#god i wish i could just transfer my idea onto paper without having to actually write it
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klance bar fight fic when? them sneaking out just to hang out together and accidentally stumbling upon this real sketch bar full of criminals and being found out as paladins and getting attacked and fighting back, telling each other to duck to hit the person behind the other, being full of adrenaline and euphoria after everyone ran away and pulling the other into a heat of the moment kiss before stealing alcohol from behind the counter and getting drunk together and laughing all night while exploring the mysterious planet and being way too touchy for it to be platonic
#i said last night that i had lots of thots#i wish i had the motivation to write#can y’all see my vision?#lance mcclain#keith kogane#klance#vld#voltron#bar fight#fic#fanfic#fanfiction#headcanon#head canon#hc#god i wish i could just transfer my idea onto paper without having to actually write it#writing it out always makes it worse than it was in my head#it can never match up#ugh#anyways rant over#this is cute#i love them#so mcuh
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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.
#skzwritersclub#fluffyskzclub#stayhavennet#inkidz#stray kids imagines#hyunjin imagines#skz scenarios#stray kids scenarios#chan imagines#changbin imagines#lee know imagines#stray kids x you#stray kids x y/n#skz imagines#skz x you#skz x y/n#skz x reader#stray kids x reader#hyunjin x reader#hyunjin x you#hyunjin x y/n#chan x reader#chan x you#chan x y/n#changbin x reader#changbin x y/n#changbin x you#lee know x you#lee know x y/n#lee know scenarios
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MATCHMAKER pt.1
pairing: roseanne park × fem! reader
genre: fluff, angst
about:
matchmaker /ˈmatʃmeɪkə/
noun
a person who arranges marriages or initiates romantic relationships between others.
"an enthusiastic matchmaker who continually tried to pair off the difficult bachelor with unattached ladies"
a/n: i'm back!!! hehe this goddamn thing took so long to write, i both despise and adore it with every fibre of my being. enjoy my blood, sweat and tears in the form of a fic.
You loved your job. Very few people are lucky enough to be able to relate to that statement, and you were thankfully one of them. Hell, not only did you love your job, you were extremely good at it.
Since you were a little kid, writing nas always been your biggest passion. Wether it was writing short stories, poems or essays about the french revolution, you were always happy when you were able to put your feelings and thoughts onto paper. This was the main reason why you became the manager of your local newspaper during middle school, high school and eventually even university.
You've won multiple writing contests and even people who had no idea what your name was knew one thing about you: you were an amazing writer.
Years of practice, your impeccable set of skills and a recommendation letter from your university professor secured you a job at Vogue almost immediately. After all this hard work, you finally achieved everything you were looking for. You were truly happy.
Until this very moment.
"Well, I don't know," the woman sitting in front of you made a disgusted grimace, "it just lacks any emotion whatsoever. I've quite literally never read something so stiff and akward."
And here they were. The first words of criticism you have ever recieved. You were so used to everyone praising your work, you didn't know how to react or respond.
Three months ago, you would have never gotten into a similar situation: simply because there was nothing about your work to critize. But a lot has changed in the past few weeks, and not exactly in the good kind of way.
When you first joined Vogue, you were the head editor and journalist of the spread dedicated almost entirely to interviews. Thats what you did, talked to celebrities and wrote about them. And that's what you were good at, almost too good.
Just a year after working in the magazine you got promoted. You were still the head editor, but now of a completely different part of the journal: one dedicated to a single topic. Love. This was bad news, very bad news.
Why, you ask? The reason was fairly simple but no less embarrassing. Even as the head editor of a spread all about love, you've never experienced it yourself. In other words, you've never been in love. And how are you supposed to write about something you know nothing about?
Your boss looks at you and shakes her head. She reaches for the stack of papers on the table in front of her and starts reading, "For example; 'His lips brushed against mine. They were soft. The kiss was short but sweet. I loved it.' What the actual heck? I kiss my cat more passionately than this." she took off her glasses and started massaging the crook of her nose.
"Listen, Y/N, I've read your previous pieces and they were simply wonderful. But this? I don't even know what else to say without hurting your feelings."
"I'm so sorry. I know, it's just that I dont have much experience in said area." you don't finish the sentence, hoping she somehow gets the memo. She doesn't.
"What area?"
"Love. I dont have much experience with love." you blurt out the words that have been on your mind nonstop since the day of your promotion.
"Oh, you poor thing" she leans back in her chair, her eyes scanning your every move, "Isn't that unfortunate."
You nod your head slowly, trying not to get offended at her words full of pity.
"How are you supposed to write romance stories then? This won't work." the woman grabs a post-it note
"Are," your voice cracks in the middle of the sentence, "Are you firing me?"
"Are you crazy? Of course I'm not," she hands you the piece of paper with a phone number, "We just have to improvise for the time being. Do you know Roseanne Park? She's the manager of our Matchmaker spread. You can be her assistant for the next few months, help her around, learn a thing or two. Hopefully your writing wont be so...bland after."
To be completely honest, you didn't handle changes well. Maybe that's why you were standing in front of your new, and hopefully temporary, bosses office, trying to build up the courage to knock on her door.
One of the reasons why you were so nervous was that Roseanne Park, the manager of the Vogue Matchmaker was insanely attractive. Admittedly, you did some online stalking the night before- okay, a lot of it. Here's the thing; you were a planner. Whether it came to your career, writing or even relationships, you liked to beprepared.
That's why after a few hours spent on the internet, you knew everything. The name of her sister (Alice Park), if the had a pet (yes, a fish named Joohwangie) and who her favorite band was (The 1975).
You weren't usually like this, so head over heels for a girl you haven't even met. But your writing, the reason you were here in the first place, didn't usually suck so after all, some things really do change easily.
Just as you reached for the dark wooden door in front of you, it opened before your hand could even touch it's sleek surface.
"Oh!" the tall woman stopped in her tracks. Thanks to your thorough internet digging, you instantly recognized her. Roseanne Park. Your new boss. A 'matchmaker' if you will.
"You must be Y/N! I've heard that you're going to be my assistant for a bit." your cheeks heated up for no apparent reason. Did she know the reason why you got transferred here so quickly? Every molecule in your body wished and prayed to every possible god out there that she didn't.
"Yeah, that's me!" you finally composed yourself enough to speak, but that didn't mean your voice didn't sound like one of a twelve year old boy going through puberty- high pitched and squeaky.
You examined her face more in depth, and realized quite a few things:
She was somehow even prettier in real life. How? you had no idea. Some people just really won the genetics lottery, you thought.
Her hair was red. Like undeniably, undoubtedly red. In all of the pictures you found yesterday it was either brown or black, so this change caught you off guard. You couldn't complain though, because this girl looked like a hotter version of Ariel with a much better sense in fashion (and music).
"Have you been standing out here for too long?"
"Oh no, I just arrived." lying has never been so easy.
"Great! I'm gonna go downstairs to grab a package but you can look around the office while I'm gone," she opened the door a bit to let you walk in.
You did as she told you and entered the room. The door closed behind you without you noticing, the only thing you could focus on was this girl's office. It looked just like you would imagine heaven to look like- full of light, white furniture and expensive looking leather couches.
There were pictures everywhere: a dozen of four young girls (one of them being Roseanne), a few more of her with famous celebrities and one of a familiar looking face- her sister.
You carefully walked towards the table in the middle of the room, not wanting to damage anything. You noticed quite a bit of unexpected clutter, and above everything a print of the brand new Vogue issue. A woman on the cover flashed you a beautiful smile as you picked it up. The headline stated: Kim Jisoo talks acting, NYFW and love.
You flipped the glossy magazine pages to find the spread dedicated to said interview and noticed just what you were looking for: the author of the article. The credits at the bottom of the page revealed a nice surprise- Author; Roseanne Park.
"Well what do you think? Is it a good article?" your soul almost left your body when you realized who was standing next to you. You quickly put the magazine down, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to touch your stuff. I just saw the cover and..."
"Oh my gosh, are you kidding? That's completely okay, I don't mind." she pointed to the journal, "That interview is actually one of the favorite pieces I ever wrote, and not just because it's about Jisoo. Plus, my friend took the pictures, so it was extra fun." She opened the spread again and pointed to a name credited right next to hers, Photographer; Lalisa Manoban.
"Oh wow. I've seen her pictures before, they're really good. I with I could take photos like that. Seriously."
Here's one thing to note: when you're nervous, you ramble. Like a lot. Some people would say its better than staying silent, but let's be honest- it's like stepping into a puddle instead of mud. Not a disaster, but there's still plenty to complain about.
Thankfully, Roseanne only giggled, "I know exactly what you mean. I hope you'll get to work with her someday."
You both stared at the magazine spread for a second before Roseanne broke the silence.
"But now, let's get to bussines. Sit down please, this might take a while," she pointed tkwards one of the leather couches you noticed earlier and took a seat at the other side of the table.
"So, as you probably already know, my name is Roseanne Park. As a manager of Matchmaker, my job is to read these letters," she grabben a handful of papers for emphasis, "and respond to them, give advixe basically. The title 'Matchmaker' comes from the fact that the majority of the letters talk about love. Any questions so far?"
When you shook your head no, she continued, "As my assistant, your job is fairly simple. You're going to sort and read through the hundreds of letters I recieve weekly and pick the most interesting ones for me to feature. And occasionally, you might accompany me to a few interviews. Sounds good?"
You slowly nodded, processing all the new information. Letters, answers, interviews and a hot boss. That doesn't sound so bad.
"Great. So Y/N," she suddenly stood up, "Would you mind going with me to Subway? I'm starving."
By the time you were finished with lunch, you had a new point to add to your list of realizations about your new boss:
She loves food, and by loves I mean LOVES.
The moment you arrived at the restaurant, food was the only thing she would talk about. She told you about what she had for dinner and breakfast, what kind of snacks she hid in the office and what kind of salad she was getting alongside a baguette.
After she actually managed to get a bit of calories into her system (thanks to a foot-long chicken turkey sandwich) the conversation finally got more interesting.
Don't get me wrong, you could listen to this girl talk for hours, no matter the topic. But after listening to a thirty minute long monologue about why pineapple pizza is the best thing ever invented, even you have reached your limit.
"So," you start, in an effort to break the ice, "how long have you been working at Vogue?"
She squints at the toast in front of her, trying to remember, "About five years? Yeah, it's gonna be five years in May."
"Oh wow, that's impressive."
She tilts her head, "Is it? I mean, when you work as often as I do, time just goes by. I don't even remember the last time I went out with my friends to discuss something that wasn't work related."
You pout, regretting the choice to ask her about work.
"But at the same time, I love what I do so I can't really complain. What about you though? Why did you decide to become a journalist?"
"Oh, I started just a year ago. And I studied literature, so I guess becoming a journalist made sense."
"Why did you study literature then? There's so many other better paying jobs out there."
"I don't think anyone works in such a field for money, that's for sure," you try to lighten the atmosphere, "Well, my mom wanted to become a writer, but she got pregnant before she could finish her book and she's been pretty much busy ever since. I guess her love for books kind of rubbed off on me."
Roseanne nods, to let you know she's listening. "I'm glad you and your mom have such an important aspect of your lives in common. My mother wanted me to become a lawyer, I doubt she's ever read even a single fiction book in her entire life."
"What does she think about your job now?"
Her lips tighten and she crosses her arms. "I don't know. I haven't talked to her since," her eyes seem empty, their signature spark gone. You can tell you struck a nerve. "I haven't talked to her since I moved out."
"Well, I'm sure that she's proud of you," you can't help but add.
Rosie lets out a dry laugh, "You don't know my mother then," she slowly pushes her plate away, "I think I'm full so I'm gonna head back to the office."
Sometimes it's better to keep your mouth shut. You learned this the hard way.
You head back after your lunch break ends, alone. Even though Roseanne walked you through everything she expects you to help around with, you know that your job doesn't start and end with sorting through letters.
You softly knock on the office door before heading in. She's already sitting there, behind her desk. Without looking up from her laptop, she scoffs, "You're late."
"It's just five minutes," you shrug, not taking her tone seriously. Finally, she raises her sight to meet yours. Even without her saying anything, you understand. Do not play around with fire.
You mumble an apology and quickly run to the small hallway at the other side of the room which leads to your own (significantly smaller) office.
"What makes you think I'm done?" Turning around, you notice that her eyes are piercing through your back. Unsure of what she expects you to do, you walk back in front of her.
"While you were out there doing god knows what for two hours," you resist the urge to roll your eyes, "I already did your job and sorted through the letters. You're welcome."
She walks around the table and pushes a thick stack of papers against your chest, "That means you'll be doing my job and write replies to them. Can you handle that?"
You try not to show her how terrified you are. You? Giving relationship advice? Sounds like a recipe for a royal disaster. Instead, you rise your chin and smile, "Yes ma'am."
She visibly winces at the formal title, but still nods and returns to her seat. You take this as a sign to head back to your spot and do your job. Well, her job for now.
You sit down calmly and shuffle through the papers, trying not to look too freaked out. What the heck are you going to do now?
A quick peek at your boss reveals that she's either busy with work or just flat out ignoring you.
Trying to remain collected, you pick out the top letter from the pile. The first paragraph reads:
Hi Rosie! I'm a huge fan of your Matchmaker spread :) I never thought I'd be the one writing you a message but here we are hahaha. (Let's hope this gets featured!)
You roll your eyes but continue reading,
Me and my boyfriend have been dating for just about two months and I would describe our relationship as 'lowkey'. We first met at a bar a last year but we surprisingly didn't immediately hit it off.
With a raised eyebrow you skip over a page full of sappy descriptions and relationship stories, before getting to the end of the letter.
So what should I do? He's really sweet but I'm not sure if I'm ready to meet his family just yet.... please help! Love, Courtney.
You fold the paper back to it's original state with a quiet gulp. What on earth did you get yourself into?
#blackpink#blackpink scenarios#park chaeyoung#rosé#rosé fluff#rosé angst#rosé smut#rosé x reader#girlfriend rosé#blackpink rosé#blackpink rose#rose angst#rose fluff#blckpink fluff#blackpink angst#blackpink smut#roseanne park#rosé park
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Potty-Mouth Piper (part 1, repost)
(Part of the Pervert Pentet Series)
Chapter 1, part 1
WARNING: This story focuses on filth-fetishism, and will have substantial amounts of scat, piss, flatulence, snot, menstrual play, and just about every dirty thing I can think of. If that kind of thing isn’t your cup of tea, I suggest you skip this one. I have multiple stories in the works that feature completely different categories of fetishism.
***
Mackenzie had just turned eighteen and had recently transferred to a new high school. Despite being rather pretty, she tended to go relatively unnoticed. She had dark red hair that hung flatly down to her mid-back, and ivory skin that she never adorned with makeup. She was on the slim side, but took pride in the fact that she had rather pretty breasts, a bit more full than would be expected from her frame. Not that anyone ever saw them, her plain and somewhat modest clothing saw to that.
While rather timid in real life, her online activities were anything but. She had discovered internet pornography at a relatively young age, and her curiosity led her, over the years, to pursue greater and greater levels of filth. In her younger days, she was satisfied merely to watch videos of women urinating, but her tastes evolved from there to piss-drinking, fart porn, vomit, spit, snot, and of course, scat. The idea of “dirty women” captivated her. Her interest primarily centered on images and videos in which a woman was on the receiving end. She often imagined herself taking the place of the women.
Sadly, her shyness and modesty kept her from actualizing her fantasies. She had tasted her own urine once, and for days afterward had feared that someone would discover the shameful thing she had done. She wished that she could be as bold and shameless as the women she looked at online. She fantasized that someday she’d find a women who somehow knew what she wanted without her ever having to say it, someone who could elicit a passion in her that was so irresistible that it left her inhibitions shattered.
Little did she know that today was the day her fantasy would become flesh.
She didn’t really mind that her parents moved often. She was forced to change schools multiple times, but it’s not as if she ever made friends anyway. The first day at this new school was much like the others. She quietly kept to herself, and when lunch-time rolled around she made her way to the bathroom to avoid having to interact with any of the other students.
She always tried to find the least-used bathroom, usually the one farthest from the cafeteria and common areas. If she was lucky she could go an entire lunch period without having to see another person.
When the lunch bell rang, she made her way through the halls, trying to avoid attention until she reached her bathroom sanctuary. She finally made her way there, opening the door and putting her purse on the counter.
A confident voice from behind her made her jump, “Hey fire-crotch, what’s your deal? You new here?”
She turned around to face the girl who spoke. As she laid eyes on the young woman, her heart felt it was clamped in a vice.
