and would one day be Lan Xichen’s.

But it wasn’t just them, and Lan Xichen frowned a little, really thinking about it. “Maybe,” he said after a while. “Or maybe I’d tell Uncle Wen about it, and then he’d find a way to fix it, or to tell you about it in a way that didn’t make you sad. Does that work, too?”

His uncle looked amused.

“Yes,” he said. “That works. Just remember –”

“Don’t listen to him about ‘oppressing others’?”

“Exactly.”

[llamagoddessofficial]

Thank you to @lost-immortality​ for commissioning this Death God Sans x Reader (plus a special guest~) piece! This was a joy to write!

The Mouth of the Underworld was legendary, to say the least.

It made sense that you’d want to see it, even just one time. When you entered and left the Underworld, it was through Sans’ ability to instantly bring himself anywhere he wanted, not via the Gates that separated the mortal world from that of the dead. Sans had been somewhat confused as to why you wanted to visit it (“not much to see, my love, it’s just a cave.”) but he’d been willing to take you. 

He was... concerned, however. If that was the right word for it. Because of what was guarding the Gates.

Cerberus.

Sans had raised the issue that it may not be a good idea to come to the Gates while the legendarily foul-tempered hellhound was present. He mentioned that Cerberus, while at the place he had unfailingly guarded for thousands of years, tended to become aggressive and overzealous; dangerous to be around, even for deities who normally had nothing to fear. Cerberus didn’t quite strike as much fear into the hearts of Gods and mortals as Sans... but that wasn’t a particularly high bar to cross- and it didn’t mean the creature was exactly beloved either. 

He was the reason Souls without Sans’ permission never made it out of the depths.

“Come on, it’ll be fine. I know you’re nervous but there’s no danger. I’m certain I’ll be safe if you’re with me, Sans...”

“you aren’t subtle. i know you’re trying to manipulate me.”

“It’s working.”

“yes, it is.” He stood from his desk, cloak manifesting from the silver brooches at his shoulders and flowing down his back like wine from a goblet. “we should go now, if we want to arrive before mortal sunset.”

...

It was an absolutely beautiful cavern. A cathedral-like white cave, pillars and signs of worship carved into the stone, sun beaming in from the cavern mouth... great ancient boughs of wisteria wound up the walls and ceiling, hanging thick grapelike bunches of violet and lilac flowers that filled the air with a sweet floral scent and carpeted the ground in soft purplish petals.

... And there he was. Cerberus... asleep as far as you could tell (thank the stars). Far, FAR larger than you’d expected- big enough to be mistaken for some kind of titan or hydra, enough to easily swallow unfortunate men whole. A looming skeletal dog; three great crowned heads, skulls bearing terrifying sword-teeth, the length of his body decorated with scars from years of defending the mouth to freedom. He was laying with his body blocking the mouth of the cave... you briefly wondered how many people had this silhouetted image as the last thing they saw before being violently sent back to the depths of the Underworld.

...

One of his heads, the middle one, opened a socket. Not asleep anymore. You flinched back- Sans placed a steadying touch on your shoulder, no doubt used to people fearing the Guardian. Cerberus had lights in his deep void eyesockets, like his master; observant and sharp as they rolled to land on you. How many Souls had he seen come and go? A single breath from one head sent up a cloud of petals.

Something new... 

... As if the central head had whispered to the others, the other two lifted and glared across the cave at you... you were safe with Sans, right? Right. You backed into him even more and he moved his hand to your forearm. Part of you wanted to ask a thousand questions, is this normal, are we fine? but the other parts of you didn’t dare speak in case it agitated the monster.

... Cerberus fully raised all three heads, dragged his clawed feet underneath him, he’s standing? The sound of bone scraping against rock filled the seemingly endless chamber, petals tumbled down from his shoulders and off his back, he must’ve been there for years... he turned...

...

... And leapt toward you. 

You were certain for a moment that he intended to crush you under one humongous paw but, to your shock, as he moved through the air he shrank. When he jumped he was a beast with teeth as big as your head...

... And when he landed in a light shower of petals, just before you, he was merely the height of a lion, his shoulder perhaps at your waist height. The guardian of the gates stood before you...

... Then barked, play bowed, and rolled onto his back.

...

You immediately gasped, dropping onto your knees out of Sans’ hold, rubbing the exposed ribcage like you were ruffling fur. Cerberus’ first head stuck out a glowing blue tongue, and the middle one barked again, skeletal tail thudding against the ground fast enough to resemble a heartbeat.

“Oh my goodness, you’re just... so fearsome, aren’t you?” You cooed, scratching his ribs. “The stories were right, I’m terrified! Are you the scariest beast in all three realms? Yes you are, yes you are...”

Cerberus eventually rolled back over again, jumping up, pushing his middle head against your face- you couldn’t help but laugh, enthusiastically petting him, and the first head insistently pressed against you too to the point where you would’ve gotten bowled over if you hadn’t quickly readjusted your footing to dole out attention to both.

... Sans chuckled. You were hardly paying attention to him. The third head, apparently a little calmer than the other two fussing you, lifted to greet Sans at your side.

“first you steal my heart,” Sans said, giving Cerberus’ greeting head a small, affectionate scratch on the jaw. “then a place in my bed. and now you steal my hellhound... honestly, when are you going to let me rest?”

“Never.” You wrapped your arms around the two close heads. “This is my puppy now, I’ll fight for him.”

“no need. you seem to be his favourite.”

As if to confirm Sans’ observation, you were gifted the blessing of a very gross lick on the side of your face by the head that’d just returned from greeting his master. 

... You soon realised a predicament- something that was, perhaps, the greatest tragedy that could befall you. It made your heart drop. You turned, looking up at your betrothed, rubbing one of the insistent noses that pressed against your cheek. 

“Sans. You can curse people, right?”

... He raised a curious brow. “... yes.”

“Find whichever horrible monster decided I could only have two arms, and give them the worst curse you have.” Two arms, three heads... injustice. “They need to suffer unendingly for their cruelty.”

“i’ll see to getting that done for you, love.” He teased. “until then... cerberus is one being, so i’m sure he won’t mind your predicament. he seems happy to receive the attention, regardless of the head.”

“You’re really going to look at this adorable creature and tell me you don’t want to pet every head at once?”

Sans laughed, seemingly unable to help himself, a beautiful dark sound. You weren’t sure if it was your adamancy to bestow love on Cerberus, or your declaration that he was ‘adorable’ that apparently entertained him so much... but it always felt nice to make Sans laugh.

“... Hey. Now that I think about it... looks big and scary, is feared through both heaven and earth, but is secretly adorable and gentle... you two are more alike than I thought you’d be!”

“come now. you can’t be saying things like that.” He smirked. “i have a reputation to uphold.”

You held Cerberus’ most affectionate head, the first, and pressed a kiss to his skeletal muzzle as revenge for his gross lick.

“... I know you said he comes and goes from the palace as he pleases... but I really hope he follows us. Otherwise I’m going to have to come here every single day.”

... You were half joking, in your dedication to return to see your new dog. But luckily for you, you didn’t need to make the journey- Cerberus, the ‘untamable’ monstrous hound, wouldn’t leave your side for a moment and loyally followed you and Sans all the way back to the palace, barking and wagging his tail the whole time.

...

Well. Now that made two ancient underworld-dwelling skeletal godmonsters that developed an instantaneous affection for you. Maybe you had a knack?

[hanibalistic]

FOR MY LOVE, SINCERELY, FOR YOU. | BANG CHAN, LEE MINHO, SEO CHANGBIN, HWANG HYUNJIN. 

genre | fluff, little angst, romance undertone, platonic relationship, royalty au

synopsis | you are a royal baker doubling as a love-letter mentor for the prince who is trying to court the neighbour princess, while his princely cousin slowly falls in love with you.

word count | 32k+

warning | violence (one scene), this is an unfinished piece so if you get attached then beware of unanswered plotline (this is a joke but just in case)

tag | @fluffyskzclub​

note | this was an unfinished piece abandoned in 2020, a rather big project i had. i am posting it here because i am unlikely to finish it anytime sooner (for one, i find it hard to replicate the writing style i utilized for this piece), but it felt like an injustice to let this piece dust away alone.

The smell of cream puffs wafted before your sensitive nose. You took a few sniffs, letting the luscious smell of sugar linger, then you smiled in satisfaction at the plate of dessert displayed before you on the kitchen table.

It was a big day for your dessert baking career. You were about to grant a full round table of royalty your newest recipe for the first time after so long of not being allowed to follow your own baking recipe in the palace kitchen.

After being appointed as a new palace baker amongst many other older cooks, with the promise that your father would receive top quality medical treatment back in your hometown, all you have baked were measly desserts made by following the head chef's recipe.

It all started with those little bake days you did at your mother’s flower shop, where you would prepare limited tray of one random dessert, a tasty little extra for the frequent customers and those who spend over a certain amount of money at the shop. Your mother didn’t like it the first time you did it, but considering how much your desserts have always helped boost the shop’s sales, she allowed you to hold these bake days occasionally.

You had baked your signature lemon tarts one morning, the crusty layer of bread circling around the gleaming, lemon filling, paired with a small tent of whip cream and a raspberry on top. It caught the king’s attention. 

You were unsure how that had happened but just about two days after the bake day, the court messenger dropped by and asked you to attend a meeting with the king, and the king had asked you to enter the palace kitchen so the royal family could enjoy your dessert every day.

However, unfortunately for the royal family, none of them have ever tasted your dessert before because of how strict the head chefs were about you utilizing your own cook book. No matter how many times you have attempted to sneak your own spin in those atrociously boring, mediocre steps of his, someone was always there to call you out on your ‘wrongdoings.’

It was beyond infuriating to know that the palace kitchen has more ingredients and more baking utensils than anywhere else in the kingdom, yet somehow, you were not allowed to bake according to your own cookbook because apparently, you were too young and too inexperienced to have your own desserts be presented to royalty.

Mind them old folks in the kitchen, but the sole reason why you were here, and the sole reason why the king was willing to bargain for your cooperation, was because he really, really, really loved the lemon tarts you baked for your mother’s flower shop. 

You wish you could tell the head chefs about it, but there was no way for you not to come off as conceited, and you doubted the adults would listen a mere teenager like you, so you stayed silent.  

But then the Lord shone through the clouds and gave you this opportunity to shine tonight! You have concocted a plan soon after you were told that you and another cook—Changbin, you remembered—would be in charge of making the dessert for this grand event. 

The neighbor royal families would be visiting for dinner so they could discuss the courtship of one of the princesses, meaning you would’t just be making dessert for one royal family but several others as well! And oh lord, the audacity of the pastry chef when he told you to follow the strawberry cake recipe weeks before the actual day, you really had to laugh.

There was nothing wrong with a plain strawberry cake. Simplicity can be best at times, but not with the recipe he gave you, never. Besides, you have already got another idea in mind about what dessert you could make: your newest recipe, crafted after you decided to take a bite of the dry rose petals in the royal garden—rosewater cream puffs!

Your rosewater cream puffs; made with soft and crispy bread baked with delight and care, pumped full of rich and fluffy cream fillings you crafted with sun-drowned water, ones you mixed together with the rose petals you picked from the forest nearby.

Now, of course, you would have never been able to bake your own dessert with the entire kitchen staff watching your back almost every step of the way. However, since they have appointed another chef with you this time so they could focus on their own dishes instead of worrying about you pulling weird stunts, you needn’t be as alert as you used to.

Besides, the angels were totally on your side when they have appointed Changbin out of every other chef in the kitchen. He may seem intimidating but, believe it or not, he was actually quite the gentleman. 

At least, from what you have experienced, was that he doesn’t bark at children like the others have done with you. Granted, you haven’t been the most obedient one, but even then, Changbin had been extremely patient with your rebellious retorts and dreamy rambles. And when you told him how you’ve got it all handled, he believed you and went ahead to help out the old gardening lady with the crops and livestock. 

"Now, lastly," you said as you grabbed the clean sifter next to you. You hung it on the edge of the table before you pulled at the corner of baking paper. You tugged it up and carefully poured the content into the sifter. “Some powered sugar and we are good to go!”

You would be serving eighteen cream puffs exactly for the eighteen royalties eating above you in the dining room, but aside from that, you have also made extras in anticipation of them asking for more. It was a habit—people have always asked for more of your desserts, they can never just have one piece.

However, if it turned out that your rosewater cream puffs were not of their liking, which could be possible due to this being an experimental recipe, then you would at least have extras left for when you need to make some changes later. Would you have hoped to ask for some constructive criticisms? Yes, but you doubted you’d be off the hook long enough to ask the royalties for it.

You were moving onto your fifth cream puff when the door to the baking room creaked open. Your arms froze for a second in alert, wondering who could possibly be behind you. Could it be the head chefs asking you for the progress? Could it be the maid already asking for the tray of dessert to be delivered? 

Either way, they end in your eventual demise, because not only were you not finished yet, you didn’t make the strawberry cake the pastry chef asked you to.

“Hey, [Name], how’s the cake going?” Changbin asked, taking off his gloves and hanging them on the handle bar nailed behind the wooden door. 

You breathed out a sigh of relief at his voice, your eyes closing and your heart slowing down to a resonable pace. Then you glanced down at the tray of cream puff before you, your brows furrowing with a curse after you did so. The sudden pause caused a tad of the powered sugar to go slightly off track; it would likely be unnoticeable to the royalties, but to you it was one hell of a problem.

Your lack of response worried Changbin. He raised a brow at you as he tied the apron around his waist, his fingers fumbling clumsily with tying the ribbon behind his back. Shifting his gaze to the wooden table, his brows gradually furrowed the more he took into account the ingredients gathered on top.

Milk, eggs, butter, sugar, flour. The normal things. Whisks, wooden bowls, spatulas, a… a sift? Dry rose petals, a bowl of pink-colored water, macaroon sheet template—oh no.  

“[Name], please tell me you made the strawberry cake like you were asked to–“ Changbin paused before the table, his eyes casting down at the little cream puffs with pastel pink fillings oozing out of the crusty bread tops, and he immediately gasped in horror. “Oh my god, you didn’t! You–kid, I swear! Chef Park is going to be furious about this!”

“I know,” you replied without much care, making your way to your sixth cream puffs carefully with the powered sugar in your hands. “Which is why I plan to hide it from him.”

“That isn’t the point, [Name],” Changbin exclaimed with curled fists. He stood awkwardly beside you, watching as you finished up with the tray with a content smile before turning to look at him. Gosh, he felt like he was talking to a brick wall; anyone who has tried to convince you to do as the head chefs say always feels like they are talking to a brick wall.

“What is the point?” You asked, dusting your hands off and wiping them on your apron without breaking eye contact with him. Then your attention left him so you could transfer the cream puffs to a steel plate.

“These are going into the king’s mouth, you know that right?” He said. “Not just our king, but other kingdoms’ as well. The only reason why you are instructed to use the house recipe is because–“

“Because none of you trust my ability to bake something good on my own,” you cut him off with a disappointed glare, one that made Changbin feel a sudden tumble of his heart. “Everyone here always think I’m going to mess up, that I am going to accidentally poison the king–“

“Hey, hey, hey!” Changbin raised his index finger in the air, his eyes were wide in alert as soon as you spilled those dangerous words. He looked around the baking room carefully before turning back to you with wide eyes. “I taught you before, none of those sayings inside the palace! You don’t want to get misunderstood and thrown in the dungeon, do you?”

“No,” you said, frowning as you turned to him then. “But my point still stands. None of you trust me to be a good baker and I really don’t like that.”

Changbin heaved a sigh. He hadn’t really been paying attention to the newbies that joined the kitchen staff, he had been too busy taking care of the royal farm that he barely went into the kitchen unless it was his shift to cook dinner. Heck, he didn’t even know you existed until he found you by the farm entrance with chef Park standing angrily next to you.

He could still remember that day. You had said something insulting to chef Park and he decided to take you out of the kitchen as punishment. You ended up having to take care of the farm with him for a full week, and oh, heavens, were you one grumpy kid. 

But you did change for the better after he took you to the orchard for some fruit picking, you were smelling and knocking the fruits like you knew what you were doing. And perhaps you did know what you were doing, he just never stopped to see if you did.

“I’m sure nobody thinks that. I know I don’t think that,” he said after a moment of silence. “We just don’t want you to mess up in here. You’re making food, [Name]. If any of them so much is get a stomachache then you’re done for.”

You arched your brows faintly in agreement. You hadn’t really considered that. Being a mere kitchen staff in the palace, and not an important one too, makes you very susceptible to the king’s irresponsible anger and his absolute power. You could die by the royalty’s hand with just a snap without ever getting a chance to fight for yourself. 

But it wasn’t like you were baking poison! The maids have told you all you needed to know about this damn family’s tastebuds and allergies as soon as you arrived, and you have got them all memorized already. You wouldn’t make such a trivial mistake!

“Excuse me! I’m here to collect the cake!”

Changbin met your eyes briefly. You could see the panic raising in those browns when you smiled mischievously at him. Then, before he could stop you, you turned to the table and grabbed a hold of the steel, dome plate cover. You cupped it over the cream puffs before holding it up carefully and approaching the maid standing by the door.

When she gave you a weird look, her judgemental gaze eyeing the plate, you gave her a playful wink and smiled. “The appearance is a surprise. Let’s spice up the dinner a little for the royals, huh?”

You took a side-step when you felt Changbin approaching. His chest bumped against your head as you perfectly blocked his path, and you could feel the heavy sigh he let out as he held up his arms in hopes to still stop the maid from leaving the baking room. You rolled your eyes then, annoyed at his stubbornness. 

“Look, Changbin,” you said as you turned around, “There is no strawberry cake here. And even though you don’t specialize in dessert, I’m sure you know you can’t make a good one under ten minutes, so why not just let the cream puffs go?”

He glanced down at you, his eyes ablaze with both exasperation and horror. Oh, whatever he should do now? If the pastry chef found out he didn’t monitor you after being told to, and you actually broke out of the house recipe and made something on your own for the dinner, both of you would surely be in big trouble! Not to mention he had no idea if the cream puffs were even edible at all!

Sure, they smelt nice when he entered the room. The aroma of the roses strong and eloquent, plus the light sprinkle of sugary scent mixing together with it just made it a whole lot better. But just because it smelt nice does not mean it would taste the same.

“We’re not gonna get into trouble,” you muttered after seeing his expression, the guilty finally hitting you as you watched Changbin pinch the bridge of his nose with a tired sigh. “Well… maybe not with the royal family, but I think chef Park might get a little mad.”

