#we may be wrong but i sincerely doubt it at this point and either way why shit on us for having hope and fun

[aya-luri]

Am I the only one who doesn't associate Zekrom with Ingo and Reshiram with Emmet but do it the other way around? Well, perhaps this will become an unpopular opinion, but, if you stop to think about it there are quite a few points that can support this theory. Let's check them out! To begin with, it's the legendary dragon Zekrom the one who appears on the cover of the White version of the game, while Reshiram does the same on the Black version, which would indicate that they actually represent their opposite color. Such small detail is already important in itself, not just the basic color of the dragons per se. Also we all know that Zekrom's associated element is the electric type, like Emmet's Eeleektros, while Reshiram's is the fire type, like Ingo's Chandelure, both being the most representative pokemons of the Subway Bosses.

Although the issue of ideologies of each dragon is used to link them with each brother among the fandom, "ideals" being the one typically attributed to Ingo for his passionate way of encouraging trainers, while for Emmet it is the "truth" for his direct way of communicating, this could work much better the other way around. If we have learned anything from Ingo on Pokemon Legends Arceus, it is that this man is full of existential doubts that lead him to want to get closer to the player in order to know more about himself. That's it, the truth about his origins. But he already had some tendency to this type of behavior long before, as it was evident in the first Black & White games.

"Where is my destination? I've kept thinking, and I've learned one thing. That is, you cannot know what happens after winning without winning." Through such questions, Ingo seeks to reach a real conclusion, his own truths. And perhaps in our idealized image of him we forget that he can also be frank and direct, without the need to embellish words with lies.

"However, it is difficult to win unless you and your partner are in total sync." On the other hand, and as we have said before, the frankness with which Emmet expresses his opinions makes him look like an open-minded character, sincere, making this seem (for many people) to be his only notable characteristic, despite the fact that it's kinda obvious the way in which he greatly idealizes Pokémon battles.

"This time, I am really serious. Really serious. Because if a battle is not serious, it is not fun." He firmly believes that there is a way to go about Pokémon battles, and that way is by giving it your all in them, and in an ideal world, everyone would have fun battling just as he does, but this is not always the case. Emmet clearly expresses how he believes things should be, and he's also aware that his own victory may not only be due to his skill but also to circumstantial elements or, put another way, luck. So he also idealizes the player's own defeat when it occurs, having enough consideration to make it seem like something unfourtunate. Further proof that the fandom has been associating the wrong dragon with the wrong twin can be found in the legend of the twin heroes, where it was the oldest who pursued the truth, while the youngest pursued the concept of ideals.

This birth order also corresponds to Ingo and Emmet, Ingo being the eldest of the both and Emmet the youngest.

That's why despite being white, I think Reshiram suits to Ingo much better and the same for Emmet regarding the black dragon Zekrom. All of these points put together carry much more sense than simply thinking that each dragon's ideologies relates to a brother just by the main color of his outfit. Although this, in the end, does not have much relevance either, since canonically there is no relationship between these legendary Pokémon and the Subway bosses, other than the simple fact of playing with mere chromatic issues. Still, it's always fun to speculate, right?

[reveluving]

Sweats nervously...

Erm..obesesive stalker! Graves x reader...🧍🏻‍♀️

Drops this and runs away

(headcanon by call.me.c0k3 on tiktok//)

WAIT COME BACK

WHO’S GONNA READ THIS THING I MADE NOW!!!!!!!!

Includes: mentions of s~mut; voyeurism, dubcon, mutual masturbation (minors DNI!), allusions to taking out those who wronged you, lovestruck!Graves takes it one step further in this one.

COD x shy!wife thots closed! Thank you, everyone, for your time & amazing minds! I sincerely hope I can do this again with y'all soon! 💌

Come & check out my COD m.list!

Good news, we can go about this with both shy!reader or operator!reader wise. So, STRAP IN.

Generally, just know that he has the means to learn about you with a few clicks on his computer, and he will use that to his advantage. That doesn’t mean he won’t be able to catch every little bit about you just by talking to you, of course. No doubt he’ll learn more than enough surface-level information about you within the first five minutes of you talking. 

Way more than the average strangers meeting each other for the first time, only to forget the other’s name within days. Plus, the Phillip Graves knows how to talk, but this isn’t some lady he’s trying to sweet talk for the night and then be on his way hours later. No, those days are over, and he never particularly enjoyed them anyway. 

You, on the other hand, were a spice of life. The darling he never thought he’d find, the dream he had locked in the back of his mind years ago because he thought with how tainted the universe is, including himself, it was just false hope at this point.

So, for you to just suddenly appear before him, be it as the unassuming beaut next door or the stunning force to be reckoned with, oh, he is going to make sure you know that he’ll treat you the way you deserve.

Even if how he goes over them behind the scenes can be a little… extreme. 

He wants to make the best impression on you. Will he totally change his personality and appearance just for your approval? Well, no. If you find out the guy who’s been trying to impress you isn’t really being himself, then he knows it’ll be an immediate turn-off. 

And as excessive as the things he does may be, he also wants this to work. For the relationship to bloom, to flourish as best and as genuine as possible. He’s never cared for anyone like this since… ever! 

He knows the name of the guy, no, the kid that broke your heart years ago. Growing pissed the longer he read the conversation you had with your girlfriends, about his cheating and even fault you for his ‘last resort’, all because you had dreams to chase, priorities to focus on. 

Apparently, he’s now a big name in his town. Perfect. Nothing a little exposure of his company for money laundering and inhumane working conditions to the press couldn’t do the trick. 

Or in terms of the shy!reader, the bogus buyers who never paid you for the floral arrangement you made the entire day. Easy, he’ll just anonymously transfer all of their savings to charity or some pet shelters nearby. You adore pets, and those teens clearly didn’t need the money anyway. 

He made sure to take note each and every one of them, of anyone who wronged you for future reference. 

Other than private parts of your life, he enjoys scrolling through your social media; fixated on pictures that had you in it, even imagining future photos or videos you’d take together once you two get together. No matter how many people were in it or what it was about, his eyes go straight to your figure. Screenshots aren’t uncommon, either, especially cherishing the genuine joy in your face. 

Then, there are the things you love.

He knew you’d adore the things he bought for you, regardless of what suited your fancy, like dresses, lipsticks, books, random knick-knacks. Anything. He traced the history of you scrolling through the store’s website on your phone via his system, buying the ones you lingered on the longest. He knew you’d like the restaurant he brought you to on one of your dates, not necessarily because it was fancy, though that was the icing on the cake, but what made your eyes sparkle was the fact that it specialized in your preferred cuisine. There were the little things too; your favourite songs, how you prefer the cake from bakery A to bakery B because the latter’s more dry, or even the irresistible smile on your face whenever he looks over at you with an amused raise of his brow. 

Hell, even quirks that you never knew you had!

Then, there were the… nasty ones. Absolutely filthy.

The kinds where he wished he wasn’t just the tiny camera on your vanity table or the tampered lens on your phone when you tossed it to the side, frustrated as you tried to chase after the peak of your orgasm. Yearning to help you, to give you what you were aching for when your fingers, pillows or toys weren’t enough. He’s never been so frustrated, his cock pulsing in his hand for more, even if he was handling himself a bit rougher than usual as he watched your gorgeous body arch and thrash on the sheets. 

The tiniest last grain of shame he had vanished the second he heard you moan out his name, and oh, how the stars have aligned in his favour. 

If he wasn’t sure before, he sure as hell is about his ways now.  He’ll make sure he’s the man of your dreams, if not, better.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

[jolieblack]

Something finally came to me! (I usually can’t write to prompts to save my life.)

May Prompts 2024 by @calaisreno

May 24th: Imperfect

We've always done things the wrong way round.

We moved in together at a time when we knew no more than four or five facts about each other. Significant facts, granted, such as John being a war veteran and me having no patience with idiots, but neither of us could have claimed to have had anything even close to the full picture at the time. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if either of us had. Only on my really bad days, though.

I don’t have all that many of those any more, luckily. And when I do, I have plenty of good memories to help me pull myself up again. Take the ones of how we confessed our love to each other to a beautifully decorated room full of people in festive dress and in even more festive spirit, to much applause and cheering and well-wishing. Yes, you heard that plural right. Those are two separate memories, years apart and in two different places. I got to go first, and it wasn’t even me who was getting married at the time. That’s another thing that most couples would do differently. Coordinate it a bit better, at least.

The second time around, as a lot of you will remember well, it was John's turn to talk, and I‘d been told in no uncertain terms to keep my mouth shut and say nothing, not even to correct his grammar, till he was done. I can now attest that it is true that the groom never gets to have a say in anything at his own wedding. Someone got his late revenge there. And believe me, that doesn’t depend on whether it’s one groom or two. Yes, and I know there are still people out there even in this day and age who feel that it’s not normal to have two grooms at all. They can all go away and never show their ugly faces again where I can see them, or smell the foul breath of the bigoted filth they’re spouting. That’s not the wrong way around, that couldn’t be more right for both of us.

But we did other things the wrong way around, too. In most romantic stories, killing someone to save the person you love is usually the culmination of long mutual trust and dedication. It‘s supposed to be the crowning glory, the final sealing of a bond that has long been in the making. It’s not supposed to be the starting point. And John is usually the more patient of the two of us, but when it came to this, he could barely contain himself for 36 hours after our very first meeting before he did it. Ever heard of timing and pacing, Doctor, I hear you people wonder? And he’s supposed to be the one with the talent for good storytelling. The timing was good, though. The timing was excellent. There’s another 'what if' for you that is no fun to contemplate at all.

There is killing out of love, and - I have to say it, I can’t not, I‘d be lying by omission if I didn't - there's also dying out of love. I doubt, however, that there’s anyone out there who has ever put a more elaborate effort into pretending to die out of love than I have. As far as I‘m aware, that’s not really a romantic convention, either, and I sincerely hope I haven’t started a trend. I honestly can’t recommend it. Effort is well and good, and I dare say the execution in my case was flawless, but I can’t deny there was a certain lack of forethought as to the emotional impact on both parties concerned. Don‘t try this at home, folks.

People also usually date first, then start cohabiting, then get married, then raise children together. Please don’t ask me to define at what time in our lives exactly John and I were dating and when we weren’t yet. To this day we have never been able to agree on a definition for this mysterious activity that emphatically, according to John, for whatever reason, does not encompass two people who like each other going out together and having fun. But it is an undisputed fact that we had been raising a child together for a good while before we got married. And we have been going out together and having fun for years uncounted now. Crime scenes never fail to work that particular magic on us. Oh wait, no, that was another example I had on my list for what most other couples do differently. Hang on, do I see a certain Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard raise his hand in objection? Raising both hands, actually, showing us… what, seven fingers? Is that the number of couples working for the Metropolitan Police that you know personally who have met at crime scenes? Or are you reminding us of the number of times John and I were actually kicked off a crime scene because we were enjoying ourselves entirely too much, and were told not to come back till we could behave like adults? I could have sworn those were more than seven occasions, but I‘ll take your word for it.

Talking of raising a child together, I‘m sure Rosie will say a word or three about that herself later, but I have never understood why most of you had doubts about the practicability of that particular endeavour. Let me just tell you that a baby carrier is entirely compatible with a cashmere scarf, or didn’t you know cashmere can absorb up to a third of its own dry weight in liquid? And it got only easier from there when Rosie grew older and stopped affectionately drooling on whoever enjoyed the happy privilege of holding her and carrying her around. She hasn’t demanded being carried around in a good while now, and I don’t know what our poor old backs would say to that these days. But we were talking about happy memories, weren’t we, so there’s another. And at least in the metaphorical sense, I hope you know, Rosie, that you’ll be held and carried for as long as you want and need, as long as we both live. You were my daughter even before I was your father’s husband, and that has been one of the greatest honours bestowed on me in my life.

Because this is who we are, isn’t it, our crazy little family, where nothing is as you’d expect it to be. But we still wouldn’t have it any other way, topsy-turvy, weird, flawed and utterly imperfect, but also utterly us, unique, one of a kind. I don’t know if it was fate that threw us together, or if it really was just a whim on the part of the comfortable, corpulent, bespectacled gentleman sitting at this table over here, smirking with his trademark benevolence. But there’s a debt of gratitude to be paid there, and today is a good day to do it. In this at least, we’re doing the conventional thing, but who’s to say we’re not allowed to do that at least once in a quarter-century.

So, ladies and gentlemen, dear friends and family from far and wide, I give you: John Watson, the man of my life, the man at my side for over thirty years, and for exactly twenty-five years in the legal sense on this very day. Please raise your glasses with us to the next twenty-five. And for God’s sake stop snivelling like that, Mycroft. You’re embarrassing the whole room.

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

so among the million other things that was wrong with catra's redemption, i want to highlight the main thing that stuck out to me.

i don't know about y'all but i've had people "apologize" to me like this. saying sorry or admitting their mistakes and then immediately following it up with “i'm worthless” or “everyone hates me” or something in that vein. i get it, people are insecure and they have a lot of self-doubt. but when apologizing to someone about a serious mistake that you made, for hurting them or worse, you do not do this. it's guilt tripping.

apologies are difficult. even if you feel really guilty about what you did, it might be hard to face facts and admit that you did something terrible. even if you absolutely despise yourself, your ego can work up when it comes to apologizing.

catra does admit her faults in the first frame (albeit while still being very vague. “hurt people” is an understatement for everything that she did). but immediately following it up with “no one cares about me :((” just defeats the whole point. like yeah, i wonder why. it's probably not because she abused, verbally harassed and killed people, right?

it doesn't look like she's guilty of what she did, it comes off as her regretting it after she started to face the consequences. she's not upset because she hurt people, she's upset because they left her and now she's alone.

not to mention, this scene where she lashes out at adora for saving her life.

the way she says “you all hate me” just sounds accusatory. not only is she snapping at the person who saved her life and is willing to give her a second chance, but she's also getting angry at adora and the others for hating her. friendly reminder that catra was a war criminal who killed people, abused adora for years, caused the death of glimmer's mother and almost ended space and time out of spite. and here she is, acting as if she doesn't deserve to be hated for all this. (also, adora's response to this is absolute bullshit. “i never hated you” yes, you did. you almost killed catra with no hesitation in s4.)

let's not forget the iconic “i'm working on it” that everyone was swooning over. omg catra says she's working on her anger issues, we love character development! oop— but then she immediately shifts the blame to adora by saying that adora was the one giving her a hard time. mhm. like you didn't give adora a hard time her whole life, catra.

this is almost uncomfortably realistic when compared to real life abusers. if they ever do apologize, this is how they do it. they either make it all about themselves so that you feel guilty for “making them apologize” or they snidely shift the blame to you. if you get mad about it, they could simply say “i said i'm sorry, what more do you want from me?”

regular viewers may see this and think “well, she apologized. that's a good thing”. but if you've ever been acquainted with a person like catra irl, you know that this apology is not sincere. it's just a way to shut their victims up and indirectly manipulate them. you think they're being genuine but you also feel like it's your fault partially, because of how they shift the blame to you or pity themselves until you feel bad for them.