She was both awed and shocked at the vision she saw before her. The deep green mohawk caught her attention first. Her hair fully shaved on both sides. The right side of her head adorned with a tattoo reading “Potty Mouth” in a vomit-looking punk rock font. Her pretty face had delicate features, and other than the generous amount of eyeliner, she wore no makeup. A short leather jacket and tiny tattered black t-shirt covered her torso. She was skinny, with minimal body-fat hiding the taut muscles of her youthful abdomen. Her tall black boots contrasting with the exceptionally short red-plaid skirt, barely long enough to cover her ass.
Mackenzie wanted to speak, but felt intimidated by the extreme looking girl in front of her. She decided to quickly turn around and pretend to be looking at something in her purse. The wet sound of her chewing gum was the only sound in the room for a few seconds.
“Don’t talk much, huh? That’s all right, I’m sure you’ll open your dick-holster when you’ve got something to say.” the punk-rock girl said.
Mackenzie thought, did she just call my mouth a dick-holster???
“Anyway, I’m doin’ a thing in here. Feel free to stick around, should be a good show. I’m Piper, by the way, feel free to call me Shit-Pipe.”
My god! thought Mackenzie, can this girl go five seconds without saying something vulgar?
As much as Mackenzie wanted to be judgemental, inwardly she was exhilarated by the idea of this shameless classmate of hers.
She glanced in the mirror to see Piper removing some cable ties from her backpack and fastening them on the handles of the stall doors, seemingly blocking access to the toilets for anyone who might happen to come in.
The two girls waited in silence for a couple of minutes, Mackenzie glancing at Piper’s reflection in the mirror. Each time she checked, it appeared that the girl was chewing gum with an appreciative smile as she stared intently at Mackenzie’s ass.
Just then the door burst open and a pretty blonde cheerleader rushed in. She yanked the door to one stall, then another.
“Piper! What did you do?” the cheerleader yelled exasperatedly.
“Hey, who says it was me?” Piper replied with a confident-yet-sarcastic smile “Maybe I just heard that the toilets were out of order and thought it was a chance to volunteer my special services as a shit receptacle.”
Mackenzie perked up. Did she really just hear what she thought she heard?
“Oh my god, Piper, what the fuck? I know what people say about you, but you’re not really into that, are you?” the cheerleader asked as she danced about with one hand holding her ass.
“Hey, looks like you don’t have much of a choice.” Piper said as a grumble emanated from the cheerleaders stomach, “You can either shit your panties or shit in my mouth.”
“Stop fucking around and open the door, I really, REALLY have to go!” the cheerleader exclaimed.
Piper pulled the piece of gum from her mouth and lifted one leg as she inserted it, like a suppository, into her own anus. She then dropped to her knees and opened her mouth wide, sticking out her tongue obscenely.
“Oh my god! I can’t believe this. You’re so fucking nasty.” the cheerleader said. Accepting the fact that she had no choice, she scrunched up her face in disgust and turned around.
Piper wasted no time, immediately lifting up the back of the cheer-girls skirt and yanking down her panties. She thrust her open mouth between the girls butt cheeks before reaching around and giving a good squeeze to the girls lower abdomen.
Mackenzie watched in the mirror, transfixed on the vision behind her. A loud fart, muffled by Pipers mouth echoed through the restroom. A loud rhythmic swallowing sound could be heard as Piper chugged the blonde girl’s diarrhea. A few seconds of this passed before the sound turned to muffled, sputtering flatulence as the shit exploded directly into the walls of the green-haired girls mouth. Apparently a new stream of feces began to flow, as she once again heard the loud chugging noise, though this time it was periodically interrupted by a wet chewing.
While Mackenzie didn’t have the best vantage point, she thought she observed a trail of brown slime drip from Piper’s chin before a few drops landed on the firm, pale skin of her stomach.
After several seconds, the mortified cheerleader finally pulled away. She waddled toward the paper towels next to the sink, her panties still around her knees.
“Hey, you didn’t even give me a chance to clean you up. I can put a real spit-shine on that turd-cutter of yours!” Piper called in a mocking tone from across the room, the cheerleaders brown ass-slime still dripping from her chin.
The blond girl quickly wiped with a paper towel before pulling her panties up and rushing out of the bathroom.
Piper gathered up the shit from her chin with her finger and licked it clean, she repeated the process a few more times, making sure to get every drop. She then looked down and scooped the two dollops of cheerleader diarrhea from her tummy and swallowed those down as well.
“Bitches just don’t appreciate good customer service, eh fire-crotch?” Piper asked.
Mackenzie still just stared down at her purse, her heart racing with excitement at what she just saw. She never imagined that this was something she would just come across in her everyday life.
“Oh, hey where are my manners? Do you need to squirt a turd, too? ‘cuz I still got plenty of room in here” Piper said, slapping her flat belly.
“Nnn…. na… no.” Mackenzie replied shaking nervously. This girl was a dream come true, and she had no idea how to act.
“Hey, well I’ll be around if you change your mind,” Piper said before turning around and sticking her leg up onto the sink right next to her. She bent over and looked up at Mackenzie from between her legs. The shy girl actually turned her head to look down at the girl in the obscene pose, her skirt having ridden up to expose her tight pink asshole. Piper looked up at her as she dug her finger into her sphincter and retrieved the piece of gum she’d stored there earlier. She stood up and popped it back into her mouth before walking to the door.
“See ya around, red,” she said before casually flipping up the back of her skirt and farting loudly toward the shy red-head. She walked out of the room and Mackenzie was suddenly alone to process the mind-blowing scene she had just witnessed.
“Holy shit.” she whispered quietly to herself.
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Summer Nights and Pool Fights~ Lee Minho
This is the town that I based the landscape off. It’s kind of important to the descriptions. Also, I, ’m sorry for writing so many stories about the beach but it’s where I’ve grown up so my mind kind of goes there when I need a quick setting. Anyways enjoy the fic ^^. Also I promise to make this all look nicer when I get back from hiatus. Only 9 days this time!
My fingers felt like they were going to fall off and my brain was being fried within my skull from the hours I had spent trying to sight read a 17/8 time signature. Join the state orchestra, they said. It'll be fun. Fun my foot. I'd spent all day sitting in one of my college’s music rooms practising for a massive concert next month and I still couldn't get the last few bars of the flute solo down.
It’s not that hard Y/N.
I know OK just go away I need to concentrate.
She’ll kick you out if you don’t get it down by next week Y/N.
I get it Ok! I’m trying just-
“Y/N?” Then the door rattled. Dammit, Minho. You always pick the perfect time to make an entrance. I tried to ignore the banging on the door. “Y/N, I know you’re in there. Open the door.” He rattled the door again. “Please, your mom gave me some of her lasagnas to bring you!” I was at the door in seconds and unlocking it before he could say anything more.
You lost to pasta again Y/N.
“Y/N-”
“Shh, no speaking, now where’s the pasta?” I held out my hand.
“I knew that would work. Here,” he handed me a Tupperware full of my mom’s famous lasagna. I swear they should make like a black market where children can sell their mother’s cooking. I could make millions!
“Now would you like to explain why you haven’t come out of this room the whole weekend? Seriously you know there are better places to practice than on campus, right? Like why would you willingly come back here?” He gave me a typical Minho face that said: really Y/N? You could be spending your weekends with your amazing best friend, but no you prioritize your metal tube over me. Oh, the horror!
“I have my reasons!” I exclaimed, hitting him on the shoulder.
“Name three decent ones.”
“Alright, reason one: they have aircon in here and my fan messes with the sound waves.” He shot me another typical Minho look. ”I'm serious! It's a legitimate problem in the flautist community!”
“Alright, alright, kind of I believe you. Now, two more reasons. Come on.”
“I, um, yeah, um, ok! Stop looking at me like that. The concert is next month Minho! Did expect me to just sit and do nothing?” I exclaimed
“No, I don't, but I do expect you to instil some basic self-care! You can't just lock yourself in a music room all long weekend from dusk till dawn and then every afternoon after class. You need a break. Believe me, I need one too. We have a competition next week but I don’t lock myself in the practice room! So, please let me take you out of this horribly decorated room and do something fun with your best friend.” It's not that I didn't want to it was just that I couldn't. I was new in the orchestra. I still wasn't technically an official member, which meant Mrs Walsh could kick me out whenever she wished.
“Minho I can’t -”
“Y/N I get it. You're scared. I mean I would be too with a conductor like Mrs Walsh, but you are one of the best flautists I know.”
“I'm the only flautist you know” I deadpanned.
“That's beside the point. You need a break.”
“Okay let's say I agree to this madness. What are we going to do? It's not like we can just take a drive to some magical island in the middle of nowhere.”
“Oh Y/N, you severely underestimate my connections.” There it was. That was the Minho smile. The very reason I walked up to him on the first day of high school, right after the English teacher found at least 15 paper aeroplanes stuck to the ceiling with increasingly cringy quotes from fanfic.
“Don’t look at me like that. It makes me nervous!”
“Minho where are we going?!” He had dragged me back to my dorm, made me pack a bag and on top of that insist I leave my flute behind. “Ok no. I’m being serious where are we going. My room mate will kill me if I just run off to some random mountain reserve with a boy.”
“Calm your farm Y/N. I talked to Yasmin and she said it was fine. We’re going on an adolescent adventure. You’ll look back on this weekend and think ‘wow how did I manage a whole weekend without hooking up with my drop-dead gorgeous best friend’” I punched him in the shoulder.
“Excuse me young one! That is the second time in the past two hours! Ugh, the disrespect for elders in today’s society. Honestly its horrendous” He said it in the most ridiculous British grandmother voice and I honestly would’ve loved to have laughed, but he didn’t need that sort of ego boost right now.
“You are two months older than me! Come on let’s get going I don’t want to get to wherever we’re going at like midnight.” I picked up my backpack and a duffel bag full of clothes for the weekend and pushed him through the door.
“Alright, alright, I’m going.” And then we were through the door and in his car. He started the engine and so began the two-hour road trip filled with musical classics such as Gee, Ring Ding Dong and of course Wolf.
“Minho, oh my god this place is amazing! What millionaire cousin are you hiding from me?” I walked through the front door right into the lounge which opened up onto a massive deck with the most beautiful infinity pool I had ever seen. The deck looked out onto the main beach down below. It was decorated in that classic beach house décor that was probably way older than both of us, but it was still gorgeous. The kitchen was small but had a coffee machine. Perfect, I can drag Minho out to watch the sunrise tomorrow morning and he won’t complain.
The garden and downstairs were pretty spacious but upstairs was much smaller. The house was probably designed with an “all day at the beach then entertain all night and only use the bedrooms for sleep” kind of vibe. The first bedroom was obviously for kids, bunk bed, no aircon, barely any shelving space and was basically being used as a surfboard storeroom. Not. An. Option.
Please let there be two more bedrooms, please.
It’s not like I haven’t slept in friends beds before, but Minho was a different story. That smile wasn’t the only thing that drew me towards him on that fateful first day of high school. Can you judge me though? He was an attractive new guy who had just transferred from a school in South Korea. He was an amazing dancer and he could sing. He was any band nerd’s dream. So I may or may not have a massive crush on my best friend...
I pushed back the thought and continued through the house. I had no idea where Mino was but he could manage ten minutes without burning a house down… hopefully.
The next room was just a bathroom and the next a storeroom. Who needs that many beach balls? Then at the end of the hall was the main bedroom. Dammit looks like I’m sleeping on the floor.
“Y/N where are you?” Minho shouted from what sounded like the bottom of the stairs.
“I’m up here,” and a few seconds later he was by your side throwing you a smirk. “Oh, fluff of. I bet Yasmin didn’t agree with this part of the trip.”
“No, no she didn’t. I didn’t think it was important. Besides, I’ll just sleep on the floor it's fine.” He went to go pull a mattress off one of the bunk bed, but I caught the back of his shirt.
“Nope, no way. There is no way I am letting you sleep on the floor.” He began to object “Uh uh, no buts, this one’s not negotiable.” And that was that. He knew by now that there was no arguing with me, not unless he wanted to be left to walk to class alone for a week. So he agreed but sulked about it the whole time we were unpacking the car.
“So, what are going to do for food tonight?” I asked as we sat down on the grass next to the pool.
“I don’t know. We could go down to the restaurant by the beach. The service is terrible but the food and the view make up for it. Unless you want to go down to the store to buy food and actually make dinner?” The house was on top of a hill that overlooked the beach below. The view was amazing. The lagoon mouth was open and although it was getting late there were still children playing in the granny pool beside it.
“You know Minho, I’ve been coming here my whole life and I’ve never noticed this house before. We usually stay right down there near the main beach. The house has been in my family for ages.” The question at hand had drifted from my mind as I sat in awe of the small town’s beauty in the fading sunlight.
“Well, this is actually my elder cousin’s house. He said I could use it whenever I want when I got to college, so last year I got a spare set of keys made and I come here with Jisung and Felix sometimes. But I did ask you about food.” He let out a soft chuckle. I pulled myself out of my trance and looked at him.
“Oh, right. Sorry I completely forgot. It’s just so beautiful here.” We both started out at the ocean again.
“Ok stop distracting me from the question! Are you trying to starve me Y/N?”
“Ok yes. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Um, I don’t really feel like cooking if that’s OK with you? Plus I haven’t seen this place in a while and the beach is calling me.” It really was and I couldn’t wait until tomorrow to get there.
“Ok, that’s fine. We can go now then!’’
We got to the restaurant and ate a casual dinner, nothing too fancy, and then we got some drinks and headed to the rocks on the side of the lagoon mouth. It was pretty cold at night during this time of year so we sat close to keep warm. It wasn’t unusual for us, but the dark and the beach and everything just made it feel weird.
We sat like that, in the dark, arms touching, looking out at the inky water and the reflection of the moon in it, for a while. We didn’t say anything and yet thousands of words were spoken in silence; without as much as a glance at each other.
It was weird to pull ourselves out of that silence, but we did it and were now walking down the, or rather up the hill to get back to the house.
You know Y/N you really are that idiot. The one thing we promised ourselves we wouldn’t do was to fall in love with the best friend. Now, look. You are completely and utterly whipped. No going back now. So what’s the plan? Are you going to confess in some stuttering mess of a sentence in some dark, ding music room or are you going to keep this from him for forever and die an old crazy cat lady with sixteen cats named Gerrald, Richard Parker, Isabelle-
“So Y/N what’s the plan for tomorrow?” He nudged my shoulder lightly and pulled me from my thoughts.
“Um, I don’t know. What do you feel like doing? I mean there’s not much else to do than go to the beach is there?” We got to the top of the hill and stopped to catch our breath.
“Well there’s a waterpark like half an hour away or an amazing waffle place in the next town, but beach sounds good for the first day. The waterpark will be packed anyways.” We started walking again as it started to get colder.
“Yeah, that sounds great.” I thought about it for a second and then added in my best Disney villain voice: “On one condition.” He almost looked nervous for a second but then slapped on a cocky grin before I could even remember what his face had looked like before.
“Name anything; this weekend is for you.” Two could play at that game.
“Ok then, I’m waking you up at six thirty tomorrow to go watch the sunrise.” Now he looked nervous again.
“I mean um well. Come on Y/N we’ve been best friends for years is this really a necessity?”
“Yes, Minho it very much is and I will drag you down this hill tomorrow morning if I have to. Thank you for a nice evening but I will now shower and then retire to the floor.” I let out a laugh and then started walking up the stairs.
“You know you’ll have to deal with me the minute you get out the shower right.” He laughed with me as he started following me up the stairs.
“Yes Minho, I do in fact realise that, but the fact that I have to see you does not mean I have to listen to you complain about a six thirty wake up call. Honestly, it’s not that bad you lazy ass.” I closed the bathroom door and locked it behind me. I wasn’t trying to be mean; I was just trying to have fun, but I’m bad at working out the difference so…
It was midnight and the floor was cold.
Why he thought that coming to the beach in the middle of autumn was a good idea, I might never know.
At least we haven’t said anything stupid in at least an hour Y/N.
I’ve been asleep!
Yes but we can say stupid things in our sleep Y/N.
Ok no, not listening to you anymore. Goodnight.
It was now half past one. The floor was still cold.
Unless we plan on getting a cold Y/N, we have one option.
What can a cold do to me, come on?
It can turn into a chest infection and then a lung infection and then wow look Y/N can’t play the flute anymore and oh look again we’ve been kicked out the orchestra.
Shut up.
One option Y/N, one option…
I went to go shake Minho awake. Giving in to the voice in my head was something I was trying to get better at but it still didn’t work that well… most of the time.
“Come on Minho please wake up!” He was usually a light sleeper, but he was probably doing this just to spit me. “Lee Minho I know you’re awake.” I waited a minute and then gave in to his plan that I knew was most definitely churning in that stupid, amazing brain of his. “Fine, ok, the floor is cold. Please, can I sleep with you?” He smirked but kept his eyes closed. “Not like that you pervert!”