“You don’t say?” He rolled his eyes and let his arm drop to his side. Glancing away from you, he looked towards the table and widened his eyes at the extra cream puffs sitting on top of a wooden tray. A thought popped in his head and he held out his hand, his palm opened. “Let me try one.”

“Wh–what?” You looked at him, his words not processing through.

“I said let me try one,” he repeated, his hand moving in a beckoning motion urgently. “You already sent the cream puffs up, there is no point in me stopping the maid now, so might as well see if we’re only getting an earful or if we’re going to get a death sentence.” 

“They’re not going to die eating my desserts,” you retorted with a glare, not liking the way he phrased his thoughts.

Changbin heaved another sigh as he glanced away. You kept missing the point, it seemed; the problem didn’t lie in your dessert being good or bad, it was the fact that he didn’t know and he needed to try. But coming from somebody who kept having their skills undermined by others, it would make sense for that to be your initial response. 

“Can I please have one of your cream puffs, [Name]?” He asked again, more politely this time.

You stared at him for a while longer, your lips pursing as the guilt that previously surfaced in your chest magnified with the defeated look on his face.

Changbin had always looked so tired. His eyes are often sharp, but never without a tinge of unexplained wistfulness behind them that made them softer to look at. His arms are strong and scarred; some of the stories he told you about and some he kept hidden with a vague smile. His hands are rough and calloused from all the years of picking vegetables and rubbing metals, but they don’t lack tenderness when he pats your head at the end of the day.

He took care of you the most out of anybody else in the palace, albeit only meeting you a couple of weeks after you’ve suffered the wrath of the head chefs. And you have genuinely taken a liking to him because he has treated you well, therefore when times come when you’d realize you hadn’t exactly returned the favor to him, you would always feel bad. 

“Okay.” You gave him a curt nod before turning around to the table. You grabbed a small wooden plate from the corner and set it before you. Taking one of the extra creme puffs, you placed it on the plate before taking the sifter and lightly patting the powered sugar on top. 

You couldn’t stop it, though. You couldn’t stop being a brat in front of him, stubborn and rebellious, because you knew Changbin wouldn’t actually get mad at you for anything. And he just kept taking it, all your spontaneous antics and your informal retorts. 

He just takes them, with a lot of patience and understanding, as a parent would their child.

The burning in your chest was overwhelming. Ahh, you haven’t been able to act bratty in front of your dad in a long while now. Ever since he has fallen ill, you’ve only tried your best to take care of him. No more tantrums could be thrown and no more active jokes you could play on him anymore because of his weak heart.

There wasn’t anything terrible about that, for sure. You were more than happy to help nurse your father, but sometimes your childish mind just wanted to be spoiled by a father figure. Pretty sure everybody does once in a while. 

You slammed the sifter on the table, startling Changbin. Forcing a smile onto your face, you handed him the plate carefully. “Here, try it and tell me if you like it!” You said quickly, holding down the sudden wave of tears that was threatening the flow out. “Remember be honest!”

“When have I not been honest with you?” Changbin flipped your forehead with a frown just before he was about to take a giant bite of the cream puff. 

As you rubbed the spot with your hand and reached over to give his arm a harsh slap, he stumbled back with a faint laugh before grabbing ahold of the cream puff again. He held it before his mouth, the sweet smell of roses attacking his nose immediately, prompting him to take a bite of it. When he finally did, the powered sugar and the cream filling stained on his lips, his eyes widened in shock.

The cream filling was rich in its rosy taste, but it wasn’t so sweet that it would make your teeth sick. The sugar also managed to blend in very well with the naked taste of the crusty bread instead of overshadowing it, the two creating a well-crafted symphony on top of his tongue. 

“Oh, heavens–“ he paused to lick the cream off his lips, his brows furrowed as a moan of satisfaction left his lips while the cream melted instantly in his mouth. He glanced up at you then, his eyes simmering with surprise and, visibly, proudness. “Kid, did you make this by yourself?”

A glimmer of hope punched through your lungs at his response and you nodded, your hands curling into each other before your chest. “Yeah, I made those,” you said. “Do you like it?”

“Do I like it–please, I love it!” He exclaimed, sucking off the remaining cream on his fingers. “This is delicious, wow. Much, much better than a plain strawberry cake, I reckon.”

“I knew it!” You clapped your hands together in excitement, thrilled to see that Changbin has taken a liking to your baking. “Oh, I’m glad you liked it.”

“Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole table upstairs likes it too,” he commented with a short laugh as he set the wooden plate down on the table. He rubbed his hands on his pants, not bothering to grab a towel hung all the way at the back of the baking room. Looking at you, he tiled his head and asked, “Where did you learn to make that?”

“By myself!” You replied triumphantly. “It is years and years of experimenting with different ingredients! I did try a few different approaches with these rosewater cream, though. It is so easy for the filling to get too sweet if I so much as ground the petals the wrong way.”

Changbin leaned against the edge of the table, watching as you started to ramble on and on about your experience with creating this recipe. A proudness was born within his chest, spreading through his body with a rush as he watched you discuss what you had been trying to tell others was your ultimate passion. 

It was a shame that nobody ever listened simply because you were too young, perhaps things would change after tonight. 

“Hey, [Name],” he cut you off with a soft call, his hand reaching out for your head and giving you a few light pats. “Good job on the cream puffs.”

Your eyes widened a little, your voice falling mute at the tip of your tongue as you tried to think of something to say. You haven’t gotten a compliment on your baking in a while, not to mention this came a little too sudden for you to comprehend it fully. You just knew you were happy to hear it, especially from Changbin as well.

Before you could regain your voice and show him some gratitude, the door to the baking room burst open. You turned to look as Changbin spun around to look behind him. You grimaced at the newcomer, stepping back slightly at the bulging vein present on his forehead. 

Oh, chef Park was definitely angry about the dessert not being what he asked for. Judging by the look on his vein, and also that angry vein on his forehead, you were going to be in big trouble.

“What the hell were you thinking, [Name]?” He shoved past Changbin without giving him another glance, strutting straight towards you with an accusing finger. “You little brat, you can’t do one thing right, can you? I gave you a recipe, I told you to follow it, and you go ahead and serve… cream puffs? You serve them cream puffs?”

You stepped back when he got too close, your brows furrowing in discomfort as your heart raced in fear. As much as you hated to admit, chef Park’s authority scared you a little because of how much of a threat he could be. He could make your time in the palace a living hell, and there is no guarantee that you’d ever get out of here. You could be stuck with him until the day he dies!

“What’s wrong with cream puffs?” You asked daringly despite being afraid. It seemed that your annoyance was overriding fright in your chest.

“There is nothing wrong with cream puffs, what is wrong is that I don’t know how you made them,” he pointed out. “God, who knows what kind of atrocity you made? You better be the one to take the blame because I am not having my career be destroyed by a fucking seventeen-year-old!”

You scoffed out a laugh, your eyes rolling to the side condescendingly before you turned back to look at him. “You’re one to talk, chef Park,” you retorted, curling your hands at your side. “Serving a strawberry cake is too plain for this occasion. Not to mention your recipe is boring–“

You gasped when you felt a hand swipe across your cheek. Your hand instinctively went up to cover the spot where you got slapped, your eyes wide with shocked tears as you turned back to look at the man in front of you. He didn’t seem fazed, he seemed rather neutral about it, like he had planned to do that all along, and it made you want to wipe that shit-eating smirk off his face.

“Hey! What the fuck is wrong with you?” Changbin stormed over to your side before you could properly react, a hand grabbing on the chef’s shoulder and shoving him backward. “[Name]’s just a kid, can’t you act a little civil with them?”

“Jesus, Changbin, don’t be so soft,” chef Park said, rolling his eyes. “They’re old enough to know they shouldn’t disrespect elders.”

“And you’re old enough to know that violence doesn’t solve anything,” Changbin pressed on, his voice almost coming out as a growl as he held himself back from punching the man right in the jaw. “With all due respect, chef, but you need to grow the hell up.”

The man relaxed a little then, his eyes squinting as he stared at Changbin in contemplation. Your heart jumped at his calculative gaze, now more scared for him than you were scared for yourself. Changbin didn’t have to do that, he should have just stayed quiet at the back and let you take all of it alone. Now you’ve got him mixed in the mess you made too.

“Changbin, need I remind you my position is a head above yours?” Chef Park said, his tone more obnoxious and patronizing than anything you have ever heard. Not even the king spoke to you like this when he was bargaining for you to stay as a baker in the palace, how was it his turn to speak like that?

Changbin glared at him, his tongue tied and his head unsure of what he could say. He knew if he says anything more, he would be done. His stay in the palace would most likely be over with just a single report from the chef, and all the years of him earning his trust would go to waste.

Perhaps he should have thought through this twice before he acted out, but seeing you get slapped across the face so unreasonably had stirred a fire within him. He was angry, genuinely angry, for the first time in a long time, and he didn’t care what would happen to him. He just knew if that fucker thinks he can lay his hands on you then he’s got anther thing coming at him.

This altercation was, thankfully, interrupted with a timid knock on the door. Chef Park looked behind his shoulders in annoyance before he spun and headed for the door. You watched his back, your lips finally loosening up and quirking down because of how upset you were. And, upon this distraction, Changbin immediately turned around to check up you.

“Are you okay?” He whispered, the back of his hand delicately running down your red cheek.

You nodded as you moved away slightly, your eyes squeezing together in faint irritation.

Reaching up to grab his hand, you held onto his pinky and ring finger before letting your arm fall to your side. Your eyes were squinted when you faced ahead, your lips pursed into a forced smile as you said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Changbin looked at you, his eyes shifting across your features and landing on your red cheek. Looking at it made him sad, and the story behind made his anger fume, but even then he listened to you. With a small nod of agreement, he looked away from you and at the opened door where chef Park stood talking to a maid.

He acted strangely, you found out. The second the door was opened, his face dropped and a smile immediately made its way to his face. A fake smile, you could tell, because that man has probably never genuinely smiled once in his life. He was talking lightly, his eyes shifting at the maid and behind her rapidly as if he was seeing a ghost. 

After a moment, he finally took a gentle step back and gestured towards you. You shivered—what was it now? Have the guards came to arrest you for poisoning a whole table of royalties? Have you made the worst dessert to ever be created in mankind that the king felt the need to come down to the kitchen himself, just so he could criticize you?

It was none of those, apparently. Waltzing into the room were three people, two boys and one girl. 

The girl wore an expensive ball gown dress, the light pink mesh material sewed of blossom petals on top as they flowed over the thick fabric underneath. Her top was off-shoulders, exposing her pretty bone structure adorned by a piece of bright jewel necklace. 

If those weren’t indication enough that she was the princess being courted for, then the tiara decorating her pretty little head would be.

Standing behind her was two boys. You knew one of them, he was the prince—your prince, as a matter of fact. Lee Minho; with big, glimmering eyes and a well-defined nose, and with lips that curl into the greatest cherry smile that never failed to woo another’s heart. He was an undeniably gorgeous man, you’d say. 

You have only seen him when you were lurking in the shadows with trays and buckets. You didn’t care for him much.

Standing next to him was someone you’ve met once before, as in an actual encounter where a conversation was held. That was Hwang Hyunjin, Minho’s close cousin who always came to visit as if he didn’t have his own extravagant garden to run around in. And whenever he came over to stay, he would usually stay for a whole month before his departure. 

You two met under an unforeseen situation. It was exceptionally bright that morning, the sun blazing a heated trail on the flowers in the royal garden. The flying insects all came around to rest among the bushes, hiding away in the flower buds and collecting pollens. It was a sunny morning that day, and Hyunjin decided he could go for a walk alone before the scheduled horse-riding session with Minho.

You were told to collect some fruits in the orchard so the baking team could make the desired dessert for the evening, a step you assumed would be the only one you’d be asked to take part in because you had pissed off chef Park once again. 

But, instead of heading straight to the orchard as you were told to, you took a sharp turn outside the back entrance of the kitchen and headed straight for the royal garden with your vine basket. You were trying out a new recipe during that time, the blackberry lavender cake. 

It wasn’t anything special, per se, so you were hoping you could add your own spin to it and see if you could make one that could be easily differentiated amongst all the other ones. That was one of the importance of making desserts: always make sure you incorporate your own style in the taste, let people know they’re eating your food.

You had planned to find some fully-bloomed lavender in the garden first, then you would head to the orchard and find yourself some blackberries. After you’ve collected what you needed, you would set out and get whatever the chef asked you to get.

You didn’t even know Hyunjin was in the garden before you heard him yell from faraway. When you approached close enough, you almost burst into laughter at how he was panicking over a butterfly flying around his perimeter. His arms had flailed about the air, not wanting to hurt the butterfly but still wanting to keep it as far away as possible.

It didn’t register to you that he was a prince at first, even with his velvet suit and jewel-filled fingers. All you knew was that he was a stranger yelling at the top of his lungs, in early morning, because he was afraid of a damn butterfly. 

Without thinking much, you had approached him from behind and touched him with your hands, steadying his movements as you carefully lured the butterfly over with your finger. It landed peacefully on top, its wings halting to a slow stop. Hyunjin had moved away from by then, and when he finally looked at you with a clearer sight, he immediacy swooned (inside his heart, obviously).

How could he not? A butterfly was sitting on top of your finger, the breeze was blowing gently against your hair, and the sun was shining down your eyes with its satisfying lights—you were completely engulfed by the beauty of nature, the delight of a new morning, and he thought he has never seen anybody more beautiful. 

“It is just a butterfly, Your Highness,” you had told him, with a gentle smile that showed a hint of playfulness in them as you set the creature free. You held your vine basket close to your waist and spoke, “There is no need to act with haste.”

With that, you left him both bewildered and bewitched at the heels of your feet. All he could really do was stare at your back as you left, his infatuation a foreign feeling he didn’t understand. He has seen so many princes and princess in royal balls before, all dolled up and styled with glitter, but none of them has ever struck his liking as much as you did.

And you had managed that with such a simple attire under a dirty apron, a head of messy hair, and an unbothered demeanour. 

Hyunjin could remember you vividly, even as he stood behind his friends in the small baking room where it was dimmer and confined. He hasn’t really stopped thinking about you after that morning, and he hoped that you remembered him as well, even if he was just the weird boy you met in the garden once.

“Good evening, chefs,” the princess spoke first, taking a small step towards you and Changbin with her silk gloved hands clapped together before her chest. 

Almost immediately, despite the bafflement Changbin was feeling, he dipped his head and bowed with a polite greeting. Glancing to the side where you stood, his brows furrowed when he saw that you haven’t moved an inch, and he quickly reached his hand up to press against the back of your head and made you bow with him.

“Get yourself together, Princess Rose is here,” he whispered to you quietly, hoping to god nobody could make out what he was saying.

You hummed faintly, pleasantly surprised that her name matched with the dessert you made. Then, with a reassuring glare, Changbin finally allowed you to stand back up straight by loosening his grip against your head. You dusted your hands off on your apron as you flashed Changbin a faint glare, then you smiled at the three royalties standing before you.

It was a rare sight you dreaded to see, simply because how much of a hassle it could be to meet royalties. 

You habitually waited for the princess to speak first.

“I was just upstairs eating a full and delicious meal prepared by the amazing cooks in this kitchen,” she said, giving Changbin a nod of acknowledgement as a slow smile crept up her face,“but, what I am very surprised by was the cream puffs served at the end of dinner! And I just had to come down here personally and ask for the baker behind those cream puffs!”

You stared at her. Well, she said all of those, but she still hasn’t asked you for your name yet. She only said she needed to ask, she hasn’t actually asked yet, therefore you wasn’t sure if you should reveal yourself or wait a little while for her to finally break the question out to you. 

Her eyes scanned past Changbin to you, and they brightened. Walking forward, her curls bouncing against her shoulders in the lightness of her steps, she smiled at you and asked, “Did you make those cream puffs?”

“Yes, I did, Your Highness,” you said, her sheer excitement spreading to you and causing you to relax. You gently let your guard down, your shoulders slumping as your hands met each other in front of your tummy. 

“Oh! How wonderful!” She beamed at you, “I absolutely loved the cream puffs, were they made with roses?”

“Rose petals, yes!” You replied, almost as enthusiastic as she was now that you were prompted to talk about your dessert. Many people have lent you compliments before, but none has ever stopped to ask you more about them. This was certainly a first. “I ground the petals up and mixed them in with water before adding them to the dry ingredients, it gives the cream filling that rosy taste to it!”

“Wow, that sounds like hard work!” She nodded in approval, her brows raising and her eyes widening to give you a look of affirmation.

You blinked your eyes rapidly. Oh? That was quite an unexpected reaction. Not so much what she said, though. People have told you the same things before; about how difficult it must be to come up with your own baking style, and to actually gather the ingredients so you could start making a dessert. 

It was the way she said it. It sounded something more like a validation than a judgement. It wasn’t “oh god, I will never be able to do this,” instead it was more of a “oh, it is so cool that you can do this!”

And it was hard work! You had to ground the petals for a certain amount of time and with a precisely calculated amount of strength. Your arms were already aching a minute into having to hold the wooden bowl at a forty five degree angle, all the while mashing out the rose juices with the rounded tip at the back of a spoon.

To hear another act so nicely toward your passion was, needless to say, refreshing. Besides, you would see the painful way chef Parker was scrunching his face at the back, wanting so badly to deflect Princess Rose’s words but unable to for many different reasons.

You have never met her before, but if Prince Minho does end up wedding her and she marries into this kingdom, you have not a single problem accepting her as your queen.

“You surely flatter me,” you said as you dipped your head at her politely, a proud smile adorning your lips. “But all the hellish process is all worth it if it meant earning your lovely approval, Your Highness.”

Changbin held back a snort, his head lowering in hopes to hide an eye-roll. What pretentious words you were spilling out of your mouth! You have never spoken to him that way before, he was sure you have never spoken to any other palace staff that way before despite most of them being well older than you. 

If you could just add a hint of respect in the way you normally act, you would be so popular among everybody.

Minho’s eyes had been focused on the curls of Princess Rose’s hair the entire time, something about the way they waved made his heart flutter. He was that much infatuated with the girl he was supposed to compete the affection for among five other capable candidates. But for a moment, he allowed himself to remove his attention from her and instead, onto you.

He has never seen you around before, unsurprisingly. But he didn’t know the palace recruited kitchen staff as young as you. He couldn’t pinpoint your exact age but he could tell you hadn’t lived a day past nineteen, with your acne skin but youthful features, your badly kept but a headful of hair, and your small but invigorating body frame.

You weren’t pretty, but you were youthful. Looking at you made him feel nostalgic, it made him long for the days of his younger years when he didn’t have the pressure of the throne weighted on his shoulders. Now he’s got even more stress because of the courting selection process, his mind filled with concerns about his love not being reciprocated and having Princess Rose be engaged to another. 