[theflyindutchwoman]

Hi. I'm back for your integration). This time to an episode from the first season when Tim visits Isabel on Valentine's Day.

Why do you think Tim was the first to talk about divorce?

I remember when I first viewed it, it surprised me. He waited for her, fought for her, endured this nightmare and it seems he still loved her. Isabelle apologized, talked about the past. She tried to understand herself and explain to him why it happened. I don't think she's thought about the future yet. And then he offers to divorce. Does he no longer see a future together?

I can only explain this by the fact that Tim, having heard how Isabel felt his pressure on her, that she did not meet his expectations, decides to rid her of herself. (I wonder, by the way, if this is objective or just her feelings, interpretation or just excuses)

Sorry for the mistakes and hopefully not too confusing, English is not my native language.

This is a delicate (and complicated) subject so I hope I'm not saying anything wrong or offensive here. And as always, this is only my interpretation.

The way I see it, when Tim went to the rehab facility to see Isabel, he didn't know what to expect, what her state of mind would be. Hence why he admitted almost turning away twice. What he did know was that he wanted his wife back, that he loved her… But as he had learned the hard way, that might not be sufficient. Still, I don't think he was envisaging divorcing her. It's only once she opened up about the pressure she felt when they were married that he considered it.

At first, Isabel was simply trying to make amends, apologise for all the things she did. It's actually part of the 12-steps program, which supports recovery from substance disorders. Step 09 is about making direct amends to the people you've harmed. Now, I don't know if she was at that stage already but her wording was very similar. Here's what she says : "I don't want to talk about it, either, but it's part of my recovery. […] The whole point is to make amends with the people that I've hurt. And I hurt you most of all". She wanted to acknowledge all the hurt she inflicted… But he wasn't really listening. From what we saw, Tim had a major blindspot regarding Isabel's addiction, where he blamed everything on the drugs. That was his coping mechanism. But it skewed his perspective as well, as Lucy tried to tell him, calling him out on this several times. In his mind, Isabel didn't do the lying, the cheating… It was the drugs. He was compartmentalising. And now that she was in recovery, he thought everything would go back to normal.

Unfortunately, this isn't as black and white. She was under the influence, but she also did those things. And most importantly : she may be in recovery, but addiction can last a lifetime. This is a disease, it doesn't go away just like that. So while she might no longer be using drugs, she was still an addict. He needed to accept that if he wanted them to move forward. But instead, he was unintentionally dismissing what she was saying - something he tends to do when he gets uncomfortable. He wasn't ready to address any of that and she got frustrated, unloading on him, telling him how she used to feel this pressure to live up to his standards. So once he understood there were deeper issues in their marriage that might have contributed to her addiction, his blinders came off. He felt he was at least partially responsible for her addiction.

Now, I don't really think she was trying to blame him at first. She genuinely wanted to apologise and was not skirting responsibility, even when Tim was offering her an easy way out. This tells me that she was sincere in her approach. I also doubt she wanted to divorce him. Addicts are usually asked to refrain from making life-altering decisions like this in their first year, to avoid any major change that could trigger a relapse (and I'm glad the show didn't go there by the way). The problem was that Tim got caught off-guard. He had no idea what he was walking into and as a result, didn't have time to prepare himself. You can't force someone to talk about something so sensitive or accept your apologies. The other person has a right to know first and to choose whether they are ready to discuss this.

Like I said earlier, Isabel got frustrated when he was deflecting and she vented out. And whether that was her intent or not, she did place some of the blame for her addiction on Tim. Deserved or not. In 5.20, she implied there were things from her past she was running away from, developing unhealthy coping mechanisms in the process... So there were clearly other factors at the very least. But regardless, this whole conversation really highlighted the dissonance and the breakdown of communication in their marriage. Because he was never aware of how she felt while they were together. She never told him how she was always afraid of disappointing him. Anyhow, Tim internalised what she said and took on the blame placed on him. Hence why he decided to divorce her. If he could be a potential trigger for her, then staying married would do her more harm than good. He would always be a reminder to that low point. So he did what he thought was best for Isabel's well-being. It wasn't for him. It was for her.

(Don't you worry or apologise about your English - I'm not a native speaker either!)

[thelostgirl21]

Seriously, I wish people would stop reading into my tone so much, and trust my words when I communicate.

If I say I'm not being dismissive of your thoughts and ideas, I'm not being dismissive of your thoughts and ideas.

If I say I'm fine with you holding and sharing views that differ from mine, then I'm fine with you holding and sharing views that differ from mine.

If I seem to struggle with understanding a concept and I say it makes no sense, it's always it makes no sense TO ME (how in the world could I ever know how it makes sense to others?! I'm not in their brains, and can only speak for myself!!! It makes no sense *TO ME* that I could ever be saying that what you say makes no sense to anyone else but myself!!!)!

If I ask "how else can this be understood?" or "how else am I supposed to understand this?", I'M NOT ACCUSING YOU OF BEING UNCLEAR, FOR FRAK'S SAKE!

I'm genuinely asking you to explain your own interpretation, so I can conceptualize where you are coming from, and how you are perceiving things!

It means I really, sincerely, don't understand what you are trying to say to me, am asking for a pause and for some clarification, and will likely continue to ask the same question over and over again until you either frame that explanation in a way that makes sense *TO ME*, or I can see we utterly fail to connect on that subject, and should simply move on.

"You sound like you're trying to dismiss...", "It seems like you think..."

I have no idea how to properly convey tone in written forms of conversation, and am usually more comfortable communicating while phrasing things in a way that I've been told "sounds academic".

That's literally just how I talk and how my brain works. I'm not attempting to "sound pretentious" or anything. I speak that way.

And while I interpret informations and draw conclusions based on whatever data and information I've got available, I will readily change and modify it in light of any new information that comes my way.

I make tons of connections between information all of the time and get fascinated by them, and see the world as a bunch of ideas and concepts.

Please don't mistake my enthusiasm or assertiveness when speaking about any subject I'm passionate about with stubbornness or rigidity.

On the contrary, my thoughts and ideas remain extremely fluid and flexible, and I'm not scared in the least of being wrong and of making mistakes. I have no ego in that sense.

I'll be the first to embrace being mistaken as mistakes are an absolutely fantastic learning tool.

How else would I be expected to grow?

I can't easily change my tone, but I can clearly state my intent using words.

So, if I say "that's not what I meant", and especially "that's not how I meant it", can you at least give me the frakking benefit of the doubt, and give me time to clarify my thoughts and find a way of phrasing them that will hopefully allow you to understand the message I'm sending, before assuming you know what I intended to say better than I do basing that assumption on how I sound?

And perhaps, conceive of the thought that there's a huge difference between thinking you may be right and knowing you're right with absolute certainty.

Other P.O.V. being valid does not mean I remotely have to agree with them, or say they are right, either. Simply respect that people see things differently than I do.

And I do.

I may be wrong and you may be right. Or I may be right and you may be wrong.

Hopefully, you think you're right; otherwise I see absolutely (I SEE... my opinion / perception / interpretation... Look, I'm not taking any chances anymore by this point!) no point in you arguing something that you believe to be deeply wrong.

Do people do that outside of playing devil's advocate? Or listing possibilities they've yet to make up their minds about?

How does this even work?!

Ah, for me?! Or to me?!

Look, I'm wondering how does this even work, but without denying the possibility that it may make sense and work for others...

Ah...

What I'm trying to say is "I'm basically confused about why we're supposed to feel self-conscious or "bad" about thinking or hoping we've got the right interpretation, until we detect a flaw in our logic and then come up with a new one in light of new information we've gathered, or being exposed to/gaining some novel perspective on a subject..."

Does that make any sense?

But yeah, I am utterly unable to tell if people are bored or upset with a subject when I'm talking or arguing with them in person...

So how can I be expected to read into what kind of emotions my arguments are going to inspire in others, or what part of my phrasing might upset them, if no one is telling me how to rephrase thing?

Especially when it's just words on a screen with no clear tone indicator.

"When you say this, it makes me feel this, perhaps you could phrase it like that instead?" would be extremely helpful!

Rather than "you sound like this" or "you're making it sound like that..."

I can't figure it out by myself. I don't hear that "sound". It's a very abstract notion, the idea that my arguments might "sound" like anything.

I need clear rules and systems to properly communicate. That's just how I'm wired, and no amount of wishful thinking or good will on my part is going to magically make me be able to hear those subjective sounds coming off my words.

[cobrrastyle]

Idk if you do requests or anything but if i may suggest something, maybe billy and a reader who treats him like a normal person? Like they still treat him with the same basic human needs if that makes sense. Making some food? They ask if he wants some too? Hes being moody for some reason? Instead of taking him to spend money they ask him if anything is wrong. Hes having a bad day? They ask if he wants a hug. Ect

a.n. im diggin' your chili anon!! and omg i didn't think i’d get any requests at all so i didn't even mention it—but yes, totally! requests are more than welcome! wasn’t too sure if you wanted this to be alive!billy or ghost!billy centered, so i just went with ghost!billy. by “normal person” i’m assuming “disregarding his celebrity status and treating him as you would anyone else”??  i hope these hcs are to your liking and i apologize if i misunderstood the prompt !

𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝅘𝅥𝅲  gn!reader

𝅘𝅥𝅲  relationship. (not specified) up to interpretation!

𝅘𝅥𝅲  warnings. none

𝅘𝅥𝅲  edited. n/a

• ooooh, billy's going to be such a disaster at first, just putting it out there!

• why are you treating him like some d-listed average joe? he’s the billy joe cobra!! why aren't you quick to obsess over him? shouldn't you be squealing, fanning yourself, literally be on your KNEES for him?! he doesn't get it, he's definitely put off by your sincerity, and he takes it personally.

• he's not used to this level of 'genuine', and although he displays somewhat of a grumpy demeanor around you, he gradually grows to appreciate you immensely.

• case in point: he gets into a spat with his bro spence, gets deeply upset by it and NEEDS someone to talk to. rajeev? he's more focused on solving his friends' squabbles than hearing out what bjc's got to say��something that the cobra catches on to pretty quick. shanilla? she's as sweet as ever, but her little bias towards brometheus is still very much evident. we never vent to kids y’all. and so, he goes to his last resort: you.

• he wastes no time in letting his emotions loose. doesn't matter what you're doing, mf steals the moment, his hands gesturing all over the place. his eyes are trained on everything except you, but when he's finally done and meets yours, his feels something in his chest suddenly churn.

• he's met with a strange yet warm unfamiliarity: patience. of course, he can't decipher it at first, and for a minute he's at a loss for words—his sudden silence urging you to believe he has more to say. it takes him a hot second to register it, but he's quick to remember the reason why he was there in the first place and cue the drama queen's ginormous pout:

"well?! aren't you going to say anything?!"

• you do. you're there to assure him of his doubts and underlying fears, you let him know his feelings are valid, and most importantly (much to his surprise) you don't overly coddle him. it comes as a surprise to billy because never before had he felt so heard. you treat him in a way that's foreign and different. its a good kind of different though!

• as soon as you offer the dude a hug, mans literally bursts into tears and crashes into you. its been settled. you’re his comfort person! from that point on, sweet bby actively wants to be near you for as much as he can ♡

• he respects your input and appreciates your honesty (despite him being a giant pissbaby when it comes to something he disagrees with) and absolutely adores how considerate you are with almost everything you do!

• you make some lunch and set some aside just for him? he's over the moon!! bonus points if it’s one of his favs!

• the cobra is quite the picky eater, but he's not above trying things at least once. he’s doesn’t shy away from giving you criticism either! his palate fr expands exponentially after eating your stuff. 

• develops a particularly strong preference for the food you make! even if all you can do is a sandwich and instant noodles, this dude's all hung up on YOUR sauce.

• you better believe that he's gonna pay the sentiments back TENFOLD, but there's a catch to it, and it's mostly at spencer's expense

• "yo, spence! 'think you can have your mom bake some of those brolicious brownies for me? no reason! just make sure it's a ton. oh! and imma need ‘em by 5. thanks, brostada, you’re the best! catch ya later, bye!!"

• he'll claim that the brownies were all made a la billy, but you know damn well💀  

• he doesn't like sharing his munchies, but you're an exception. a bit. relish it!

• adores when you visit the mansion! you're very mindful of his and his fam's possessions and he's at ease knowing that you're not the kind to touch and toy with his things without consent like some of his fans used to do (he loves them, he loves the attention, but there are lines that just cant be crossed!)

• his trust in you is high, maybe even foolishly so.

• doesn't mean you guys can't fool around with some of his stuff! in fact, he encourages you to partake in some hijinks with him. whether it be pulling pranks on the wright family or making a mess of the tiki room, he's all down to do fun shit with you!

• having some down time and just chillin' is also something he likes to indulge in. it feels great to just unwind, watch reality tv and laze around without having anything to prove to anyone. it's just you and him (and spencer, occasionally) and it's moments like these which he subconsciously cherishes.