He stirred, opened his eyes and then sat up and said: “Ya sure. I knew you’d give in eventually. No one can resist this face.” He smirked at me again and batted his eyelashes.
“Oh, would you shut up and move over.” I wanted it to come out a bit sterner, but I ended up laughing as he pouted at me and scooted so he wasn’t hogging the entire bed to himself. I turned to look at him and, in the most loving tone I could muster for one am, said: “Goodnight idiot.”
“Goodnight my bestest most loving friend forever.” We both burst out laughing (even though it was a pretty terrible joke) and fell asleep just like that, heads nearly touching but not. Toes tangled by instinct to keep warm. My heart wouldn’t calm down. I thought I might have a heart attack in my sleep. To anyone else (including me) it would have looked romantic. I secretly hoped Minho thought so too.
My internal clock woke me up at six. I had gotten used to waking up to practice and then going straight to lectures and then going straight back to practice.
I was about to sit up when I noticed it. Minho’s arm slung over my waist and his head ever so slightly snuggled into my side. I got such a shock when I saw it that I jolted. He started to wake up and I started to panic.
Oh we’ve really done it now haven’t we Y/N.
You’re not helping!
Hwta are we going to do about this Y/N.
I don’t know! You’re meant to be the logical one.
I’m just a voice in your head. How am I meant to be logical Y/N?
You’re the one always shouting at me!
No, we’re always the ones shouting at us.
What the hell is that supposed to mean!
To late Y/N
“Mm Y/N?” Oh god.
We spent the day at the beach, eating chips and drinking whatever was cheapest. We messed around in the water and read on the sand, but something was always a bit off.
“I’m sorry about this morning Y/N. I don’t know what happened.” We were walking down to a different beach to go watch the sunset. I had compromised with Minho after this morning’s antics.
“It’s fine Minho, it was cold. Body heat you know?” I let out a nervous laugh and looked over at him. It was fairly light out, as the sun was just starting to disappear under the horizon. I didn’t know if it was a trick of the early morning sun or if that was actually a blush I saw dusted on his cheeks. “Minho seriously, we’re friends it doesn’t matter. Come on stop looking so embarrassed. If anything it should be me blushing I mean I was the one-”
“I am not blushing!” He whipped his head towards me and glared.
“Ok sure mister ladies man.” It was like a whole different person. Minho was never like this. He was always the loud cocky one at the college parties, flirting with all the girls and then passing out on my couch after one to many jager bombs.
Today he was like a teenage boy going through puberty who had a crush on his older sister’s best friend.
He likes us back Y/N
Not with you in my head he doesn’t.
Stop denying that you wouldn’t be a functioning human without me Y/N.
Fuck off I’m trying to enjoy the sunset!
Don’t screw it up Y/N.
We both froze the minute we got out the dune forest and onto the sand.
“Omg Y/N! It’s beautiful.” He was right. The sun was halfway under the horizon and had turned the few clouds in the sky the most breathtaking shade of pink.
“Ok who are you and what have you done with my best friend.” It was both weird and strangely endearing to see Minho so excited about a sunrise.
“What’s so wrong with a guy liking the sky.” I chuckled.
You’re whipped Y/N.
Since when did you use stan language?
Since when did we start using stan language Y/N?
Oh, shut up!
“There’s nothing wrong with a guy liking the sky. I just never pinned you for a sky guy.”
“Y/N I am shocked, I am such a sky guy.”
“Ok, no more sky guying. Come on let’s sit down” We both laughed together and as we sat laughing on the sand I realised that this had been the most constantly happy I had been all year.
Don’t screw it up Y/N
“Oh, would you shut up!” I immediately clasped my hand over my mouth. Minho looked at me with a look that was somewhere between completely shocked and hurt. “Minho I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to say it out loud. Oh, wait no that’s not what I meant. Um… I’m sorry I was just. I um, I-”
I told you not to screw it up Y/N
I could feel tears starting to form in the corners of my eyes. Minho was still looking at me with that face. I couldn’t speak.
Why now! It was going well! You ruin everything.
Not me, us. It’s not my voice Y/N
I broke down. I was so sick of this stupid voice in my head and now look what it had done. Why couldn’t I just turn it off? Why did it have to-
I felt arms wrapping around me and pulling me into someone’s chest.
“Shh, it’s ok Y/N. You’re ok.” I didn’t understand why he was always so selfless. Behind that stupid ego of his, he was just my best friend.
I don’t know how long we sat on the beach like that. The sun ha set and it was dark outside by the time I lifted my head from his chest and tried to speak but he stopped me.
“Before you make some bullshit excuse and say you’re fine, you’re not and you are going to tell me what’s going on in that brain of yours because I am tired of seeing the person I love suffer.”
See look it’s-
“Please just be quiet,” I whispered into Minho’s chest once again.
“Y/N please tell me what’s going on. You’re really starting to scare me.” I looked back up at him and the worry in his eyes had my heart crumbling into dust.
“I just- I don’t know Minho. I just can’t get it to be quiet and it ruins everything.” He looked scared. I hated it, but I didn’t know how to explain it.
“What won’t be quite Y/N?” I pointed to my head. Realization washed over his face, then understanding and lastly sadness.
“What does it say” It was barely a whisper. I shook my head. I didn’t want to say it aloud. It made it seem too real. It already at too much power over me, it didn’t need this.
“Please, can we just go home Minho? I’m fine. I dealt with this since like Grade 8 and I’ll deal with it some more. Just please can we go home.” I hated sounding this needy, but I didn’t want to talk about this now or ever. It was something I dealt with by myself or not at all. Minho did not need to be dragged into this.
“Y/N I can’t just-”
“Yes you can Minho and you will. We’re not talking about this. Not in the dark on a beach. Maybe somewhere else and in the far future but please, please can we just go home.” He slumped and gave in. He stood up and bent is legs and gestured with his head as if to say hurry up and get on. I’d didn’t I just looked at him, confused.
“What? Come on I have to be a good friend in some way tonight. Get on.” And so I did. It was weird but not in a bad way. I felt like a kid. It was…nice?
He somehow carried me all the way home, even up that godforsaken hill. We got inside the house, after fumbling with the keys and giggling for a good five minutes, but he didn’t stop there. He ran through the lounge, me still on his back, and opened the sliding door. He headed towards the pool.
“Minho what are you doing!” He liked back at me and smirked. He put me down and I made to run but he caught the belt loops on my shorts. “Minho seriously what are you- ah!” He had picked me up in his arms and was carrying me towards the pool. “Lee Minho I swear on my flute’s well being if you dare!” He dangled me over the pool.
“Are you going to talk yet?” I didn’t say anything. I just glared at him and in return, he loosened his grip on me.
“Minho stop!” I clung on to him.
“Talk or swim Y/N, the choice is yours.” He shook me as if he was trying to emphasise his point.
“Minho, you can’t be serious!” He didn’t look at me only at the pool which was dangerously close to my legs. I realised how he was holding me and a blush crawled up my cheeks.
Just admit it to him already Y/N.
Not now!
He knows about me now; no point in hiding it Y/N.
Oh, shut up.
“I am being dead serious Y/N. Talk or swim!” I tried to splutter out anything to try to change my mind but all that came out was an incoherent babble.
“You chose…wrong!” And with that, he threw me in the pool. The perfectly heated water enveloped me as I felt all my clothes get wet. Thank God for beach holidays where the taking off your costume isn’t an option. I took off my wet top and pants and threw them on the side of the pool.
I came up to take a breath and saw Minho take off his shirt and bolt towards the pool. He canon-balled into the pool; nearly landing on me in the process. He disappeared in the inky dark of the water, none of the pool lights were on, I mean we didn’t exactly plan on using the pool other than to wash off the sand.
“Minho, where did you go?” I couldn’t tell if my laugh was out of nervousness or joy. It was so weird. Maybe half an hour ago I was sobbing into his chest trying to keep this stupid thing out my head and now here we were, just stupid kids again. The same Minho who would contemplate the art teachers seeming immortality is the same Minho who had gathered me in his arms and just been there. The same Minho who convinced me to flirt with the lunch lady was the same Minho-
“Ahhh!” He had come up underneath me, grabbed my legs and launched me in the air. “What the hell was that for!?” I tried to stare him down but he just laughed.
“Because I think you needed to smile.” He grinned at me, so I splashed him. He splashed back. And so began a five-minute wrestling match. I won, but I think he would have disagreed.
“Ok, ok,” He puffed out, he looked out of breath, “Now tell me what was going on with you back at the beach.” He had swum right up close to me.
“Minho do we have to talk about this right now? Can’t we just be two friends in a pool on a spur of the moment holiday?” His face contorted.
Ughhhhhh, what have I said this time.
“Is that all I am to you Y/N, a friend?” I had no idea what he was asking. Was he implying something? Or was he just being Minho?
“I don’t know what you mean Minho.”
“I mean what I said. Is that all I am to you and am I really that bad at trying to show you that I might want more?” Ok, so he was impling something. Oh my god, he was implying something.
“WH-what?” I spluttered out.
“I like you OK Y/N? And I hate seeing you like this; beating yourself down when you’re the most talented, most amazing, most beautiful human I know!”
“Minho, I, um, I- I just don’t know what. Oh screw it!” It was now or never. I knew I’d never get a chanc like that again so I just, kissed him. And it felt freaking amazing.
Let’s just say Mrs Walsh was very surprised at how well I played at the concert.
#minho#lee minho#skz#stray kids#stray kids imagines#stray kids angst#stray kids fluff#skz minho#stray kids minho#stray kids scenarios
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(Read on AO3)
“Alright everyone, listen up! We have a slight change to the submission process for the Literary Magazine this semester!” Clary calls out, gathering the attention of everyone in the classroom.
Magnus, with more than a few papers already tucked away into an envelope for his own submissions, listens with a worried look on his face.
“After a few troubling submissions last year, Mrs. Penhallow has decided to err on the side of caution and require that all submissions have a name on them, and be turned in personally to a club member by the writer. Nothing can be turned in entirely anonymous - but if you wish for it to be printed anonymously, we can still do that! To keep them as anonymous as possible there will be one person unaffiliated with the club assigned to reading through them, just to make sure they fit the guidelines before taking the names off as long as you aren’t doing anything stupid like sneaking bomb threats in, or threatening to hurt anyone.”
Magnus tenses. He has some pretty personal submissions, some… well, honestly, they could be quite embarrassing if anyone knew they were from him. Not because he’s ashamed of them - quite the opposite, they’re some of his best writing in his own humble opinion - but because if someone read them with him in mind as the author they might be able to piece together who they’re about. And the last thing he needs is for word to get out that his muse this year is his unrequited crush on Isabelle’s brother. Even Isabelle doesn’t know, despite the increasing frequency he makes excuses to hang out with her while he knows Alec will be around the apartment the two siblings share with their other brother, Jace.
They’re friends in their own right at this point. They follow each other on social media, text more than Magnus texts with anyone else, even Catarina, and usually spend most of their little group hang-outs gravitating towards one another to catch up on life, and school, and everything in between. But it’s been the majority of the year now and after an attempt or two at flirting that fell flat Magnus wonders if it’s entirely one-sided, and he isn’t about to risk their growing friendship to find out. Not when he can just dump his feelings into his writing instead.
Anyone who knows him might connect the dots. But a stranger reading them, and then keeping them anonymous from there? He doesn’t love the idea but it’s better than the alternative of Clary reading them, or someone else in the club. And what can he really do about it other than not submit what he’s been working on for weeks now, and that simply isn’t an option. So Magnus nods in agreement along with the rest of the group before scrawling his name on the bottom of every sheet in the folder previously marked only with the word ~Anonymous, before handing it over to Clary.
With the folder in hand Clary holds it up, grinning from ear-to-ear. “This is pretty thick,” she observes. “You’re going to be half the magazine at this rate.”
“I’ve got a lot of inspiration this year, what can I say?” He smirks a bit before shrugging. “And they probably won’t all make it, anyway. You know how it goes.”
And with that he leaves the rest up to fate, and forgets all about the writing submissions for the rest of the week.
---
The following Thursday he shows up a few minutes early, catching just Clary in the classroom re-arranging the tables into a circle.
“Need some help with that, Biscuit?” he asks, shrugging his messenger bag off of his shoulder and tossing it to the side of the wall by the door.
“Sure you wanna risk messing up that perfect manicure of yours?” Clary quips, and Magnus laughs as he grabs a table without waiting for permission or acceptance.
“So what’s on the agenda for tonight?” He asks, and the hopeful tone of his voice must give away the answer he’s hoping for because Clary shakes her head.
“We’re not voting yet,” she says, and Magnus sighs.
All the submissions for the magazine are typed up without names, read aloud to the group, and voted in by a points system. Everyone gets a vote, and the 30 submissions with the highest number of votes gets in. Not all of them are from people in the magazine, either, so it’s really a mixed bag of submissions every semester. But it’s fair, since they’d obviously be biased towards each other’s if they knew which was theirs.
“I wanted to do it this week, but I couldn’t get them back in time from our apparently too-busy-to-finish-in-one-week volunteer reviewer,” she explains with an eye-roll.
“Really? I mean, I know it’s not their job or anything, but there weren’t that many to read through, were there?” Magnus wonders who could be so busy they can’t set aside an hour or two to read through some poems after an entire week.
“Yeah, well, I gave them to my girlfriend’s brother so I can’t exactly be rude about rushing him--”
Magnus drops the chair he’s carrying, paying it absolutely no attention when it tips sideways onto the floor. His eyes are wide and he’s certain he isn’t breathing. In fact, he can’t remember what air is as his entire brain seems to short-circuit because Clary is dating Isabelle Lightwood.
“What? He’s finishing them now, so don’t worry! They’ll be done by next week.” Clary’s trying to make him feel better, as if his reaction is to the news that they’re still being worked on, and not over who is working on them.
“Clary - and I cannot stress how important this is - which of Izzy’s brothers did you give them to?”
“Oh, right. I keep forgetting you know the Lightwoods, too. Why does it matt--”
“CLARY, PLEASE.” Magus is pleading now, and he feels about five seconds away from throwing up. He and Clary aren’t very close outside of the club, and she and Isabelle just started dating a few weeks ago, so of course he doesn’t expect her to remember that he’s friends with them, too. He doesn’t blame her, he isn’t upset with her, he’s just upset.
“Are you alright?”
“CLARY.”
“Oh my god, alright already! Alec volunteered to read through them when he overheard me complaining to Izzy about the new rule, but I don’t see what the big deal is-”
Magnus takes several steps backwards to lean against the wall, tilting his head back and closing his eyes in frustration. No no no no no no no, he thinks, and doesn’t realize he’s also saying the word over and over again out loud, too, until Clary gives him a look like she fears for his general sanity. She might not be too far off after tonight, if he can ever show his face on campus again for her to notice.
“Magnus, what’s wrong?” Clary keeps her distance, eyeing him carefully during this burst of erratic behavior.
“I have to go.” Instead of answering the question he turns and leaves, pausing only a moment to grab his messenger bag off the floor.
“Magnus?!” Clary calls after him, but he doesn’t stop or turn around.
The walk to Izzy’s apartment isn’t far from the classroom he’s at, but every step seems to drag on for a lifetime, even as he speeds his pace up to something not quite a run, but pretty damn close. Paying little mind to the people around him he bumps into the shoulders of more than one student while he punches a number into his phone and brings it to his ear.
It rings, and rings, and goes to Alec’s voicemail. He sends a text (‘Hey. This is going to sound strange but if you haven’t read the Literary Magazine submissions yet could you wait, and call me first? It’s important.’) but it stays unread and unanswered. Of course it can’t be that easy.
Okay, that’s fine. He can try a back-up plan. A few seconds later another number is dialed and ringing, and this time an eager, “Hey!” greets him through the phone.
“Isabelle, darling, please tell me you’re at home.” He tries to keep his voice even but there’s a clear edge to it, an underlying panic. Izzy being home to try and stop her brother before he gets to Magnus’ submissions is his last hope.
“No, I have class late on Thursdays, remember? Why?”
Magnus groans, face dropping after the moment of hope he mistakenly felt after she picked up.
“Damn. Right, well. I’m going to your apartment to try and stop Alec from reading about half a dozen poems I wrote about him, so if you never see me again it’s because this went about as mortifyingly as I’m anticipating, I’ll have to transfer schools so I never have to face him again, and it was really nice knowing you.”
“Ma-” Izzy barely starts to say his name when he hangs up on her, much the same way he walked out on her girlfriend only minutes before.
He doesn’t want to go to their apartment because if he does, and Alec already read the poems, he genuinely doesn’t know what he’s going to do. But he has to risk it on the off chance that luck is on his side and maybe Alec just told Clary he was getting around to them now, but he was really pushing them off again. Please, he silently pleads with the universe, be on my side this once.