How Minho wished he could go back when things were less complicated, when he was free to do anything he so pleased. He should have learned how to bake a cake, but that activity have always been looked down upon by royals. He doesn’t bake cakes, he only eats them.

“I was hoping you would have some extra cream puffs left to spare, chef!” Princess Rose asked, her brows furrowing slightly as she tilted her head. “The plates were all licked clean because of how good they are, and I wasn’t able to get an extra. I was hoping someone would spare one for me.”

You raised a brow at the way Minho tensed up behind her. There were three things you noticed from that single movement. 

One, Minho messed up his first test in the courting process by not giving up his own cream puff. But, judging by what she told you, nobody else did either, so that should not cause too much damage to his romantic health bar yet. 

Two, Hyunjin wasn’t paying attention this whole time. His eyes were dazed but focused somehow, and you were unsure what he was focused on because as soon as you tried to catch his eyes, he looked away with a clearing of his throat. His plump lips pursed together as he eyed Minho, who looked at him with mild concern, before he dared to return his gaze on you.

He did it discreetly that time, not so much straightforwardly staring at you, and he could only slowly ease back into the longing stare when he found that your attention had reverted to Princess Rose again.

Three, Minho cared more about Princess Rose than Hyunjin did. That could just be a false assumption, though, from the way Hyunjin did’t react at all to her words while Minho did such a dramatic flinch.

Whatever it was, you hoped all the best for Minho. Both because you were quite fond of the princess and because you’d love for her to find true love.

Smiling, you gave her a nod and stepped aside to gesture toward the table. The ingredients were still presented on the table, but you knew she had overlooked all the utensils and sped her eyes straight to the tray of rosy pink cream puffs. 

“How many of them would you like, Your Highness?” You asked, moving closer to the edge of the table and grabbing the sifter in your hand, prepared to add the powered sugar to the remaining cream puffs.

“Let’s see…” she hummed, her body moving swiftly in anticipation but you could tell from the way she was curling her firsts that she was still trying to maintain her image, “I would like three more, please!”

“Not a problem, Your Highness.” You flashed her a smile before your eyes looked behind her shoulders at the two princes. You raised your brows, your head tilting to the side as you threw caution to the wind for a brief moment to speak casually. “And the two princes standing behind Her Highness? Would you two like some extra cream puffs too?”

Startled at your sudden question, Minho nodded with his eyes darting around your vicinity. He did remember liking it, perhaps not as expressively as most of the others did, but he did adore the rosy taste of the filling. It was sweet, a very darling contrast to the actual meal he had.

“Yes, I would like one, please,” he requested, his voice smaller than it needed to be with you. 

Hyunjin, unlike his cousin, was quick to jump on the enthusiastic train after Minho’s voice dropped. He clenched his hands together behind his back, his eyes lighting up at the chance to speak to you again, and when he spoke, his voice was unsettlingly formal and an octave lower than usual.

“I would like to have the rest of the cream puffs, please,” Hyunjin said, giving you a charming smile. 

You looked at him for a moment, your eyes widening awkwardly at the way he seemed like he was anticipating something from you. But since you had no idea what he was thinking of, you only gave him a quick nod and returned to work on the cream puffs.

During the meantime, Minho took the chance to nudge his cousin in the ribs so to catch his attention. When Hyunjin glanced to the side at him, he flashed him a playful glare and a gradually blossoming smile. It was a wordless way for him to ask Hyunjin what in the fresh hell was that sudden attitude change he did to you?

Hyunjin shrugged, his lips quirking up into a smirk. “What?”

“You’re acting weird,” Minho replied lowly. “Why are you suddenly talking like an adult?”

“I am? Heavens, I did not notice, truly,” Hyunjin said, placing a hand over his heart. “I have always talked like this.”

“Stop lying, I have known you for years,” Minho hissed out. “You have never used that voice before unless you are trying to appeal to somebody!”

Changbin moved his body so his back faced the three royalties. Pretending to look over you pouring powered sugar on the dessert, he finally allowed himself a moment of rest and rolled his eyes freely. Did the two princes just assume everyone in the room was deaf or did they overestimate their ability to whisper? 

He, and you, and possibly Princess Rose and chef Park, could hear their conversation clearly anyway. There was no need to whisper like that. It made them look stupid.

“Sorry to interrupt your lively discussion, Your Highnesses, but here are the cream puffs you asked for,” you said as you turned to them, your hands full with the cream puffs.

You gave the single one, supported by a baking parchment paper, to Minho first. Then you handed Princess Rose a smaller wooden tray of cream puffs, smiling faintly when she gleamed at the dessert in her hands. Lastly, you turned to Hyunjin and handed him the remaining of the cream puffs on a rectangular tray. He smiled at you, you politely returned it.

“Thank you so much!” Princess Rose beamed, holding the tray in her little hands like it was one of her many tiaras. She looked up at you, her eyes sparkling in a way that made you sweat; it was too cheerful and too jumpy for you. “Ah, I am so glad that you chose to make this. And of course, credits to chef Park for appointing you this position, I wouldn’t have had the chance to taste this if he hadn’t.”

You caught your lower lip between your teeth, your cheeks jutting out uncontrollably when chef Park was forced to give the joyful princess a smile, seemingly all in agreement to what she said. He must be furious, having his opinion denied by a royalty in such an energetic way after he just slapped you for defying him. 

It wasn’t the best revenge, but it was good enough and amusing to watch from the side. 

When you caught Changbin’s eyes, you found that he was trying his best to hold in a bright smile. His eyes widened at you and his head tilted to gesture towards the awkward man by the door, fumbling to keep up with the chatty princess. You could only giggle under your breath, pulling a face before allowing a smile to fully appear on your face.

Hyunjin clenched the edge of the tray unconsciously, his eyes once again lingered on your grin. He couldn’t hear your laugh, it must have been feathery light, and for once he despised the outdated rule of servants not being able to act freely around royalties. He wanted to hear it, he wanted to hear you laugh. 

How were you doing this to him? His heart a pitter-pattering mess as he looked at your mundane features, not at all like himself or the princess in this room, yet his cheeks flush at the mere sight of you ever sine that morning in the garden. It seemed to have gotten worse now that he learned how good of a baker you are. 

Delicious food and a naturally endearing face? Oh god, how could Hyunjin ever handle this.

“Hyunjin? Let’s go, mother might be wondering where we are.”

The boy snapped out of his thoughts and turned to Minho, his eyes blinking rapidly to adjust to a new face. When he did, all he could find was Minho smirking at him with a somewhat understanding look before turning to look at your direction.

He followed his eyes, your frame coming into sight then. You weren’t paying much attention to them anymore since they didn’t ask you for anything else. Instead, you had turned to clean up with table with Changbin’s help, lecturing him to gather certain utensils and dumping them at the sink. Removing his eyes from you, he looked at Minho again and he frowned.

“What?” He asked, shrugging.

Minho stared at him for a moment, wondering if he had caught onto the wrong idea. He swore that Hyunjin was staring at you, in the way Princess Rose was looking at those cream puffs and in the way he used to look at her—filled with infatuation and longing curiosity. It was a terrible crush. 

Hyunjin could be denying it, but he could also be assuming things wrong. He couldn’t tell for now, so instead of pushing into the matter, he only patted Hyunjin on the shoulder and turned away to find Princess Rose. He left Hyunjin standing there, confused and frustrated at his own confusion, wondering what Minho meant with that knowing smirk of his.

With his mind filled, Hyunjin tilted his head to the side with mumbles escaping his lips. He spun around after sparking you one last glance, opting to reach for the rosewater cream puffs and popping one into his mouth. The sugary taste engulfed him in a loose but warm hug, and he felt giddy all over knowing that you were behind these sweet little puffs.

The baking room was reduced to silence again after the three royalties left, the only sounds that resonated in the room was from the water faucet and the cashing of baking utensils. You and Changbin have both shut your mouths as well, realizing that chef Park was the only authority still standing around.

His posture was rigid, and it wasn’t solely because his bones were getting older and older by day. He was proven wrong straight to your face, immediately after he belittled you so harshly that the staffs outside could have surely heard him. He knew he wouldn’t tell a soul about what Princess Rose said tonight to save face, but in a way he’s already been humiliated enough.

The last person he didn’t want knowing that the princes and princess liked those cream puffs was you, and you had been present through the entire event.

You wiped your wet hands on the towel, drying your skin roughly before looking back up at chef Park. Your eyes were dull, bored even, but the way you smiled showed triumph, and he hated it. That shit-eating expression of yours could go straight to Hell if he could control it. 

Damn brat, just because the princess liked your dessert now you suddenly think you’re all that, huh?

“You better not be expecting a compliment,” chef Park spoke first, glaring at you. “Like it or not, the main problem doesn’t lie in whether the dessert is good. It is the fact that you can’t follow instructions.”

What a liar. He barely mentioned one thing about you not following his recipe. It was all about your baking being terrible and him losing his career. Seeing that your cream puffs were fine and that you actually do have skills lined up your sleeves, he suddenly turned a blind eye to it and switched the topic he was mad about.

Chef Park couldn’t hide that obvious grunge he held against you for the life of it. He would find something to get mad at you for no matter what, and frankly, it has made your days in the palace a living hell. If it wasn’t for the good companions you’ve met around this place, and your daily mischief where you would bake instead of finishing tasks, you’d be miserable.

“You won’t be cooking for the next week, take that as a light punishment for breaking my rules,” he huffed with an eye-roll, holding a hand up when you glared at him and tried to talk back. “You won’t get out of it, [Name]. I’ll only extend the days the more you try to talk yourself out of it.”

You pursed your lips together and stayed silent, your nails digging into the heel of your palm as you forced your words to fall dead at your tongue. 

He was right; since he has the authority over you, no matter how much you try to appeal to the situation, you wouldn’t succeed. He hates you, plain and simple, and if he wanted you out of the kitchen, he’ll do it. The only thing he couldn’t actually do was get you kicked out of the palace entirely. 

That would be up to the palace butler, and lord, did chef Park hated that thorough bastard. Chan probably wouldn’t kick you out for the world considering his keen senses on detecting a false or angry report. He could see straight past chef Park’s bullshit with just a snap of his fingers,

Besides, Chan have always had soft spots for the younger palace staffs, even more for you since you were the youngest one. Acting like he was your blood brother, that nosy fucker. Let him find out what chef Park did to your pretty little face and he would be done for, which was the sole reason why he got you out of the kitchen and into maid duty. 

If you stay outside the palace, you stay away from the butler. You didn’t know Chan has that kind of authority amongst the staffs yet, but he wasn’t planning on running that risk of you blabbering about what happened.

“Have fun doing laundry, [Name],” chef Park said with malice laced all over his voice, then he pushed open the door and left.

Your shoulders slumped when he was gone, your eyes as sharp as kitchen knifes watching him leave. You wanted to explode, you wanted to scream at him for giving you another week out of the kitchen again. Another week of cleaning bedsheets and folding expensive clothes, another week of doing chores alone because you still haven’t made any maid friends, another week of sneaking into the kitchen at night just to bake something easy because you missed it so much.

You hated life here, you should have never agreed to coming here. You should have pulled the age card, telling the king that you wanted a few more years at home before entering the palace, that would have probably been a good enough reason to shoot him down. But coming here means medical treatment for your father. And even if you could say no to the king, you could not deny his wealth. 

“He kicked me out again!” You whined as you turned around to look at Changbin, your feet stomping against the floor childishly. There were almost tears in your eyes, but you didn’t feel like crying so you simply started to throw a tantrum. “What is his problem with me? I swear, he never liked me! He’s only been against me since day one!”

“You did tell him his recipe is boring, multiple times too,” Changbin pointed out as he placed the last clean bowl on the kitchen counter before moving away from the sink. He dried his hands on the apron, his brows furrowing slightly as you frowned at him in disapproval. 

“That’s because it is!” You exclaimed a retort.

“You do realize he became the pastry chef for a reason, right?” He reasoned, “How can he get to where he is with boring recipes.”

You opened your mouth, trying to find the right words to retort but slowly coming to the conclusion that Changbin was absolutely correct, and you have been extremely biased in your opinions. While you didn’t really think his recipes are boring, just very general steps for good ingredients, you only kept saying so because you hated him and he was being unfair to you.

You didn’t mean it half the time, but those words probably still hurt his dignity.

“Are you on my side or his, Changbin?” You asked lowly, squinting your eyes at him with a grimace.

Changbin laughed. He approached you and placed a hand on top of your head. His smile was graceful but lacking a lot in sincerity this time. It was meant to be more  playful than heartfelt, you knew, a smile that told you not to take him seriously from this point on because he was joking around. 

“I’m obviously on your side,” he muttered with not an ounce of strength in his voice, causing you to kick his ankles lightly. He laughed, loudly this time with his voice full. “No, seriously, kid. I am.”

You looked up at him, your chest habitually warm as he patted your head. It was a silent form of praise, you learned that from your mother constantly doing it to you when you were much younger. Now that she couldn’t be with you as much anymore, Changbin took it upon himself to give you the parental encouragements you needed as a youngster. And on rare occasion when you do see Chan, he’d ruffle your hair up as well. 

Now that you think more clearly about it, without the previous anger blinding your emotions, perhaps you didn’t hate the palace life all that much. If everyone could be just like Changbin and Chan then this place would be paradise on Earth. But, as you learned, your average person could not be as capable as Chan nor as friendly as Changbin, and that was really unfortunate.

“I know,” you said, nodding at him.

“You just can’t say thank you to people for once, can you?” Changbin asked, removing his hand from your head after shoving the side of  it slightly.

“I will when you’ve done something good.” You shrugged with a smile.

“What-“ he huffed, his lips quirking up into an incredulous smile as his eyes widened in a faint glare. “When have I ever done wrong by you, huh?”

“If I tell you then there is no point,” you hummed as you turned around, leaving his side for the hanger nailed to the wall by the door. You untied the knot behind you, releasing it with a swift pull, then you looped the apron out of your neck and hung it back on the knob. “When you did something wrong, sometimes it’s better to realize it yourself.”

“That’s not good communication,” Changbin mumbled under his breath, following your action. He looked at you then, his eyes rolling back for a moment as he shook his head at you, completely defeated by you. “But sure, I will apologize when I find out what I did wrong.”

You only grinned, the childish gleam in your eyes haunting him as he bid you goodnight and urged you to head to bed early. Then he left the baking room, his voice booming from outside as he called for someone in the main kitchen. Your grin dropped quickly, eyes blinking as you shifted your weight and pressed a hand to your cheek in the midst of your mindless thoughts.

Sometimes you just stare into space because you could, because your feelings need a permanent image to gather itself together for the better. One need not to always be thinking about something, sometimes your eyes settle and your mind simply register the colors, the object, never the meaning, and that would be enough thinking already. 

But your mind bounced out of the headless state today when your eyes caught sight of a peculiar piece of paper stuck on the edge of the table corner, hidden underneath the counter shelf with only its tip peaking out. Your brows furrowed at the wavering object and you moved towards it slowly.

Leaning down, you pulled the piece of paper out from underneath. It was a thick parchment paper, with faint red linings printed on it that matched the redness of the wax seal stamped in the middle of the envelope. The symbol of the king’s crown was intricate and detailed, you stared at it carefully in hopes to have it memorized, wondering if you could ever redraw it using frostings.

You looked up after you finished admiring the wax seal. This could not have been a letter written by any kitchen staff. The royal seal is only available to royalties, therefore one of the three that just came by the room must have dropped it without knowing. 

Curiously, you flipped the envelope around in hopes to find who the letter was addressed to. Dusting off the dirty stuck to the paper, your eyes finally registered the name written prettily on top of the paper, with a spot of spilled black ink next to the cursive name.

To Princess Rose, with love.

A love letter, but from who?

You hummed at it as you flipped it around again, your eyes fixed on the wax seal in the middle. You could always just stick it back if you peel it off, or you could just lie about the wax seal falling off after you tried to get rid of the dirt underneath the counter table. That way you could not only find out who wrote the letter, but you could also read the content.

Your fingers hovered over the red seal for a short moment, then you carefully peeled it off.

Hyunjin had finally returned into the palace from the garden. Right after wrapping up dinner time with the rest of the royal families and seeing them off in their gold carriages, he took the tray of rosewater cream puffs from a maid and headed straight for the garden. 

He wanted to enjoy the dessert at the stone pavilion that stood tall behind the water fountain, surrounded by wall shrubs with white flowers growing along it. The peace and quiet covering that corner of the garden had always calmed his mind, and the moonlight cascading on the rolling water flowed as freely as his mind could as it filled itself with the thought of you. 

Those cream puffs were as amazing as he remembered first trying it, and he seemed to like it even more now that he knew you were the one who made them. How unfathomable, he had no idea your hands could wove ingredients into such magnificence. As if you weren’t appealing enough already, catching his eyes and stealing his attention. Now you have caught your way to his tummy as well.

Hyunjin was able to finish the cream puffs quickly, much fortunately because not a second later he had heard the sound of Princess Rose giggling down the path to the pavilion. He almost groaned at her voice, his brows furrowing in exhaustion just from hearing it. If it wasn’t for the sugar in his mouth, he possibly would have cursed out loud.

It wasn’t that he hated Princess Rose, absolutely not. She was a very nice lady; she was pretty, very positive, has an elegant upbringing, and needless to mention, an actual royalty. He could see all her good sides and he understood why most princes would be attracted to her, including Minho, but sadly, he just wasn’t one of them. 

No matter how many times he had to pretend he was okay with joining the court selection, no matter how much his parents were anticipating his victory in this romantic race, he just could not bring himself to feel anything special for her. And it has been so difficult for him to pretend to be in love with her when he already has his crush on you occupying his mind on a daily, so difficult that he’d be happy to never see the princess again.

Turning his head, he wiped the powered sugar off his lips and proceeded to dust his hand off on his pants. He got ready to face the princess, prepared to strike up a conversation and offer to walk her back into the palace (hopefully, or else he’d have to walk her around the garden and he really did not want to do that) when Minho came out of the shadowy corner with her.

They were chatting happily. Minho’s posture was relaxed but Hyunjin knew his fingers were twitching rigidly behind his back, while Princess Rose was being simply herself, a beaming girl excited to drown under the moonlight with a beautiful man. 

Hyunjin breathed out a sigh of relief at the sight, knowing that those two were probably out to have some alone time with each other and Minho would definitely not welcome him to join. He discreetly tried to waltz his way out of their path, sneaking into shadows and hiding behind stone columns wrapped around in vines, and he only relaxed after he reentered the palace. 