• he gets a boost of serotonin when you partake in his hobbies, even if it's something you wouldn't necessarily like. going to taste-testing events, going on a shopping spree, bonsai trimming, pottery—he appreciates your efforts and is more than willing to do the same for you (even if the loveable jackass complains along the way, he could never say no to you!)

• tldr; unlike his past relationships (be it romantic or platonic) you don't take advantage of him and it really does him some good. you’re there for him at his most vulnerable and he gradually learns to bear no shame in expressing how he really feels about himself and the life he lived. you’re part of what makes him realize that fame doesn't define him and little by little he starts to gain a new sense of self confidence. it's a love so soft that he most definitely deserves!

[bills-bible-basics]

Bill's Bible Basics is a Nondenominational Ministry Following is an excerpt from my 1997 six-part series entitled "Mary Worship, Christianity and Roman Catholicism". It perfectly describes my personal belief regarding the issue of denominationalism: ----- Begin Quote ----- To reiterate, when it concerns Christian doctrine and other aspects of our faith, the Scriptures should be the primary source and authority to which we all should refer, and not some local priest, pastor, shepherd, deacon, bishop, Sunday school teacher or anyone else. Please don't forget that the reason why different denominations exist in the first place, is because of their differences of opinion regarding proper interpretation of the Scriptures. As a result, no matter who you go to, they are going to have a strict set of doctrines and practices which they will adamantly adhere to and defend at all cost. After all, their very legitimacy as a church or denomination depends on defending those particular doctrines, regardless of whether they are right or wrong. If you approach a certain church or denomination in the hope of acquiring answers to your questions, you should be mindful of something. If you demonstrate that you believe contrary to the way that they believe, they will not hesitate to tell you that you are wrong, and they will endeavor to convince you to believe as they believe. Do not fool yourself into believing that they are going to come around to your way of thinking, because it is very doubtful that they ever will. You need to realize that churches and denominations are extremely rigid institutions. More than likely, they have probably embraced their particular doctrines and practices for decades, if not for centuries. They are not about to change, even if you do point out an obvious error in their thinking. The bottom line is this. Either you conform to their set of doctrines and practices, and become just another sardine in their can, or you might as well forget it, because you will never fit in otherwise. While this may seem harsh to some of you, the simple truth of the matter is that each denomination is very similar to a self-contained, cookie-cutter religion which mass produces members who think, believe and act just like themselves. It is very much a group-think environment. Whether we are talking about churches, denominations or even cults, they are all pretty much the same in that regard. So again, if you really want to know the truth, then please go directly to the Word of God for yourself in order to find the answers, and don't be spiritually lazy. If you truly and sincerely want to know the truth, I have no doubt that God will reveal it to you by His Spirit through His Word. ----- End Quote ----- If you are interested in reading the entire series, please go here: https://www.billkochman.com/Articles/marywor1.html https://www.billkochman.com/Blog/index.php/bills-bible-basics-is-a-nondenominational-ministry/?feed_id=21824&_unique_id=63b45e3f5eae1&Bill%27s%20Bible%20Basics%20is%20a%20Nondenominational%20Ministry

[none-gender-left-man]

God give me the patience to not engage with byler doubt that's cross tagged

Give me the serenity to hold my hope high and not bicker w ppl who are jaded and can't keep their neg to themselves

Give me the wisdom to scroll past and let them be proven wrong later without wasting my energy

[ghostwise]

15 from the kiss prompts 😭😭 if you feel inspired!

It is the eve of battle. The totality of his experience tells him to block out any nerves or doubts, to hone his mind into a fine point. A sharpened blade is he, nothing else—and blades need not worry whether they’ll bend or break in a fight.

But of course, that’s not true. People are not knives.

It is the eve of battle, or perhaps the morning of, and he is just a man out of many who will fight.

Hamal is at his side but he’s been unable to asleep. Morrigan’s ritual does not preclude every manner of death—just the one. There’s no guarantee of either of them surviving this. And as Hamal refuses to sleep, so too does Zevran sit up with him by candlelight, the night dark and wordless. He is searching his mind for some comfort to offer, but he’s failing.

Finally he simply gets to his feet.

“Let’s go,” he tells him, and Hamal looks up at him. He follows him silently out to the hallway.

They steal their way through the estate’s many rooms, and land in the kitchens, where the late-night skeleton crew is preparing meals and supplies for an army. Everyone’s too preoccupied to notice Zevran nabbing a fresh loaf of bread. It burns his fingers, leaving them stinging.

He and Hamal wind up outside in the castle’s gardens. The snowfall chills him to the bone, but it’s better than staying in that bedroom, worrying, worrying, worrying. Here he tears the bread in half, handing a piece to Hamal.

Hamal looks at him, brows raised. “You stole,” he observes. Wisps of steam lift from the bread in his hands.

“We are guests, are we not?” Zevran asks. “I am trying to be romantic here.”

“So you are,” Hamal chuckles smoothly. “Stealing bread is the very height of romance. I cannot resist. Consider me wooed.”

The bread is hot from the oven, crispy on the outside and soft and airy on the inside. They devour it quickly. It is the best bread Zevran has had in Ferelden.

“What do you think, Zev?” Hamal asks. “Tomorrow could go either way. Convention demands we pretend otherwise, but… you and I both know nothing’s guaranteed.”

“You may be right,” Zevran says, his tone neutral.

Curiously, their roles are reversed; usually Zevran is the pragmatic one, and Hamal the idealist.

The Warden takes a deep breath and a strange synchronicity occurs. Somehow, Zevran senses what he is about to say before he says it.

“If I do not live past this, you ought to know I love you.”

Zevran breathes. He closes his eyes. Some sort of reaction cascades through him, from his fast-beating heart to his arms and legs. He halts it quickly, not wanting to react, because the fact is, this is not how normal people react to such things.

“Yes. I know,” he says.

“You do not have to say it back,” Hamal adds quickly. “That sounds so maudlin, but it is sincere. I just think I’d be wrong not to tell you-”

“I want to say it,” Zevran says, cutting him off. “Believe me, I do. I…”

He’s trying. Truth is he’s been trying for a while.

“Hey,” Hamal says softly. “It’s alright. I believe you’ve said it in your own way, many times already.”

Zevran opens his eyes. Hamal is looking at him with a smile.

“Please, understand,” Zevran says carefully, “Everyone I have loved has died. Everyone. Without fail, without exception. Everyone.” The last word escapes him in a hushed whisper. “I am not superstitious, but after a while one does start to wonder.”

Of course, it’s a foolish notion. He realizes this. But the admission serves two purposes; one, to explain the trouble with his heart, but most importantly, to ask for help. It’s a mire he cannot climb out of alone.

Hamal purses his lips in thought.

“Your love did not kill them, Zevran,” he says finally.

A scullery maid slams open a nearby door, pouring out rinds and peels into the compost bin. A dog barks. A cloud flits across the moon for a moment, and the light returns, brighter somehow, as a little piece in Zevran rights itself.

“What a cruel and unfair thought,” Hamal continues. “Your love is not death. Who ever made you feel that way? How can I make it better?”

He already has, Zevran thinks, as Hamal kisses him, soft, still warm from the bread.

“I love you,” he says again, not expecting to hear it back.

Zevran pulls him into a more urgent and desperate kiss.

The Archdemon. The Blight. The deeds of evil men. Such things frighten him but love never should. When he finally pulls away, breathless and amazed by him, he throws caution to the wind. Thinks this is not death, but the triumph of living.

“I love you too.”

[xcrystalzero]

sun is up

pairing: kaeya x f!reader

summary: who knew that waking up next to a stupidly handsome cavalry captain could be so conflicting?

note: hehe. also this one is a little spicy (not very because i'm shy but still) so minors begone!

The sunlight was hitting your face from the wrong side. With a groan, you threw a hand over your eyes in an effort to block out the intruding rays. Not to much avail of course since sunlight had a tendency to seep in through any opening it was given.

It was warm too, a gentle, unfamiliar warmth that seemed to surround you, seeping into your bones and tempting you again and again with the comfortable lull of sleep.

However, your brain knew that it was morning now and no matter how tight you closed your eyes or how deep you snuggled back into the blankets, you weren't going to be able to go back to sleep.

With a resigned sigh, you let your hand fall back down to your side, allowing your eyes to flutter gently open. The sight that greeted you was no less than disorienting.

You had been right, the sunlight was coming from the wrong side of the room. Maybe because this wasn't your room. Sitting up, your still drowsy brain decided that it was time to take a look around. The room wasn't extravagant, but not quite bare either. That wasn't what caught your attention however.

On the ground just a few feet from the edge of the bed lay a pile of clothing. It occurred very slowly to your still offline brain that some of that was yours. You could see it from here, the worn pants from your Knight's of Favonius uniform and that lacy black bra you had bought a few days ago in an effort to feel just a little more sexy. Oh how you loved that bra.

The other half of the clothing however, was a bit of a mystery. Cocking your head, you identified a pair of brown boots, what looked like black gloves, and fluffy white fur collar. Those seemed familiar for some reason.

It was at that moment that you felt the bed shift slightly under you. With a soft gasp, you whirled around, drowsiness falling away in sudden panic as you prepared for an ambush.

You were not however, prepared for what you did see.

It was no secret that Kaeya was a beautiful man. From the deep navy of his hair to the physique his work as a captain had earned him, he was attractive and he knew it. The sight before you now however, was by far the most beautiful side of Kaeya you had ever seen.

His face was turned towards you, half buried in the pillow his head was resting on, silky strands of hair fanned around him in a deep blue halo. The sunlight that had so rudely awoken you cast gentle rays on his face, turning his tanned skin golden and accentuating the line of his collarbone not concealed by the covers. Perhaps the most majestic part however, was his expression. Kaeya was an expressive man and you'd seen just about every emotion, real or fake, cross his features at one point or another. Now however, all those exaggerated angles were gone and for once in his life, the Cavalry Captain looked relaxed. And then he shifted just a bit, the covers rising slightly to reveal the side of his toned torso.

Relaxed and naked apparently...

"Oh shi-" you smacked a hand over your mouth, eyes blowing wide open in horror as things actually started to register. Kaeya Alberich was in your bed. Or no, you were in his? And he was naked. And you were also definitely naked. And-

Unbidden, images of last night rushed forth and you remembered.

"My beautiful [name], would you be so kind as to join me at the tavern this evening?"

That was what had started it. A simple invitation when you really needed a drink. If you remembered correctly, Kaeya hadn't been much better considering how many bottles of wine you two had gotten through before Diluc had grown cross and kicked you out.

You remembered very well, the midnight wind in your hair and Kaeya's hand on your shoulder as you drunkenly braved the streets of Mondstat. And then somehow, you'd been at his place. You just wanted to make sure that he was safe as you knew all too well the kind of messes drunk Kaeya could manage to get himself into.

Yes, you had just wanted to drop him off. But then he was so close to you and you were breathing in his scent, that stupidly comforting scent that you'd been trying for weeks to ignore. His lips were at your ear and he was asking you something in a desperate, very un-Kaeya voice.

"Please, can I kiss you?"

And you nodded because of course you did. No matter what the logical part of your brain tried to tell you every single time you were near him, you knew. This was what you had been hoping for, dreaming of ever since you had met him. You had told yourself it was impossible, that his flirtatious words were a luxury that everyone got to experience, thrown about with no less care than a comment about the weather.

But now, those words were saved just for you. Whispers of "you look so beautiful like this" and "you're so good for me" spoken softly enough that your doubted even the wind could catch them. And then his hands were on you, cold cryo fingertips tracing up your waist and then to your back as they worked at hooks and pulled you further into him.

And your hands were in his hair and then on the clasps of his corset and the ties of his pants, yanking and throwing as though they were the things you hated most in the world. Perhaps at that point in your life, they had been. And then he had been on you, pushing you down into the bed as you arched upwards to meet him, the feeling of wanting to touch him the strongest thing you had felt in your entire life. And then he had reached down...

And... you had slept with your coworker.

It took all the self control in you not to leap out of the bed immediately as you considered your options. There was no way you could stay around until Kaeya woke up. Or, could you? Again, there was that voice in your brain, begging you to just nestle back into the covers and savor this time you got to spend with him. You had to ignore it. This wasn't anything special after all right? You two had just needed to blow off some steam and had seen each other as convenient.

Kaeya was just that kind of guy right? No strings attached, no commitments.

It didn't matter that just seeing him roaming the courtyard from your office window was enough to spike your heart rate through roof. That when he stood a little too close to you during meetings, you had to ball your hands into fists to resist grabbing the lapels of his jacket and smashing your lips into his right then and there.

"Please..." he had said. This stupid beautiful man was going to be the end of you.

"I just have to get out..." you muttered under your breath, pushing yourself into a sitting position in hopes that action would clear your thoughts. You got halfway off the bed when you heard it.

"And where do you think you're going?"

The world went cold. It took you a moment to work up the courage to turn towards the voice, eyes still wide in surprise as you did. You could have sworn that Kaeya was asleep. Everything had suggested it from the uniform rhythm of his breath to the limpness of his splayed arms.

And yet, there he was, very much awake, one visible eye glinting in amusement at your reaction.

"So the eyepatch stays on during sex..." was the only thought your brain could produce in that moment and you honestly could have slapped yourself.

"G-Good morning Kaeya..." you decided on instead, though it only seemed to amuse the man further as he too sat up right behind you.

"Good morning to you too. And to think you were trying to sneak out just a moment ago without saying anything to me..." He was close again, his breath on your ear sending a shiver down your spine. Slowly, his arms came up, sliding under yours before closing right underneath your chest, pulling you into his.

You wriggled slightly in his grip, breathe hitching as his lips made their way down, grazing against your neck. "I-I thought you'd like that better. Since this... this is just a one-time thing." The words hurt to get out and you felt Kaeya stiffen slight behind you.

Without warning, you were yanked backwards, a soft yelp escaping your lips as you found yourself nestled amongst the pillows once again, though this time, a pair of arms encircled you, caging you in with nowhere to run.