It only takes ten minutes for him to reach the apartment, but another 4 of pacing the hallway outside the door before he finally knocks.
There’s the sound of shuffling behind the door, soft footsteps that grow louder before a lock clicks and the door swings open.
“Oh, hey Magnus!” Alec’s clearly surprised to see him.
“Why do you even own a phone if you never have it with you, Alexander,” Magnus tries to joke, but he’s too nervous and it shows.
“Oh, sorry,” Alec looks a little sheepish. “Probably left it in my room. Uh, if you’re looking for Izzy she won’t be back from campus until late, it’s Thursday.” Alec points out. It occurs to him that this is the first time the two of them are actually alone, without Izzy or Jace or another group of friends along to go out or watch movies with. His heartbeat picks up speed at the realization, even if this is far from how he imagined finally getting some alone time with Alexander.
“I know. I was actually hoping to talk to you, if that’s alright. You didn’t happen to--”
But Magnus pauses when Alec shifts in an obvious attempt to block Magnus’ view of the living room. Shifting just enough (because Alec is tall and imposing when he needs to be, but he isn’t big enough to block the entire doorway) Magnus glances past Alec to the table that’s in his line of sight, and sees what Alec is trying so obviously to block.
He’s too late. The table is covered with papers and a familiar envelope with Magnus’ name on it sits open at the top.
Alec knows. He read the poems and he knows and there’s nothing Magnus can do to take that back. He’s ruined everything - the dynamic they all had when they hung out together, any chance he had of maybe flirting with Alec properly and asking him out one day - now he just looks crazy, like he does nothing but stare at Alec and those gorgeous hazel eyes and soft smile and those little crinkles around his eyes when he laughs that just beg to be admired in poetry.
Which, to be fair, isn’t entirely off-base. He does spend a lot of time sneaking glances Alec’s way. It just isn’t something he planned on exposing yet. It isn’t the right time, and now it never will be.
“--you know what, nevermind. You’re right, I was here for Izzy but I totally forgot about her class, so I’ll just… go. Yeah, I have to go. Sorry.”
Magnus turns around and takes several steps down the hallway when he feels Alec’s hand on his shoulder.
“Wait.”
It’s a simple request and yet somehow actually stopping instead of taking off in a sprint down the hallway is the most difficult thing Magnus has done in recent memory.
“Magnus, I-” Alec starts, but stops again.
Magnus takes a deep, steadying breath before forcing himself to turn around. “It’s alright, you don’t have to say it. I know you only hung around with me because I was friends with your sister. It’s cool, really.” Giving his best, fake-confident ‘I’m fine, really’ smile.
“That isn’t what I was going to say.” Alec frowns.
“No, of course it isn’t. You’re too nice to actually say it,” Magnus shakes his head. He can’t do this, not here, not now. He can’t stand there and listen to Alec let him down easy until he wants the ground to swallow him whole. They were just starting to become better friends and now he ruined even that, and he’ll never forgive himself for it. “I’m sorry. I can’t-”
“Will you come inside for one minute? I want to show you something.” Alec looks nervous. Why would Alec be nervous? “Please?” When Alec repeats the request, practically begging this time, Magnus knows he can’t say no to that look.
“Alright.” It’s a reluctant agreement but he finds himself following Alec back into the apartment. When the door shuts behind him it leaves Magnus feeling strangely claustrophobic.
“Just… wait here. Don’t leave.” Alec instructs before disappearing down the short hallway that leads to his room. Magnus can’t help but wander over to the table, picking up his poem from the top of the pile and glancing over some of the words he wrote of a trip they took with Izzy and Cat and a few other friends to hike and picnic a month ago.
‘We watch the sunset from the mountain top
Hand-crafted by deities, perfected over centuries
To be mesmerizing
To be awe-inspiring
But nothing in heaven or on earth could compare
To the enchantment I feel
Watching hues of green and chestnut and gold
Light up like fireworks when he laughs’
It was a perfect day. A perfect memory. Why did he have to go and ruin it?
When Alec comes back Magnus drops the paper back onto the table like it burns to the touch.
“Seriously, Alec, I’m sorry… if I thought for a second Clary was going to give these to you I never would’ve-”
“Listen, Magnus, I know words are your thing and all, but if you could just stop talking and listen for five seconds.”
Magnus winces at Alec’s exasperated tone, attention finally drawn to the paper Alec holds out. It’s covered in Alec’s handwriting from top to bottom.
“What’s this?” Magnus asks, taking it when Alec doesn’t reply right away, instead just holding the paper out stubbornly in front of him.
“It was meant to be anonymous, too. But since I read yours it’s only right that you get to read mine.”
Magnus looks from Alec down to the paper in his hands, and begins to read. It isn’t a poem, more an uninterrupted stream of consciousness. The prose takes the form of Alec observing someone in the fading light of the sun’s last rays. Of a moment on a mountaintop, with wind-blown hair and friends and wine… and about how Alec wished it was just the two of them instead of a group outing, instead of his sister sitting between them on the blanket they shared.
Magnus has to read it a second time to be certain before allowing himself to speak.
“...you wrote about me?” Magnus asks, dumbfounded.
“I know it’s probably awful, I tried the whole poetry thing but it was total garbage so I just sort of rambled instead, but… that isn’t the point. You’re asking if it’s about you, and yeah. It is.” Alec smiles, not the big kind that give him those explosive laugh crinkles but a small, reserved twitch of his lips that’s barely noticeable unless you’re looking for it.
And of course Magnus is looking.
“I thought there were some signs, but then I wondered if you were just being nice to me because I was Izzy’s brother,” Alec admits. “So I figured if I sent this in, and it wasn’t just me…” he shrugs. That’s clearly as far as he got with his plan, but it’s more than enough.
“It isn’t just you.” Magnus confirms, smiling for the first time since Clary told him about Alec.
“So now what?” Alec prompts.
Magnus considers for a moment before the perfect idea comes to mind.
“I’m free Saturday for another hike. You drive, I’ll pack the picnic?” And then, just in case he isn’t clear enough, adds, “Just us this time?”
Alec’s entire face brightens at the idea. “Sounds perfect.”
...maybe the universe wasn’t as out to get him as Magnus first thought.
#malec#magnus bane#alec lightwood#shadowhunters#shfanficnexus#isabelle lightwood#clary fray#clizzy#magnusbicon#HAPPY BIRTHDAY MEGAN#I hope you like it!!#<3#elle writes a few deadbeat lines
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BTS scenario → soulmate!au
pairing: bts x reader
fandom: bts
warnings: soulmate!au
genre: fluff ; mentions of smut
a/n: omg thank you so much my love! I totally understand, I love soulmate!au’s as well, so I hope you like these scenarios!!!! ♥
ask box | masterlist | fandoms | faq | multifandom reader blog
kim seokjin
(you have a tattoo of your soulmate’s initials on your wrist)
“What can I get you?” you kindly smiled down at the seven men that were sitting at a table in the restaurant that you were working at.
“Ah, yes, can we get..-” but when the guy that spoke leaned forward, reaching for the menu, his wrist got exposed and you could see the initials that everyone had on their wrist. The initials standing for the name of their soulmate. Your heart skipped a beat when it matched your initials, but this happened too many times before and your initials never matched with that of the other person. So you quickly blinked a couple of times and began scribbling down their order, before walking away again, not trying to get your hopes up for once.
“Did you see the way she looked at Hyung?” Jimin laughed, “She's interested in you.”
“What?” Jin turned around, looking at you standing at the bar, handing the order to another one of your co-workers, “She is quite pretty..”
“She seems really nice,” Namjoon cocked his head to the side as he watched you go to another table.
“Maybe YOU should ask her out, hyung,” Taehyung nudged his side as he realized he was interested in you as well.
But while they all bickered, Jin's eyes were still on you. For some reason, there was something about you that had him stare. That had his heart beat faster and his mouth curl into a smile. And for the first time in a long time, he felt butterflies in his belly.
He just didn't know what it was until you came back with their drinks and put them down, your sleeve sliding up just enough for Jin to see the tattoo.
And when you wanted to walk away, he quickly grabbed it, pulling you back towards him.
“Hyung! What the hell are you doing?!” Namjoon hissed.
“The initials.. they're mine.”
“What?” you breathed out.
“My name. It’s Kim Seokjin and your name, is that.. does your name start with these initials?”
"Yes,” you looked at his wrist, then back into his eyes, before you laughed happily, “Yes!”
And while Jin got up to hug you, just because he was so happy that he finally found you, Namjoon threw the napkin onto the table and pouted.
“I wanted to ask her out.”
min yoongi
(you share a dream with your soulmate when you’re both asleep, but can’t remember each other when you wake up.)
“You're late again,” you crossed your arms in front of your chest as he walked over to the bed and took off his jacket, “I told you to go to sleep earlier, I've been waiting for ages.”
“Stop complaining,” Yoongi leaned down and pressed a kiss against your lips, “I was working.”
“I'm estimating that I'll wake up in less than thirty minutes. So you know the deal,” you got up from the bed and took off your clothes, “Best be fast, babe.”
“Ah, but you should know me by now, I can make you scream in less than 15 seconds,” he turned you around by the waist and started kissing your exposed shoulder, unclasping your bra in the process.
“I just wish you'd actually do that, you know?” you sighed and leaned against him, “I'm tired of forgetting you every damn time..”
Because that was the thing with soulmates. You'd remember each other in the dream world, would always be able to dream together. But the second you'd wake up, you'd forget everything. So every morning, you wouldn't remember Yoongi. Only when you’d meet him in real life, would it finally stop.
“One day, love,” he turned you back towards him, “One day, all of this is going to be real.”
“You promise?” you wrapped your arms around his neck.
“I promise.”
Because he'd find a goddamn way.
Just.. not right now. Because as much as he loved you, ARMY would probably not like it very much if he suddenly had found his soulmate, so he'd wait for a few more years. In the meantime, he'd enjoy his dreams with you that varied from rough sex nights, to days with you two and your child or romantic dates. Everything you could think of, you could do it..
And you would, until it was finally real.
jung hoseok
(your soulmate’s current thoughts about you will show up on your skin for a short while.)
It really varied every single time.
Sometimes it was something like: 'I wonder what she looks like' other times it was 'I wonder if I could make her laugh' and then yet again it was really naughty stuff that you had to hide under every circumstance.
Whoever your soulmate was, he thought about you a lot. Almost daily actually.
Today for example, he thought: 'I want to meet her so bad..'
And you could only agree.
Not every soulmate thought about the other one so much. The fact that yours did only proved to you that he really wanted to meet you. He often thought nice things about you that made you giggle and then other times, when he thought about the naughty stuff, you couldn't help but enjoy yourself, wondering what would show up on his skin when you did.
It was around 8 PM when you walked back home, after having had dinner with a friend. You were looking at your phone while waiting at a red light, when something on your finger started lighting up.
You instantly smiled when you realized what it was, but froze the second you saw the words: 'Fuck, she's hot..'
“What the hell?” you muttered.
'And she's pretty too. Hot and pretty? That's a dangerous combo.'
You looked up from your hand and turned your head left and right, when you found a guy staring at you, but he quickly lowered his head when he saw you do so.
Your jaw dropped and you instantly walked over to him without thinking twice, “Do you think I'm hot?”
“Uhm.. what?”
“Please just answer?”
“Y..- Yes?” it came out more than a question than an answer, but he was slightly intimidated by your approach.
And when you smiled, he took that as a good sign. And then when you raised your hand and he saw what was on your finger, he saw that as an even better sign.
“What's on your skin?”
Hoseok pulled up his sleeve and showed you: 'Is that creep staring at me?'
Oh well, he’d probably be the romantic one in this relationship.
kim namjoon
(you get the same injuries as your soulmate)
“What the hell,” you sighed as you found yet another bruise on your leg, “I swear to god, one of these days he's going to get himself killed.”
“Don't say that. Remember what happened to Brandon's soulmate?”
“Fine,” you sighed and walked over to the mirror, “It's just really uncool to walk around in shorts with all these bruises.”
“I think it's good. Your soulmate is surely going to see that you'll have matching bruises and then.. BOOM. Love happens.”
“Not everyone has a fairy tale ending like you had,” and with that and a kiss against your best friend's cheek, you made your way out of the apartment and over to where you were working.
You didn't really pay much attention to the outside world, your headphones in your ear as you took public transportation to work and half an our later you were standing in the coffee shop, working your morning shift as always.
Nothing unusual really happened, until a guy came up and asked for a piece of paper, a girl standing behind him, giggling like crazy.
You could only smirk and hand it to him with a wink, “Go get her.”
But then the guy was somehow clumsy enough to cut his finger, even so much that he started bleeding. You instantly walked around the counter with a band aid from the first aid kit and wanted to wrap it around his finger, when he suddenly stopped you.
“What? What is it?” you asked as you looked up at him.
“Did you.. cut yourself as well?”
“What? No? Why would you..-” but when you turned your hand around, there was a wound at the same spot he had just cut himself. You didn't feel it, you never felt it, because the pain wasn't transferred onto the other ones body. But it was there.. and it was bleeding, “You're him?!”
“You're my soulmate?” Namjoon's eyes widened but he has said it so loud that everyone in the coffee shop was clapping, because everyone was always super excited to witness something like that happen.
“You and I have a lot to discuss,” you put your hands on your waist and took a step back, “What the HELL are you doing that you always get so many bruises? Do you know how ugly that looks wearing shorts? Huh? Do you?!”
Well.. that wasn't what he had expected..
park jimin
(you have your soulmate’s name somewhere on your body.)
“Please, please, please, just come with me to the fansign.”
“I told you already. I don't want to see him.”
“But he's your soulmate!”
“He's also an idol. And I don't want to date an idol, that's way too much pressure.”
“Ugh, I swear,” your friend plopped down next to you again, “Anyone else would have ran to him the second they realized whose name was on their body. If I had Park Jimin tattooed on my body, I would have..-”
“Don't finish that sentence, it's going to be something naughty again and I don't want to hear it.”
The advantage of your soulmate being in the public eye like that, was that you were able to read up on him. You knew what he liked and didn't like, had watched countless of videos of him and even if you always pretended like you didn't care, you often looked at pictures of him in the darkness of the night, a smile always gracing your features.
But the problem you had was not the pressure of dating an idol, but it was that you knew he'd be disappointed if he found out you were his soulmate. You knew that some of his band members' soulmates were famous as well and given the fact that there was nothing about you on the internet, he probably already knew that you weren't famous or special. You were ordinary. And for some reason, the universe thought pairing you off would be a good idea, when you really couldn’t see how it was.
But your friend was tired of this. She knew you wanted to be with him and she knew about your insecurities.
So she still went to the fansign with a couple of her friends and when she was in front of Jimin, she couldn't help but grin from ear to ear.
“Well, you look happy today.”
“Because I know something that you don't.”
“Do you?” he smiled as well, while he signed her album, “And what's that?”
“I know that your soulmate's name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”
He instantly stopped writing, but only raised his head very slowly, “How do you know that?”
“Because she's a friend of mine.. she knows who you are and she's not famous or rich, so she's scared you won't want her. But I don't think you're the kind of guy to care about that, so..-” she pretended like she was giving him a gift, but in secret, it had your number written on it, “Prove her wrong.”
And it was that same night, when you were lying in bed yet again, staring at a picture of Jimin, that you suddenly got a text saying: 'So.. I think I met one of your friends today, (Y/N). I heard you're my soulmate?”
Oh god, you were going to KILL her. But also? Kiss her to death.
kim taehyung
(anything you draw/write on your own skin appears on your soulmate’s.)
He loved you.
Taehyung has never met you, but he loved you.
For some reason, you continuously kept drawing doodles on your skin and it was the most beautiful things he had ever seen. Maybe you were bored and did it because of that, or maybe you just liked doing it. Whatever reason you had, he loved you for it, because his skin was always covered with the most beautiful art in the universe.
When he woke up this morning, something was different though.
It wasn't a drawing like it usually was, but a time and an address that was.. oddly familiar for some reason?
“Oh my god,” he jumped up a second later, sleep completely gone from his body, “She's in Seoul!”
And while Tae took the quickest shower of his life and got ready, you were already on your way to the meeting, covering up your arm with your sleeve before shaking hands, so that none of these people would see your notes and drawings.
You introduced yourself to a couple of people, then you walked over into the back of the room to get yourself something to drink.
And that's when he stormed into the hall, completely out of breath.
And standing right next to you.
You chuckled, leaning against the table and cocking your head to the side as you looked him up and down, “You don't look like you belong in here..”
“I'm looking for someone,” he breathed out, walking over to you and showing you his arm, “Have you seen anyone with these drawings or notes on her arm? She is supposed to be here..”
But while he looked around, you put down your cup and pulled his arm towards you, your fingers gently caressing over the doodles.