His mind lingered at the sight back in the garden for a moment, his lips quirking up funnily when it hit him that Minho was making a move in trying to appeal to her more. Oh, he surely hoped his cousin wins her hand in marriage. Minho has been in love with Princess Rose since their childhood days, an affection she was far too oblivious to sense even within close quarters. 

Surely, this courting period would jolt her right out of it. Those love letters Minho would be writing to her would be one of a kind.

“Oh–good evening, Your Highness.”

Gasps! Hyunjin could recognize that voice anywhere, it was practically engraved in his brain.

Turning slowly to you, who he saw out of his peripheral vision, the muscles under that velvet blazer tensed up and his lips widened into a suspiciously big smile. His eyes darted around for a moment, finding out that he hadn’t stumbled into the kitchen but instead you had come out of the palace library. 

Thank god, he hasn’t lost his mind completely yet. Mindlessly bringing himself to the kitchen would totally prove that. But judging by his increasing heart beat, he was probably close to reaching that point now. 

“Good evening… uhh, chef!” He greeted back, waving absentmindedly.

“Did you just return from the garden, Your Highness?” You asked then, clutching your hands behind your back where the lost letter was held. When he gave you a questioning look, you reached on hand up to your head and tapped at it. You whispered, almost a hiss, “There is a leaf stuck in you hair.” 

“Oh! Oh, right, of course!” He quickly reached his hands up to pick at his locks, hoping to find the leaf you were talking about. When his fingers couldn’t grasp anything dry, because the leaf has already fallen out with his exaggerated movements, he opted to ruffle his brown locks altogether. 

Your smile dropped slightly at his choice of action. It was sudden, but it was just like the way he had swatted at that butterfly that day. A little clumsy and overall, hilarious to watch. But since you weren’t supposed to laugh at royalties, you had to keep your lips sealed up and put on a bland face in order to not break down in giggles in front of him.

Hyunjin, sadly, had taken your neutral expression too seriously and started to panic a little. What did that mean? Why did you stop smiling at him? Was he acting weird? Yes, he was acting weird! He must be acting weird! That’s not good! Oh no, Hyunjin, pull yourself together! 

He quickly cleared his throat as he pulled at the hem of his blazer and stood up straight, his shoes meeting each others’ heel. His smile didn’t fade, it only became more charming than skeptical, and his dimple showed from the way his lips quirked. It was like he did a personality turn in a mere one second, and suddenly he felt like an actual prince again.

“Sorry about that. I just finished your cream puffs and I think I might be having a sugar rush,” he said, a casual huff in his voice. 

“Oh,” you laughed out then, clapping your hands together soundlessly, “I see. Well, it’s never too bad to get that kind of rush once in a while, they aren’t too harmful.”

“Your sweets are too delicious to be harmful, chef,” he replied, almost flirtatiously if you weren’t so dense to believe that he would never try to flirt with you. But even then, you giggled at his words simply because he kept calling you by a title you haven’t received yet but hoped to in the future, and that made his heart all excited and happy.

“Thank you for your kind words, Your Highness,” you said with a polite dip of your head. 

“Yeah, of course, you deserve it! They’re really good!” He gave you several enthusiastic nods of approval, his eyes widening in emphasis that he meant his words more than he has ever meant anything else in his life. 

And you could only thank him again, much more meekly this time due to the sudden step he made towards you. He smelt of sweat, possibly from the heat outside the garden and how he had to wear such thick fabrics under that weather, but you could hardly concentrate on that when he body stood so close and he was all up in your face about it. 

Hyunjin was such a pretty man. You couldn’t believe you have never stopped to appreciate his features in your own time, even if you two have only met each other thrice by now. The whispers and coos shared between the palace maids, starting from the swoons from the younger ones to the motherly praises of the older ones, weren’t just here for show, you realized.

His eyes were surely a brilliant shad of brown, reminding you of the perfect brownies you have once baked for the neighbours’ kids. Looking into them reminded you of their innocent giggles, it made your heart swell in nostalgia. 

And his prettily plump lips made his smile magnificently bright, shaping his face perfectly like colouful frosting fitting perfectly into the surface of a cotton cake. It feels satisfying to watch and such a serotonin boost, much like that vanilla cotton cake you baked for your father’s birthday. 

You smiled even more fondly at him then, remembering the warmth of your hometown and letting your heart lean into the longing. It only made you smile; sometimes sadness displays itself in the form of a smile, you thought that meant you are slowly embracing the fact that you’re getting over it. 

After allowing himself a moment to watch you in silence, because it seemed you were also doing the same, Hyunjin finally broke the moment by faking a cough. When he caught your attention, he pointed behind you at the big double doors and asked, “You came from the library?”

“Oh, yes, I was just inside to borrow something from the butler,” you said, smiling.

“Ah… is it Chan?” Hyunjin asked.

“Yeah. I assume you two have already met each other, Your Highness?” 

“Yes, he has worked in this palace for a long time,” he said, rolling his eyes slightly. “He just used to watch over me and Minho when we would go outside to play. If you ask him about me, he’ll probably tell you how insufferable I am.”

“Well, I am sure you used to be as charming as you are right now, Your Highness,” you said humbly, causing his eyes to soften. He sure hopes he’s charming enough to linger in your head.

“Oh, actually, I do have a small question to ask you, Your Highness!” You abruptly said after a moment of silence, almost preparing to take your leave when you remembered the letter in your hands. 

Hyunjin blinked in confusion, waiting patiently as you clenched your fingers softly around the envelope before finally moving your hand back to the front so he could see the letter. He furrowed his brows at the red seal, recognizing it as the royal seal and only getting more confused as to why you have it in your hands.

“I found this on the kitchen floor, I was wondering if you dropped it when you came by?” You asked, handing the re-sealed letter to him before timidly shrinking back on your spot.

Hyunjin looked at the envelope, his brows furrowing more as he wracked his brain to think. Seeing the words ‘To Princess Rose, with love.’ was able to snap him out of his thoughts quickly as he snapped his fingers with a yell of realization. You jumped, your eyes widening as he turned his head to look to the side.

He looked anxious now, his fingers fluttering against each other in mild panic and stomping his feet gently against the ground. This was what Minho talked to him about, the love letter! He was supposed to hand out his first letter to the Princess Rose so when she leaves, he could keep sending her love letters until the courting period ends and she has to pick her husband. 

“Oh, no,” he muttered under his breath before turning to you. “Thank you for picking this up, I’ll return this to Minho so don’t worry about it!”

“Oh, I wasn’t really–“

“Goodbye, I hope we can see each other again soon!” He gave you not another second to finish your sentence and immediately sped off to the direction where he came from. But before he could go too far, he stopped with a few stumbles and turned back around to ask loudly, “Chef! I forgot to ask for your name!”

Your face heated. What did he need to be so loud for, it was such a trivial problem! Oh, even though nobody was around to witness this, it somehow felt embarrassing! Hopefully, Chan couldn’t hear him from inside the library, it’d be weird to have to explain to him that the prince suddenly just asked for you name when they never do.

“It’s [Na]–“

“What? I can’t hear you!” He leaned forward, turning his head to the side to show his ear.

You pursed your lips together in faint annoyance before you took a step closer to him and said firmly, “It’s [Name]!”

Hyunjin flashed you a smile, his head nodding. “Okay,” he said, “I hope to see you later, [Name]!”

You clutched your hands together, feeling your red face still permanent even after Hyunjin turned around the corner and left like the wind. Gosh, why were you feeling like this all of a sudden? He was never in your mind before, and you weren’t about to be so shallow to develop a crush on him simply because of his gorgeous face, were you?

You shook your head with a light curse, reminding yourself that Hyunjin was a prince and you were just a palace baker, and you spun on your heels to leave before Chan could open the library door to ask about the commotion. 

Minho was panicking. The second he reached his hand in his pocket and realized the emptiness of it, he started to panic. 

He had the whole night planned out in front of him weeks before Princess Rose even arrived to the kingdom for a night’s stay. He had spent days and nights roaming about in the palace library, flipping open one too many romance books and hoping to find the right words to ink down on the love letter he would give to her tonight. 

First the dinner, the garden, then he would give her the first love letter within the next ten love letters he would write over the course of a full month. 

But he couldn’t find the letter in his pocket. The letter he so desperately stuffed inside his tiny pants pocket before leaving his room to welcome the carriage, the letter he had been worrying so hard about for the whole night, the letter he kept wishing had not gone wrinkled in the confine space was gone, vanished, evaporated in air particles he could no longer see nor touch. 

And god, was he humiliated to have to keep Princess Rose waiting while he awkwardly laugh to fill the delay.

Seeing the way he kept fumbling with himself, the princess tilted her head to the side and furrowed her pretty brows. She gave Minho a few more seconds to search himself before she opened her mouth to ask, “Are you okay, Minho? You look ghastly.” 

“I’m fine, Rosie. Don’t worry,” he laughed, scratching the back of his head as his movements halted to a stop. His cheeks were red, but it was hard to see with his back turned on the moon. “I am just… I’m just finding something.”

“Oh? What is it? Maybe I can help you look for it,” she got off the stone bench and approached him, her eyes gazing around at the floor carefully. 

“It’s not–it’s probably not on the ground?” Minho grimaced as he looked around the ground, hoping that he hadn’t dropped his precious letter on the floor and let the wind swipe it up in the air. 

“What is it, though?” Rosie pressed on, leaning forward to stare up at Minho. “I can help you find it. It seems important to you.”

“It is,” he sighed, a faintly annoyed look gracing over his angry brows before he softened a little upon her face. 

Pursing his lips together, he realized there wouldn’t be any harm in asking for her help. This could be a treasure hunting game of some kind; tell her about the love letter he wrote, ask her to find it with him, and the reward would be her receiving the love letter. It could be quite fun searching through the garden, the moon and the night sky already helped with setting the mood enough to not make this feel like a mundane chore.

The only regret Minho has was not playing it cool and pretending he had this plan all along. He knew Rosie didn’t much mind it, she never really did mind his occasional clumsiness much, but swerving out of his original plan really irked him.

“Actually, yeah, I would love your help,” he said, looking at her. “I think I dropped a–“

“Love letter delivery!”

Like a lightbulb going on, alarm bells rung in Minho’s ear briefly upon Hyunjin’s panting but cheerful voice. He whipped his head to the side, his eyes widened in bewilderment as he watched Hyunjin halt to a tiring stop. Sitting right between his fingers was the envelope he had been hoping to see.

“Love letter?” Princess Rose turned to the side so she could face Hyunjin fully. She walked near the boy and reached her hand out, demanding the letter to be delivered as he so loudly announced a moment ago. 

Hyunjin looked at her, his jaw dropped slightly in reluctance. His eyes gazed past the princess and at Minho, asking for permission. When Minho rolled his eyes and gave him a casual shrug, he learned two thing: (1) it does not matter what Hyunjin does, because either way Minho thought he ruined the mood for him anyway and (2) yes, please give Princess Rose the letter so this humiliation event could stop.

“Here you go, princess,” Hyunjin said lowly as he placed the letter in her hand before bowing, with a hand over his heart and the other behind his back, the one he saw Chan doing to the king’s friends before. “I shall take my leave now. May you have a pleasant night, princess.”

Minho scoffed as Hyunjin swiftly turned around and walked away. He bet that boy immediately started running with his arms flailing about the second he turned the corner and just headed straight back into the palace, and he was over here acting all coy and gentle in front of Rosie. 

His attention reverted to Rosie when she turned around with her brows raised in question, the love letter clutched tightly in her hand. There was a very faint blush on her cheeks, but Minho could’t tell if it was just the makeup or the shyness that was causing it. Even when she approached closer to him, the dark night seemed to have draped a veil over her face and he could not tell clearly.

“You wrote me a love letter,” Rosie mused, waving it about in the air as an amused smile spread across her face.

“Yes, I did,” Minho replied in a grunt, putting his hands on his hips, “I am supposed to be courting you this month, right?”

“True,” she said, carefully tearing the wax seal open and removing the letter from the envelope, “but you are the only contestant to hand me a love letter so bonus points for you.”

“I thought the bonus point should already be added from me being your childhood best friend,” he joked, his tone holding a hint of mischief in it. 

“Correction, childhood friend,” she said as she walked over to the bench and sat down. She placed the envelope to her side and held the thin letter in her hands. “You’ve lost your title as best friend, that belongs to a princess now.”

“Ouch, my feelings are hurt, Rosie,” he said playfully, putting a hand on his heart and feigning to be in pain. 

Rosie lifted her gown and kicked Minho’s feet, not hard enough to make him stumble but hard enough to sting with her heel. She only smiled when Minho threw her a glare, and she returned to the letter in her hands. As she unfolded the paper, she spoke casually, “If I like the letter then I’ll add you more bonus point then.”

Minho kicked the rocks at his feet as he waited. His eyes nervously looked around the garden, embracing the scenery around him as he took in everything he has never paid much attention to. The carefully trimmed bushes, the wavering flowers, the reliable trees, and the clear path along the garden—the staffs sure take a good care of this place, he never took notice, and he would surely forget soon when another conversation strikes up with Rosie.

How beautiful the royal garden was has never been the kind of trivial things he has to let his mind linger on. Pretty things as such are like candy; he takes it in, and he forgets it until he gets another glimpse again, and never once does he take into account how the beauty comes to be because all he has to do is drown himself in it.

The silence was engulfing him whole, not in a comforting way as his own room would, but anxiously. The sound of silk curtains waving by his room’s window turning into the thunderstorm raining down in his chest, lighting strikes zapping down and just barely burning his lungs to create this exhilarating feeling inside of him. 

He was trying so hard to read her face, to see what she thought about the letter, to know if she liked it. But Rosie kept a straight race the entirety of her reading the letter, and the initial reaction she gave Minho was a bland expression. There was no smile, her eyes were empty, and her brows seemed neither happy nor angry.

Minho’s heart jumped as his mind raced to recall the days of him writing the letter. Has sleep-deprivation caught onto his brain and started spilling words for him? Or was his writing so purely bad that even Rosie couldn’t bring herself to pretend to appreciate it? 

He couldn’t speak when she suddenly stood up and walked near him. With wide eyes, Minho watched as Rosie raised her fist in the air before she landed a knock on his shoulder. Her hand stayed there, her fist slowly spreading out so her hand covered his chest, and she glanced down on the floor.

“You… you…” she muttered under her breath before looking up, with her rosy cheeks and shy smile, “you get extra bonus points.”

Minho took a second to huff out a relieved sigh, and it was both from how adorable he thought Rosie looked acting like that and from the fact that she liked the love letter he wrote. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the sweat lining up his forehead and wiping it away, then he finally smiled down at the princess.

“You liked it?”

“Liked it? Heavens, Minho, I loved it!” She exclaimed, her hands leaving his chest and going to clutch the letter. She looked down at it once again, a smile blossoming on her face as she re-read the words before sighing dreamily, her hand pressing the letter to her chest. “I mean, I had no idea you could write like this!”

He laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, I did look for a lot of references.”

“Oh, but even then!” She said, looking down at the letter, “how my eyes rivals that of the depths of the ocean, how they contain all the secrets you wish patiently for me to reveal about myself–Minho, that is very romantic!”

Oh that was, indeed, a very pretty sentence and it absolutely did reveal his deepest affection for Rosie, but just hold on a minute.

Minho’s hand dropped to his side as his brows slowly furrowed, his mind paused to think again, recalling his time spent sitting at a desk with the quill pen in his hand. And he thought about it long and hard only to come to a terrible conclusion: he did not write a single thing about ocean in the letter.

“I’m sorry, what ocean?” He asked, leaning forward slightly in hopes to look at the letter.

Rosie smiled cluelessly at him and she repeated, “My eyes? The part where you said my eyes rivals that of the depths of the ocean?”

“Oh, that…” Minho giggled nervously.

He wrote no such thing. 

Minho watched with a grimace as the white carriage moved away from the palace front yard where he stood, along with a few palace staff and Chan standing just to his side. 

It was finally time for Princess Rose to leave for her kingdom in order to create a fair ground for all the other contestants in the courting period. Minho would definitely be visiting her sometime during the month, knowing fairly well the other princes will do so too, but he’s also got the love letters he would be sending her way over the course of the month. Therefore, he shouldn’t do too bad on it. 

The only problem he has right now was to find out who switched his letter out with something else, and his first suspect was none other than Hwang Hyunjin.

“Chan!” Minho called immediately after the carriage was out of sight. He turned abruptly to the side where Chan stood, annoyance surfacing to his face and causing the rest of the palace staffs to quickly scurry away from the front yard. 

Chan breathed in deeply at the prince’s voice, already sensing that there would be some sort of trouble happening under the palace roof today. For a second he looked at the fading carriage with longing, wanting nothing more than to jump on the wagon and ride back home where he could sleep until sunset. Taking care of palace duties could really take a toll on him sometimes, as capable as he is. 

But well, too bad that he got picked because he had an honest face and the previous butler trusted him the most. He would be stuck here until he could find himself a suitable replacement for this position. 

Chan put on a soft smile as he turned to look at Minho, and he asked, “How may I be of service today, Your Highness?”

Minho furrowed his brows, his grimace deepening at his friend’s formal tone. “Cut the crap, jeez,” he waved his hands dismissively, “you sound disgusting.”

“That, I believe, a lot of guests beg to differ,” Chan said jokingly, adding a somewhat seductive wink at the end of his sentence and causing Minho to roll his eyes. 

Even though he wasn’t wrong, and that lots of gentlemen and ladies who have walked through the palace doors for balls and parties have openly discussed Chan’s more than gorgeous features and top-tier politeness, he didn’t need to say that. Not to mention that stinking wink he did, ugh, it just makes Minho shiver. 

“I’m going to pretend I never heard that but do invite me to your wedding if there will be one,” he said before jumping right back into the original topic. “Do you know where Hyunjin might be?”

“Prince Hyunjin…” Chan hummed as he turned to look at the palace, his eyes squinted as if he could see right through the walls and pinpoint Hyunjin’s exact location. 

And perhaps he could. After all, he had taken care of him for years before due to his frequent visits, he might still be able to recall Hyunjin’s never changing morning routine if he tried hard enough. Giving it another thought, mentally listing all the things Hyunjin does in the morning and about how long it takes for him to finish each tasks, Chan finally turned to look at Minho again.

“I could be wrong, but it is likely that he would be on his way to the garden right now,” Chan said. “And since he usually likes to grab a snack for that, he might be near where the kitchen is at the moment.”

“Got it, thanks!” Minho mumbled under his breath as he sped past Chan and ran inside the palace, leaving the butler completely bewildered.