Kaeya's periwinkle eye looked down at you when your panicked gaze flew up to meet his, steady and more sincere than you were sure you had ever before seen.

"Now, is that what you really think of our relationship? I'm hurt..." He reached over, taking your chin gently in his fingers as he angled your head up towards him. "Do you want this to be a one-time thing?"

You gulped.

"No. I want you forever. I want you all the time and I just want you to want me too."

You couldn't say it. You couldn't risk it.

Kaeya must have mistaken your silence of a yes however as he retracted his hands immediately. He pulled himself off of you, settling on the edge of the bed with his back to you. It may have just been that stupid thing called hope, but for a moment, you thought that you say hurt in his gorgeous eye.

"Ah I see, well that's fine as well. For what it was, that was a pretty fun night. Shall we go get breakfast or something?" That had to be pain. He was good at hiding his emotions, but you knew Kaeya better than anyone. He was hurt.

"... no."

"Not a breakfast person? That's alright then, you're welcome to see yourself out whenever you'd like."

"No I don't want it to be a one-time thing. I want you Kaeya, for as long as you'll let me." You didn't know where the words were coming from but when he whirled to face you once more, hope in his eyes, you knew you couldn't stop. "So, please don't make me leave?"

Apparently that was all it took as you barely got a moment to breathe before his lips were on yours. It took you a moment but you returned the kiss, hands reaching up to pull him down into you. His lips were hungry, threatening to devour you if you didn't hold your ground. Unconsciously, you arched against him and through the kiss, you could feel his smile.

There was a strange warm feeling growing in your chest that only seemed to amplify the moment Kaeya pulled away, the most genuine smile you had ever seen from him plastered over his lips.

"Oh darling, you have no idea what you just got yourself into..."

note: maybe i'll write one of these for a bunch of characters... you guys wanna see that?

[wolveria]

Inside Your Wires - Chapter 1

Pairing: Human!Connor x Android!Reader

Summary: Assigned all cases involving android-related crimes, saddled with a prototype that follows him around like a plastic puppy, Detective Connor Anderson knows this must be karma for all the bad shit he’s ever done.

He thought he'd hit rock bottom, that he didn't have much left to lose, but he's proven wrong by the android sent by CyberLife. And Connor learns just how much further he can fall.

Prompt: For the @dbhau-bigbang​ 2020 challenge!

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, slow burn, fantasy bigotry, violence, brief noncon elements, angst with a happy ending

AO3

(Story moodboard by @uh-kitty-got-wet​​)

November 5th, 2038

Friday 11:21PM

The whiskey was harsh and burned like liquid fire as it slid down his throat. He dropped the shot glass onto the bar top and closed his eyes and savored the bloom of the cheap booze warming his chest. The music from the old jukebox behind him belted out tunes that would have been considered outdated when the place opened.

It was like this most nights. He was alone, exhausted, and well on his way to a pleasant buzz. The one thing Connor had going for him was that he hadn’t started in on his third drink until 11 PM.

That had to be some kind of record. On a Friday night, he was usually shitfaced by 10. Call it the long hours he’d been working, or maybe the fact he felt more self-loathing than usual, he’d somehow managed to hold off on spiraling until nearly midnight.

Definitely a record. And Connor deserved to celebrate.

When he tipped the glass with one finger and caught Jimmy’s eye, he nearly looked away in shame. The bartender had never given him shit before, at least in a verbal sense, but the cool stare he gave Connor now made him want to crawl into a hole and die there.

But Jimmy didn’t say a word, just gave him another dose of poison and turned away, leaving Connor in relative peace to enjoy the game. Denton Carter was kicking ass tonight, so at least there was that.

It was all going beautifully until the door opened and the sound of rain echoed throughout the tiny bar, along with a distinct smell of wet asphalt and dirty concrete. Out of the corner of his eye, Connor saw two of the other regulars shift in their seats to stare at the newcomer.

Not another regular, then. And by how lengthy the stares were and the sudden shift in atmosphere, Connor guessed the barometric pressure had taken a drop due to a pair of long legs and pretty eyes.

Turning his body only far enough to get a glance for himself, Connor was not disappointed, eyeing the stranger from their black dress shoes, up their shapely legs clad in dark jeans, past curvy hips and—

Oh.

Connor turned back in his seat, hunched over and grimacing in disgust, put there by the sight of a blue triangle on a lapel and a glowing armband around one arm. He hadn’t even needed to look higher for the LED to know what the fuck had just waltzed into the joint like it actually belonged there.

He nursed his whiskey, praying the thing would pass him by and leave him the fuck alone. Or better yet, Jimmy would throw it out.

No such luck, of course.

“Detective Anderson,” spoke a smooth, raspy voice to his right. “I’m the YN800 model sent by CyberLife.”

He elected to ignore it. Maybe if he did so for long enough, it would take the hint and go away.

Again, Connor’s luck was not holding out.

“I called your cell phone, but you didn’t answer,” the voice continued, unimpeded. “I then looked for you at the station after checking your home, but you weren’t there either. Your colleagues indicated you tended to frequent the bars in the area, and I was fortunate to find you at the fifth one.”

His eye twitched. This thing had gone to his apartment?

“Well, here I am,” he answered, dry and caustic as he stared straight ahead at the wall of bottles. He calculated how angry Jimmy would be if he took out his service pistol and shot it through the head.

Pretty angry, Connor decided. It would probably leave a stain. Also, he didn’t want to compensate some asshole company for property damage.

“What do you want?” he finally growled, scratching his nail into the bar top already marred with various scuffs and dings.

“You were assigned a case earlier this evening. A homicide.”

Already, a headache was forming between the eyes at the sound of the android’s irritatingly friendly voice.

“Yeah, and?”

“It involved a CyberLife android,” it said in that same smooth inflection. “In accordance with procedure, the company has allocated a specialized model to assist investigators.”

You have to be shitting me.

Connor grit his teeth and clenched his glass tighter, a flush of heat moving through him that had nothing to do with his blood alcohol content. A fucking android was sent to help cops do their job?

Fuck that, and fuck this hunk of junk.

“Good for them,” he answered as he tipped the glass up to his lips. “I couldn’t give less of a shit. Now get the fuck out of my face. We don’t need any help, especially from a plastic pair of tits like you.”

He should have known that wasn’t the end of it. The android spoke again, adopting a tone of what it had probably been programmed as “sympathetic.”

“I understand you may be experiencing reluctance to having an android’s assistance in this matter, but I am—“

“—ruining a perfectly good evening, butting your nose where it doesn’t belong and sure as fuck isn’t welcome.”

Connor put his glass down harder on the bar top than he meant to, nearly spilling his drink.

“I suggest you leave before I void your warranty.”

Connor thought the machine got the message when it finally went silent. He could even see its mood ring spinning yellow out of the corner of his eye before it settled on that annoying placid blue.

He’d just brought the glass halfway to his lips when it said, “I’m sorry, Detective, but I must insist.”

Connor set the glass back down and started to count to ten. He couldn’t lose it now, he’d promised Jimmy he wouldn’t break anything else after the last brawl he’d gotten into.

But the fucking thing just kept on talking.

“My instructions stipulate that I have to accompany you.”

“You know where you can stick your instructions?” Connor growled before downing the glass of whiskey.

It was a good thing he had, because its next words made him choke on spit.

“No. Where?”

Connor set the glass down, and for the first time that evening, fully turned toward the android and stared at it.

The damn thing was staring back, head slightly tilted like a curious puppy. It had large eyes to match the image too, earnest and innocent and entirely too sincere. Its attire at second glance wasn’t the typical android faire. A smooth grey android jacket and a dark, patterned tie marked it as something different. Unique.

And just a little too pretty. Every designed, group-focused imperfection on its face made it that much more appealing. Its hair was neatly coifed, pulled up and pinned behind its head, exposing the smooth curve of its neck.

Hanging down the left side of its face was a strategically-placed lock of hair that Connor immediately want to twirl his finger around. He suspected that was the point.

The further down Connor’s eyes traveled, the more he lost his train of thought. The perfectly sensible tie was lying on the slope of its breasts, something even the jacket couldn’t cover. Why the fuck androids had breasts to begin with, Connor couldn’t begin to fathom, and it seemed even more ludicrous now seeing them on a “specialized model.”

The android hadn’t moved apart from its artificial breathing, another thing about the machines that was uncanny. They weren’t human, and the fact CyberLife kept trying to pass them off as such was a goddamn insult to humanity.

He met the thing’s eye, gave an unimpressed huff, and went back to nursing his drink. If the fucking tin can didn’t understand a dirty innuendo, he certainly wasn’t going to ruin its pristine, virginal programming.

Connor doubted everything that had just gone through his head as those unnecessarily realistic tits were pressed against his elbow, without warning or any sense of decency or a concept of personal space.

“How about this, Detective?”

Connor fumbled, nearly spilling his drink, a massive what the fuck! warning flashing in his head as the machine pressed closer.

“I’ll buy you another drink, on the house. Surely that’s worth a few minutes of your time? And if not, you can send me on my way.”

Connor couldn’t speak with that voice right into his ear like a close confidant, sultry and low and borderline pornographic, so it was a good thing the android didn’t bother waiting for a response.

Instead, it turned to Jimmy and said in a louder, more normal tone, “Bartender, another round for the detective, please.”

Jimmy turned from where he was cleaning glasses on the counter, eyebrows shooting upward as he looked from the machine to Connor. It had backed up a few inches, but there were a lot of reflective bottles on the wall. Connor wondered just how much Jimmy had seen.

Connor gave a little helpless shrug as if to say, Don’t look at me, I don’t know what the fuck it’s doing!

But when the damn thing actually brought out real paper money and set it on the counter, Jimmy got moving. Seemed he wasn’t picky about where his money came from, and Connor almost resented the fact he hadn’t thrown the android out on principle.

Who the hell gave it money in the first place? CyberLife? What, did they hand it a few bucks of allowance before letting it off its leash?

Despite all his reservations, and there were a great many of them, Connor was not about to turn down a free drink. Or two.

“Make it a double,” he grumbled, purposefully avoiding the android’s focused gaze. He could practically feel the thing staring into the side of his head, but at least it remained at a distance and wasn’t pressed against his side like a drunk, horny badge bunny anymore.

“Thanks, Jim.” Connor took the glass and tipped it back, drowning it in one go. The slide of the familiar burn down his throat, spreading throughout his limbs, did quite a lot to help ease the tension in his muscles.

He released a heavy exhale, pushed away from the bar, and got to his feet.

“You want to play plastic cop? Okay, then. Keep up,” he said, tilting his head in its direction without actually looking at it. “Or I’m leaving your ass behind.”

Connor didn’t wait for a response, only raised his hand in parting to Jimmy, and pushed open the door to let the rain-drenched Detroit night swallow him whole. But even through the sound of the rain pinging off the hood of his nearby car he could hear the even footfalls behind him, just a little too close for comfort.

Fucking androids.

Next Chapter

[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.

[shortprince-cos]

Patton's Normal And Totally Not Angsty Birthday

Summary: Patton was fully expecting to spend his birthday with his stuffed animals and pictures instead of actual people, but his famILY had other secret plans.

Warnings: Crying, being alone for an extended period of time, angst, slight innuendo. Tell me if I need to add anything else!

Pairings: Platonic DRLAMP (all)