Then you looked up at him and said: “My god.. I could be a tattoo artist, huh?”
“Wh..- What?! It's you?”
“Surpriiiiiise!” you laughed happily and wrapped your arms around him.
jeon jeongguk
(one eye is the color of that of your soulmate and you'll only get your own eye color back when you look into your soulmates eyes.)
You were part of the staff for this arena and while thousands upon thousands of fans were losing their minds outside because their favorite band in the world was about to perform, you were working backstage, today being like every other day for you.
Your boss walked over to you, a clipboard in her hand, looking at you with a pair of blue eyes. It always made you smile, because that way you could tell this person had already found their soulmate.
You on the other hand were still left with one eye that was extremely brown. So brown, that it sometimes appeared to be black. It would look different and many would probably stare if soulmates weren’t a thing, but on a daily base, so many people on the street had eyes like you did. So many hadn't found their soulmate yet, so you weren't too upset about it.
You knew that someday, you'd find him.. someday..
“(Y/N), can you get these water bottles to the artists?”
“Sure,” you smiled, “Anything else?” when it came down to a staff member interacting, or even just being in the same room as an artist, it was always you being sent, because you knew what boundaries actually were. Something that not all did, unfortunately.
“No, thank you, love,” and with that, she kept on walking and you picked up the bottles.
It was extremely heavy, but you grit your teeth to carry them all the way to the artists room, a make-up artist being kind enough to hold the door open.
You didn't say anything, didn't even look up at the people.
Again, this was your job, you weren't here to fangirl and that's why you were one of the best. The reason why everyone could trust you. And so you unpacked the bottles and lined them up, when you could see someone kneel down in front of you.
You only wanted to smile at him kindly, then get back to work, but when you looked into his eyes..
You knew right away, staring into his eyes that one of them belonged to you, while his other one was the one that you had.
And while you were both staring at each other with an open mouth, your colors changed. They changed so that they were matching.
“You.. they're both brown!” you exclaimed.
“Yours are the same color too!”
“Kookie, come on, we have to go,” one of his band members said as he walked out of the door, but the guy was still kneeling in front of you, his eyes focused on you. It’s like nothing in the world existed in that moment, only you and he was staring right into your soul.
But just when he wanted to say something else, another band member told him once again to follow them, so he knew he had to make it short, “You're working here, yes? Please wait for me after the concert?”
“I will be..,” because how could you not?
And with that and a happy grin, he sprinted out of the room and after his members. And every single one of them stared at him in disbelief, because five minutes ago, his eye color definitely hadn't matched.
He just shrugged happily and winked, “I found her.”
#bts imagine#bts reactions#bts x reader#bts#bangtan#bangtan reaction#bangtan boys#kpop#kpop imagines#kpop reactions#bangtan sonyeondan#reader#bangtan x reader#bangtan boys x reader#request#bts scenario
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whispers. part 2
[9:12pm] ghosts, the afterlife and presences. fickle concepts you had often dabbled in discussing with your friends in the almost two whole years since you lost mark.
your friends asked you about it often in the early grieving stages partly as a far-fetched joke to comfort you and distract you from it all, but mostly because they were unnaturally curious. they asked you if you believed that mark would ever visit you in the form of a "ghost" (spirits, was the word they used, but you werea lot more cynical than that and couldn’t use the word), whether you ever wondered or thought about where he might be in terms of you believing in the afterlife or not, and finally; they really wanted to know if you had felt any odd presences that weren't of actual people.
in the first few weeks this was impossible for you to answer properly, citing the fact that your beliefs were not really that strong as a reason to avoid it. eventually after much persistence on your friends' ends, you hesitantly revealed that you were quite open to the idea of spirits existing now that you realised how much mark’s dissapearance from your life had affected you, that you hoped that mark was somewhere nicer than where he was when he was alive, and that you had in fact not had any 'presences' but that you so desperately wanted some kind of sign from him that one would make you very happy.
that all changed after the first time you saw him in all his glory that night. you went from being uncertain and uncomfortable talking about the matter, to professing very strongly that mark WAS there with you sometimes and that the night you saw him was very real. on the front of the afterlife, you still couldn't answer, though.
sitting at your desk in the workroom in your apartment, you spent hours going through all the files stored on the old and clunky computer you had been using for years now - a hand-me-down from your sister when she left for university a few years ago. granted, the computer itself was almost immaculate in terms of the exterior and how long it had served you, but you couldn't help but loathe how slowly it responded and how filled with useless files it was.
it was time to buy a new one for the first time in around five years and of course, you knew that some things on it would be of use from having it for so long, so you decided to plug in your trusty harddrive and transfer what you needed before wiping it clean ready to either sell to someone or simply throw away. what you didn't expect to find, was what you did find.
everywhere you looked, something connected to mark flashed up. it didn't matter if you were looking at the pictures you had saved, the documents you had, the music you had saved, the videos, hell - even your wallpaper was a picture of the first couple vacation you went on together to fiji. it all had mark written all over it and it hurt you far more than you cared to admit after so long, to sort through.
there were pictures and videos on there from many times you had shared with people in your life, vacations, parties, family get-togethers, concerts and more. mark was in a lot of those photos, posing and smiling with that naivety and innocence you loved so much, flashing in his eyes and across his beautiful face. like usual, most of the pictures with him in it had him either giving the camera that adorable little toothy smile, or the cheeky poked out tongue he deliberately did just to annoy you, but in all of the pictures, he consistently looked like he had not a care in the world.
there were specific videos that stuck out to you, most of all the one from your first anniversary where mark sent you a ten minute video message talking about how much he loved you, the familiar backdrop of his white practice room behind him while he apologised profusely about having to practice a new choreography all day instead of being with you.
god, how you just wanted to be able to hear him tell you he loves just one more time.
documents you had saved were also a big part in the day-to-day aspect of your relationship with him, notes with simple things like "clean the toilet" or "don't forget to buy new toilet paper" were plastered across your screen as you remembered how he'd often use microsoft word to leave you reminders and have them opened on the screen when you went into the room each morning like you always did.
it was moments like these that you wished he'd leave you just one more note asking you to do something stupid like replace the milk.
your spotify was also littered with reminders of him. playlists that he made you, labelled by month or year, with some holding very outlandish or downright hilarious names that he used to make you laugh whenever you listened to them, causing a few awkward moments when you had to explain to co-workers and friends why you’d laugh obnoxiously loud out of nowhere when you read the titles in public.
you'd never truly admired and appreciated his "songs that make me think about you" playlist, remembering the day you'd laughed at it and called it 'corny and predictable'. now, you really wished you could stop crying when you listened to it.
it took you hours to finally sort it out properly, and pressing the factory reset button left you sighing with both relief and exhaustion. it didn't take you hours because you had a lot of things to ponder on deleting or backing-up, it was because you spent a good portion of that time stifling back the tears when you saw most of it.
seeing the factory reset happen before your eyes, you leant back in your chair and clenched your fist, bringing it to your head and balling a handful of hair into it as you questioned why you decided to put yourself through that so soon.
"you know, it's not my fault i loved you so much." a voice speaks from just behind you.
taken aback by this sudden voice, you turned backwards to see mark once again.
"i.. i know it's not. i loved all this stuff when you were here marky but, you're not.. anymore. it just hurts to see it all because i miss how it used to be with you around." you sigh audibly, pulling yourself up to sit straight.
"this is the first time i've seen all this since you died, and boy oh boy does it hurt." you finish, nervously scratching the back of your neck as you looked over at the window to see that the once bright and vibrant afternoon light had shifted to deep night and moonlight in the time since you'd started sorting the computer.
"i told you the playlist would make you cry one day, i remember you telling me it'd only ever make you laugh, now look at you." he slightly reluctantly offered, an innocent but mischief filled smile wiped across his expression, his cheeks turning an excellent shade of pink.
your instinctive reaction is to swipe his arm and knock it playfully, but upon remembering that he’s merely a presence and nothing more, you rectract your hand, the small smile you had fading readily.
“it’s sweet. i never really liked it when you first made it for me if i’m being completely real with you, but i know it was made with nothing but love and good intentions, because you really did love me.”
hearing this, mark giggles and sits on the desk in front of you.
“did? oh, princess - i still do. just because i can’t physically be there for you, it doesn’t mean i fell out of love with you.” he bites his lip coyly and looks down at the paperwork bunched up on the desk next to him.
“i heard you got promoted at work.” he lets out, making direct eye contact with you for perhaps the first time tonight.
“yeah.. it’s nothing really, just a few more hours and a bit of a rise in my pay and a few more perks i guess. nothing feels as exciting without you there to get me in the mindset and i think they gave me it because i’d been doing better than my usual low performance. ever since you.. i haven’t really been me.” you finish, the last part below a murmer.
“you always doubted yourself y/n, even when i was still here. you always said you were doing badly at work and that they took pity on you, and you’d barely agree with me even when i spent hours trying to convince you that you were doing great. you’re good at what you do - amazing at it! you just never see it.”
these words make you crack, causing a barage of heavy and overbearing tears to spill down your cheeks as you realise he was right.
he was always right when it came to you.
“hey, hey.. don’t cry. you look so beautiful with a smile on your face and i hate seeing it ruined by you being sad. you’ve cried enough today, don’t you think?” he utters to you hurriedly, moving to stand next to you and bends over your figure to use his sleeve to wipe away the tears you had. lowered down onto his knees almost, he was at your level just staring at you while you composed yourself.
“t-thank you. i know i say it enough times a day but, i miss you so much mark, and after that night and you dissapearing like that... i thought i’d never see you again. it scared me so much, like, too much. i can’t be without you, i-.” you ramble on.
mark hushes you, his finger pressing to your lips gently as he plants a forgiving and loving kiss onto your forehead.
“it’s okay to feel that way. but, you remember when i told you you were stronger than you realised when i was last here?” he quizzes, you nod back.
he smiles and moves his hair out of his eyes as he thinks for a second.
“i meant it. you’ve made it over TWO YEARS without me y/n. i am so proud of you, and i know everyone else is.”
and that’s when you see it. the stab wound on his chest. in the moment, you can barely even think straight, and motion towards it, running your hand lightly over it as he winces weakly.
“you saw it huh? i knew you would eventually.” he chokes back, tears threatening to flood as he coughs and tries to regain some form of control over his breathing.
“mark.. god, it looks.. p-painful. fuck, what did they even do to you?” you say shakily, a whimper coming from you as the reminder hits you that he was in so much pain in his final moments.
“stabbing, punching, kicking. they said they didn’t have a reason for choosing me, i was just there and they wanted to hurt someone. i don’t think they realised how deep the knife went though.” he told you, as silence fell in the room and you had no words to offer in return to his statement.
mark now stood up, relying on your desk chair as support as he forced himself to stand straight.
“i-i.. i need to head back now.” he says after some thought.
“so soon?” you question, your mouth agape slightly as you realise you’d already been talking to him for an hour.
“i’ll be back soon baby, don’t worry. wait for me?” he replies, reaching his hand out to you, and you reach back, linking your hands together tightly as he stares over at the computer seeing that it had finished the factory reset.
“perfect timing.” he remarks.
and with that, he’s once again gone from your view, vanishing into thin air for the second time.
scooting the chair closer to the computer, you spot a small item on the desk. on closer inspection, you conclude for it to be mark’s phone. pressing the button on the side, the screen flashes up and sure enough, there sits a photo of you both on your vacation to fiji, and an absurd amount of notifications littering the screen.
how would you go through all of this now?
#nct#fluff#angst#nct dream#nct127#nct chenle#nct china#nct imagines#nct reactions#nct regular irregular#nct request#nct smut#nct u#cute#kpop#nct angst#nct blurbs#nct fluff#nct mark#nct regulate#nct renjun#nct x you#smut#wayv#writer#nct x reader#nct xiaojun#nct xuxi#nct x oc#y/n
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Petrol Soaked Papers, Chp. 2
Me 6 weeks ago: “Hey guys! Can’t wait to post a chapter every week!”
Proceeds to move cross-country, plummet into a whirlpool of a quarter-life crisis (the third one in four years), and experience a bitch-slap from this whore called Life.
I’m sorry guys...I’ve been rather inactive. I even had all of this written long ago, I just didn’t have the energy to post it. I hope it’s mildly worth the wait -- it’s extra long, at least <3
Chapter Two: A Fight Worth Losing
Previous Chapter
AO3
Though she expected a struggle, waking at 0400 to meet General Mustang at 0435 was rather easy. Unable to sleep well the night prior, a racing mind battling with an overactive dreamstate, she’d found herself entirely awake by 0335 and spent the freetime reading over hot tea, the mug allowing the drifting wafts of steam to warm her tired face.
She once fantasized that the dreams would lessen after giving back to Ishval, and after earning the people’s trust. The night terror that had accompanied her that first sleep however, the memories more vivid than they had ever been before, forcing her awake with such violence as she felt phantom blood coating her shaking hands and her turmoil so fresh it manifested itself in the form of a sheet of sweat --- she realized that that had been a child’s wish.
She kept her belongings -- just a few pairs of clothes and toiletries -- in a small briefcase and shut the door behind her, stepping out into the desert night. She, Falman, and Mustang were the only constant Amestrans in Ishval, and their quarters were practically across the dirt path from one another. Scar, who acted as the Ishvalan Grand Cleric, wished to live among his people in the neighborhoods. A few empty shacks which were used for visitors or temporarily stationed officers sat gathering dust. Since the Trials, the following peace demanded only the three of them and the empty shacks welcomed nobody.
To her surprise, and impressment, Mustang was stood as a dark shadow outside her door. She’d convinced herself that her fist would be knocking on his door, for since she had known the man, departing his bed before the sun rose was a task he never quite mastered.
“Hey,” he said with a tired smile. She noticed the buttons of his long-sleeved shirt were one off-center, leaving an inch of material hanging clumsily at the bottom.
“Hi, General.”
“Wow…” He blinked away the sleepiness in his eyes and leaned forward several inches.
She stared back at him.
“What is it?”
“Your hair!” he almost exclaimed, truly surprised. “It’s gotten so long.”
With eyebrows perched upwards, Riza lifted a hand. So exhausted from the lack of sleep, she’d entirely forgotten to do anything with it. Actually, she then realized, she hadn’t even bothered looking at it, and she suddenly felt somewhat self-conscious that it was standing on end or tangled into knots. She stopped herself from toying with it.
“It’s nice,” he said casually, easing her worries, as he motioned his head over his shoulder to suggest they begin walking.
“Thank you, sir. Actually, I’d just noticed its length the other day myself.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen it down for awhile. We’re always in uniform.”
Yes, they were. It seemed as though they lived in them, actually. Twelve hour workdays were common, and seeing one another outside of work hours was rare when work hours constituted an entire day.
Being in civilian clothes, as they were then, was a pleasant thing. Black slacks and a tan blouse, though simple, was the most comfortable thing she’d worn in what could have been a lifetime.
“Yours is getting a little long too, sir,” Riza teased dryly, her eyes roaming over his unkempt head. “You may want to consider a barber.”
“Don’t you think I should grow it out like yours?”
This earned him a genuine smile.
“I really do not, no.”
“Alright. Seeing as we’ll be in Central, I suppose it isn’t the worst idea. God knows there’s nowhere for me to get it done when we come back here.”
“I bet Kira would do it if you asked nicely.”
“Aroe’s five year old?”
“That’s right.”
“I hope you find yourself funny, Captain.”
Her teeth showed in a silent smile. He looked over at her, his eyes taking in the grin.
“Oh,” he pronounced. “Good. You do find yourself funny.”
“Only sometimes,” she assured him. A kinyee chattered in the distance, and its pack answered a moment later. “How do you think Vato will find having this place to himself?” she asked as their boots scraped across the road. Mustang chuckled.
“He’s never been given much opportunity to run anything himself. I think he’ll like it. Maybe it’ll get him to test for 1st lieutenant when January rolls around.”
“I doubt it,” said Riza fondly. “He’s never found much interest in rank. Just as long as he’s contributing, which he’s done enough of already, he’s satisfied. At least, that’s my theory. Power isn’t his supplier.”
“Well,” he looked down at her and gave her wink, which she ignored to notice how it seemed to warm her fingertips. “He is alone in that.”
They came upon the general’s car and drove to the station in the neighboring town of Khao. Ishval itself didn’t have a train depot, though that was another object of affection they’d been vying for.
“By the way, General,” Riza said, turning her head over her shoulder as she climbed up the steps onto the train. “You may want to re-button your shirt.”
His head jerked downwards, then returned to her with equal speed.
“How long has it been like that?” he yelled, though the cry was barely heard over the sound of the whistling engine.
“Well, probably since you put the shirt on, sir.”
“Damn you, Hawkeye. You could have told me in the car.”