And, just as Chan predicted, Hyunjin was walking along the hallway with his hand holding up a plate of cake. His brows were furrowed and there was a pout on his face that he couldn’t wipe off. 

He spent his entire morning in the library. He had laid on the velvet couches, all four of them plastered across the corners of the reading area, with a different book in his hands every other minute. 

He never actually paid attention to reading them, he only flipped the books open to read a few lines before he would close it and drop it on the tea tables. His short attention span never quite allowed him the time and space to finish one book entirely.

But he loved the library even then. It is quiet as the garden is, and while it couldn’t refresh his mind like the garden could with the flowery scent and the bright blue sky, the library has always given him a mysterious, candle-lit atmosphere. 

He loved the carpet floors and how his footsteps could never be destructive walking around it, and he loved the concept of books lining up the shelf, each one of them a different emotion stained with ink. 

The library is so alive to him, filled with people’s quiet minds, waiting for him to discover. 

After his hazy morning delight, all spent drowning in pages and admiring certain phrases he found beautiful, he started thinking about you. A gentle thought, one that could waver off easily if he tried, but he never tried because he Hyunjin loved thinking about you. 

You and your mellow words, spoken in such a gentle voice, your formality that he genuinely disliked, your passionate hands that could make brilliant desserts. He smiled with the poetry book pressed close to his chest. Suddenly, all he wanted to do was see you, which would be convenient for him since you two were located under the same palace roof now. 

He finally got off the soft surfaces and decided to head to the garden so he could admire the flowers and, well, daydream about you again, and he had stopped by the kitchen in hopes to find you there. 

He wanted to talk to you again, and perhaps he could humbly ask for a tray of snack from you to enjoy during his long visit to the garden too. But you were nowhere to be found when he arrived, not when he glimpsed into the kitchen and not by the other kitchen staffs who worked inside.

He did get himself a plate of strawberry cake, though, which he was quite in the mood for. But nothing beats being able to eat the dessert you make, and he knew that you didn’t make this cake as chef Park was the one who handed it to him while telling him about how he spent the whole morning making it.

As he made his way across the hall, putting pieces of the cake into his pouty mouth, rapid footsteps were making their way towards him from the other side. When Hyunjin finally registered the noises, he looked up from his plate and stopped when he found Minho racing towards him from the other end of the hall.

His pulled a face at the way Minho was panting by the time he approached him, watching his pathetic face contorting while stabbing the fork into the cake and popping in another piece. Hyunjin’s mouth was full when he spoke, his voice slightly muffled by the small pieces of strawberries and the soft cake in his cheek.

“What are you running for, you idiot?” He asked, a hint of irritation present in his voice as he waved his fork around the air. “See? Now you can’t breathe! You look stupid, and for what reason, Minho? For what?”

Minho looked up at Hyunjin, huffs of breath leaving his lips as his gaze hardened in confusion. “Who put roaches in your cake, Hyunjin?” He asked as he stood up, looking at Hyunjin with a permanent frown as he pushed aside his own problems to ask about his attitude. “You’re so grumpy and for what reason, hmm?”

Hyunjin scoffed, stuffing his cheek with yet another piece of cake before he complained, “Shut up! I’m just disappointed, that’s all.”

“Why? Is the cake bad?”

“No, it’s a normal cake, and I’m not going to explain it to you so just leave it,” Hyunjin sighed, his voice much gentler now that he has calmed down from the heat of not being able to see you just then. He poked at the frosting with the fork and eyed Minho carefully, his brows raising in question, urging him to speak. 

Minho gathered himself then. He has been thinking about the love letter all night, feeling both furious and defeated because he was torn between being happy that Princess Rose liked the love letter, thus liking him better, and being upset that his feelings weren’t the ones delivered to her but somebody else’s words. 

He wasn’t sure if the process mattered more than the result this time. 

“Did you write my love letter?” Minho asked, going straight to the point.

Hyunjin stared at him for a long moment, just munching on his cake and looking directly into his eyes with his own hollow and dead ones. And it took Minho a light-hearted shake of his head before he finally spoke in that bored, nonchalant tone of his.

“That’s a stupid question, Minho,” he said with a snicker, “if you said it is your love letter then who else could have written it but you?”

“Hyunjin,” Minho called once, firmly, his fists curled to his side and a sarcastic smile on his face.

Hyunjin laughed, holding his hand out in mock defence as he took a few steps back. Alright, he didn’t register how Minho was being serious but hearing his teeth gritting against each other was a good enough indication. He was still smiling in amusement when he forked up the crumbs of the cake and shoved them in his mouth.

As soon as he dragged the fork away from his lips, he spoke with an incredulous grimace, “Okay, okay! No, no I didn’t write your letter.”

Minho pressed on for a little more, not believing in Hyunjin just yet due to how playful he was being. “Are you sure? Nothing like… how Rosie’s eyes are like the ocean?”

“Eww, god no, that’s cheesy!” Hyunjin gagged, his nose scrunching up in pure disgust. 

He couldn’t even begin to think of Princess Rose in a romanic way, let alone write something about her pretty eyes being akin to the ocean when they’re not even blue. That kind of creativity wasn’t reserved for her, it was reserved for you, someone who he was actually fond of.

“Well, she liked it so cheesy or not, it worked,” Minho scoffed as he crossed his arms. “Except I wasn’t the one who wrote it, and if it wasn’t you either then it has got to be the person before you… say, who gave you the letter, Hyunjin?”

“Huh? Uh… [Name] gave me the letter…” Hyunjin’s voice trailed off slowly to a halt as he watched Minho’s expression morph into confusion. He waved his fork in the air and explained, “The one who made those cream puffs yesterday. They said they found it on the kitchen floor, I think they tried to ask Chan about it too since they came out from the library when I saw them.”

Minho tilted his head to the side, his mind racing to piece of puzzles together. It could not have been Chan who helped him write the letter. If he wanted to help then he would have done so weeks ago when he saw Minho turning and flipping pages of multiple romance books in the library. Why would he suddenly rewrite the whole letter for him? 

Besides, Chan wouldn’t head inside the kitchen for no reason. His duty laid outside the kitchen, where the main rooms of the palace were located. You definitely picked it up after he dropped it and looked inside because curiosity got the best of you. 

What Minho couldn’t understand was why you rewrote his letter? Have you planned to sabotage his undisclosed plan to court Princess Rose? 

“[Name]…” Minho muttered under his breath, his chest heaving in frustration as his brows knitted to the middle. Whatever reason it was, you already did what you should not do; your crimes didn’t simply lie in rewriting Minho’s love letter, you obviously tore it open and read it as well. And he has to settle that with you. 

Sensing Minho’s displeasure, it took Hyunjin a short moment to realize he might have just snitched you out accidentally, albeit he wasn’t aware of what you did and neither could Minho be sure, it seemed. Placing the fork on the plate and casually dropping the plate on the side table, carefully pushing it into the corner and against the flower vase landed on top.

Hyunjin placed a hand on Minho’s shoulder and laughed awkwardly, trying to deescalate his rising emotions. “I’m sure they didn’t do anything, though. Maybe you wrote something and you just forgot!”

“I’ve been facing that letter for weeks, I’ll never forget it,” Minho mumbled under his breath as he brushed Hyunjin’s hand off and started walking towards the direction of the kitchen. 

Hyunjin panicked. Minho seemed genuinely annoyed and he might have just put fuel to the fire by trying to defend you. He had no idea what Minho planned to do if he found out you did tweaked his letter, and he wasn’t sure if he has the power to stop whatever Hell could be descended upon you, so he made another mistake by stopping Minho in his tracks again. 

His hands tugged at the older’s collar, stopping him from moving forward. When Minho turned around to throw him a glare, he felt a shiver run down his spine and he immediately let go of his red silk shirt. 

“They’re not in the kitchen, I dropped by and they weren’t there so no point heading to the kitchen!” Hyunjin said nervously, clapping his hands together and rubbing his smooth skin.

Minho furrowed his brows. Fake smile, anxious eyes, and fidgety hands—he wasn’t lying, Minho knew. Hyunjin have always been the better liar of the two, he wouldn’t break a sweat if he had to lie to an entire crowd about some bullshit idea. Bluffing was his thing. If he was acting like this then he was just nervous and nothing else.

Unless Minho was wrong, of course. Since this situation matters you, and Minho suspected that Hyunjin has developed an enigmatic affection towards you (one that he needs to talk to him about because oh, no, a prince with a kitchen staff? The atrocity of that was immaculate), it could be possible that Hyunjin has thrown all caution to the wind and started to lose his head a little.

How disappointing. It wasn’t like Minho was going to do anything cruel to you. Did Hyunjin actually think he’d send you to the chamber over some stupid love letter? Hurtful, atrocious, obscene. Hyunjin has no faith in his tolerance at all even after all these years of him enduring his bullshit. 

“Well, I still have to find them somehow,” Minho muttered under his breath as he dusted his hands and continued to walk forward. “I need an explanation to why they rewrote my love letter!”

“No need to do that because I wrote it! I was the one who wrote it for you!” Hyunjin quickly said, catching up with Minho. But judging by the way Minho only kept walking, he knew his hasty lies were left both unheard and revealed. 

There was a moment of silent as the two walked towards the kitchen, Minho leading at the front while Hyunjin followed closely behind. Glancing behind his shoulder, Minho found the younger prince to still be fidgeting with the hem of his clothes, his eyes nervously looking around the walls and down at the pattered carpet, and a defeated sigh escaped his lips.

He wondered if Hyunjin noticed it himself; the way he stares at you, and the way his mind get all hazy whenever your name is mentioned, and how his movements always turn so abrupt and sudden when you are within presence. Minho wondered if Hyunjin realizes how his crush on you was only progressing when he should be suppressing it.

A relationship like that wouldn’t work, a prince and a kitchen staff. 

Even if Hyunjin was willingly to give up his royal status to be with you, which was a problem of itself, you most likely wouldn’t let him do such thing. 

It’s a tie bound to break.

You dropped the vine basket on the ground, the squelching of the freshly washed laundry a sound that reminded you of the chore you were supposed to be doing. You looked down at the wet clothes you were supposed to hang on the strings tied to the wooden poles in the backyard, groaned, and sat down on the curb by the bushes.

It has been a tiring day, much more tiring than when you still had kitchen duties, where you'd be asked to anything but bake even though you were appointed as a baker. But cleaning the dishes and gathering fruits in the orchard could still, to some level, be an enjoyable task for you.

Cleaning the dishes lets you at least smell the food in the kitchen, and picking fruits gives you time to think up new recipes. You could still somehow string baking into those kitchen duties you were often asked to do. But scrubbing the royalties’ clothes using a giant tub of soapy water and having to hang them all at the backyard? Not fun at all.

It was just tiring, and it was lonely because you have zero to none maid friends who’d talk to you.

You were the first one to finish washing all the clothes. It could possibly be your carelessness in not making sure if you’ve cleaned the clothes thoroughly, but you believed it was mostly your profound desire to get the hell away from the giant tub of gossiping maids, all with their sleeves rolled up and their mouths blabbering about the latest palace gossip. 

Lord, you would actually explode if you have to hear one more person giggle about how Changbin’s arms have been looking extra muscular recently, or how Chan is apparently the hottest man they’ve encountered aside from the two princes, who they try not to speak of too much because they are totally out of their league.

It was a nightmare back there. You wanted to say so many things; if only they knew Changbin talks like a baby and throws mini tantrums when he takes care of the farm animals. If only they knew Chan… uhh, you didn’t know him well enough to find any flaws in that man so you would let that one slip, but one thing you knew for sure was that Chan was definitely not as serious as everyone portrayed him to be.

Taking a giant bite of the bread Changbin snuck out for you when you walked past the kitchen with the dirty laundries, your shoulders slumped again as you relaxed against your knees and looked ahead at the yard. It was much plainer-looking than the royal garden, understandably since the backyard was mainly used to dry food and clothes. Only the palace staffs walks around this area, the royalties usually spend their time somewhere else.

Today seemed to be an exception though. As you munched on your bread, your feet tapping against the grassy ground rhythmically, your train of thoughts was interrupted when you saw two figures approaching. Not two figures in dark, plain clothing, but two figures in clothes made out of velvet and silk.

You squinted your eyes, knowing fairly well that those two weren’t any palace staff. And judging by the way they were speeding towards your direction, and how there were two of them instead of one, the king wasn’t part of the mix. Therefore, those two would be Prince Minho and Prince Hyunjin.

Quickly taking your last bite of the bread, you wrapped the napkins around it again and dropped the remaining piece on top of the wet laundry. You stood up and dusted your clothes before looking up, all just in time to find Minho stopping before you with his brows furrowed in dismay. Standing behind him was Hyunjin, who gave you an apologetic grimace when you two caught eyes.

You pursed your lips in slight confusion, but still you politely placed your hands together and bowed. “Good morning, Your Highness–“

“You switched my letter.”

You couldn’t even begin to get mad at him for cutting you off, not that you could have ever expressed your annoyance to him anyway. The fact that Minho has found you out baffled you, and you didn’t even try to deny it because he probably already knew the truth, which would be the only reason why he searched for you out of every potential candidates.

Perhaps you should have made an even more intricate lie, but you didn’t really think of that last night, especially not with how urgent you had wanted to get rid of the envelope in your hands. Now your carelessness came back to bite you in the ass, how wonderful. 

“I did switch your letter, Your Highness,” you admitted, keeping a neutral face to hide your palpitating heart. You have never met Minho in close quarters like this before and you have no idea how unreasonable he could be with the kind of power he has, therefore you needed to make every move with the utmost caution. 

Be polite, be fragile, be agreeable. That’s the way to go. If only you took your own advice every time, though. 

Minho heaved a sigh, his hands curling into fists as a sudden rage overtook him. Why did you do that? He has never done anything to you before! “How dare you open my letter when it isn’t addressed to you!” He scolded, “Have you no manners?”

“I apologize for doing that, truly, I harbour no ill intention for doing such thing aside from my immense curiosity.” You bowed before standing back up, but you kept your head low as you waited for him to respond.

“There is no point in apologizing, you have already switched out my letter and I already gave yours to Princess Rose. Even though she loved the letter you wrote, I hated that she didn’t get to read mine,” Minho said, relaxing slightly at your timid posture. “If you weren’t trying to sabotage my plan to court Princess Rose then why did you switch out my letter?”

You licked your lower lip. Oh, you were hoping he would just give you a punishment and let the issue go. The fact that Princess Rose liked what you wrote—ha! obviously—in the love letter has probably made Minho significantly less angry than he probably would have if the letter didn’t work out in his favor. But even with his semi-reasonable state, you were unsure how you could break the truth to him.

It might be rather hurtful, especially when you heard from the maids just then how Minho has been stuck in the library flipping books and looking for references for the love letter. 

"Why did you rewrite my letter? Tell me this instant.” Minho wasn’t yelling, which made it so much more intimidating.

You huffed out a gentle sigh as you looked up. A bitter taste lingered in your mouth as you shrugged, your eyes kindly refusing to look into Minho’s while your head turned to the side slightly. 

“It’s…” you started, your voice trailing off to a hush before you continued, “Your love letter was really bad… Your Highness…”

Hyunjin, who had been listening from behind, took a step forward upon your reply. There was a smile on his face, and his eyes were sparking with amusement when he learned closer to you. He clamped a hand on Minho’s shoulder and gripped it tightly to prevent from being shoved off, then he asked, “What did you say?”

You cleared your throat and repeated, your eyes darting between Minho and Hyunjin, “I said Prince Minho’s love letter was… really… uhh… bad.”

“No way! How so?” Minho quickly asked, his voice showing a hint of childish complaint in it. His lips jutted out in a pout, showing that he was genuinely upset that you thought his letter was bad. And that was coming from someone who wrote a love letter Princess Rose really loved. “I spent so long on it, though! How is it bad? I even searched through books and looked for references!” 

Oh god, now that you thought back to it, you didn’t know where you should begin. From what you could remember, there was simultaneously not that many flaws and so many flaws in this love letter. 

Reading it was a roller-coaster ride that went straight down, a journey of you spiralling more and more into despair when you realized all the elite education Minho has received was for nothing, because the love letter he wrote was almost abominable. Unless Princess Rose’s standards were extremely low, that letter would probably not bring him to the final round of this courting race.

Looking at Minho, your brows furrowed slightly at the grim anticipation on his face. Did he really expect you to talk him through the mistakes he has made in his letter? Could he not see that you’ve got a task at hand? Just because he could hold you off from doing it doesn’t mean he has to, the consequences of wasting your time wouldn’t be for him to take.

“I would explain everything to you but I have actual chores to do, Your Highness” you said as you leaned down to pick up the vine basket, “so I apologize, but I am going to have to ask for permission to leave.”

“Woah, no way,” Minho scoffed as he held up his hand. His brows were still furrowed in disbelief, but you could sense that a part of him was also curious to why you thought the way you did about his love letter. And maybe, just maybe, deep down there was a part of him that feared his lack of writing skills. 

“I have full ability to exempt you from a day’s work, and I will do that if you agree to explain to me which part of my letter sucked.” 

You clutched the edge of your basket. Somehow your eyes flipped from looking at Minho to Hyunjin, and your chest relaxed a little when his warm gaze stared right back at you, a gentle smile spread across his face. 

He had his hand on Minho’s shoulder, gripping it tightly as if to prevent his cousin from doing anything rash. And he didn’t have to be here during this confrontation but he was, not just because he was looking for some fun on a boring afternoon but because he wanted to make sure Minho wouldn’t act out. 

Everything Hyunjin did were discreet, but he was looking out for you nonetheless.

You only gave him the faintest nod before you turned back to Minho, and you raised a brow. “Do I even have a choice, Your Highness?” 

“No,” Minho said. “But I am still going to ask you politely.”

You heaved a sigh and nodded. “Fine. But, instead of exempting me from today’s work, I would like to ask for another favor if I could, Your Highness.”

Minho frowned, finding it annoying that you were trying to bargain in a situation where you have done something wrong. “What is it?”

“Chef Park has kicked me out of the kitchen to do maid chores for a whole week under unreasonable circumstances and personal grudge,” you muttered the last part under your breath, keeping an eye-roll to yourself. “I would like you to ask him to put me back in the kitchen, without revealing that I asked you to.”

“Huh…” Minho blinked unexpectedly. He turned to share an equally confused look with Hyunjin, just now realizing that you were, indeed, not fulfilling your role as a baker but instead, was doing a maid’s job. Looking back at you, he hummed. 

Whether there was a serious reason why you were kicked out, one he couldn’t fathom with the delicious cream puffs you made yesterday, he didn’t care. His love letter problem was infinitely more important right now.