{Masterlist}

~~~~~

Patton was fully expecting to spend his birthday with his stuffed animals and pictures instead of actual people.

It wasn't a far-fetched idea, considering what had happened earlier last year. Everyone was still on their toes from the...fight.

It wasn't a fight though! It was more like a...big disagreement. That kind of maybe split everyone apart and left Patton alone...

But it was fine! Everyone just needed some alone time! Even if it had been awhile - a long while - since the incident. They just needed to think about things, and when they were ready, Patton would apologize and they would hopefully accept!

Hopefully...

Patton turned in his bed again, trying to sleep for the umpteenth time that night.

He sighed and eventually sat up, glancing at the clock. It said it was 4:16 in the morning, now it was technically January fifteenth.

Happy birthday to him.

Patton wiped the tears off his face and put on his glasses and his cat hoodie. Well, if it was his birthday, he might as well have a cupcake and make a wish. He'd probably need it, to be fully honest.

Patton meandered through the hallway, glancing at everyone's different colored doors. Everyone was probably asleep.

He remembers when it used to be just three doors in the hallway. Just Morality, Creativity, and Logic. Was it simpler then? Or were they just living in ignorance?

"No one knows you better than yourself, am I right, Tony?"

"I know big words too! Ssssssaxophone-"

"Who knows what'll happen if you don't adopt them, and they need a good home!"

"Anything he darn well pleases!"

...Maybe he was the only one not taking things seriously. They say ignorance is...better to live in, and Patton was basically swimming in it before his wake up call.

"We need actual contributions from you, now and then."

Is that why this happened? Maybe he's been ignorant of all the actual dilemmas this entire time. That's how everything went wrong! He didn't just suddenly not know what to do, he never knew what to do! He just hid it with jokes and puns and silly commentary to 'lighten the mood', but really he was just a distraction from their actual problems.

Patton hugged himself as he stood in the hallway, surrounded by the doors of his friends. Well, if they still wanted to be his friend.

Patton glanced at the dark purple door in the hall, cringing at the memories that came with it.

"Now Anxiety, if you don't want to participate, you can just sit this one out."

"Awww you poor little anxious baby!"

"And what about Anxiety, he always seems to get you down."

Patton swiped his tears away, hurriedly making his way down the hall to the staircase.

Janus didn't have a door here yet; he said he'd rather stay with the others in the hidden side of the mindscape.

Probably because of how awful they all were to him.

"Deceit, standing in the spot of one of my four best friends."

"Um, you're in my spot."

"Because Thomas gave his word, but you wouldn't know anything about words, would'ja mister?"

"I may be amphibian, but I can't say that I am fibbin'!"

God, they were so terrible to him. No wonder he doesn't like being around any of them.

Patton's hands shook as he gripped the banister at the top of the stairs, holding in his silent sobs.

All of this is his fault. He caused the rift in his famILY.

Suddenly he heard voices from downstairs. Wasn't everyone in bed? It was four in the morning, who would be up right now?

Patton wiped the tears off his face for the umpteenth time and took deep breaths, trying to steady himself.

He stalked down the top stairs slowly, trying to listen in onto what the voice was saying.

"Listen," A voice whispered. "I'm just pointing out all the possibilities."

"More like all the negabilities, seeing how all of them are negative." Another snarked.

"Just- does he even wanna see us? We basically ghosted him for months. We didn't even include him on the Nico situation. Why didn't we do that, he's the heart! He's like, the most important side for that!"

Oh. They were talking about him.

Patton debated leaving, going down there, or keep on listening before another voice spoke up.

"I doubt he would not wish to see us. If anything, I believe he would like to talk about what happened."

"Logan, we're talking about Patton here. If we talk, he'll just say he's fine when he's clearly not fine."

"That's not true." One obviously lied.

So all four of them were downstairs talking about him. Wait, isn't there supposed to be five-

"Hi Potty-cakes!" Remus suddenly shouted from behind him.

Patton shrieked in surprise, before almost tumbling down the stairs before someone caught him.

"Pat! Are you okay?!" Virgil said, slowly helping Patton to his feet.

"Y-Yeah, I'm perfect!" He said, plastering his Patton-ted fake smile.

Virgil squinted at him. "Pat, have you been crying?"

Ah. Guess the smile didn't work.

Patton noticed that everyone was crowded around him, including Janus, which meant that lying was out of the question.

"Uh- kinda?" Another smile.

Someone swore under their breath as Logan spoke up. "Patton, what are you doing awake at this hour? Don't you normally get up at seven?"

Patton stood up straightly instead of leaning on Virgil. "Oh, I just woke up and couldn't fall back asleep! What're you guys...?" Patton started as he finally looked around the room, noticing the balloons, streamers, and a banner that they had used for every birthday Patton had had.

"...doing?" He finished.

"Uh-" Roman started. "Well uh- we were kind of...surprising you with a birthday party?" He shrugged nervously.

Patton stood shocked for a moment. They were throwing him a surprise birthday party? Why? Why would they do that- weren't they mad at him? There's no way they would just suddenly not be mad at him! What was happening?!

"Pat, what's wrong?" Janus suddenly asked, putting a gloved hand on Patton's shoulder.

"I'm fine, why?" He answered on instinct.

"Padre, you're crying." Roman explained.

Patton touched his cheek, and sure enough, he was crying. "O-Oh. I guess I am."

Another hand gripped his wrist. "Pop-star, are you okay?" Virgil asked with concern and sincerity in his voice.

Patton immediately started sobbing. "No, no I'm not."

Some tentacles wrapped around him from behind - probably Remus - as a bunch of arms started surrounding him as well, securely trapping him in a hug.

Patton kept crying into someone's shoulder as multiple people kept whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

Eventually, Patton had stopped crying, just enjoying the feeling of a hug - a hug! - surrounding him.

Then, they started pulling away, leaving Patton with traces of warmth left over.

"Patton, are you alright?" Logan asked with concern in his eyes.

Patton rubbed at his eyes again and sniffled. "Y-Yeah. I'm just overwhelmed, I guess. I kinda expected to spend today alone..."

Everyone made a noise of either surprise or concern.

"Patton I..." Roman started, looking at the ground in guilt. "I didn't mean to make you feel alone, I just-" He sighed. "I talked to De-Janus, and he helped me realize that it wasn't like you were trying to make me the bad guy, you were just trying to tell me that Janus wasn't one either. So, I planned a party to apologize to you, and well, I guess the surprise is ruined."

Patton immediately hugged Roman the minute he stopped talking. Roman chuckled, but Patton could hear the tears in his voice.

"I'm- I'm so sorry I-"

"Shh, don't be." Roman comforted. "We all forgive you."

After another minute of hugging, Logan cleared his throat.

"While this moment is very touching and much needed, it is currently almost five in the morning, so I suggest we all take a nap before we get into the festivities."

Everyone made noises of agreement, when Patton interrupted.

"Um- could we-?" Patton started before cutting himself off.

"What's up, Pat?" Virgil asked.

"Uh- I-I just thought that maybe we could..."

"Cuddle on the couch?" Janus finished with a smirk on his face.

Patton nodded with blush on his face.

"Ooo sexy~"

"Remus, I swear to all things princely-" Roman started before the twins started arguing and Logan had to break them up before they could brawl in the living room.

Eventually, everyone on the was cuddled up on the couch and snuggling in one way or another, and Patton couldn't be more content.

~~~~~

Whoo! I finished on time!!!!!!!! I'm so proud of myself for writing this in one day! Though, I think it's a bit rushed, I forgive myself for that tho because it was written in one day lol

Ty for reading! I really enjoyed writing Patton angst again lol!

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Ask to be added or removed!

Reblogs are appreciated!💖

[roger-that-cap]

meet me in the gardens

knight!natasha x noble!fem!reader

summary: being the widow of a decently wealthy lord and sitting on a large plot of land automatically meant that you were a candidate for the program that you couldn’t say not to; the hosting. you had to sponsor a knight and keep them in your home for an entire year, which was troublesome enough on its own. but you never expected yoru knight to be a woman, and you certainly didn’t expect to have a full on illegal love affair with her, either. 

warnings: actually none but a misunderstanding and the lack of editing that i think u guys may or may not be used to at this point

word count: 5.3k

part two!!

The knight before you was the opposite of a man. She was so opposite in fact, that you had to actively make yourself not appear like you were shocked. You knew that the twins were having to try even harder to keep composure.

She was without a doubt, one of the prettiest people you had ever seen before. Being a lady, you had seen so many handsome young men and gorgeous young women, but there wasn’t one who’s fairness struck you like this woman’s. Her eyes were an unfamiliar shade of blue, and you knew that they were the kind of eyes that were made for surveillance and observation, and if you looked hard enough, maybe a window to her thoughts. She had pink lips that were set into a genuine yet thin smile, almost like she wasn’t used to wordless pleasantries at all. Her hair was cropped just above her shoulders and it shined a brilliant red that you had rarely ever seen. Despite the powerful and extremely potent energy that she was giving off, she was short, shorter than you, but something told you that she was strong. Stronger than anyone knew quite yet, but you could feel it. But, you were still confused, regardless of how she had rendered you breathless for the quickest of seconds.

The problem wasn’t that she was a woman. There wasn’t even really a problem at all. It was just the fact that a woman was a knight. You had never seen anything like it in your entire life, and you had never even thought of the possibility of that happening. At all. You had to fight tooth and nail to keep property that you hardly even wanted, all because you were a woman. Because you weren’t pregnant with a son who could carry his hypothetical father’s name. Because you were a woman without the heir to your late husband’s fortunes, you were seen as nothing, for a long time. And now, there were women who were becoming knights?

You were more impressed than confused.

You felt another pinch from Pietro, this time a little harder. You breathed in through your nose, a welcoming smile on your face as you grappled for words.

“Hello,” you said, public voice still working hard as you internally scrambled for words. You were looking the red headed woman right in her eyes, the eyes that were so intense that if you hadn’t been in rooms where extreme business had gone down, you would have melted. You tried to remember the standard greeting. “Welcome to my keep. I hope that I can accommodate you during your stay, and that you are successful in your search for what it is that you are looking for.” You knew the words were off by a bit, but you saw the coachman nod in approval that you didn’t really care to have.

The knight took a step forward, and the sound of a heavy footstep crashing against your well-kept grass made you shiver. The trampled grass had nothing on the way that you reacted to hearing her voice. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Mirellis. I sincerely thank you for allowing me into your home.”

It was hardly your home, and you could tell that the two of you had already gotten off on the wrong foot. You knew it was because of your shameless staring. “May I be graced with knowing your name?”

If possible, she stood up a little straighter. “I am Natasha Romanoff, My Lady.”

If you were hearing correctly, you heard the slight awkwardness in her last two words. Only people with titles of their own called other lords and ladies “my lady”, and lower born people were to call them “milady”. She must have been lowborn, just like you. “It is my deepest pleasure to meet you, Natasha. May I show you around my keep?”

“Typically,” the coachman cut in, and you furrowed your brows at the way he interrupted the stop-and-start flow of the conversation. “It isn’t the lord—sorry—lady of the house’s job to do that.”

Wanda opened her mouth, highly defensive of you and ready to go because it was a fight she could afford to pick. A servant and a coachman were on the same level. She would face no punishment for talking back to the man. However, you reached to your right and squeezed her hand twice.

“Well, I am the lady of the house, and I would like to show my new guest her accommodations.” The man narrowed his eyes slightly at you, and it became obvious to everyone that he clearly wasn’t expecting back talk from you.

You knew that everyone thought widows were these gentle, sad women. The type that cried themselves to sleep and wished to meet their husbands again in the afterlife. The type that listened at anything that a man uttered simply because he was a man, or because they didn’t have the energy to entertain an arguement or to correct them. Especially ladies. But you were not supposed to be a lady. You wore fancy dresses and had gold and had a small castle to yourself, but part of you would always be that girl who beat up the boys who lived a few acres away for talking about your hair and then rolled in mud with them, laughing about it the very next day.

Even through the glances that were thrown between the five of you standing there, you continued. “My staff has worked so hard on making sure it was nice for her. I’d like to show off their diligence now.” It wasn’t a question.

“Do as you please, milady.”

You resisted the urge to nod smugly. “Thank you.” You watched him climb back onto his chair and quirked a brow. The coachman always stayed for dinner. It was considered offensive if they did not, both to the knight and to the lord or lady. “Did you not want to stay for the meal, good sir?”

“I must get back, milady. If that is alright with you.”

You knew you should utter something lengthy that you didn’t mean at all, but the most you could get out after his blatant rudeness was a quick “safe travels.” There was a long stretch of awkward silence as you watched him leave, arms hanging at your sides as the trotting sound of horses carried him away.

“Goodness, was he rude.”

“Pietro.” Wanda hissed, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. You whirled around to look at the knight— Natasha— and saw that she was already looking at you with blatant curiosity.

“Would it be alright with you if I took you around myself?” You asked, and she nodded her head. “Well, I’m sure you’re hungry. Would you like to eat first?”

You were beginning to realize very quickly that the woman was the staring type. Her eyes, no, her entire face and persona was so demanding and intense. It was hard to even be provoked by her shameless staring and possible judgement, because at least she was open with it. The more you looked at her, though, the more you knew that you would never understand what was happening behind her eyes. “I would like to see.”

“Then you will see,” you stated, and gave Wanda a look. She knew immediately what it meant, and she walked off to tell the chefs to expect you in an hour or so. “We can start with the outside area and make our way in.”

She was very much the staring type. Not even just at faces or people in general, but with everything. You noticed that when anything caught her eye, she looked at it for a few seconds in silence and then moved on, like she heard them speak something unknown to everyone else and took the time to listen.

“These are the training grounds,” you said after walking to the back half of the castle, where the grass was still trained to grow with strength and hardly a thing was out of place. The training grounds were for young squires in the area or kids that just wanted to play fight. You had made the area yourself, and it was one of your favorite parts of your home. You liked being able to look outside and see children playing freely, and the sound of laughter was something that everyone needed in life. “You’re free to use them in any way you see fit, of course.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“You’ll run into aspiring knights here and there, but they are good children.” Your voice was fond as you spoke of them, and then took a right. “And just down here, we have the gardens.”

And gardens, they were. They were the only thing in the castle that was actually yours while your husband was alive. When you had arrived, the patch of land was so disgraced that it would have been insulting to call it a garden. The flowers were droopy, the soil was dry, and the vibrant colors that were once there had been sucked away. Your husband didn’t care about the area, and neither did anyone else, so you adopted it. You had built it from the ground up and made it into what it was; a huge and gorgeous garden full of colors, with ivy hanging from rails in what looked like an unruly manner and bushes full of roses and begonias and everything in between. It was caged off by golden rails, but the rails were hardly binding. They were so wrapped with leaves that it looked like they grew with the garden.

“This is my favorite part of the keep,” you stated softly, walking down it. You had expanded it so that it went down and into the forest, the rails forming a path. You walked down it every so often yourself, deep into the woods where no one would bother you, where you could look at the stars above in peace.

“Is it yours?”

“What?” You asked, tearing your eyes from a particular bush to see her looking up at the ivy.

“This garden,” she said, and you realized that you were strolling closer and closer to the woods. You stopped walking, but didn’t make any move to go and meet her. “Do you tend to it?”

“It’s mine,” you answered, not even bothering to take the subtle pride out of your voice. “It’s my project. I started it when I got here, and now it’s flourishing.”

“Where did you learn how to garden?”

It was no secret that typically, ladies did not get their hands dirty, even if the activity was simple planting. They were supposed to stay inside and knit or something like that. Ladies could go outside to look at gardens, but they had staff to plant for them. So, did Natasha not know that you weren’t born with a title? “When I was a girl,” you answered vaguely.

“Your Lord Father allowed you?”

My father was no lord. “Yours allowed you to wield a sword?” The sound of armor clanking brought you out of your slight hostility, and you sighed. “I apologize.”

“It’s quite alright.” The harshness in her voice told you that she was offended by what you said, and she turned around once she realized that the two of you were nearing the tree line.

You walked around with Natasha, giving her the rest of the tour halfheartedly and only speaking when absolutely necessary. It was clear that the two of you clearly weren’t clicking as well as you hoped to, and while that was tragic, you weren’t going to kiss anyone’s feet to get in their good graces.

“I’m sure you’re hungry by now.” The second you stepped on the wood floors of the inside of your keep, the warmth hit you. Your shoes clicked on the material as you walked ahead of her, not looking back or waiting for an answer. “I’ll show you the kitchens, and then the dining hall.”