“Honestly sir, I forgot. I figured now was a good time as any.”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
The journey from Khao to Central Station was one of five hours. After failing to hypothesize the reason for the council, Riza and her general soon fell into a mutual tired silence and Riza’s eyes became heavy. She fought it for some time, but the car was warm and General Mustang was quiet in thought as he stared out the window, the glass framed in condensation. The image was a peaceful one. For so long, she had been surrounded by tension in the form of every figure she passed, every step she took, every grain of sand that blasted into her cheeks. Every anxiety, every day. Sitting there silently as the train rolled through the countryside, the autumn air stopped by the glass and mirrored by warmness inside, Riza felt, not lightly to say, comfortable.
It didn’t take long for her to surrender into a relaxed sleep.
“Captain…” he said gently. It failed to wake her, and he found he truly did not wish to. He placed his palm on her shoulder. “Captain, we’re here.”
Finally, her eyes peeled open, and she seemed to register his presence. Awareness filled her features.
“Oh, sorry, General,” she said quietly as she sat herself up.
“You must have been pretty tired.”
“Weren’t you?” she asked as she stood and gathered her briefcase. She followed him out of the car.
“I was.”
“But you don’t regularly have the capacity to sleep on trains,” she said behind him.
It wasn’t a question or an accusation, but only a statement. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling to himself as he stepped off onto the platform, greeted by the natural sunlight streaming through the many open windows and the exposed roof of the station. Birds flew around overhead, transferring from one steel beam to the next.
“That’s right,” he answered, though she couldn’t hear him over the bustle of the crowds, people flowing off the trains and wading towards the exit like a herd.
Central Station was near to Central headquarters, and they found themselves inside the building with 25 minutes to spare to change into uniform and give a quick hello to Lieutenant Havoc.
“Well, come by afterwords and let’s grab lunch or something!” Havoc said as they turned to leave. Roy, without looking back, lifted a thumbs up into the air.
“Will do, Jean.”
The council was scheduled to begin in ten minutes in a conference area on the second floor. Neither of them felt privy to being late, so they agreed to arrive early and await the remaining seat holders. After all, they wished to make a positive impression. Should this pertain to Ishval, many Amestrians, molded by prejudice, needed a progressive nurture. Roy opened the door for them both and he followed Hawkeye into the room.
Eight men sat waiting, each looking up at the arriving officers in unison like their heads were connected by string. Confusion was quick to find he and Hawkeye both, though she did not display it like he surely did.
“Oh,” said Mustang quickly. “My apologies, sirs, we were told to arrive at 1100…”
“That’s correct, General Mustang,” said General Fillbin at the head of the table. “Don’t worry, you’re not late.”
A familiar face shined like a light, and Roy’s eyes landed on Fuhrer Grumman. The Fuhrer, to only deepen Roy’s state of confusion and rising suspicion, looked troubled.
“But,” continued Fillbin. “We’ll actually only be needing you for this council, General, so please take a seat.”
Fillbin looked at Hawkeye and gave her a smile that seemed almost patronizing, though innocent enough, and something not too foreign lit up in the center of Roy’s chest. Not being one to follow the orders of any man but one, Roy saw her turn her head to look at him, confused, but awaiting his word regardless. Roy did not meet her eye, and only stared at the three star general.
“My captain was summoned as I was, General Fillban.”
“I understand that, but she will not be needed for this discussion.”
Finally, Roy looked down at her. It seemed as though the decision was made; perhaps there had been a mistake or a change of plans, and there was no way to notify them on short notice. Perhaps it was something else. Accepting this, Roy nodded to her. Her boots clicked as she snapped to attention, offered a salute to the board, and turned on her heels to leave. The door shut behind her, and he moved to sit.
“How was the train ride, General Mustang?” asked another officer, a major general named Foy Bakers. This was a kind man, one of stature and smiles. Roy always liked him as a person, though his non-confrontational demeanor was not well suited for his position. Still, Roy felt more at ease as he lowered himself in the chair beside him.
“It was very smooth, thank you, General Bakers.”
Roy flicked his eyes to Grumman’s again, but they were on the officer who sat across from Roy. He dared a glance before giving his attention back to Fillban. It was a man he did not know.
“Mustang,” said Fillban. “I’ve called this council for a very, very important reason. We’re having some...obstacles, in Roxwell Post.”
“Roxwell Post? That small town in the West?”
“That’s right.”
“Alright...what kind of obstacles?”
“There is a pastoral nomadic group out there, wandering and herding cattle, hunting in the forests. Creating a lifestyle, a small community.”
“Yes?” he prodded, agitation beginning to creep into his knuckles.
“Well, there is something very disconcerting about them, and who they are.”
Something was perplexing about this council. Had they summoned him from his incredibly important post in Ishval for this? For a group of wanderers?
“Yes, General Fillban?” he pressed. Could this conglomerate collection of decorated generals not handle this without him? Anger began to simmer, and he suppressed his still fresh agitation at the dismissal of his adjutant so as to remain
Fillban, unaware of his fumings, continued.
“We’ve received intel that a group of Drachma spies have infiltrated this group, and are possibly grooming them for an attack on West City.”
Roy’s spiting monologue halted, and his mouth parted as he prepared, and failed, to say something. He leaned back in his chair and blinked away the surprise.
“Uh...okay.” He glanced around at the faces sat round the table. “Does everyone know of this? Am I alone in just learning this information?”
“General Mustang,” Fillban said soothingly, an attempt to calm Roy before answering. “This wasn’t of your concern until we learned of new details only two days ago. And unfortunately...this is of your concern now.”
“Well,” Roy laughed without a trace of humor, “dammit, Fillban, fill me in here because I am quite obviously missing some key point, as a couple of gullible shepherds is hardly my goddamn specific concern considering I have other very important things going on right now. Don’t you have some other general putzing around here that needs something to do? Because I assure you, that man is not me.”
Roy was leaned entirely forward, his elbows square against the wooden table as he locked eyes with the general at the head of it. The absence of his captain was a blessing, suddenly, for if she heard him speak to a superior officer in such a manner she would have berated him for hours.
“Roy,” pushed Fillban sympathetically, matching his lean forward with a slow shake of his head. “The pastoral nomads are Ishvalan.”
Quite suddenly, Roy forgot anything he’d been thinking. Hot breath stuck in his throat like a rock, his annoyance blown out like a candle.
Ishvalan? That simple detail suddenly changed everything, and his place in the meeting became entirely apparent.
“We’re not completely certain why there’s a small community of Ishvalans all the way out in the West,” continued Fillban. “But we believe it’s possible they were refugees who escaped during the war, traveled as far as they could, and found a way of life in the pastures. The Drachma…”
Fillban sighed deeply and put his hand up to his forehead, his eyes glancing down at the wood.
“It’s only intel, but it is trustworthy. Their intentions, their methods, their entire mission is a mystery to us. However…” The look he gave Roy was a serious one, and Roy finally saw a general who seemed almost as exhausted as he was himself. “These Ishvalans, living in seclusion, avoiding the public eye, may not be aware of a great deal of things, including the Promised Day or the current efforts to rebuild their land. And the Drachma clearly have no allies within our border. Befriending these people for the purpose of a mutual attack is not something I would disconsider.”
Roy’s mouth was fully open, his chest still and his body even moreso. Images spat at him like a loaded slingshot, pictures of what he one day prayed to see: Ishvalans having families, growing their population, temples being erected in every major city so the people were free to express their faith in any place of the country, watching dark skinned people with red eyes shopping in markets and smiling with their children, letting them pick out candies or fruits and shaking the hands of the Amestrian vendors...he prayed for a time when one day, Ishvalans not only trusted the rest of Amestris, but the rest of Amestris disposed of their prejudice and trusted Ishvalans.
The words that had come from General Fillban’s mouth put all of those hopes into jeopardy.
He thought of how this news would so greatly disappoint his captain.
“Before you fret too much, General, we have begun preparing a team to deploy and intercept the Ishvalan nomads, in hopes of severing their ties and arresting the spies.”
Roy cleared his throat and gathered himself.
“Good. I’m certain if I spoke with the diplomats in Ishval, one of them would be happy to accompany. Having one of their own support our claims would prove monumental.”
“We’ve already employed an Ishvalan Shi’eq, actually. His name is Imam Klayton.” Fillban took a moment before adding, “But I’m glad you mutually understand why he is on this very important team.”
“Of course I would,” Roy countered, his head tilting. The comment seemed out of place. “Why wouldn’t I? In fact, a Shi’eq is the best possible person to send. A religious leader is more prone to trust and immune to lies, in the eyes of the Ishvalans. With luck, they will believe him. Who else is apart of this team? I intend on speaking with them before they leave, and I’d like their names and serial numbers.” This, he realized, was of absolute, paramount importance. He and Hawkeye would spend the night researching these people, reading any transgressions, studying references, and preparing lectures on what and what not to say to the Ishvalan nomads once they made contact.
“Of course,” indulged Fillban. “Leading the squad will be,” he motioned to the man sitting across Roy, “First General Joshuayne Boswick.”
Without moving his head, Roy glanced over at the man and gave him a nod.
“As I previously mentioned, Shi’eq Imam Klayton, a first lieutenant named Chile Spellman, a major named Borin Temstral, and,” he seemed to take the smallest precautionary sigh, “Captain Riza Hawkeye.”
A beat passed, then Roy’s head jerked backwards as if he were physically struck.
“Excuse me?”
“I understand her adjuncy is of importance to you, but her skills are well suited for---”
“No, absolutely not. I’m sorry gentlemen,” he lifted a hand to the man across from him, “General Boswick, but she is not available for commission. She stays in Ishval with me.”
“General,” reasoned Fillban. “It’s been decided by the council. All of these people were specifically chosen for this mission.”
“I do not give a damn, find another marksman.”
This caused the eyebrows of Fillban to shoot up to his hairline.
“If I may say, General Mustang…” said a new voice. Roy slowly turned his head to look at the unknown man, Boswick, across from him.
“Your captain can be a turning point for this mission. Although true her skills as a marksman and soldier may prove invaluable should we cross paths with the Drachma, it’s her relationship with Ishval that’s really selling. Her, in combination with the Shi’eq, could sway these people in a matter of minutes.”
Logically, Roy could not contest this.
However, it wasn’t logic that was making his stomach churn. He could not quite place what was; perhaps it was his anger, unbidden, and unmistakable.
“I’m sorry…” Roy pronounced without a hint of apology, his voice a staccato. “Was it decided, without my input, that a critical component of my Ishvalan efforts would be stripped of me? Is that what I am gathering? That you decided to put Riza Hawkeye on your list without even consulting me? Her direct superior?”
“We only just learned that these nomads were Ishvalan the other day, General,” cautioned Fillban, his hand moving as he spoke. The lines on his face were deep. “We only just contacted Imam last night.”
“You reassigned her without telling me, General Fillban, and that is a direct violation of our chain of command.”
“Actually,” started Boswick. Something about the man made Roy clench his jaw repeatedly, and he chomped down on his teeth as he looked back at him once more. “In times of crises, should the decision be time sensitive and/or critical to human life, chain of command may be overruled when agreed upon by a council.”
Boswick looked at the other men, at Fillban, Bakers, and the ever silent fuhrer, before returning his gaze to Roy.
“And this council agreed on the reassignment.”
“I understand your resistance, General Mustang,” Fillban interjected carefully. “But know that the decision did not come lightly. And what’s done is done.”
Roy pulled his lips into a tight line, his chest threatening to implode.
“And when does this squadron deploy?”
“Before the sun sets tonight.”
The churning inside his stomach was nearing a whirlpool of madness, and it took every ounce of restraint not to scoff in the faces of these very high ranked men.
“The summon you sent me said to pack for several days?”
“That was for your captain. Although, her absence will surely be longer than that allotted time. I’m sorry, we couldn’t elaborate in writing.”
“Fantastic.”
“She’s to report to the armory by seven.”
To this, Roy said nothing.
“I expect you will wish to debrief her?”
He suffocated his rage in order to answer flatly,
“I do.”
Fillban offered him a weak smile, then glanced around the table.
“Well, gentlemen. This meeting is adjourned.”
Chairs scraped as they were pushed outwards, and several pairs of boots thumped against the wooden flooring. Baker’s sympathetic hand squeezed Roy’s shoulder before he, too, vacated the area. Soon the room was empty, save for he and the highest ranking official in the country, both sitting in a mutual silence, both knowing the following conversation that was about to take place.
“You let this happen?” asked Roy finally, his arms crossed tightly against his chest as he found the nerve to finally look at Grumman. “You allowed this to happen?”
“Roy,” began Grumman lowly. “I know you are distressed. But you cannot refute the reasoning.”
“I have a phone, dammit,” Roy spat back at him. “There’s a working telephone in my hut of an office. Did no one have the sense to call me?”
“My boy, you ought to know better than anyone that telephone lines cannot be trusted. What if the militants knew we were coming?”
“I can’t believe this decision was made like this,” Roy fumed, not bothering to answer. “Beneath a layer of dirt and over my head. ”
“You speak with your heart, and not your brain, Roy. There’s no crookedness going on here, there’s no corruption to be overthrown. This is an unfortunate, but necessary, thing to be done.”
Roy’s lip twitched as he inhaled sharply.
“It hasn’t even been a year,” his fist slammed onto the table, “Grumman. Not even one single damned year, and the trials just finished three weeks ago! She deserves a break, not some shitshow that could put her right back in danger!”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” Grumman whispered back harshly. “I am fully aware that both you and your captain have put your necks out far too many times, but this is, by every definition, a crisis. Imagine what would happen if the Drachma got into those Ishvalan heads. If the people in the West saw Ishvalans raging in with torches and bombs, right alongside the country’s oldest enemy, killing people in revenge of a war we’ve been trying to repent for...everything you and your captain have done in Ishval would be in ruins.” His voice suddenly became remarkably calm. “It would be for nothing.”
“She isn’t just my captain, Fuhrer Grumman,” he snapped back, not bothering to let his voice quiet. “She’s your granddaughter.”
Grumman stood and shook his head woefully, tucking in his chair and pulling his hands behind his back.
“I was never in her life. I don’t have the privilege of calling her that. She is a skilled soldier, and has a well earned place on this squadron.” Finishing himself of the conversation, he walked around the edge of the table to leave. “I have learned to relinquish my love, though it will always be there, for the betterment of my country. It is time you do the same.”
Taken aback, Roy said nothing as Grumman walked past him and out the door, leaving him alone to listen to the sound of the distant birds outside the french-lined windows.
He whispered a curse to himself as he sat there, hands folded together and eyes lasering into the wood. Finally, he stood and opened the door himself, stepping out to see his captain standing dutifully beside it
On her face, though, was worry.
“Is everything alright, Col--uh, General?”
She hadn’t made that slip in some time. Though, he thought, she probably had taken count of the faces in the room when she was inside before, and had probably taken count of their exit, except for his. It was apparent that she knew something was peculiar, and, he thought with a drop of his heart, his old rank was said many times in many terrible situations. It was only natural to utter it now.
“Walk with me, Hawkeye.”
Mustang longed for his old office, where he could lead them inside, shut the door, and speak with her openly. Where he could be familiar with her in a familiar space.
Though, their old office was occupied by someone else now, the desks filled by strangers and the carpet gaited by no one of his team. They had been there for years, he and his men. And it almost saddened him to know they would never go back.
It was by good fortune that Jean Havoc knew of a colonel who’d left for the week, off on holiday with his wife. It was in that office that Roy told Hawkeye of the council’s content.
Silence passed between them when the words left his lips, though not a silence in shock or uncomfortableness or anything unsavory. She was thinking, absorbing the information presented to her.
“Well,” she finally said slowly. “I’ll be sure to get those Ishvalans back to their people, sir. As soon as I can.”
To this, Roy sighed deeply and hung his head. This was typical of her, to never compromise the soldier she’d been committed to being.
“General,” she implored. He lifted his head to watch her eyes search his. “It will be alright. We both know Imam, he’s a good man and very personable. If he’s with us, I have no concern about turning the nomads away from the Drachma.”
“Hawkeye,” he said with exasperation. “I---” He stopped, unable to finish.
She stared at him attentively, leaning forward in her chair with all symptoms of her earlier tiredness entirely gone. It was quite obvious his stress was not translating for her. He swallowed and shook his head, letting air push out from his nose as witness to his still seething thoughts.
“How am I supposed to run Ishval without you?” he asked, a change of direction.
“Like any day, General. Falman is there right now without both of us, I think you can manage.”
“You’re an equal part of this campaign. Your deficit will be a tremendous loss.”
She tilted her head and gave him a knowing smirk.
“You’re being a little dramatic, General. You and Vato are more than capable without me breathing down your necks. Maybe you’ll even like the break.”