“I will do that.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” you said, bowing with a bright smile hidden in your action. When you looked back up, your expression bounced back to a neutral politeness, and you sighed. “It won’t take all day, there isn’t too much explaining to do, really.”

Minho frowned. He did not believe you. You wouldn’t have changed the entire letter for him if there really wasn’t much problems to explain, there were obviously a lot of things wrong for you to go to such drastic length to re-write it for him.

And boy, he was determined to find out what went wrong.

You brought the two princes into the palace, entering through the main gate instead of the mini door at the side where the palace servants usually go in and out through. 

The palace was separated into two parts, one much larger than the other, with the larger part being the grounds that the royalties mostly stayed on. The smaller part of the palace was located at the back corner of the structure, housing the bedrooms and bathrooms for the lower palace servants who were unable to leave home for the night. 

There were several doors leading into the that particular part of the palace, and they were all built in remote corners that only the servants could navigate to. You were unsure if any royalties have ever accidentally stumbled upon one of those little doors that cut down the red carpets laid out on the floor, but you were certain that none of them has ever tried to look for nor enter those doors. 

Minho has lived under this roof ever since he was born. He thought his younger self had roamed through all the secret passageways there were in his home, but he has never once arrived at this corner of the palace where you just led him to. 

It was all paintings and flower vases one second, then as you turned a sharp corner, suddenly the walls became dull and the floor boards turned up with wooden scratch marks. It felt like a foreign place to him. The way the palace was structured really made it feel as if the dorm wing didn’t exist, and it didn’t exist to him until just now.

You pushed open the wooden door and revealed a long hallway of closed doors. There were tiny torch holders lining up between each door, empty and waiting for the night’s arrival. Minho and Hyunjin shared a curious look with each other, both have never been around his part of the palace before, and together they followed you down the path. 

They have never noticed how loud their footsteps were before. For so long, the noises they make were drowned out by thick carpets and vibrant grass fields; the sudden loud clicking of their heels were making them feel rather self-conscious, especially when you were walking with such silent grace. Even with a full basket of heavy laundry in your hands, you made no sound as you walked.

 “Where are we, exactly?” Minho raised the question as he caught up to walk next to you.

Your steps didn’t halt when you replied, his question not at all surprising to you, “The dorms, these are all our rooms. The staffs who can’t leave for home because it’s too far away stays in the palace.”

“Oh…I should have figured…” Minho muttered under his breath, looking around at the small doors you three walked past. Then he looked back at you, his brows raised. “Why are we here?”

You came to a stop then, spinning on your heels so you faced the door. Pressing the vine basket against the side of your waist, you removed a hand from the edge of the basket and reached for the rusty doorknob. A loud squeak sounded through the hall when you pushed the door open, the weight of it heavy against the wooden floor.

Hyunjin poked his head over Minho’s shoulder so he could take a better look inside the room. He couldn’t get a full view of it yet, but he could see the dust lining up the window pane where the sunlight shone in, illuminating most of the plain room.

“I just need to fetch the letter you wrote, I have kept it with me since yesterday,” you explained as you dropped the basket by the door. “We can talk in my room, but I doubt you would want to be in here so we can find a place of your liking, Your Highness.”

Hyunjin got even more curious then. This was your room, this was where you sleep every night and wake up every morning. Somehow he wanted to know what it looked like, to go more in-depth instead of only looking at the windows staring back at him from across the wall. Would he be able to certain tell-tales about you? Perhaps your clothes, or the blanket you use to keep yourself warm at night? 

Even though he knew he couldn’t expect to see anything extravagant in a servant’s room, he wanted to walk inside anyway. 

“No, we can talk here. This is fine,” Hyunjin said as he waltzed right inside without further warning. And when he turned around to look behind his shoulders, he threw a small glare at Minho and said, “Right? We can talk here.”

Not quite understanding what he was trying to do, but also not having any preference over where he could get his writing skills criticized, Minho gave a shrug and walked inside the room as well. And just as Hyunjin was doing, his eyes started to scan the insides once he got more access to it. 

There was a single bed sitting on the far corner, sticking to the wall. A small table with two big drawers was placed near the bed with a candle holder being the only thing sitting on top. And that seemed to be all there was to that side of the room. Turning to the other side, there was only a closet and a chair right next to it. 

The room was small, but it was spacious because of the lack of furniture placed. It was much better than what the two of them have expected for a servants’ room. 

“Woah, this room is bigger than I thought it would be,” Hyunjin commented as he turned to you, watching you fish something out of your closet drawer.

“Yes, that should be the case since I share this room with someone else, Your Highness,” you mused as you closed the drawer before standing back up straight and looking at him, the piece of letter clipped between your fingers. Seeing Hyunjin’s raised brows, you gave him a faint laugh. “It would probably be quite a disaster if I have to share an even smaller room with Felix.”

Minho hummed, both in acknowledgement and amusement as he watched Hyunjin tense up next to him. Hyunjin gulped down a knot of dismay, repeating the boyish name under his breath as his eyes shone lightly with a burning heat. 

Oh, there must be a lot of question popping into his head at the moment, the word sharing a room and the name Felix not colliding very well for the sake of Hyunjin’s poor, young heart. They have both met the young fellow before due to him being a close acquaintance of Chan, and Felix was undeniably a very charming boy whose only downside seemed to be that he’s a poor servant of the palace.

“Oh–oh, so you share a room with Felix, huh?” Hyunjin laughed out awkwardly, his eyes squinting as they darted towards the single bed. His brows twitched, wondering if you had been laying in bed with Felix this entire time. Platonically or romantically, either way he couldn’t bring himself to show enthusiasm over it. 

“But… uhh, but there is only one bed?”

“Yeah, there is.” You nodded innocently, your eyes gazing at the messy bed with a grimace. Felix didn’t make the bed again, for the third time this week. You reckoned he must have a lot of work to do. 

Hyunjin laughed again, his voice forced and fake. You were far too casual about it than he wanted. Perhaps he was overreacting? You could possibly be taking turns on the bed instead of snuggling up to each other as he dreaded. 

When he asked the next question, his voice was squeaky in a way that made Minho snort from behind. “Do–umm, do you guys share the bed or something…?” 

You blinked at him, bewildered. You have never thought of that before. Ever since you moved into the bedroom with Felix, he had insisted on letting you sleep on it while he would wrap himself up with the extra blanket and pillow on the floor. But sooner, when you realized the heavy workload Felix had to endure during the day, you proposed the system of taking turns.

It took you a lot of convincing, and a night of you stubbornly staying on the floor, for him to finally agree with the system. He was so persistent on letting you use the bed, his kindness so overwhelming that even if his back was aching from the work, he’d still choose to sleep on the cold, hard floor.

“No, we don’t share the same bed,” you said, shaking your head before you raised a finger at the ceiling, “but that is an interesting approach, Your Highness. Not only can we both sleep on a mattress, we can also huddle for more warmth.”

No, no, no. Hyunjin did not mean to suggest that! He did not mean to suggest using cuddling with Felix as a solution to your problem.

“Surely, Felix wouldn’t mind if I ask.” You smiled, snapping your fingers. “I shall heed your advice, Prince Hyunjin!”

No, don’t listen to him! Oh my lord, what has he done? If you weren’t sleeping with another before then you certainly would now, and within Hyunjin’s striking imagination, the only thing that could happen with you cuddling Felix would be you falling in love with him. 

And since you often spend more time with Felix than you do with him, there would be virtually no way for him to ever try to gain your affection back!

“Well, I mean–wouldn’t that… wouldn’t that be a little awkward?” Hyunjin huffed out, “Surely, laying with another in bed, even through friendly means, is pretty intimate, don’t you agree?”

“That is true.” You hummed in thought, nodding your head in agreement before you suddenly bursted into a fit of giggles. “Oh, but Felix is quite a dreamy boy–not as much as you, of course. But I reckon I would not mind it that much if I have to lay in the same bed as him, Your Highness.” 

Oh heavens, how could he have done this to himself. Why couldn’t he simply shut up and let the envy dwell in his heart. This was a new level of self-sabotaging, even the devils would need a crash course from him. 

“Well, I–“

“Hyunjin!” Minho cut the boy off with a loud slap to his shoulder. He came up from behind, prompting Hyunjin to face him before he threw the younger prince a strong glare. 

It has been fun watching Hyunjin mess his non-existent romantic life up, it was probably the most entertaining thing he has seen all week aside from his encounter with Princess Rose, but for the sake of not letting Hyunjin embarrass himself even more, Minho had chosen to lend a helping hand. 

Besides, he wasn’t here to talk about you and your sleeping habit.

Looking back at you, Minho exhaled through his nose and his eyes froze at the letter in your hand for a moment. Then his gaze went dark, the previous anger he felt resurfacing at the reminder that you switched out his letter. 

Crossing his arms, he shifted his weight to stand taller, and he spoke, “Well, about the letter?” 

“Right, I have it here,” you said, waving it in the air. 

Minho quirked his lip for a brief moment. He wanted to snatch it away from your hands, he wanted to read it for himself and see exactly which part of the letter was bad. He swore the way he remembered it was that he had felt very proud of himself when he wrote the letter, and he was truly beyond the moon when he finished it. How could it have been bad if he loved it so much?

You gave a a scan once more, refreshing your memories of all the thoughts you had when you first read it, so you could better explain it to him where he went wrong. A few seconds passed and you finally looked back up at the princes, one looking sulky while the other annoyed, and you couldn’t help but heave a sigh at how your day has come to this weird moment.

All you wanted to do was eat some bread before lunch time. You should have headed to your spot and started clipping up the laundry instead, at least you’d look busy then. 

“Here, you should have it back, Your Highness,” you said as he handed Minho the piece of paper.  After he took it gently out of your hands, you looked back up at him and said. “And I shall tell you what went wrong.”

The hard part, right.

You didn’t know where you should begin explaining it to him. On a level, he didn’t make too many mistakes. His mistake was collective, it was one mistake he repeatedly made instead of several mistakes he made once each. But that collective mistake was able to render the love letter a shallow piece of art that held almost no significance to a lover.

“Your Highness… a love letter…” you began, your thoughts cogged up in your head and you were trying very hard to find the root of everything you wanted to say to him. You licked your lower lip, your hands flying up to your chest so you could do gestures along the way. “Your love letter isn’t bad in a sense that your writing was terrible, it is bad because it read as a shallow comparison.”

The letter had consisted of Minho comparing Princess Rose to an array of things. Starting with her hair, to her eyes, to her lips, then her overall demeanour. But that was all there was to the letter, just him making drastic comparison that amounted to nothing much but a compilation of pretty objects being put together in a single passage.

“There isn’t anything wrong with the way you chose to write the letter, but there is something wrong with the way you decided that all you needed to do was create comparison,” you said. “A love letter is not a school assignment to test how many vocabularies you know, or to test how good you are at creating similes, Your Highness.”

Minho took in your words intently, his mind processing each words and the connotation behind them with utmost concentration. You made sense to him, everything that you said made sense and did not seem like you were simply trying to make up something to scold him for. He did make a lot of comparison in the letter, but he didn’t realize how that could be bad until you told him just now.

Clutching the paper in his hand, he clicked his tongue and glared down at it. But why was it bad to create a metaphor? To write down some type of simile? What was so bad about comparing your lover’s hair to the softness of silk, or comparing your lover’s laugh to the heaven’s choir?

“So are you saying similes are inherently bad and I should never use it in a love letter?” He asked, genuinely confused.

You sucked in a breath, shaking your head as your eyes squinted in thoughts. “No, I am not saying that.” 

“Do you care to elaborate?”

“I was going to–Your Highness…” your voice trailed off quickly when you realized your sudden outburst, but as you eyed up at Minho, it didn’t look like he noticed the disrespectful tone in your voice. He was far too focused on the question at hand, and a part of you admired him for his willingness to take criticism. 

“When you write a love letter using comparisons like that, you have to…” you hummed, licking your lower lip as your hand bounced in the air, your thumb and index finger pinched together. 

“Similes are… they are completely fine to use. In fact, I used a few in the letter I wrote as well. But that is where the problem lies, Your Highness. You see, anybody can write a good comparison if they just slap a bunch of pretty words together.”

Words like soft, tender, gentle, galaxy, ethereal—language does not lack pretty words like those, and they can be as deceiving as they are romantic. Anybody can use it, anybody can say it. And sometimes when things are repeatedly being used, they lose their significance unless one puts their own spin into it. 

“What you really need in a love letter is sentiment! You need something to tie your comparison back to what you feel for the person you are writing to,” you explained, holding your hands out before your chest as if you were holding a heart. “Recall how I described Princess Rose’s eyes. I did not simply compare it to the blues of the ocean, I also mentioned how its depth is the way I wanted to unravel her heart.”

Hyunjin’s mouth hung open slightly as his head cranked upward in a slow realization. He wasn’t able to follow with your conversation, but when you started to explain the elements of a love letter, he reckoned he didn’t need to read Minho’s letter to understand what you were trying to convey. 

He understood it, seemingly better than Minho could since Minho still had a rather uncertain expression on his face. Marching forward, he placed his hand behind his back and spoke to break the thoughtful silence, “I get it! When you compared Princess Rose to the ocean, you are also comparing your desire to understand her as deep as the ocean goes!”

“Absolutely correct, Your Highness!” You clapped your hands together and grinned at him, your eyes glimmering with approval that Hyunjin felt a startling tug at his chest. He was smiling secretly to himself then but you couldn’t notice as you turned to Minho, raising a brow as if to ask him if he needed more clarification.

Minho looked at you, his brows still knitted together but it wasn’t due to hatred but more so confusion this time. He tilted his head, his fingers automatically clutching the letter he almost forgot his has in his hands. Then he started to mutter words under his breath, inaudible words you assumed were just him repeating the points you’ve made.

“Okay… what are you saying is…” he gulped, his eyes rolling away to avoid the faint intimidation of your gaze. “I should link everything back to how I feel about Rosie?”

“Yes, Your Highness, that is all,” you said, giving him a firm nod. “When you make a comparison, you want it to stand out among others. It has to mean something to you before it can be considered valuable, or else it is just a jumble of pretty words you can find in a book.”

“And that would be very shallow, Minho,” Hyunjin added, giving Minho’s back an encouraging slap. 

Instead of answering, Minho had his letter brought up to his face and his eyes were reading every single line of it. Your explanation, plus Hyunjin’s added example, finally solved the puzzle for him. He was able to grasp the key of sentimentality as of now, an important element he didn’t know a love letter should own. 

The only problem lies in whether or not he could successfully utilize the advice. 

“Oh… I should rewrite this letter and send it to Princess Rose,” Minho said to himself after he finished re-reading it. He folded it carefully and slipped it inside his pants pocket, making sure he shoved it deep enough that it wouldn’t fall outside this time. 

His eyes searched the ground before they looked up at you. He wouldn’t admit that to your face, but you truly helped him big time. Although he was still upset that you had switched his letter out and read through the monstrosity he wrote, he was glad you made the decision not to let him embarrass himself in front of Princess Rose.

With an awkward hand gesture, something akin to a wave but not nearly visible enough to be one, he said, “Thank you for your help.”

“No problem. I wish you all the best in your writing process, Your Highness,” you bowed at him, “If I am not of need anymore, I shall take my leave.”

You stepped away from the princes and headed to the door. You picked up the laundry basket again, the fabrics inside stopped dripping water through the twisted vines. You looped the handle over your forearm and twisted the knob, opening the door in preparation the leave. But before you could take a step, a voice halted you.

You pursed your lips together in annoyance. Whatever was he going to ask? You thought he understood everything already! There was joy in seeing how passionately Minho loved Princess Rose and how much he really wanted to write a good love letter to her, but this was taking up your work time and you haven’t gotten through even one of your laundry basket yet.

Putting on a faint smile, you turned around and asked, “Yes, Your Highness?”

“Would you share with me what you wrote in your letter? I want to use it as reference, to set an example!” Minho asked, his eyes widened in screams of silent pleads. 

You heaved a sigh, your chest rising and falling visibly as you turned around slightly to face him. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but that I cannot do,” you said. “If I tell you, you will be compelled to copy it. The love letter needs to come from you, Your Highness. Your love should be without outside influence.”

You took your leave much quicker this time around, not hoping to give any of the princes a chance to stop you once more. If they do, you were seriously going to have to ask them for one more favor and exempt you from today’s tasks as a maid. You left the two princes in your room, one bewildered while the other in deep thoughts. 

Hyunjin was surprised to find you to have such a romantic mind. The mere fact that you seemed to have such profound opinions in regards to love and intimacy made him fall for you even more than he was already falling. And your perception of love was something he desperately wanted to find out, to go in-depth about and to understand. 

Maybe you two would have something in common, or maybe your ideas could rival that of his own. All Hyunjin wanted to do was venture inside your head and understand you from inside out. He always knew he was going to be in love with your mind and today just proved him to be absolutely right. 

He wondered if he would have been able to write a good love letter on your standard. It should not be hard to create comparisons of you, he could think of countless things right off the top of his head. But the feelings… it might be hard to express himself through words simply because of how strongly he felt for you. 

Snapping himself out of his thoughts, Hyunjin took a look around the room and his eyes landed back on the single bed in the corner. He frowned then, his affection immediately being replaced with envy and defeat as he recalled your plan to ask Felix about sleeping together. 

God, that couldn’t happen, not on his watch at least.

“Minho–“

“Yeah I know,” Minho cut him off with a dismissive wave. 

He saw the way Hyunjin was glaring at the bed. Linking the previous panic Hyunjin had with you wanting to ask Felix about his suggestion, and the fact that Hyunjin got all fussy over Minho being angry at you, it was a no brainer that Hyunjin wanted to ask if there was anything that could be done about the lack of proper beds in this room. 

But he wasn’t in the mood to discuss that. The only thing occupying his mind was your lecture, and he kept repeating it in his head so he couldn’t forget what you told him. Sentiment, feelings, love—include those things and don’t be bland, don’t be shallow. 

“You know…?” Hyunjin muttered under his breath as he caught up with Minho, who had already left the room and started to walk back from where he came from. Judging by his quick steps, there were a lot of concerns popping into his head and Minho was racing to solve them all at once. “Are you okay?”

“You wanted to ask about the bed, right?” Minho pointed out suddenly, not stopping in his tracks as he continued to walk forward. “I can do something about that, but under one condition.”

“What?” Hyunjin asked quickly then, leaning in close an anticipation. It was anything to put a pause to your potential romantic life that involved him as the side character. 

“Write the love letter with me.” 

After finishing up with the wet laundries, you went ahead to take off the already dried off ones from a few days ago and headed back into the palace. You spent most of your day changing out mattresses and blankets, going from one empty room to another so you could make sure the palace stayed clean and golden. 