The dining hall was known for its size. It was huge, and the ceiling was high. Everything that was said echoed, and the lighting provided by strategically placed candles made the hall have an elegant, almost eerie feeling to it. The staff was already bustling around, plating food and pouring wine. Wanda and Pietro were already there, their harsh and bickering whispers hitting your ears until they heard you approaching.

“Oh, please, sit.” Wanda did so immediately, and Pietro walked around the table to pull out your chair, which sat at the head of it.

You cringed when Pietro sat down. He had been dethroned from his seat at your left hand, because it was courteous of you to give up that seat for your new night. That was one tradition that you wouldn’t break, simply because it would be seen as disrespectful. “You can sit right there, Lady Natasha.” You saw her lip twitch.

In all honesty, you had no idea what to call her formally. You two certainly weren’t close enough to address each other by first name, and you doubted she even knew it. But she wasn’t a man, and male knights were called “Sir”. She wasn’t a “Sir”. You didn’t want to offend her further by calling her it.

The first half of the dinner was in awkward silence. Wanda kept giving you glances, and you frowned at the way she was looking at you- like you had clearly messed something up. You sighed through your nose when you heard Pietro clear his throat, a sound that meant that he was about to run his mouth.

“So, my lady knight, what do you think of the castle?”

The red head didn't even realize she was being addressed until she looked up and saw you and everyone else looking at her expectantly. “It’s very nice.” You waited a bit, listening to hear whatever empty compliments that she would give for the sake of being polite. Ten seconds passed, and there was nothing.

You chuckled. “Thank you,” you answered just as shortly, holding back the urge to laugh much louder than was appropriate.

“So, where are you from?”

“The slums.” You nod in acknowledgment, and guilt. Sometimes you repressed the images of people living from coin to coin. But silly you, silly everyone. For there to have been people on the top, there had to be people at the bottom. And those who lived at the bottom lived in what were called “the slums”. “I don’t know if you would know anything about that, My Lady.”

Wanda made a noise that told you that the bold knight’s words were clearly meant to wound you, and Pietro’s brows shot upwards so quickly that you barely saw the movement happen. You stared at your plate, jaw dropped open in surprise and mortification.

You were fuming on the inside. How the hell would she know who you were? What you dealt with? How your husband was as cruel as he was disgusting? How you grew up a poor farmer’s daughter? She didn’t know, and that was what kept you grounded. How could she have known?

Before you could get in your right mind to utter a threat that you were sure that your late husband had said in your presence at least once, you nodded your head and took it in stride. You stood up from the table and didn’t look at her or the confused look she shot you after looking at your painfully unfinished plate.

“Wanda will show you to your chambers, Lady Natasha. I hope you enjoy your first dinner of many here at my castle, and I hope that tonight begins your yearlong journey to wisdom.” And with that, you turned on your heels after taking your plate shamelessly, heels clacking against the polished floor once again, silence filling the hall until long after you left.

§§

By the third day Natasha was there and the second that you had been blatantly avoiding her, you were starting to feel bad for fueling the fire between you two. She was to stay under your roof and do what she had to for a full year, and you antagonized her. You gave the sacred act of showing a knight to their room to someone else, and you understood Natasha’s lack of speech towards you to be a consequence of that.

But that was fine. You certainly didn’t need for the girl to like you. It would have made things much easier and smoother, but it wasn’t a necessity. Your job was to give her food, water, shelter, and time to find herself and her purpose as a knight. Nothing said that the two of you had to be as thick as thieves.

But that also didn’t mean that you would actively pass on befriending her. You decided after a long time of sitting at the polished wooden desk that had become yours that you would be her friend should fate allow it, and if not, there was no harm to it. But you weren’t going to chase her, no matter how wonderfully her bright hair would work as an object to follow.

A soft calling of your name happened seconds before Wanda opened the door. You greeted her informally and grinned at her, until you saw the look on her face and the sealed paper in her hand. Immediately, your joyful expression left and you sighed.

“Who is it this time?” Wanda shut the door behind her after your question, and you gave her a look. “It can’t be Lord Rumlow again.”

Brock Rumlow was not a good man. No man who had power was a good man, but he was one of the worst. He had gone through two wives in the past three years, and the second one was found with stab wounds in the forest. How he had gotten out of being tried for her murder was beyond you, and it made you sick to your stomach every time you thought about it. Now, he set his sights on you, a widow sitting on plenty of money and land. He had been sending you letters, flowers, gold, dresses, anything that a narcissistic man would think that another human being would like simply because the things were tangible. And the letters always said the same old thing; to marry him. And he wasn’t ever really asking.

“It’s him,” Wanda confirmed, her tone telling you that she felt the same way you did towards the vile man.

“I want to burn it,” you said, and immediately, Wanda crossed the room to put the note in the fire, waiting for your final say. “Let me read what this imbecile has asked for now. I wonder what beautiful horse or jewel he’ll offer for my hand, this time.”

You took the letter from Wanda gently and gave her a small smile, and she urged you to open it, just as nervous to see what was inside as you were. You stared at his seal for a few seconds, eyeing the red wax with a three headed serpent engraved with disdain before tearing it right open. You did the rest without ceremony, your eyes narrowed as you found the messy and unbothered handwriting that you would recognize from anywhere.

Lady of Riverstone,

I take it that my other letters may have been lost to the wind. I apologize for not reaching you earlier. But, if you have been getting my letters, then my main offer stands the same. I would be honored for you to take my name and stand under my veil, and for you to become my wife. Marriage to me would give you a great deal of benefits, and I have listed them down below. I would like an answer within two fortnights, and if I don’t get one, I’ll send another letter.

It was all more of the same, more of the same offers and then a little more, vague threats, and monotonous language that he hardly knew how to use correctly. You read with a neutral expression, even though Wanda was shocked reading all of the things he was offering. He signed it off like he did every other letter.

Lord Rumlow, of Serpent’s Keep.

“He offered you two tons of gold to send your father?”

“Do you notice how he’s never called me Lady Mirellis?” You asked, sipping the chalice of water that constantly sat at your desk, and got refilled whenever someone walked by and saw it nearing empty. “Or by my name?”

“I have.”

“It’s always ‘Lady of Riverstone’,” you sighed, shaking your head. “If he wants the land, he should just go on and say that. It’s much more respectable for him to be honest with me. Maybe I would have said yes already.”

Wanda made a face. “You’re lying, now.”

“Well, of course I am. I've never seen him, and all he wants is a woman to beat around. I’m not that woman, no woman is. Do you think I want to find myself dead within a half year of being wed?” There was a sharp knock on your door.

“He wouldn’t kill you. He wouldn’t gain these assets after your death,” Wanda said softly, understanding that you were about to finish the conversation. “He must be truly desperate to pay ou two tons of gold. That could help nearly anyone out of a pickle, and it would certainly pay off some things back at the farm.”

You knew that. But the truth was… you held a certain amount of irrational and rational disdain for your family. You knew that some of it was warranted just off of the way humans worked in general, but others weren’t. You knew for a fact that a part of you would always be bitter about the way that no one fought hard enough for you not to be taken from your home. You knew that a part of you would be bitter because they took the money that your late husband had offered them, like you were the fattest, most desirable pig in the pen. And there would forever, and ever, be a part of you—if not all of you— that would be angry about your wedding night.

Half of your family showed. The other half came, took you to a back room, and cried. They cried on your night of terror, and you comforted them. It was the one time where you truly needed your mother and her maternal instincts, the one time you needed your brother to teach you some moves that could hurt a man if you needed them. And they either weren’t where you needed them, or weren’t what you needed them. Both truths hurt the same.

“My family doesn’t need money,” you settled on saying, swallowing the burning that came with thinking about the people you shared blood with. “If they needed it, they would ask.”

“Your father is a proud man, he wouldn’t set that pride aside. Especially not to ask one of his own daughters for money.”

“Well, let that be their problem,” you said, although your harsh words weren’t as impactful because of the tremor in them. “I won’t marry Lord Rumlow.”

Wanda leaned forward a bit, and she took both of your hands in hers as the knocking grew louder. She looked you in the eyes, just the way one true friend looked at another. With the same ferocity in her voice as the time when she assured you that no one was going to force you to give up your rights to ladyship, her next words were no louder than a whisper. “And no one will make you.”

Your eyes almost grew watery as you held her hands, feeling the purity of the bond you shared with her surging. “Thank you.” You looked towards the door and let her hands go, uttering a soft command.

Pietro stood there with his arms crossed and a flushed look on his face. He cocked his head to the side at the sight of you and Wanda hovering over a broken open letter, and took a few steps forward. It was upside down, so you turned it his way so that he could read it easier, and the second he recognized the handwriting, he groaned.

“I think I can assume what this is,” he rolled his eyes, and he picked it up and walked over to the fire. When you’d said nothing, he tossed it in and the three of you watched it burn. “I came to tell you that our little knight is strange.”

“How so?”

“Well, she's writing.”

You furrowed your brows. “Writing?” You repeated, remembering her saying that she grew up poor. Most commoners had no idea how to read or write. You only learned because you had to learn when you married a lord. And even if knights had the ability to read and write, they hardly did. Words had very little value to a man who could wield a sword.

But Natasha Romanoff was no man.

“What on earth would she be writing about?” Wanda asked, leaning against the desk. “I wonder if she’s required to write a review on her treatment.”

Pietro gave a short but genuine laugh. “She’s probably writing down terrible things about you to give to the king after she returns home,” he joked, and Wanda cracked a smile, but you couldn’t find it in you to laugh.

“I couldn’t care less about a review of my hospitality or lack therefore of,” you drawled.

Wanda rolled her eyes. “Yes, you do, because you’re a kind person.”

“But she is not.” You felt bad for saying the words that you said not even seconds after.

“We don’t know that,” Wanda reasoned softly. “Actually, I happen to know that she’s quite nice. And she’s level headed and very smart, from what I can see. She’s no man with a little praise under his belt, that’s for sure.”

“So, she’s not boastful.” You said. “That’s good. But I don’t see her and I sharing more interactions than what we need to.”

“With all due respect, Lady Y/N,” Pietro said, leaning forward with that characteristic smirk of his plastered over his face. “You are very dramatic. You always have been.”

You could hardly even pretend to be offended. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” Wanda said quietly, though not fearfully at all. “You are always dramatic, and then things work out.”

Wanda was right. She very much was, actually. Things like the river nearly drying up and crops rotting too quickly and other things that were completely out of your hands terrified you. The things that you couldn’t control made you irrational and erratic, and that was probably your worst fault. You did the same with things you could change, only with worrying. Something as simple as an apology could fix something, but you would sit on giving the apology for hours, sometimes even days.

That night, when it seemed like everyone else was fast asleep and dreaming sweet little images, you put on slippers and walked right outsides, your guards not even asking you where you were going. You walked right out of the side doors and into the garden, humming quietly to yourself as you walked through the entrance of it with your pails of water.

It was quiet besides the noise of bugs chirping, and the occasional flap of wings from birds above. Even your humming had tapered off, and it felt like you could have been able to hear things from miles away. You smiled in the crisp air as you bent over to water a rose bush, a soft affirmation towards the red flowers when you saw how pretty they looked in the moonlight. When you stood back up and turned your head around, you gasped in fright and tumbled towards the ground.

“Shit,” a hand caught your arm and the other was on your shoulder as your chest heaved, adrenaline rushing from being so frightened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you saw me.” It took you a second to see the face of the woman speaking in the moonlight, but when you saw it was the knight, you sighed.

You were set back on two feet, and then Natasha took a step backwards. “Why are you out here?”

She shrugged. “It’s pretty.” There was a stretch of silence as you waited for her to say something, anything else. “It’s safe.”

A part of you was angered by that statement. Yes, the gardens were safe. Of course they were, they were your safety! They were your place that you went to when you felt like nothing was in your control, like your own decisions weren’t yours. Nothing could hurt you in the gardens, and plants couldn’t talk. They held every secret that you could ever tell, they held every tear that you never shed in front of another, and they saw every emotion that you were too stoic to show in front of others. They were the one place that you could get peace. And now the knight has ruined it.

But on the other hand, you were proud of yourself for creating something that someone else can admire. You created something that someone else could be free in, and in a way, that was amazing. And that hand was outweighing the other.

So, you said, “I’m glad it feels that way.” You cleared your throat softly when you realized that you were speaking to her the way you spoke to the twins. “I created it as my own safe space, so I’m glad someone else thinks of it that way, too.”

There was a short yet heavy silence between you and Natasha, and then you saw her turn to face you, her eyes burning a hole into the side of your face. “I know you’re not very excited to have me here, but I’m here. So we can at least try to be cordial.”

“Is that not what we’re being?” You asked, not even taking your eyes off of the moon. “I thought we were even being a little friendly.”

“It would be nice if it lasted.” Natasha muttered, and you nodded your head.

“I don’t know if I offended you with the question about whether or not your father approved your knighthood,” you said, sighing. “I assume that I did. And if you carry around that offense, then I apologize. I don’t like talking about my own father, but you couldn’t have known that.”

“You do not need to be forgiven,” she states. “I apologize, as well.”

“And it’s not that I don’t want you here,” you started, already cursing yourself for going into what she had said not even a full minute earlier. You were tense as she waited for you to continue, but you just shrugged and sighed. “Just know that that’s not it.” Something reached toward you out of the corner of your eye, and you finally turned your head to look at her.

She was… she was nothing short of gorgeous. You were taller than her, so you looked down at her just a little bit. Her red hair looked more brown than anything, and her blue eyes were pale and still as beautiful as they were during the day. There was the smallest hint of a smile on her face, nervous almost, as you looked down at the arm that was reached out your way. The moon was shedding you both its white light, and it primarily rested right where her arm was extended, her palm lord and turned to the side.

She wanted to shake hands with you. Shaking hands was seen as archaic, and knights certainly didn’t touch ladies unless they were assisting them. But, you knew by now that Natasha was not the typical knight. One of her fingers twitched, and you realized that she was just waiting there, her hand hanging in the air, like a gavel ready to drop at any moment. And quickly, almost enough to make the other woman startle, you took her right hand in your own and shook it twice, keeping your eyes right on hers.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

                                                       ******

hiiii guys! still establishing things here with this chapter, but when things kick off, they are going full speed. i already love this fic, and i can’t wait to put all my ideas down for it as the finished product! i hope you guys liked it, and if you did, please show her some love! i have a little taglist building up, so here it goes!