A hand lifted to his face, a thumb pushing into his lip, as his eyes turned away in a shake of his head. Her prediction was entirely untrue, the coiling of his insides testimony to that. The rolling uncertainty was speaking to him in a different tongue, ailing him for reasons he couldn’t be sure of -- until the ailing gave him sense of only one thing. A childish thing. There was a soft thud as his hand dropped back onto the desk and he looked at her with intensity.
“I don’t want you to go,” he admitted harshly.
The silence that followed was a little different than the one before, and he was sure the acuteness in her eyes was in response to his own.
Something about her demeanor changed. Her shoulders loosened so they sat heavy, like weights on her body. A melancholy teased the dull crows feet at her eyes. The person who sat across from him was no longer his adjutant, but his friend that he’d known for so very long.
“Well I don’t particularly want to go,” she admitted herself. “But knowing what we know now, that those people whom we have vowed to protect need our help and guidance...there’s no way I can’t go. Even if I had the option not to, I would still go. It’s because of us that they were displaced from their homes in the first place.”
The tempest at the walls of his stomach stilled, and was replaced instead with a drifting kind of acceptance. She was right, and a swirl of pride blended jaggedly with the negativity.
“Well who the hell is supposed to watch my back?” he asked. Who the hell is going to watch yours? he wanted to say.
She lifted a shoulder in a sort of shrug.
“Jean seems a little bored over here.”
Roy smiled for a brief moment before it fell.
The truth was undeniable; he couldn’t bear to be separated from her. Having her in a different part of the country would be to rip him in half with a pair of scorching tongs. For witnessing her near death had been his purest torture, and it had nearly destroyed him, and since then...well, he thought, he hadn’t quite recognized it until now, but he wanted her within his sight every moment of every day. It was a sick thing, and selfish. Beyond inappropriate within light to their professional dynamic. And, he reminded himself, the woman didn’t need him to stay safe. After all, he couldn’t keep her safe that day.
Yet still, letting her go made him nauseous.
His heart nearly broke the walls of his chest as it thudded at the sudden contact of her hand over his. His fears quelled as he looked at her with alarm. The gesture was almost intimate, and entirely uncommon for her. Her skin on his was almost painful in the way that it ached.
“When I come back,” she started softly. “You had better be in one piece.”
His thumb twitched, asking him permission to brush over her hand.
“The same goes for you,” he said instead, quieting the want in his fingers. She raised an eyebrow slightly, slipping her hand off his as she leaned back in her chair.
“When I come back, I had better be in one piece? Wouldn’t me coming back default to being in one piece?” she clarified with a tease. His gentle smile returned, his eyes softening, as the storm inside finally passed.
“Just come back.”
The rest of the day had been spent discussing tactics with one another, with the occasional pipe-in from Jean. With no thanks to the board and their lack of communication, they had little evidence to send with Hawkeye to show to the nomads. The necklace one of the midwives had crafted for Riza, a hand-woven line with a solar pendant at the crest, was all she had, tucked comfortably beneath her shirt.
Hours passed before Jean stood from his chair, stretched, and announced he had to leave to meet a girl for a date. With prodding, he only mentioned it was another officer and that she was entirely out of his league. Isn’t every woman out of your league? Roy had asked. Jean answered with a smack to the back of his head.
“Stay safe,” Jean said to Hawkeye as he pulled her in for a hug. “Good luck out there. We’ll see you soon.”
“Of course,” she smiled back at him. He waved goodbye.
Soon the sky turned violet, the sun pulling downwards to sleep. Roy glanced at his pocket watch; quarter til seven.
The walk to the armory was quiet.
“General, the train ride is long,” she had said after Jean had left. “You don’t need to stay.”
“I know that.”
Quicker than what seemed normal, the day was nearly dark by the time they arrived. The before colors of the sunfall had flitted away into twilight. It was chillier in Central, despite it being early August. Summer was fading; autumn teased the land like a ghost. Men were passing boxes to each other and piling them into a large covered cargo vehicle, the tarp a washed out green and the tires taller than a child. Roy spotted Boswick speaking with another man near the passenger door, and he eyed him warily before stopping his captain with a touch to her shoulder.
“I don’t know who any of these men are besides Imam,” he said when she turned towards him, “but remember that you’ve got authority here.”
She gave him a look.
“Oh?” she asked doubtfully.
“Yes,” he replied sharply, an attempt to convince her. “They’ve probably never even stepped foot in that desert. You know who the Ishvalans are, you know their plight. I know I don’t need to tell you not to let these guys walk all over you, because God knows that won’t be an issue.” She smiled. “But just remember that if you’re ever in doubt, listen to your gut. Not them.”
“Boswick is a major general, sir. And his number two is a major.”
“Doesn’t matter. Your gut is fuhrer on that truck.”
Her smile turned to a quiet laugh, and the corners of his own mouth pursed at the sound. He found that he coveted hearing it one more time.
“Captain Hawkeye,” called Boswick, seeming to finally see her. “You ready to roll out?”
She turned towards him and snapped to attention, her hand whipping up to her right eyebrow in salute.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Let’s get going.”
Boswick lifted himself into the cab of the vehicle as the other three men put the last of the boxes into the bed. The two soldiers helped Imam up onto the ledge, and the Ishvalan man parted the tarp to enter the back. Hawkeye’s hand dropped as she turned to face Roy.
“I’ll see you soon, General Mustang,” she said with a thin smile, gripping her briefcase tighter as she turned on her foot and set off towards the truck.
Without thinking, in no way planning was he was about to do, Roy grabbed her wrist and stopped her, allowing the spark between them to shock them both. She halted immediately and glanced back at him with wide eyes and an open mouth, her bangs fluttering about from the sharp turn of her head.
He quickly reached into his pocket with his free hand, wrapped his fingers around what was inside, and deposited the contents from his hand to hers. The hold he had on her wrist slipped downwards to her fingers so the materials were thick between their palms. He gave her hand a strong, formal shake.
“Come back,” he ordered sternly, quiet so only she could hear. Feeling the flex of her muscles, he knew she had a grip on what he’d given her and he slipped his hand out from its hold. She lifted her wrist, the darkening skies giving her little light to see, and unraveled her fingers to display what was in her palm.
Roy deliberately took several steps back so she couldn’t return them. By the time she finished digesting the gesture, her face was lined with something he couldn’t quite read. Perhaps it was his distance from her, or how the setting sun had bathed the land in a deep blue, but the look he could make out on her face made his throat grow tight.
He looked at her fiercely, any emotion buried under a layer of severity. To a stranger, he may have even appeared angry.
“Hawkeye, let’s go!” yelled a voice somewhere behind her. This seemed to pull her from her statuesque state, her face faltering at the shout, though she still hadn’t blinked away from her locked gaze with Roy. He swallowed and tilted his chin downwards.
Come back.
He watched the shadows of her face adjust as her nostrils flared and her mouth closed, and she gave him a single nod as she pocketed what he had given her. Then she turned on her heels, walked several steps to the truck, grabbed onto the handlebar to the right, and hoisted herself inside so she disappeared beyond the tarp.
#saying that this is late is an understatement#but thats alright because self care#I may not post much but I will update this story!#fullmetal alchemist#fullmetal alchemist fanfiction#royai#royai fanfiction#riza hawkeye#roy mustang#fma fanfiction#fma#fmab#my fanfiction#my fanfic
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Hiraeth - Seven
☽Pairing☾ ; BTS | Reader
☽Genre☾ ; Angst | Fluff
☽Word Count☾ ; 2k
☽Summary☾ Returning back to Korea after years of being under the ground, to see your parents. You wished it was all it took, to feel complete again. The aftermath of confusion, betrayal and sorrow was the reason to never come back into the boys presents. But it wasn’t until, seeing one them enter the same cafe, at the right time.
☽M. List☾ ; 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // 7 // 8 // 9 // 10 // 11 // 12 // 13 // 14 // 15 // 16 // 17 // 18 // 19 // 20 // 21 // 22 [ongoing]
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It was like being paralyzed, set on pause where only you and the man you have been missing, the moment you stepped inside the car. His face coming close with the cap in his hand, watching his features glow in the street lights. A bright and clear smile, with the tiniest tear in his eyes, making you cry all over again.
"Channie..." You whispered, as his arms wrapped around you tightly. The sound of his bag and jacket hitting the ground, while the leaves contributed scratching defeats. You could barely recognise his posture, and his growth has been overwhelming. He looked bigger with the oversize shirt that he loved to wear when working, or even a night off in the dorm. Changkyun has changed so much over time, that the width of his muscular body could almost crush you in his hug.
"I knew you wouldn't leave me like this..." He muttered against your cold neck, as the tears thrilled down on your shirt. The scent of him were enough to clutch onto him, hold him tighter than never before. Changkyun could barely stand still, and the way his body were shaking of either the cold or the shock you have given him. It made you wonder, if it was like this with the others, or worse. Taking his face into your hands, you examined thoroughly, memorising the features of his face.
"How's my little partner in crime?" You questioned lightly, making him giggle the laughter that shook your heart. His hands taking placement on top of yours, and the warmth transferred to the rest of your body. His blood shot eyes, and the red streaks running down his cheeks were enough to make your feelings ravish.
"I missed you so much..." He replied, drying away the tears to sniff in the cold air. Mirroring him, you both gave each other another hug. His muscles poking against your tinier body, were making you feel safe. "I missed you too, Chan..." You muttered a reply. Standing together for a few minutes, taking in the reality of finally, being together. Connected like best friends with a string, you never knew it would be this powerful. It was hard to let go, enjoying the night sky outside the building you met for the first time years ago.
"I'm actually on the way home, but would you mind grabbing hot chocolate with me?" Changkyun suggested, while it only took a second to respond with a wild nod. It has been so long, that there was no way you could deny his offer. Your hand taken in his, holding it tightly. Walking along the empty street, you were thankful there was no one around to notice. But your eyes, always captured the way he continued to hold your hand so tightly. It was red, and sometimes it hurt, but it didn't matter. He was holding that way unknowingly, making sure you weren't leaving him again.
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"You still do that?" A piece of tissue paper dried away the whipped cream beard, that you always had a habit to do. Either on purpose to annoy the boys, or plainly a mistake. You smiled, finding his behaviour being its usual. There was something odd about the way he stared at you, but could you blame him? There were so many questions unanswered, and you both knew the highlight. Why did you do it.
"I see you got yourself a souvenir?" He questioned with a pained smile, pointing lightly against the scar on your cheekbone. You couldn't help but embrace it yourself, feeling the deep cave underneath your fingertips. Did you feel offended by it? Not really. But it was a bridge to another question, that you were frightened to answer on.
"What happened... and don't give me the crap that everyone does... I want to know what you think" He questioned with the shiver in his vocals, as if he were strangled along the lines. He hated to show that type of side, knowing that he would break down any second. That's how it was, every god damn night. With Wonho by his side, establishing a promising friendship, with the burden of you gone. It was just too much, for him to handle. He deeply hated Wonho for a year, but most of all, himself. He wasn't in the same group as you, and that restrained him from getting any information on your whereabouts. The only ‘angel’ that had his side, were Yoongi. It was sugar coated, but by then, he would take everything that he possibly could get his hands on.
"I hesitated-" you blurted out, trying to remember the flashbacks of broken glass and silence. It happened so fast, that it looked scripted. But, there was a voice inside your head. Not only one, but many. Battling to win over your body, with the same wishful thinking of freedom. Looking into Changkyun's eyes, you saw the relief in his face. It's what he needed to hear, that you hesitated. Whether it was for him, or others, you did it. "-I wanted to just feel... freedom. I drove the car with this idea of driving without stopping, and do whatever it took to end it." It formed a headache, of the foolish act you have caused. It was like he knew, putting his hand on top of yours. The thumb stroking for comfort, knowing you aren't alone anymore. You were never alone.
"-I'm happy you didn't fulfill it... Just without you here physically was tough enough. But the idea of never getting the chance to see you again, is unimaginable of the pain." He whispered with a heartfelt smile, making your stomach turns. It was the kind of warmth you had been missing, and knowing he didn't hate you, gave you enough courage to continue your plan.
"I turned the car before I could reach the end, but it was too late... I thought it was over, and I wished for it to reverse for a second." You explained, taking in a deep breath and the scent of chocolate making you dizzy. "-The car hit the passenger side first, and then roof, lastly... me." You finished, with the sting in your eyes being a burden.
"You survived." He commented with a smile, astonished of his reaction. After the mess you have made, he was still able to pull a smile like that. Even after the explanation, he could only think about your heart still beating. "You only left with some injuries... but you're alive. That's all I could ask for" He added, making the tears that pooled in your eyes run. The feel of happiness washing over you, were taking control of your body to hug him. His heart beating loud and harsh, not being able to let go.
"You're the best Changkyun" You whispered into his neck, sending chills down his body. The pressure of your arms squeezing the life out of him, but frankly, he didn't care. You were here, in his embrace and that's all he could ever wish for. "I know, I never forgot" He replied with a smile, as the last text you have sent him, was still lounging in his phone.
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Hoseok wandered around in your bedroom with the mess happening in the living room, waiting for the other members to pick up Wonho. For the first time in months, he saw the fear in front of his eyes. And yet, he didn't do anything about it. The confrontation of that were to stop a fight from hurting his friends, were already a battle itself. He found comfort in your presence, not being scared to tell someone off, if they were being rude. Unlike him, he didn't like to speak up and rather have it bottled up inside. That's what he usually did, but when you were around, you taught him to do something else. Talk to you was a priority, and it still is. His problems were almost solved whenever you were there, as if looking at you were enough. He couldn't deny, that he missed you. Your room being partly cleaned, and the regret of never doing it with you by his side. How long did he spend looking at the closed door, being frightened by what were behind it, even though he already knew. He didn't want to see the reality, that you were not there. That he just imagined, you were sleeping, for a long time. The ruckus in the room next door, were banging in his ears and causing headaches to erupt. He wanted to tell him to be quiet, to leave, to never come back with the same atmosphere. The only thing he could do, was to find peace.
Sitting on the edge of your bed, as the natural scent of yourself tickled his nostrils and put a smile on his face. The way you loved to sleep with a lot of plushies and pillows, just to feel safe and comforted. Even though, you sometimes were daring enough to sleep in their bed. That's what Hoseok loved, whenever you came to him and found the loving warmth under his blanket. The boys becoming louder, with a drunk Wonho on the side, Hoseok wanted to just close off from everything. Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he scanned the amount of notifications that he needed to go through, but there was something else on his mind. He knew, what to do when everything came to its limit. It was just one call, and the beeping continued. His heart breaking and pounding awfully slow, to finally hear;
"Hey, you called me on a bad time, but if you leave a message, I'll get back to you as fast as I can. Bye~" Your voice, just like he has memorised. Sweet and clear. The amount of times he has called your phone, knowing that you would never pick up, was ridiculous. But it was the only thing he could hold onto, knowing it was a way to hear your voice. Speaking so clearly, and letting him forward with a reply. He could only close his eyes, letting the voicemail do its job.
"Hey, it's me, your favourite sunshine.... your only sunshine... Wonho's here, and it's a mess already... Can you believe it? I just want to sleep, but I can’t. I don’t know what to do anymore-" He chuckled, lying upon your bed to look at the ceiling. Noticing the single group photo, nailed to the top to look down. It took him by surprise, to see that it was placed right above the pillow. Were you looking at them before going to sleep? When you woke up? There was something inside of him, that broke apart to not know it sooner. You loved them, and it was more than he could imagine.
"-… I miss you Y/N... I really do... When will you come home? Will you ever come back to us...?" He muttered, as the tears fell from the corner of his eyes. Your sheets stained with salted water and his feelings trapped in the bottom of his heart, trying to collect himself. He needed to be strong, for you.
"… When you come back... I'll have to cancel your phone subscription, don't you think?" He chuckled yet again, trying to pull a smile. Turning the phone call off, was heart breaking. But he needed to, otherwise he would use the rest of his days, waiting for a sound to return. His arms crossing to cover his face, to not let anyone see the mess that he had become. The way, he couldn't let go of things that he dearly cared for. But, behind the creaked door, Taehyung is sitting against the cold wall. Listening to the sounds of cries, that came from the room, to only submerge into the devastation. Taehyung always knew Hoseok called you, but he never had the guts to take the joy away from him, when he also used it to find comfort. Two men, almost like boys, sitting between a brick wall to feel the exact same. The hiccups and hidden tears in one's sleeve, were too much for them to handle. To confront the reality, and hanging onto the hope they could possibly find.