Nobody ever uses those rooms, though? At last not within your knowledge! They were mere guest rooms but there has never been any guest who would come by and stay the night, all aside from Hyunjin, and he only occupies one of the many guest rooms in this palace. You genuinely believed there was no point in cleaning them, it wasn’t like the neighbouring duke would pay the kingdom a surprise visit.

When you were finally done with you last guest room, the night has already descended upon the sky and dinner time has long passed. Walking along the hallway where the curtains were already drawn to seal the night, your stomach grumbled as did your throat, and you scurried out to the backyard where you returned the vine basket before heading straight into the kitchen in hopes to find some leftover food to eat.

You turned on the kitchen lights after pushing open the door, your hand patting along the wall to find the small button switch. The light flickered for a moment before it settled and illuminated a small portion of the kitchen. You eyes scanned the empty space, finding the silence welcomed but lonely. 

Everyone has probably gone to their room by now. It has been quite a long day due to a lady’s surprise visit (oh, so you have jinxed it). While she didn’t choose to stay for the night, the kitchen staff did need to replan their dinner and cook up something special for the queen’s friend. It all happened within a close timeframe, you heard, which was why you assumed everyone must be burned out after today.

Turning to the main kitchen area, your eyes didn’t notice the body hunched over the kitchen counter until you specifically turned towards the direction. A short squeal escaped your lips when you jumped, your hands flying up to your chest at the sudden impact. You had not expected anybody to still be in the kitchen, let alone an empty and dark one.

It took you a while to recognize the person, but seeing the bulging arms sticking out of the short-sleeved shirt and reliable back that breathed softly in his slumber, you could safely conclude that the person was Changbin. You frowned upon the realization, confused as to why he hasn’t returned to his room yet. If you had to guess, it would be him getting cleaning duties and falling asleep half-way.

But that wouldn’t explain the turned-off lights, unless the rumor about the castle ghost was real, which you heavily doubted.

Moving closer to his side, you faced his back and gave his shoulder a light poke. “Changbin!” You hissed, in a voice so low it wouldn’t wake anybody up in a crisis. When you received no response from him, you continued to poke his shoulder and call out his name, until you got fed up at your stupid method not working and you finally hollered his name out loud.

Changbin snapped his eyes open at the call, his body sitting upright immediately and his back tensing up with alertness. Panic grumbles left his mouth as he looked around the kitchen for expected danger, and when he did a double take on you, he paused quickly and finally relaxed. His shoulders slumped and he pursed his lips together, giving you a soft glare.

You shrugged, sheepishly smiling at him as you waved. “Good evening…?”

“Yes, good evening. Glad to see you’re finally done with the laundry,” he said, sliding off the stool and heading over to the stock shelves at the wall. “Sit down, I’ll cook you something to eat. You gotta be hungry, you haven’t eaten anything since this afternoon.”

He grabbed a two eggs in one hand, holding onto them tightly, then he reached over to the sink counter for a clean bowl before dropping the eggs inside. Putting the bowl next to the stove before looking up to check on you, he found you standing rigidly on your spot, unmoving and just staring at him. 

Your eyes were unreadable, much to his surprise. They were always so expressive.

“Are you okay, kid?” He asked then, his voice trailing slowly in a questioning tone. “I’m cooking you egg friend rice, do you not like that or?”

Your eyes traveled past his hands to his face, and you pursed your lips. It was a rare sentiment that suddenly overwhelmed you; nobody has specifically cooked a meal for you in a long time, the last time somebody did that was your mother, but you haven’t been able to see her ever since you moved to the palace. After that, you have only been eating the leftover portion of meals that weren’t sent off to the royalties or were made extra for everybody.

A personal meal. Something about that made your skin prick. It could very likely be that you missed your mom, but a part of you knew it was because you hadn’t expect Changbin to do this. He wasn’t obligated to take care of you like this, to stay up late and make you food, possibly even deal with the dishes when you’re finished and send you off to your room before he’d go back to his own.

“Aren’t you tired?” You asked, frowning at him despite not intending to. 

Changbin huffed out a low chuckle as he poured some rice into a bowl before proceeding to wash it by the sink. “Yeah, today was pretty exhausting,” he said.” But what then? Am I supposed to just not cook you dinner?” 

You pulled at your fingers, unsure what else to say besides words of gratitude that you were never skilled at expressing, so you didn’t say anything. You shrugged and approached the stool he previous sat on. You got on top, your feet perched on the handle and your shoulders hunched as you waited for him to finish cooking you your dinner.

“So do you plan to tell me what happened today?” He asked as he brought the washed bowl of rice over to the stove. 

Without removing his eyes from you, his hand moved to turn the stove on and poured the ingredients he prepared in top. The loud sizzle interrupted your train of thoughts and you tilted your head at him with confusion evident in the widening of your eyes, leaning forward slightly so you could talk to him through the noise.

“What happened today?” You asked.

“Felix came by and told me there is a new bed in your room,” Changbin said, laughing slightly. “According to him, it is said that Prince Minho requested the bed for you too, so what did you do that peaked his interest?”

The pleasant surprise startled you. Your jaw dropped slightly and a breathy laugh escaped your mouth in response to his words. You had almost forgotten about the encounter you had with the two princes today, even the fact that you had asked Minho to get you out of maid duty and back into the kitchen flew from your mind because of how busy you had been trying to tug in the four corners of a bed sheet. 

Your brows furrowed in thoughts then, a soft hum sounding at the back of your throat as you recalled the afternoon in your dusty little room. It couldn’t have been Minho who requested an extra bed for you, could it? 

From what you remembered, Hyunjin was the one who reacted strongly to you and Felix only having one bed in your shared room. Besides, Minho already agreed to helping you with chef Park’s problem, he wouldn’t do more than what he was asked for. He didn’t have to. 

If anyone was going to show you such generosity, it should be Hyunjin. 

You tilted your head to the side, your eyes swirling with perplexity. 

But he did suggest the idea of you and Felix sleeping on one bed. Perhaps he suddenly decided it wouldn’t be a good idea? And since he doesn’t have as much authority over how this palace wants to treat its servants, he asked Minho to be his spokesperson? Or you could be overanalyzing this; could you not humor the idea that the prince has decided to do two good deeds today?

Changbin was done pouring the egg fried rice into a bowl by the time you were almost done contemplating the true motif behind the extra bed. You were deep in your little world, your chin perched up on the heel of your palm and your eyes glaring at the table like you just stubbed your toe with it. He laughed to himself, wondering why a simple question required such serious thinking as he put the bowl in front of you.

“Hey!” He hushed as he tapped your nose with the hand tip of the spoon. When your eyes finally focused at him, he flashed you an amused smile. “What did you do, kid? You didn’t offend the prince, did you?” 

You glared at him as he gestured towards the fried rice before you. Taking the spoon from his hand, you shook your head and stabbed the utensil in the food, mixing it around before shoving a spoonful in your mouth. It was then when you decided to respond to him, “Why would he send me an extra bed if I offended him, Changbin?”

“Hey, I’m just asking!” He flicked your forehead after washing his hands at the sink. “And please, heavens, [Name], eat with your mouth closed.”

The droplets flickered down your faced and you wiped them away with your hand, continuing to eat without muttering another word. Just as Changbin suspected, you were extremely hungry, and watching you stuff too much food in your cheeks was the only joy he experienced today. 

He pulled out a stool from underneath the counter and sat down. His heart was clenching at the sight of you, eating freely with rice stuck to the corner of your mouth and spoon shamelessly clanking against the bowl. And he couldn’t tell if he was more remorseful or glad that he was able to be given a second chance as such. 

Changbin has never told you his past before and he probably wouldn’t be able to tell you for sometime. He wondered how you would react to it. He wondered how you would react to him having a child outside the palace, one he wasn’t allowed to see because he chose the palace life instead of his past lover. 

He regretted his choice, but back then choosing to work in a palace is a much reliable and stable job than anything else in his little town. He was young back then and it didn’t occur to him that there were other options open. The castle was the way for him and he just left.

Now his lover has moved on, his child has never met him before, and he has lost his title as a dad. 

A father, yes, but certainly not a dad. 

He was afraid you would realize how much he was projecting his guilt and reminiscence on you. Ever since you first got introduced to him, your childish and bratty antics kept growing on him until he found out how he was getting a taste of how it would be like to take care of a kid he never got to raise. 

He hasn’t really stopped treating you like kin since then, even though he knew you’re not his child. 

It was a battle with himself. For once, he couldn’t accurately guess how you would react to something, and he was scared that you could possibly be repulsed by it, so he kept putting off explaining whenever your curiosity strikes and you ask about his past. But he hoped he’d be able to come forth one day, and properly thank the lord for bringing you to him because he couldn’t imagine how much he’d still dwell in his past.

“Changbin! Stop being weird!” You finally yelled, kicking him under the table as you glared at him in mild concern. He had been staring at you eat, so intently you almost thought he was looking at the castle ghost behind you. “What the hell are you looking at? The air?”

“I was just thinking about something,” he responded in disbelief, surprised at your sudden toe. “Am I not allowed to think anymore?”

“I didn’t say that, you did,” you said, pointing at him with the spoon before bringing it to your bowl and scooping up a spoonful of rice. You stuffed it in your mouth before speaking, his previous scolding completely leaving your brain. “What are you thinking about?”

“How disgusting it is to speak with a mouthful of food.” Changbin smiled pointedly at you, causing you to groan out in annoyance. 

And, like he suspected, your spiteful-self immediately started to shove your cheeks full of rice before you started rambling nonsense. He could barely understand your words, your voice completely muffled by the food in your cheeks and with your trying to speak without spilling anything. You looked goofy and ugly, and he could go on. 

Your rebellious act came to a quick halt when a piece of rice rolled down your throat unexpectedly. You choked, feeling an itch in your throat that prompted you to cough like you were on your death bed. 

Changbin burst into laughter as he watched your face go red. In the midst of you hitting your chest repeatedly, he asked, “Do you want some water?”

You threw the spoon at him, in which he blocked with one arm held up to his face. His laughter only increased while your coughs slowed down to a gentle trail, and he got off the stool so he could pour you a small cup of water. You quickly snatched the cup away from him, dunking down the liquid and sighing dramatically when you were finished.

You slammed the cup down on the table then, your head turning sharply to him as your eyes glazed over with an irritated burn. “I could have died.”

“But you didn’t.” Changbin shrugged. “I told you to eat with your mouth closed.”

“There is no correlation to me choking on food and me eating with my mouth closed,” you retorted as you jumped off the chair and went to grab yourself an extra spoon. “I can still choke on food even if I’m eating properly.”

“Really? Care to show me?”

You dropped the spoon in the bowl and smiled up at him. “I’m going to kill you.”

“You can do that after you finish the food,” he said, pointing at your bowl. “Come on, it shouldn’t be taking you this long to finish eating a small bowl of fried rice.”

“If you wanna go sleep, you can just leave,” you mentioned, giving him a light-hearted shrug to further prove the point that you didn’t really care much for company at the moment.

“And have you use it against me later? No thanks, you’re gonna say I left you alone in the kitchen or something,” he grumbled, leaning his head against his hand and scoffing.

You didn’t say anything this time as you’ve got food in your mouth, and you’d rather not repeat that embarrassing, hazardous incident once more. But you did roll your eyes at him, indirectly telling Changbin that he was being dramatic and that you would never do such a terrible thing.

(Except you would, and he knew that you would.)

The kitchen was rendered silent again. The only sound resonating across each corner was the faint noise of your teeth clicking against the wooden spoon and your occasional chewing noise. Changbin looked at you again, his gentle eyes grazing past your cheeks and your small hands. His mind flew back to his home, but he doesn’t really see the faces he used to see anymore. 

Like kin, even though he knew you’re not his child–

He felt fine staying in the palace. And he was fine with taking care of you here.

–well, you were damn well the closest thing he has to one. 

Chan could see you racing towards him from faraway. Trailing slowly behind you was Changbin, his hands holding onto two filled water buckets. 

He kept his eyes on the mailman despite your speedy approach, his polite smile never fading as he patiently waited for the old man to take out all the letters—the ones addressed to the palace from the citizens—from his big, dirty pouch bag. He was the third of the many town mailman that would come by today with complaints or family letters, and Chan could recognize him well to the the mailman from your town.

He sure hoped there was something of your interest in that god forsaken bag today. More specially a family letter, one which you have been waiting for since the past two months.

“That is all for today. There is quite a lot to go through, I’m afraid.” The mailman’s hoarse voice gave Chan a gentle stung, it reminded him of his old man back home who had passed away without a last goodbye. He didn’t even realize the weight on his hands until he looked down to find his once empty basket to now be filled with envelopes. 

“Thankfully, I only sort the letters,” Chan joked lightheartedly as he bowed to the mailman. “Court business is completely out of my field of specialty.”

“Well then, my regards to the crown prince,” the mailman said, dipping his hat with an old and trembling hand. “He is going to have to deal with an entire kingdom soon, and I sure do hope he will become a good king.”

Chan only flashed the mailman a purse-lipped smile. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to insinuate, and he had not the faintest idea whether the king and the palace council were doing a splendid job in running the kingdom. While they seemed to be satisfying the rich and the royal, he could not tell if they were also minding to the average and the poor.

He was only a butler. He has lived in the palace and enjoyed as much luxury his job status could give him for a long while. Whatever goes on outside the palace life, he wouldn’t know and neither would have the time to sit down and chat about it.

“I shall see you next week again, sir,” he replied with a polite bow. “Thank you for your delivery, once again.”

“Of course,” the mailman said, a hint of laughter evident in his voice. “There isn’t much clumsy old me can do but send some letters these days. Gives me something to do after my wife passed away, and I like seeing you kids run around working sometimes.”

Chan wasn’t sure how to answer that, so he smiled and he waited for the mailman to take his leave. He listened for the creaking of the folding step, the gentle whipping of a horse’s back, and finally the stuttering movement of those round wheels bringing the mailman back on its path to the palace gate. 

His eyes trailed after the envelopes in the basket; another batch he has to go through so he could separate the complaint letters from the family mails sent to the staffs (royal letters are sent by designated palace messengers, not mailmen). The silver seals all sat prettily, some unevenly, on top of the white papers, and Chan could not help but admire them for a while.

That was, until your loud voice rang through his ears.

“Chan! Chan! Bang Chan!”

You bratty kid, why were you calling him by his full name again?

Calculating his timing just right, the second he stood up from his bowing position, he stretched his arm out before his chest and turned to the side. Your springing legs were forced to a quick stop as his the heel of his palm met your forehead, and you stumbled back when he lightly shoved at your head for you to back off.

“[Name], what did I say about addressing me by my full name?” He asked, exhausted from all the nagging you never listened to. “And you have to yell it this time? What if the king hears it? Do you understand how awkward it would be for me to have to explain the commotion to him?”

You rolled your eyes, annoyed and completely uninterested in what he has to lecture you about palace manners. Changbin has done a great deal of that already, not that any of his warnings has helped in any way. “Oh, whatever, the king is old! He’s probably going deaf at this point!”

“[Name]!”

“No point talking to them, Chan. This kid never listens.” Changbin’s gruff voice appeared from behind you. He set down his water buckets, the ones the maid asked him to fill up using the water pump from outside the front yard, and he quickly whacked you across the head. 

Ignoring your whines of curses, he looked at Chan dead in the eye then, something of a veteran father whose dealt with his child’s antics for too long and has become immune to them. “You gotta smack them.” 

Chan widened his eyes. You seemed more agitated than before, your eyes glaring daggers and impossible profanity spilling out of your lips like a mantra. He met eyes with Changbin, who ignored you completely with a smile. The disbelief in Chan’s eyes almost made him laugh; Chan has only ever met you under the warm and comfortable atmosphere of the palace, of course he wouldn’t expect you to be such a vulgar child.

“For the record, I didn’t teach them this,” Changbin mentioned as he pointed at you, and you smacked his hand away with an annoyed groan. “Weeks of scraping cow shit at the barn taught them this, which, for the record–“ he turned to look at you before shifting his attention back to Chan,“–you should probably keep chef Park in check.”

Chan raised a brow, curious to the reason why Changbin felt the need to lower his voice, and to why he was asked to keep an eye out of chef Park. He knew almost every staff working in the palace; perhaps not in detail for every single one of them, but he remembered their names and their families. Chef Park has never come across as trouble to him before, he wondered why.

“I will,” he said dubiously, but he kept the thought in mind.

“Good.” Changbin flashed him a nod, and then he sighed. He reached down to lift up the water buckets again, a huff leaving his lips. “I’m gonna head back and hand these to the maids. I’ll meet you back in the kitchen, okay?”

You gave him a brief nod and an annoyed grumble, still quite mad that he decided to smack you across the head. Changbin scoffed out a faint smile before he turned away, leaving you to talk to Chan about what you needed to ask him for. Chan spared a short glance at Changbin’s back before he turned his attention back to you, his brows furrowing.

“Where did you two come from?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

You shrugged. “Outside the palace gate where the water pumps are.”

“And that’s a two person job?” 

“Well, it… was…” you sheepishly twisted your feet against the ground, your fingers finding each other before your abdomen. A childish smile slowly graced your face and you looked to Chan hesitantly. “But then I got tired holding the bucket so–“

“You made Changbin hold them for you,” Chan muttered with a deadpan manner. 

“Technically speaking, I didn’t make him do it,” you defended confidently, speaking in a factual tone. “I kept whining about how much my arms were hurting and then he decided to take my bucket to shut me up.”

He sighed then, his eyes rolling to the side as his head shook. Not in disbelief, that was something Changbin would totally do for you. It was in defeat in the wake that there was probably no winning for him in any sorts of situation. 

“He should have smacked your head and told you to carry it yourself,” Chan commented. 

“This is why I don’t like you that much,” you confessed, both honestly and as a joke.

“Oh sure, you don’t,” he announced to himself, his voice holding a hint of magnificence in them as if he was mocking his opponent in an argument. Shaking the basket in his hands, Chan glanced down at it with a smile before he looked back up at you. “I guess none of these letters are of any importance to you as well?”

“Hey, I didn’t say that!” You exclaimed as you leaned down to push at the edge of the basket until it hit the floor. Standing back up straight, you gave Chan a faint smile before you said, “I just want to see if my mom sent me a letter, since she hasn’t sent one in a long time.”

Chan hummed in thought, his eyes rolling skyward as he recalled the past months. He did remember handing you letters from your parents for a time period. It started with thick envelopes that would be delivered weekly, then as time passed by the letters became thinner with more time spaced out in between each reply. He couldn’t remember when you stopped receiving them, but he knew at some point, the reply stopped.