@normanijauregui​ @fayhar​ @8plasma​ @procrastinatingsapphictrash​ 

@slut-for-nat​ @dontmindmejustreading @swords-are-cool​

@200605chaeng​ @thescottishavenger @antidaytime​ @jenny-song​ @madamevirgo​ @natasha-danvers​ @drdarcy-lewis​ @blackxwidowsxwife​ 

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Hi hi! I saw your post asking for request/inspiration! Maybe Geralt x fem reader, and geralt has to hunt down a monster but the reader as well, so first they try to outsmart the other but eventually they realize they have to work together and they end up falling for each other? ❤️❤️

Bound By Blood - Geralt of Rivia x (f)reader - Part 1

side note- I have no self control and just kept writing so we’re gonna have a pt. 2 soon

Summary: Geralt has learned of a mysterious witch and her supposed vicious familiar, now he must hunt to bring them down for their crimes.

Warning: blood & gore, angst, bit o fluff, some smut sprinkled in the mix

It had been a good couple of weeks since his last kill, or since he had a solid amount of coin that could pay for food and board. So like any Witcher with a freshly sharpened sword and a thirst for coin with a little adventure included, Geralt was on the move, in search of his next monster to slay.

Though by the looks of it, the continent is starting to feel like a much larger place then he remembered, or perhaps he’s out in the wilds a bit further then once previously thought. Either way, the day is bright and the woods are green, although the occasional snowflake floating into his hair and Roach’s for that matter may become an annoyance later on. Guess he’ll just have to see where the road takes him this time.

No sooner would his swimming thoughts of wondrous curiosity be answered after a couple hours of traveling through the now very snow covered forest, where he would happen upon a small gathering of road worn travelers. All of whom appeared to be speaking over a small fire, their horses tied off close by. And most likely, weapons hidden at the ready for odd folk like himself.

Roach’s hooves are almost silent against the powdery white fluff as Geralt makes his way into view of this pack of loyal companions trying to have a meal in the midst of their camp before nightfall. Soon their eyes find Roach and himself, these strangers look on in cautious apprehension, wary and uncertain of what this Witcher’s true intentions are.

Suddenly a young foxy looking boy stands, his thick auburn hair falling in his face as he points a shaky steel knife in the air, “What business you have? We don’t want a fight.” Speaks the boy as confidently as he can muster, though there is a small waver in his voice. The others wait for an answer.

Geralt blinks, face unassuming and as relatively non-threatening as possible, “I’m just passing through, I’m trying to see what beast needs killed over the next hill.”

The boy lowers his knife, “Oh...well, good luck to you then. There’s been a great bear said to be hunting for Nilfgaard soldiers over that way, that’s why we’re headed west instead.”

Before Geralt is able to respond an older woman with a wolf rug over her back steps next to the boy protectively, “Best keep a move on Witcher,” She warns, eyeing him up suspiciously with her pale grey eyes, “said a woman with...unnatural powers commands the beast to kill for her. A witch of the wood it’s said, but that old bastard she has, been killing villagers and travelers alike who venture too far from town.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Mutters Geralt before directing Roach to continue onward with a click of his tongue.

——

They had never seen you coming, and now they’re paying for their lack of scouting with their pathetic little lives. The soldiers of Nilfgaard were said to be the most deadly and dangerous, men who came with fire in their hearts and steel in their hands. They feared nothing and no one, dressed in black armor and growing in numbers from the south everyday was enough to make you feel sick.

They had no right nor proper business claiming and desecrating what wasn’t there’s, how dare they hurt innocent people, they acted like true barbarians. And you would not put up with it any longer, they had burned your home, murdered your mother, and destroyed the rest of your village.

So for their crimes, you decided it was time to do what was necessary for the continents future survival, it was time to hunt. For months have you and your furry companion been here and there eradicating soldier camp after soldier camp with great satisfaction, now finally at long last have you tracked down a group of Nilfgaardians who’ve strayed too far from the main hoard. How unfortunate.

You had waited patiently to ambush them on the main road where they’d been trekking down for the past day and a half, it was too damn easy, all you did was pretend to be a hurt scared maiden in the woods. Then when they attempted to comfort you, your bear burst forth from the underbrush and slaughtered a handful before they even knew what hit them.

Now here you stand, boots in the spattered snow as you look around the blood stained white blanket of earth where a multitude of soldiers lay dead and mutilated. Though one remains with air still in his lungs, you smirk a wicked grin, eyeing up the fallen soldier as he stares wide eyed up at you from his broken body against a tree stump.

Your furry accomplice breaths heavy mountainous breaths close by, though he’s aware enough to know you’ll take care of the last one. And the terrified soldier knows it too as you take more steps closer. He flinches as you crouch down to meet his blood spattered face, “Nu-no, no...do-don’t...”

“Shhh.” You smile, raising a finger to his lips, silencing him instantly.

 He’s shaking now, eyes like a young fearful child’s as he studies your beautiful yet frightening appearance. “I thought all Nilfgaardian soldiers feared nothing, not even death. What a disappointment you all are.”

“We will...ta-take it....a-all...” He whimpers out as you throw him a harsh glare that shuts his bloody mouth.

“Just like I have taken your brothers lives,” You whisper with a sly grin before casually shrugging, “an eye for an eye they say....so don’t be afraid, I have felt the same as you do right now. Helpless, terrified, in pain....but listen...” You look sincerely into his broken gaze, a small smile upon your lips as you rest a comforting hand over his arm, though he knows its anything but comfort. “Nilfgaard and all her subjects can burn in the fiery pits of the underworld for what they’ve chosen to do in these lands. I was on the wrong side of the sword once, now you are, and no magical bear is going to come save you.” Your words are as deadly as poison, like a cobra spitting venom to their prey before the final strike.

His eyes go wide, blood seeping down his cracked lips, “No. No..n-no no! No!” Suddenly you thrust your dagger right through his jugular and right back out again causing a spurt of blood to mark your cheek, standing back you watch as he gasps and sputters, choking on his own blood as it gushes out of him like a waterfall.

“He even dies like a bitch.” You mutter in disgust, cleaning off your sword with your arm before sheathing it once again, now looking over to the beast standing in the snow. Heavy white clouds of hot breath pierce the crisp air as he watches your every move in interest, “Come. Let’s get away from here before someone sees us, we don’t need anymore bloodshed today. Now these fuckers are food for crows.”

The bear growls in agreeance, trailing after you as some hungry black ravens caw from the trees in excitement for their new free meal. No village will burn today.

——

“Oh yes, I saw her command the bear to kill those soldiers just three days ago!”

“That beast took my son last week, kill them Witcher!”

“I’m afraid to visit my cousins in the next town over! You must kill them!”

That had been the comments and ramblings of the townsfolk of the local tavern when he asked who and where this witch and her bear was. Though he didn’t get much of a solid answer by any means, not until an old hunter had eventually directed him to where the most recent cluster of Nilfgaard soldiers had headed.

Stating that if Geralt follows their route, then he would most likely come upon the men’s remains somewhere along the road, and if he was lucky, he’d run into the two killers as well.

Indeed it had taken him about a day or so, but eventually the farther down the trail he got, the fresher the tracks became. Suddenly during his journey did he pass a rider-less horse on its way back towards town, a dark brown smear of some kind splattered across its grey leg. Now this looked quite promising.

Only a small trot up the road did he finally find the brutal remains of the soldiers that had most definitely not made it to wherever they had planned on heading. The snow in particular was disturbed and littered with chunks of men, swords thrown about and shields bent and broken. He could smell blood and piss from the men, most of all he could smell bear and what it had done here, though it was strange too. For a sweeter scent could be recognized on the cool wintery breeze, such a viable contrast to the current state of the environment. 

She still lingers close, thinks the Witcher. Quickly moving to pull out his silver sword from within its sheath. Sensing a new presence among the fallen, he whips around in a dark blur only to be greeted face to face with a beautiful woman.

He stood his ground eyeing your form suspiciously like a lion wondering if his prey will be easy enough to kill, though he wasn’t certain if he truly wanted to kill you at all. You looked rather unassuming and calm, less monsterly and more a simple traveling woman then anything else, such unlike the grisly tall tales that those travelers and townsfolk had gossiped to him about.

Honestly Geralt was beginning to doubt what he had been given coin for, but he would not submit to that thought just yet, he has faced creatures just as alluring as you and found them quite deadly enough.

Keeping his silver placed firmly at his side, though still tightly grasped in his strong hand, his golden eyes trail over you cautiously, “You do this?” He wonders, coming out more of an accusatory statement as he glances at the bloody array of dead Nilfgaardian soldiers gutted about on the soft white snow.

Your breaths are steady though you feel more annoyed by his random intrusion then anything else, you only came back here to take their weapons to give to the villagers, “I have no quarrel with you, Witcher.” Your voice is truthful and fierce, not an ounce of nervousness radiating off of your tongue. As far as you’re concerned this man is nothing but an inconvenience.

He keeps a stoic face, not revealing much but a tinge of amusement in his shimmering eyes, “Strange then. I’ve been given coin to kill a dangerous sorceress and her enchanted bear. Fitting your description exactly, and here we are. Among the dead soldiers you’ve been claimed to murder.”

Scoffing you curtly fold your arms over your chest, “I hardly see a problem here when these fuckers have slaughtered countless innocents! They’re marching for the north and I do not doubt they’ll get it if people like me don’t try and lessen their numbers.”

He looks to the ground then back up to you, letting out a low frustrated sigh, “Your beast has killed villagers. Innocents.” His words are almost a slap in the face, but you know those people only got in the way of taking down these soldiers.

“Yes.” You nod, watching as he studies your face, “And it is a tragedy that I am greatly sorry for...but my companion is still an animal with his own will even when I give him a task. A bear is a bear, Witcher.”

He hums, “I understand that. But I cannot let you kill anyone else.”

Taking a single step back you quickly unfold your arms, alerting the Witcher to raise his sword though you show no intention of fighting him. His grey brows furrow as you shake your head, “You’re better off leaving us be. Those soldiers deserved what they got coming to them, and the people of this continent will thank us in due time. For they do not know the wrath and ruin that Nilfgaard is capable of.”

He watches as you take a couple more steps backwards towards the pine trees, your face serious and unflinching even when he takes a few steps towards you. “I kill monsters, witch. You’re no different.”

Now this does anger you, for that your eyes almost appear to darken with rage, your posture taller as you stare him down, “You are nothing but a blind fool who cannot see the bigger picture! So I won’t feel very bad about this..”

“About what?”

He watches as you take a step to the side, ignoring him when suddenly without warning does a ginormous brown bear charge from out of the evergreens, teeth and claws at the ready as they swing for his throat.

Geralt just barely dodges the huge furry bastard when a blundering paw races down for his arm, he twists away and out of the bears reach though his sword does catch the thick black pad of the bears left paw. It roars in pain, face a mask of rage as it turns towards Geralt with lighting reflexes.

Suddenly the bear swings a heavy paw directly into Geralt’s leather armored chest, knocking the wind out of him while also managing to thrust him blindly into a thick oak tree. All that the Witcher can glimpse before slipping into blissful unconsciousness is the wounded beast retreating into the woods while your silhouetted form begins walking towards him.

Then darkness.

——

When Geralt comes to he’s distressed to find his armor gone and his torso bare except for a thick white bandage wrapped around his shoulder and chest where the bear swatted at him with its large paw. The fabric is oddly soft, though a slight pink uneven line has seeped out now visible across his breasts, no doubt the area where that bear had gotten him. 

His big golden irises blink hard, focusing better now to unexpectedly find your smirking face as you walk into view, “Have a pleasant rest?” You muse, sitting down in a soft cushioned chair at his bedside, “My old friend gave you a run for your coin huh?”

Well this is odd, he thinks.

His brows furrow even deeper, though his chest hurts too much to attempt an escape, “I would have imagined you were going to kill me. I don’t understand...”

Chuckling lightly you smile, “Remember Witcher, I have no quarrel with you. Just those fucking soldiers....and don’t worry, my companion will not bring you any more harm unless I see to it.”

“Well...uh...I guess that’s good then.” Mutters the Witcher, begrudgingly scooting himself up so that he may rest against the wooden headboard and have a better view of the small room, “Where exactly are we?”

Looking around the cozy cabin you’ve decided to inhabit for the time being, your eyes finally rest back on the curious silver haired man, “Somewhere that was once vacant and now is livable. That is all I will say, and all that matters to you now....so, my pursuer who’d see me dead if not for my cleverness. If you are going to be in my care for however long it takes you to heal, what is your name?” You watch as the Witcher purses his lips together, pausing for a moment to think if he should tell you, “Geralt. Geralt of Rivia.” He reveals in that titular gruff voice of his that’s honestly starting to grow on you even in the brief time you’ve known him.

Handing him a small smile of acknowledgement, you nod, “And I am Y/N of Stygga in the land of Ebbing which is north of Nilfgaard...so, Geralt of Rivia....what brings you to Thurn of all places and into my care? Besides the fact that my companion almost ended your pretty life.” You end with a wiggle of your brow.

“Coin.” He mutters humorously, so he is not just a man of silent beautifully chiseled stone after all.

You hum, “Simple and straight to the point, are all Witcher’s as intriguing as you are?”

Geralt blinks slowly, deciding to rest his head against the wood as he looks forward, “Perhaps only the ones who want to survive.”

Laughing you lean back in your seat, “Flattery and humor may yet keep you alive then. But you are mistaken with me, I do not intend to keep you as a prisoner in any way if that’s what you are meaning. You are free to go back to wherever you came from or to wherever you’re going....as I said, I have no quarrel with you. Witcher.” You speak his name with a bit of attitude considering he did originally come to kill you, nonetheless you quite enjoy his presence.

The look he gives you is enough to make you chuckle once more, then his eyes glance back to you, causing your laughter to die down, though he’s surprised that your smile has prevailed. “Then why have you kept me alive when you could have ended me just as quickly?” He wonders.

You shrug, “The world is scarce of such creatures like yourself, Witcher’s hmm...monster hunters. Others will need you, and this world is big after all and full of terrible things.” You add, hugging your cloak tighter as you tilt your head at him, “so I’d assume after you heal up you’ll leave me and my companion be as long as I agree to keep away from towns. Yes.”

“Hmm.” He utters, brows furrowed as he thinks over your offer. 

The Witcher keeps silent as his face shifts into deep thought, huffing you roll your eyes, “Geralt are free to leave if you so choose. I give you my word if you give me yours.”

“Which is?”

“You let me and my familiar leave in peace and we let you live.”

He studies your face for a moment, trying to find any signs of falseness though he fails to spot it, “Fine.” Grumbles the handsome silver haired man.

You smile in accomplishment before a slightly awkward silence fills the room, deciding to break the tension you tap the arm of your chair, “Are you going to leave then? Right now?”

He keeps silent for some time as you patiently await his answer until finally he looks into your eyes, “No.”

“Huh.” You slowly nod, not quite expecting that answer, “...are you thirsty then? You were out for some time.”

“Yes.” Answers Geralt, simple and straight to the point.

Smiling you nod, standing now to fetch your new friend some water from outside, once you return with a metal cup do you hand him the cold liquid, his warm hand just barley touching yours. Sending shivers down your spine that you didn’t know was possible as you go back to sit next to him. “Those wounds should heal soon enough, I’ve heard Witcher’s heal fast. Is there any truth to that?”

His golden eyes trail over to you, not a hint of annoyance in the way that he looks to you now, “It would seem so. Hopefully I never have another run in with your friend anytime soon. Though I wouldn’t mind running into you again, hopefully under less bloody circumstances.” Admits Geralt with the ghost of a smile.

You chuckle, “As would I.”

——

In the following days would you and Geralt find comfort in one another’s presence as you helped him heal from his wounds. This Witcher had told you numerous stories about his adventures all over the continent and what beasts have been slain by his hand and sharp silver.

They were undoubtedly fascinating though surprisingly full of such vigor and even respect for the ones he’s been given coin to kill. It was pleasant when he spoke of all those who he had prevented from meeting an untimely and violent end from said monsters.

Even more so bewildering to you was how invested and intrigued you had become with each passing day, you actually woke up excited to see someone, to hear their voice and have them ask how your morning was.

Unbeknownst to you, Geralt had healed two days ago but had come to the fascinating conclusion that he was in-fact enjoying your company more then first realized. He loves listening to you boast about all the clever tricks you’ve pulled on the Nilfgaardians and how you’ve kept them away from the villagers who would most like want nothing to do with them.

Maybe it is the palpable truth that he has been indeed a bit lonely, or maybe it’s just that you tell the best stories and are unlike anyone he’s ever met before. But Geralt has begun to grow a deep fondness for you that cannot be fully explained by himself no matter how hard he may try.

Though at first he found you beautiful enough, that wasn’t a large concern considering he was there to kill you. Then once all was revealed he decided you really aren’t as evil and malevolent as what was spoken to him by the townsfolk.

Now, he has seen you, heard your voice and been given a kindness that he knows is something he shouldn’t deserve. But he cannot fully know if you share the same growing feelings, why would you? He came to kill, he came to end your beautiful life and for what, gold? No, you mean something now, you are someone to him now, a person that he can’t help but care for. And maybe even love, that is if he knew what that truly felt like, is this it?

But what of you?

You’d be a filthy liar if you said this Witcher didn’t tug at your heart strings like he does so freely without even knowing it. He has wonderfully taken you off guard with his hidden tenderness and rough voice that you’ve decided is one of the most alluring sounds you’ve ever heard.

His eyes catch in the light like two shimmering golden coins, the way he asks you for a drink or a piece of bread sends electricity through you. How pathetic, you think, however it is rather nice. And most of all, his body is truly something else, you’ve never seen a man so toned and full of scars. How lucky you were to take his shirt off and keep his wounds from bleeding out, and in those hours after, he looked rather peaceful as he slept.

If only you could have joined him, felt his touch, been the one who he wanted more then the bread you’ve given him. But he is just a Witcher, he will leave and life will presume as it had been before either of you had met. He’ll become just another lost tragedy of your past, another loved one gone, never to be seen again.

He is just a Witcher you fool.

You frown now, your gaze focused on the small hearth as you sit by the fire, poking it with a metal stick as your thoughts drift to better days long gone, taken so suddenly and without so much as a sorry from who did it.

“Y/N.”

Your eyes stare vacantly into the beautifully glowing embers, you hear nothing but the sparks of flame crackling on wood.

“Y/N.”

A whisper perhaps, you can’t tell, you’re so lost into your own head at this point nothing but the fire matters to you.

Without warning a gentle hand is placed on your shoulder causing you to jump and drop the metal stick onto the stone fireplace with a loud clatter. Your eyes dart for the one who touches you as your heart beats heavily inside your chest.

Instead of a petty thief come to slay you, is the soft comforting eyes of Geralt, “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Apologizes the Witcher as he sits down next to you, offering half of his huge warm blanket.

You oblige without a second thought and let him drape it over your back while he then scoots closer so that your crossed knee is touching his. You give him the flash of a sad smile before drifting your dreary gaze back to the glowing hearth.

“Thank you for sharing, winter is cold after all and this cabin isn’t the most insulated of places.” You add, a low drone in your voice much unlike your usual lively self that he’s grown to love.

Furrowing his grey brows, Geralt studies your half illuminated face in the firelight, the only real source of light since the sun has gone down hours ago. “I figured you needed the company, and a blanket. I can almost of see my breath.” He says with a small chuckle though you barley acknowledge his very presence.

“Y/N?” He whispers, nudging your leg with his, “I haven’t spoken of it before but if I may ask, what happened to your hand?”

You look down to your left hand opposite of where Geralt is sitting, you hide it from the light though it is covered with a white cloth and your long sleeves. He is very observant isn’t he?

“Nothing important. I got it when fighting those damn soldiers before I saw you. It’s almost all healed up.” You whisper, “No need to think about it anymore.”

The room stays silent for another couple minutes before he finally speaks once again in that low gruff voice of his, “What troubles you?” He asks much to your surprise, maybe he is too observant for his own good.

“Many things.” You mutter quietly, turning your face to find his concerned gaze, a small smile on your lips to lessen his doubts, “Don’t worry my dear Witcher, you’re not one of them. And I’d rather not give you my burdens, they are not a fun little adventure like the ones you’ve told me about.”

“Neither are all of mine.” He speaks truthfully, staring deep into your saddened eyes, “I would be honored to comfort you of such miseries if you still want me near after.”

You look to the floor, biting your lip at this almost intimate news even if he only means to speak words of ease to you. Why not? What is there to lose if you tell him why you feel so full of melancholy.

Raising your eyes back up to his, you take a deep heavy sigh before looking back into the fire, “I had a good life. I really did, I had a mother and a brother. But that was all taken from me when those bastards plundered and beat their way into my peoples lands. Looting and killing as they went, what could I do huh...my family was in their way.” You admit with a hidden rage that just about causes the flames to glow brighter.

“They came into our village and began to burn everything they could, they ran into houses and stole away valuables untouched by the desolation yet. They took and killed my neighbors and friends, women and children, screaming infants.”

You pause for a moment, eyes welled up with unshed tears as you find your voice, “They burst through our door and pulled us three from our house before we could even react. Then those fuckers killed the only person who ever showed me true kindness and love, she didn’t deserve to die that way Geralt, she didn’t. Then again none of them did.”

“I can’t imagine.” Whispers Geralt sincerely, understanding how much it pains you to speak of your mother like this.

“For that,” You seethe out darkly, “I killed my first soldier that day, but of course they didn’t like that, not at all. Soon they held me down and beat me bloody like I was a fucking dog, if it wasn’t for my brother who stopped them. I’d be dead, he saved my life that day, helped me escape and I never looked back.” You swallow thickly as a lone tear slides down your cheek, “I haven’t seen him since, and I dare not think of how he met his end. It just fills me with rage and then...as you can see, I get like this.”

“Best not to linger in the darkness for too long.” Admits Geralt, his eyes truthful and honest as he takes you all in, “I wouldn’t want to lose you.”

Breaking out into a crooked smile you blink more tears away as he moves an inch closer, “I already feel gone some days. I’m not a good person Geralt, I’m dangerous.” Your voice his raspy and soft now as the feel of the room appears to take a shift somewhere you’re not so sure of. Dangerous? Y/N he has no idea.

The Witcher’s lips curl into a pleasant smile as his face keeps mere inches from your own, “I like dangerous.” Whispers Geralt before his plush lips pull you into a new world of warmth and fire. He moves against your mouth, taking his time as the two of you find a comfortable rhythm. Well, this is nice.

He tastes as sweet as the apples you gave him for dinner and all the better to draw you away from your darkness as he showers you in his intoxicating light. You can’t believe how gentle and passionate he feels against you now and it’s only his lips!

You could stay like this forever but soon enough he pulls away, resting a calloused hand against your knee, “Forgive me I should have asked.”

“Don’t be a fool, I was thinking it too. And anyways you kept your word.”

“Did I?” Wonders Geralt, brows furrowed in confusion.

You smirk, “Remember? You said you’d comfort me of my miseries? Are you still planning on doing that...just a simple question really you don’t have to look so lost.”

Breaking out of his frumpled gaze he finally gives you a handsome smile, “How could I forget?”

“Well it was pretty traumatic so.” You deadpan with a dark humored snort before Geralt leans in to capture your lips once more.

The next morning you wake from the warm comfort of the cabins large single bed, an equally as warm arm covering half your face as you feel a large body pressed firmly against your side. Your hair lays free and unkept around your face as well, and you already know your naked underneath this soft blanket and snoozing man next to you.

His breaths are slow as he stirs in his slumber, pulling you in even closer as his arm now finds itself against your one free breast. You giggle quietly at the situation, how awkward it would be if someone was to burst forth from those doors and find you both in the nude like this. Ha, let them try.

Apparently you’re not as subtle as you’d thought, Geralt awakens before sucking in a deep breath as he stirs slightly, suddenly freezing in place once he realizes his hand is practically squeezing your boob.

You chuckle, moving your hand to keep it there, “You’re surprisingly a cuddlier, who would have thought?” You jest humorously.

“Uh....yes.” Mutters Geralt awkwardly as you smile, though he can’t see it.

Noticing his change of behavior you realize he doesn’t really know what to do about your boldness so you help him out by shifting yourself to face him. “With how well you were treating me last night I would have thought my breast would feel quite nice in your hand. Have I misinterpreted?”

He smiles, a small dusting of pink finding its way onto his chiseled features, “I find it important to respect you first Y/N, this is still...new.”

Biting your lip you lean in close to place a gentle kiss against his soft lips, “I enjoy your touch, you’re something that I believe I’ve been missing for a long while. Maybe we were meant to find each other and you not kill me.”

He chuckles a sweet sound that fills you with pure joy, “And you to heal me, I don’t feel much pain anymore.”

You smirk, rolling your eyes as you graze your hand down his face and arm, “I healed you enough about six days ago, I know you were just milking it since.”

“No I wasn’t...”

“Oh shut it, I think it was a clever idea to get in my pants if that was your plan.”

He fake scoffs, “That wasn’t the plan Y/N.”

“Then what was the plan? Oh wait,” You move yourself even closer to him, lips just barely touching, “Witcher’s don’t have plans, they just flatter and hope for the best.”

His strong arm holds you close as you rest your hand on his shoulder, “Maybe so.” Whispers Geralt before pressing his lips to yours.

Soon enough you find yourself pinned down to the bed, a very hot and visibly happy Geralt deep inside you as you try and keep yourself from screaming to loud. You can’t help how big and beautiful and so very large he is, and anyways he looks like a man on the edge of paradise. Who are you to deprive your new lover of his high?

Geralt does admittedly feel blessed against you if you’re being completely honest, the way he thrusts deeply into your womanhood like a man deprived of such pleasantries, or maybe the way your name falls onto his sweet lips when he feels his weakest. You can’t tell for sure, but he may be in love with just as much as you are with him and that is a promising thought. Or is it?

With an almost whiny moan do you finally come, the pleasure built up after such a ride releasing at long last. Sending a wave of euphoria throughout your entire vessel causing your slick walls to clench around Geralt’s hard cock as he continues to relentlessly pump into you.

Soon you can feel a hot warmness pooling into you as your Witcher grunts in satisfaction while his length twitches inside you, painting your walls with his seed like the skilled artist that he is.

Hovering just above your sweaty and very naked form does he smile kindly before leaning down to capture your swollen lips with his own. He bucks his hips into you a couple times more as he enjoys the feeling of making you squirm underneath him. Completely surrendering all that you are to him, though he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t doing the same with you.

Laying flush against you, his body still between your sore legs he pulls away from your pouting lips to lean his arms against your face. Soon another kiss is stolen, then another and another as he gently presses his lips to your cheek. Then jaw, where he decides to stay and attack for awhile which causes you to chuckle at his adorable-ness. 

“You need new clothes.” You practically moan as he playfully bites your jaw, kissing that spot just as quickly.

“It’s warm in here.” Mutters Geralt against your hot skin, “Nothing is as interesting as you.”

You bite back another moan, “We need food.”

He smirks against your neck, rolling his hips to try and sway your mind, “But you’re delicious enough Y/N.” Oh this man.

Breathing heavily you do your best to fight off your growing arousal, “Geralt.” You warn through clenched teeth, hands leaving red marks down his back as you playfully threaten him.

He kisses your cheek once more as a sly hand squeezes your firm breast, “Fine. Let me make love to you first then we can go.” States Geralt against your lips as he suddenly gives you three deep slow thrusts that send you into another realm of pleasure.