“I mean, I guess it was kind of my fault for not writing to my mom for almost a whole month once,” you mumbled to yourself, rubbing your hands together. “But that was a busy month for us. You would remember, right, when the duchess came to visit and we had a royal ball!”

That was the first time you were given the opportunity to make a plate of dessert on your own. Chef Park probably hated the idea of letting you in charge of a full plate of dessert, but the kitchen had needed to prepare a long table full of snacks for the ball, and there had not been enough pastry chefs to go around.

You had been instructed to make some sugary cookies for the ball, but with you being you, instead of making a boring plate of common dessert, you have decided to make honey jasmine macaroons instead. Not that sugary cookies are bad, but you would much love to bake something that could match the bubbly, extravagant atmosphere of a royal ball. 

Long story short, your plate of macaroons was licked clean by the guests, but chef Park hadn’t factored that into consideration and simply scolded you for disobeying him. Sometimes you would like to think that he was simply being envious of your ability, hence the reason why he didn’t tell anybody about the people liking your macaroons.

After that day, you haven’t been able to bake for the royals on your own until the rosewater cream puffs.

“Oh, yeah, I do remember,” Chan said, nodding. “Did you stop writing to your mother after that?”

“Well, I stopped writing during the time the duchess was living here,” you replied, calculating the timeline in your head. “But after that month, it took me longer to bounce back to writing a letter, so I think it was a little more than a month. I did write her a letter eventually, but I haven’t heard anything from her after that letter.”

He hummed thoughtfully, understanding your situation but not being able to explain to you why you haven’t received a reply letter yet, because he had no idea either. The only thing he could do was to make suggestions, some kind of excuse like your letter getting lost or your mother being too busy with the flower shop. Or, even better, he could try and look through the new basket of letter and see if your mother had sent you one back.

Looking down at the basket, a frown slowly made its way to Chan’s face as his mind processed just how many letters were in the basket. It would take a long while for him to shift through all of them just to separate the letters for the court and those for the staffs. Then he would have to find the letter sent by your mother specifically before he could hand it to you.

He was still in the middle of going through the first basket, a process he would hope not to interrupt. He wouldn’t want to mess up the areas from which the letters came from, considering how the court solve the complaints from one town to another instead of doing so altogether. Therefore, just to eyeball how long it would take him to find out if there is a letter for you, it would take at least an hour.

“Well, I will make sure to keep an eye out for your letter,” he said, glancing back up at you.

“What–can’t I get it now?” You whined. 

“Are you going to look through the whole pile now?” He asked, holding the basket up to you. “Because there are a lot of letters. You might accidentally skip through yours if you rummage through it, so it’s better to wait for me to pick them out and divide them first.”

You grumbled under your breath impatiently, your lips pursing into a hard line as your brows furrowed childishly. “Ahh, but how long is that going to take? I wanna know if my mom wrote me something so I won’t have to think about it!”

“I know, but I still have other work to do around the palace and this isn’t my only basket,” Chan said, his voice low in a coaxing way. 

And he knew you understood how busy it could get for him around the palace. The unsatisfied expression that lingered on your face was just there for you to vent, it didn’t particularly mean anything and he didn’t have to take it to heart. Except he always does, not severely but having to see you get let down weekly for the past months has made him grow susceptible to your angsty features.

Softening, Chan let go on one side of the basket and he pinched your cheek gently. “I’m sorry, but I promise I will try and get through it all as fast as I can,” he told you, with all the sincerity in his voice. 

“Hmm… Fine.” You pursed your lips together with a nod, leaning your face away from his hand. “I have to go back to work now, I’ll see you later.”

“You can count on it,” he said, his hand reaching back down to pick up the basket handle.

Flashing him a small smile, your legs brought you a few steps backward before you finally turned around and headed to the backyard. Your steps picked up, and Chan watched your back fade until you disappeared into the discreet corner of the palace. He looked down at the basket of letters then, his forehead creasing in a moment of thought.

Please be in there. He hoped. Please let your mother’s letter be in there.

You had planned to head straight back into the kitchen, but the sight of Changbin chatting with the maids by the laundry poles made you stop. With amusement, you found a spot under the shade of the old tree and you watched on, finding immense fascination in seeing the way he discreetly—almost discreetly—flirted back with the young maids. 

Perhaps it was you who never paid enough attention. Granted, you didn’t get to see much of Changbin interacting with other people. Whenever you were present in the picture, he was always too busy trying to keep you in check, he’s got no time to really speak with others. It was a peculiar sight, one that you planned to tease him about when he decided to leave the backyard and head back to the kitchen soon.

As you turned, preparing to flee before he could see you looking with awful, stupid intentions, a hand tapped at your shoulder and you spun around. The smile that welcomed you was familiar, you just saw it this morning when you woke up, and you quickly returned it as Felix waved excitedly at you.

“Hey, Lix,” you greeted as you eyed him up and down, your brows slowly furrowing at the dirt stained on his cheeks. His shirt was wrinkled, which you didn’t notice this morning but you were sure it hadn’t been as bad as it looked now. “What have you been doing?”

“We went out to the forest to gather more woods for the next few weeks,” he replied after heaving a sigh, exhausted from all the labor work he’d done all morning. “The court prophet said something about a thunderstorm coming so we were asked to fetch more wood for fire, since we won’t be able to head out if the storm actually hits.”

“A thunderstorm,” you snorted, your eyes widening a fraction at such an absurd idea. Whatever would happen to the weather in the middle of a hot summer, a thunderstorm was the last thing you would have predicted. “I wonder why. The North star clashed against the moon, perhaps?”

“Oh, [Name], you know I’m not one for analysing the stars,” Felix laughed out, rubbing his rough hands together and reaching a hand up to swipe at his face. “But I don’t mind a thunderstorm, I won’t have to head outside for duty for once. You, though–“

“I’m not afraid of storms,” you cut him off quickly with a roll of your eyes. 

You knew he would bring that night up. The thunderstorm approached during the middle of the night, when the palace has become quiet and empty. It was loud, and since the dormitory part of the palace was built differently—with lesser care, one could say—it made everything sound like they entered an echo chamber.

You weren’t terrified, but being away from the comfort of your own home and stuck sleeping on a foreign bed was nightmarish enough for you to be afraid of it that roaring night. Felix had awakened with the sound of whimpers, and he happily stayed up with you that night. 

“The echos of the palace walls simply scared me too much last time, but I promise you I am not afraid of a little storm.” You said, slightly annoyed. 

Felix could only laugh, his hand still furiously wiping at his cheek because he had no idea of knowing if he had gotten rid of the dirt. “Well, we’ll see when another one strikes us within these weeks,” he said.

“You will find your accusation incorrect,” you said as you reached up to swat his hand away. A frown adorned your face as you gently scrubbed off the black dirt on his freckled cheeks, a click of your tongue displaying your annoyance. “And for the love of god, bring a wet towel with you at all times.”

“But they’re heavy.”

“They’re clean and cool,” you said. “Good for wiping your face and good for the hot weather.”

Felix hummed in doubt, unsure if he was fully convinced to take an extra object with him to finish his duty. He didn’t much like the idea of having wet trails down his back, especially when he would be draping the towel over his shoulders instead of holding onto it. So he retorted with something that made you both frown and laugh.

It was an endearing frown, perhaps due to the laughter Hyunjin could almost hear from the other side of the yard where the grass field was. It was a spot far from where the chores were, but not far enough for the workings to be invisible to the eye. He and Minho sat under the tree, the shade covering most of their body besides their feet that poked out from the shadow.  

Minho wanted to find a place to sit down and write his second love letter to Princess Rose, but when Hyunjin suggested for a trip to the garden, Minho only grimaced about the dullness of it. It was always the garden. He wanted somewhere else, a new place where he could get inspirations from. 

Hyunjin wasn’t very sure what Minho thought could be inspiring about watching the palace staffs run around washing clothes and transporting woods, but alas, Minho sat down under the large tree and began tapping his pen on the parchment paper. He followed suit without much complaints. It wasn’t like he’s got anything better to do around the palace anyway. It was either he leave for his home, or he stays here and follows Minho around. 

The letter Minho was writing has been blank for a while. He kept pressing the tip of his pen against it but never actually scribbled anything down. His mind short-circuits every time he is about to write something; just when he thinks his brain had thought of something worth-while, his heart tells him to hesitate.

Hyunjin was done persuading him that the letter would be nothing more than a mere draft, that he need not hold any fear. Pretend it like a diary and simply let his feelings flow, Hyunjin told Minho, but the advice was not taken with each huffs of heavy sigh leaving the prince’s mouth. And Hyunjin was quite tired of trying to rid Minho of his anxiety, so what he did was that he turned away from his frowning cousin.

The sight that welcomed him was you, almost immediately within the crowd of similarly dressed palace staffs. And he was happy to see you. You stood under the shade in your natural glory, as always, and you were grinning towards a direction Hyunjin couldn’t bother to tear his gaze away to check. 

He was debating if he wanted to pull you out of work once again, just so he could spend some time to talk to you. He has the power to do that, and if he doesn’t then Minho certainly does. But whatever excuse was he supposed to give to get you out of the kitchen? He didn’t want to come off annoying. He was also too shy to drop hints that might indicate his fondness toward you.

He could think about something work related! Perhaps another dessert that he wanted to eat? He was very fond of those cream puffs you made, he would love to try out the other desserts. 

The dreamy smile on his face was permanent for a long while until Felix showed up. His smile gradually faded as his eyes watched your friendly interaction, and his plump lips pursed into a thin line as a bitter taste dropped at the tip of his tongue.

Annoyed, and definitely jealous. Annoyed because he couldn’t blame Felix for being friends with you and he couldn’t blame you two for being close friends, jealous because, well, obviously because he has a majorly, royally problematic crush on you. 

“Hey! Lover boy!” 

Hyunjin slowly looked to his side. The nickname Minho just playfully gave him not settling on his good side whatsoever. He needn’t be reminded of how terrible his crush on you was going; not to mention he barely had any chance to begin with. His royal status was a screw-up from the moment he laid his eyes on you.

Minho stared at his cousin for a short while before he breathed out a defeated sigh. He had pretended to not notice Hyunjin’s infatuation for a long time. It all started with his unusually frequent visits to the palace; something Minho deemed solely because Hyunjin and his parents’ relationship was never the best. But things changed when he realized how observant he has become.

Hyunjin wouldn’t spare the palace halls another glance, so when he started to look around the corners as if searching for something, or someone, Minho’s suspicion started to raise as well. He didn’t know when he concluded that Hyunjin has fallen for somebody in the palace, he just knew he did. And it was only recently when he finally found out who the token staff was.

Those rosewater cream puffs really caught the boy by the throat. 

“You like [Name],” Minho pointed out boldly.

Hyunjin rolled his eyes and scoffed. He leaned his elbow on the knee of his crossed legs, putting his chin on top of his palm as he stared ahead at you. His mood went even more sour when he watched Changbin ruffle the both of your heads. 

Jeez, make it look more like a family, why wouldn’t you? The scene looking exactly like you three were having the “Oh, hey, I brought my boyfriend home!” kind of conversation—ugh! He could shiver in annoyance just from thinking about it. 

Hyunjin looked away from you, a huff brushing past his lips strongly as he spoke, “This pisses me off!”

“What pisses you off?” 

“This! This stupid, invisible crown on my head!” He gestured towards his hair, his finger going in a circular motion. Then he shifted down to complain about his silky clothes, and his gold belt, and his cotton socks matched with leather shoes. He hated all of it, anything that labeled him as a prince he despised. 

“Would you rather walk around in thin rags then?” Minho shrugged, smiling in amusement. His attention was focused on the letter in his hand. When he scribbled something down, he held it up to Hyunjin’s hand to stop him from replying. “What do you think about this?”

Hyunjin yelped, swatting Minho’s hand away before snatching the paper from his hand. He carefully glanced at the paper, rereading the sentence his cousin wrote at least three times before he grimaced with an honest answer. “Good, but change the structure, it doesn’t sound eloquent enough.” 

“I was thinking maybe I can express the insanity I feel through incoherent sentence structures,” Minho hummed, receiving the letter just as Hyunjin huffed out a disapproving grunt.

“You’re not the person to pull that off,” Hyunjin commented.

“I’m not,” Minho dragged out in acceptance, running the pencil across the sentence before he placed the paper back on his knee. He twirled the pencil between his fingers, his brows furrowed, then he jumped back on the original topic. “You know the materials they wear can’t keep you warm during winter, right?”

“They can’t–they can’t?” Hyunjin borderline yelled, the panic slightly bubbled up his head. He glared at Minho, his brows furrowed in concern. “Hello–what if they get sick? Do you guys at least distribute extra duvets?”

Minho didn’t answer his question. The sheer fact that Hyunjin has the capability to care and to question the treatment palace staffs receives was startling enough for him. It was not to say Hyunjin would be so heartless not to care about other people, he was a boy with a kind soul, but he also was not brought up to think too deeply about people unlike him. 

He would give sympathy to those less fortunate than him, but his mind wouldn’t register the option the help if he wasn’t there to witness the problem himself. 

“You know how much of a problem it is for you to like them, right?” Minho spoke, turning to look at the working maids. His eyes were careful as he scanned past them all, his head unable to name a single one of them but still could recognize a few faces he has seen multiple times before. “You and [Name]. It’s not an easy match. The royal court won’t allow this.”

Hyunjin pursed his lips together. His chest was burning at the truth, hating it with all the might his lean body could muster. “They don’t have to allow it. I doubt [Name] will develop any feelings for me anyway.”

“Oh? That’s an interesting view,” Minho said, widening his eyes at the letter. “Why so?”

Hyunjin sat in silence for a moment, his mind working to think up a reason. It was all tangled in his head; there wasn’t just one reason, there were plenty, as much as he hated to admit it. He didn’t know where he should start. Should he start from problems steaming from him, or problems steaming from everybody around you?

Just to name a few right off the bat: your statuses were different, he was born with royal blood while you were born as a commoner. Not only would royalties from all the neighbouring kingdoms give him the sting eye for falling in love with someone much lower than him, his parents and his relatives likely won’t allow it as well. 

His bloodline was a huge, painful problem; an unbreaking stick in all of his relationships, platonic or romantic.

Now, setting his royal status aside, who was to say that you’d fall in love with him? Hyunjin knew he was good-looking since everyone around him told him that ever since growing up, and he’d like to believe he’s got enough charisma to charm the other equally rich, if not richer, marriage candidates from other kingdoms. But nobody has ever talked of his personality before.

Long story short, Hyunjin hasn’t done anything outstanding as a mere prince. Every charitable accomplishments were credited back to the king, as it should be because the king (and his council) regulates everything. He has taken no part in political or social management of his kingdom even though he was born as the crown prince. 

What if he wasn’t good enough? How would he know if his personality was the type that would make people fall in love with him? He wouldn’t be able to tell. Even in royal marriage, almost everything was arranged or based on economic measures. Royalties don’t like each other for who they are, he learned that the hard way. And no one has ever told him he’s got a killer personality, at least not genuinely, he supposed.

You have told him he was charming, but you didn’t know him. He might not be somebody you would want to have around. 

“I barely spend time with them,” Hyunjin replied casually after the spacious, panicking round of overthinking in his head. He licked his lower lip, discarded the thoughts in his head, and he picked himself up. “You can’t fall in love with people you’ve never spend time with. I would want to get to know the person more and more, just have them reveal everything to me as time goes.”

Because wouldn’t that be so nice? To reveal yourself to someone who’s willing to stay. 

“Well, aren’t you a romantic,” Minho grinned out, finding amusement in the way Hyunjin seemed to be turning into some sappy, all knowing lover of the century just because he, too, has fallen in love with somebody. 

And Hyunjin was always rolling his eyes and scoffing at Minho for being overdramatic about everything regarding the princess—the audacity. 

Hyunjin could only scoff. The laugh he let out was sardonic at best because he didn’t know what other reaction he could have. How does one properly display defeat? Through what kind of expression could he use to show that he felt stupid for still letting himself fall even though he knew that the relationship would end in nothing, just nothing. 

But it wasn’t like he had a choice. Hyunjin’s heart has always done what it wanted to do; if it wanted to fall in love, it would do so disregarding all types of circumstances. He was a boy who’s got his heart thrusted out for everyone, full and beating. He couldn’t change it, he just fell for you. 

Hearing the lack of response from him, Minho turned away from the love letter in his hands and he glanced at Hyunjin briefly. There was this dazed look on his face, a blank but remorsefully thoughtful look. He could tell Hyunjin was beating himself up over liking a palace staff, one who didn’t even serve his own kingdom too!

Sympathy surfaced in Minho’s chest. He wondered how that felt. He wondered how it was like to fall in love with someone so blatantly out of your reach, someone who was accustomed to putting up a wall between yourselves due to the status quo, someone who your family and your subjects wouldn’t approve.

Minho wondered how it felt to fall in love with someone who could’t reciprocate the feeling for so many reasons, and despite all the power the crown holds, there is still nothing to be done.

It must be exhausting. 

“I’ll support you two.” 

Putting the paper and pen down to indicate that this would turn into a rather serious conversation. He sat up, crossed-legged with a confident smile as he watched you vanished into the palace with Changbin. Minho knew, subconsciously, that he still held certain ill-feeling towards what you’ve done to his love letter, albeit if was for his own sake. And he has to admit, he has known you for no more than a long, embarrassing conversation of you lecturing him about the topic of love.

But he was so sure, somehow, that you are definitely no so bad of a love interest for Hyunjin. 

“What?” Hyunjin asked, staring at Minho with wide eyes.

Minho turned to him, the grinning softening on his face. “I said I’ll support you two. When I become king one day and I’m in power, I’ll publicly display my encouragement for you, seeing that you do successfully woo the brat in the future." 

Hyunjin physically brightened at his words, finding solace in knowing that while knowing his romantic goals might be far-fetched, Minho stood with him instead of going against his wishes. It was nice to be able to get it all off his chest; having to hide that he was in love with a kitchen staff around the palace with watchful eyes and soundless walls was terrible. He’d hate to have the news spread all over the place.

Bringing his legs up to his chest, Hyunjin smiled ahead of him, watching the maids move around with laundries baskets in their hands. He scanned their faces, none of them able to reach your level of gracefulness when you walked and the brightness of your smile as you talked to others.

“I want to be able to fall in love with who I want to,” he said with a faint smile. “I want to be able to fall in love with [Name].”

Minho hummed, “You can. Didn’t you already?”

Hyunjin felt a sickening rush of affection consume his veins, the thought of you fulfilling his head. The butterfly, the cream puffs, the single leaf on his hair. His smile widened; Minho was right, he already did.