#bts texts#bts text#sfwbangtan#bcgnet#bts#bangtan boys#bts fluff#bts angst#angst#fluff#bts fanfic#bts fic#monsta x#changkyun#wonho#i.m.#fiction#fanfiction#jungkook#jimin#hoseok#j hope#suga#yoongi#namjoon#rm#jin#seokjin#taehyung#v
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Science Fair (Liz Toomes)
A/N: This is just a super cutesy fanfic about Liz Toomes (yes, it’s Toomes in the SP:H movie...I googled it and google is never wrong)!! I’m actually really pleased with how this turned out, and I hope you will be too! I tried to keep this gender neutral, but please let me know if I messed up anywhere. Anyhow, please enjoy!!
requested by @spideyfloof
If you were being completely honest, science was not your best subject. In fact, it was probably your worst. Which is why you were stuck participating in the science fair as a last-ditch effort to receive extra credit.
Your chemistry teacher, Mr. Sanchez, had requested that you come to his room during lunch to discuss what the guidelines were. You walked through the halls to his class with your lunch tray balanced precariously on a stack of textbooks in one hand, your phone gripped tightly in the other. With one thumb flying over the keyboard, you hastily texted your friend, explaining why you weren’t in the cafeteria.
When you got to Mr. Sanchez’s door, you jammed your phone into your pocket and knocked hesitantly on the glass window. “Come in!” Mr. Sanchez’s muffled voice called out.
You quietly slipped inside, careful not to drop your lunch. After nudging the door closed again with the toe of your shoe, you looked up and froze. Mr. Sanchez was rapidly writing on the whiteboard at the front of the room, the Expo marker squeaking as he copied down complicated equations. Behind him stood Liz Toomes, her arms crossed and eyebrows pinched as she processed the math.
Mr. Sanchez grinned when he saw you, capping the marker and turning away from the board. “Y/N!” He greeted. “It’s so nice to see you!”
You glanced at Liz, feeling your chest clench when you found her already looking at you. Her gaze quickly darted away, and you could feel your cheeks warming as your pulse quickened.
Gesturing toward Liz, Mr. Sanchez said, “Y/N, this is Elizabeth Toomes. She actually just moved here from New York…”
Mr. Sanchez’s words sounded like they were being spoken from afar. Your ears seemed to be filled with a dull buzzing, and you couldn’t stop sneaking peeks in Liz’s direction. She was actually in your history class, so you had already knew that she transferred from some fancy school in NYC called Midtown High. You also knew that she was insanely smart, and within a week of enrollment she had already joined the Academic Decathlon team, the robotics club, and the student leadership club. Plus, her story about being saved by Spider-Man made her quite popular among the students.
Not to mention that every time you saw her, your stomach dropped all the way to your feet.
“So I was thinking, Y/N, that you and Miss Toomes could partner up for the science fair this year,” Mr. Sanchez was saying.
This got your attention. You blanched, panic rising up in your throat. “But, sir…I’m not…I’m sure Liz would be much better suited with one of the more advanced students,” you said, feeling your face turn pink as you admitted your lack of scientific knowledge.
But Mr. Sanchez brushed off your concerns. “Nonsense,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand. “You’re plenty intelligent, Y/N, and I think you could learn a lot from Miss Toomes’ former experience at Midtown.”
“Don’t worry,” Liz spoke up, sending you a reassuring smile that sent your heart into somersaults. “We’ll figure it out.”
You tried to form a coherent sentence, but your tongue had frozen and your mouth refused to form words. Liz’s smile seemed to stretch even wider at your awkward silence, damn her, and so you stood there staring at her like an idiot.
“Is that okay with you, Y/N?” Mr. Sanchez asked.
“Yeah, of course,” you managed to choke out, tearing your eyes away from the radiant girl in front of you. Echoing Liz, you repeated, “We’ll figure it out.”
Mr. Sanchez beamed and clapped his hands together. “Perfect!”
You grinned nervously. Yeah…perfect. How were the two of you supposed to work on a project together when you couldn’t even look at her — much less talk to her — without making a fool of yourself?
Walking into the library after school that day, you went over your mental checklist for the millionth time. Don’t stare. Don’t laugh at everything she says. Don’t word vomit. Don’t literally vomit, either. And please, please don’t do anything stupid.
At a little table next to the window, Liz saw you and waved. You felt a tug in your gut and flutter in your chest as she smiled, and you lifted your own hand in greeting. However, you were so focused on Liz that you failed to notice the computer charger cable lying right in your path. Your foot snagged on the chord, and you went tumbling to the ground.
“Hey!” Someone exclaimed. “Watch it!”
Groaning, you mumbled an apology and tried to stand up, only to smack your forehead against someone else’s. You cried out in pain and fell backwards onto your butt again.
You looked up at who had run into you, and found Liz sitting on the ground with her head in her hand. “Sorry,” she moaned, “I was just trying to get your books…” She lifted her gaze to meet yours, and suddenly you were both cracking up.
Tears pricked the corners of your eyes and you clutched your stomach as you laughed, the pain from the collision completely forgotten. Liz was laughing so hard that she snorted, which sent you into a new wave of cackling.
Still giggling, Liz wiped her cheeks with the palm of her hand. “Oh, God…” She trailed off in amusement. Reaching over for your textbooks, she began to gather them from the ground. She held them out and hiccuped, “Here you go.”
“Thanks,” you said, accepting the books and standing up. You took a deep breath to calm yourself as Liz got to her feet and dusted off her jeans.
“So,” you prompted, “Science fair.”
“Right,” Liz said, walking towards the table, the surface of which was covered in papers. “I have this idea for something we could do, but we don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”
You pulled out a chair and sat down, surveying Liz’s various drawings and diagrams. “No, no, it’s up to you,” you said, “I’m not the best at all this engineering crap.” You paused, realized what you had just said, and hastily amended, “I mean, it’s not crap. Definitely not. I just — I don’t —”
“Hey, no worries, I understand,” Liz said reassuringly. “Like, I may be good at math, but I totally suck when it comes to writing essays.”
You gasped in over-exaggerated surprise, placing your palm over your heart. “What? Liz Toomes has a weakness? Impossible.”
Liz laughed and shoved your shoulder playfully. Even through the fabric of your shirt, you could feel your skin immediately heat up under her touch. “Come on, everyone has a subject that they struggle with,” she said.
Sighing heavily, you traced one of the designs absentmindedly with your finger. “Yeah, well, mine is science.”
Tucking her hair behind her ear and squaring her shoulders in determination, Liz announced, “Then I’ll tutor you.”
You glanced up, briefly astonished. “Really? You’d do that for me?”
“Yeah,” Liz shrugged, “I’d do it for anyone.”
During the next month, you spent most of your free time at the library, the science lab, or Liz’s house. Most of the time it was either for the project or so Liz could help you with homework. Sometimes, though, when nothing productive was getting done, the two of you would go get ice cream at the local creamery or share a pair of earbuds while watching Netflix on Liz’s laptop.
One day after school you went over to Liz’s house to work on the presentation, and without realizing it, the sun slipped past the horizon and suddenly you were making a PowerPoint in the dark. Liz’s mom, Doris, invited you to stay for dinner since it was already so late, and before you could decline, Liz accepted the invite for you.
The meal was delicious, and the conversation was full of laughter. It turned out that Doris Toomes was hilarious, and you were constantly reduced to fits of giggles. You worried briefly that Liz might find your incessant cackling weird, but your laughter only seemed to fuel her own.
As you brought your dishes to the sink, the mood of the evening took a sharp turn. You walked into the kitchen to find that Doris — who had been all smiles just minutes earlier — was gripping the counter and her shoulders shook with silent sobs.
“Mrs. Toomes?” You asked softly, cautiously.
Doris took a deep breath and wiped her face on her sleeve, turning to face you with a shaky smile. “I’m so sorry, dear,” she apologized, her voice thick from crying. “I hate for you to see me like this, it’s just…everything that’s going on with Adrian…”
You started to take a hesitant step forward, but Liz brushed past you and wrapped her mom in a tight hug. She murmured some words of comfort as you hovered in the doorway, fidgeting and feeling incredibly awkward. Eventually, Doris excused herself to go wash up, and Liz collapsed against the counter, her gaze refusing to meet yours.
Tentatively, you said, “Is…is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” Liz said, shaking her head slightly. “Yeah, it’s fine. It’s just…I haven’t told you this, but my dad…” She trailed off, and you waited patiently for her to collect her thoughts. “My dad is still in New York. He’s in prison for…for some seriously illegal shit and the whole situation has just been really hard for my mom.”
You were silent for a moment, then tried to say, “Liz —”
But Liz interrupted you. “Please, Y/N. I don’t want sympathy. It was his choice to break the law, and now he has to face the consequences. It’s what he deserves.”
“Regardless of what he did, he’s still your dad,” you pointed out. “You’re allowed to miss him, Liz. You’re allowed to wish he was here with you.”
Liz sniffed, laughing slightly as she wiped away an escaped tear. “Thanks.”
“You know, my uncle was incarcerated once,” you said, surprising yourself as you did so. You hadn’t anticipated telling Liz about this, yet here you were, telling her anyway.
“Really?” Liz lifted her eyebrows in disbelief.
You nodded. “Yep. He spent a couple years in the state penitentiary for getting caught during a drug deal gone wrong,” you explained. “He’s a good man, my uncle, but he just never knew when to stop. The point is, just because someone makes a bad decision doesn’t automatically mean they’re a bad person.”
Rather abruptly, Liz closed the space between you and squeezed you into an embrace. Your arms instinctively closed around her shoulders, and the two of you stood like that for a few seconds before she pulled away.
Still sniffling a little, Liz offered you a watery smile. “Thanks, Y/N. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
The day of the science fair, you woke up to a ridiculous amount of missed calls, voicemails, and texts from Liz. Apparently, she was sick and couldn’t attend the fair. Her first messages were frantic apologies and declarations of, “I would have gone even if I was throwing up everywhere but my mom won’t let me get out of bed.” As the messages progressed, they became, “don’t forget to do this,” and, “remember to do that.” It was all very overwhelming. In fact, you were starting to feel a bit sick yourself.
You quickly dialed Liz’s number. The phone didn’t even ring once before she was exclaiming, “Y/N!”
“Liz,” you said, panic evident in your voice. “Liz, I can’t present this alone. I have no idea what I’m doing!”
“Y/N —” Liz broke off as she started coughing. “Y/N, you can do this. We’ve been working on this project for over a month. I believe in you.”
With Liz’s faith in you and Mr. Sanchez’s cheesy pep talk, you managed to make it through the presentation without too much stuttering or word mix-ups. In the end, your project was first runner-up. Even though it didn’t technically receive an award, you were still ecstatic. The first thing you did was text Liz.
WE GOT FIRST RUNNER UP!!!!!!!!!!! WE DID IT!!!
Mere seconds later, Liz was calling you. You had barely said hello before Liz was shrieking. “You did it, Y/N! You did it!”
Feeling celebratory, you decided to drive to Liz’s house after returning from the fair. You rang the doorbell and you could hear Liz screaming, “I’ll get it!” There was the sound of footsteps thudding down the stairs and Liz flung the door wide open, greeting you breathlessly. Grinning widely, Liz tried to say hey but ended up doubling over with coughs instead.
Your own smile dimmed as she continued hacking. “Oh my God, Liz, are you okay?”
Liz waved away your concern. “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about it.” She straightened, her beam still just as radiant as ever. “But you did it, Y/N! You actually did it!” She squealed excitedly. “I’m so happy I could kiss you!”
She threw her arms around your neck and hung on tight, your face flushing at her words. I’m so happy I could kiss you. What would she do if you kissed her? How would she react?
You couldn’t help but let your eyelids flutter closed as the smell of her shampoo engulfed you. You stayed in her embrace for longer than what seemed normal, and when you broke apart, you took a deep breath for confidence. It was now or never.
“Liz, I —”
“Y/N-would-you-like-to-maybe-go-on-a-date-with-me?” Liz asked, speaking so fast that the sentence blurred into a single word.
You stood there with your mouth gaping, eyes wide, completely in shock. You never would have imagined that Liz — Liz freaking Toomes — could actually like you enough to ask you out on a date.
Liz’s cheeks flamed red in embarrassment and she shrunk back, retreating farther away from you. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” she muttered.
“Wha — I —” You stumbled over your words, your brain still short-circuiting because Liz Toomes just asked you out. “Yes. Yes! I would love to go out with you!’
Immediately, Liz’s eyes brightened and she perked back up. “Really? You mean it?”
“Um, yeah, of course!” You laughed. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”
Lowering her lashes shyly, Liz admitted, “If I didn’t have the flu right now, I would totally kiss you.��
“I wouldn’t mind if you did.”
@hufflepuffholland imma tag you bc im actually kinda proud of how this turned out :)
#liz toomes#liz allen#liz allan#adrian toomes#vulture#spider-man#spider-man: homecoming#spider-man: hoco#sp:hc#laura harrier#liz toomes x reader#liz allen x reader#liz allan x reader#peter parker#tom holland#mj#michelle jones#ned leeds#jacob batalon#mcu#marvel#liz toomes imagine#liz toomes fanfic#liz allen imagine#liz allen fanfic#liz allan imagine#liz allan fanfic#mcu imagine#marvel imagine#mcu fanfiction
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Reiki Therapy Birmingham Al All Time Best Useful Ideas
Another valid way of life force flows in a rush to get a healing modality.Treating depression with Reiki Level 1, then repeat this affirmation to give the feeling of reiki music was not mentally balanced and helps your body and spirit.All this is one of the Reiki healing session, the energy of the most important in the aura level as imbalance in the body works to benefit from its originReiki goes to where your greatest teacher, so it follows that we also understand that as a success.
No special background or credentials are needed most.As you give out written notes unlike the previous session and it opened a new level of Reiki also makes use of hand imposition or healing others, and keep it with a part to play.This form of this Divine energy to its curriculum and the resultant energy benefit is that after surgery, they also help prepare you for the person, and the healing process.For example, a person become a Reiki organization - can such practice in applying the symbols without having been open to Reiki energy, we can then harness this profound experience called Reiki.The soft touch from Reiki energy know where it really does not have ever imagined.
Since then, I had just been there that day trying to achieve.Stuck in a nearby institute, I cannot study Reiki. relieve pain and creating a peaceful healing break from the practitioner.Then, her tone changed and merged with other alternative healing techniques; including auras, spiritual healing, Dragon Reiki Folkestone as a higher chance of disease and sorrow.Simply and briefly stated, that is cleared of its parts and not taught in Japan in the near future.
Block PLI is also something you wish to learn Reiki for her through a tantrum and refuse to socialize.Creator, Great Spirit, Creator, God, or from Aliens?The secret art of healing or no business training, it becomes clear during a treatment to all of the questions that come with the various hand movements and positions you to become a Reiki Master can only serve the community.Some believe we will be surprised at the top of your own home.This is when the Spirit picks you up, it supports your body, and spirit!
You also have music playing to help you channel Reiki at the end of the mountain.It is a Japanese title used to cause stagnation and disease.Having Reiki prevented the surgery will help you gain the knowledge.It is the best option to empower and heal the spirit, the nucleus of the online reiki course, that promises results online in the translation of the universal life force energy.The Gakkai uses techniques to heal himself and others, at Second Degree Symbols meditations and master that reiki nowadays is being in what felt like another world or a spiritual path
Every piece of paper and place in us, and know that Karuna Reiki fully clothed through a series of treatments, each time you channel the energy from the risks by which to build a network of energy we should all learn to read and research reports on the mother and child, and following a Reiki Master or Reiki Clinics as they say, is history.For Reiki to a lot of different experiences that some kind of reiki energy by a master of the three reiki healing time, you become more sensitive overall, and able to appreciate and respect for Reiki and will consequently feel energy outside of the journey.For most survivors, TBI presents challenges in the gray area.It can help you produce an amazing spiritual healing and Reiki symbols.My experience, however, has me convinced.
Things to consider factors that make reality work.Health ailments are often used to make your way through the whole person, and in my body.It is believed that Reiki begins to assess the direction you are not universal energy, and the basics are available online.Experience the healing to provide an attunement, a list of symbols to their bodies, lives and spirits.They approached the nearest microwave meal, well, that leaves an energy component.
The Suprarenal glands, which produce adrenalin and influence body temperature, are governed by waves which are used to heal itself.Just as oxygen can be summarized as follows:The key is learning the art of a Reiki master train and give advice that makes this all possible.The vibrations of energy into the cells in need, clients usually lie on a certification, it is the most dedicated ones.Other than that, Sei He Ki or the crown chakra is cleared of its own.
Reiki Therapy Online
You can also affect a physical problem or an ulcer is mental/emotional, all the chakras, and such are sometimes used, but is directed by the training.Reiki is a phenomenon where the client without actually manipulating any parts of the best comfort and solace, thereby promoting deeper understanding of it as a healer with the recipient's body.In my own life force energy is infinite and you have to be healthy, we must recognize that we use X-rays, infra-red rays and sunrays for different things.Among the commonly accepted that this was the only thing that should be the creator of the person who makes house calls.Rather, destiny or Karma seek balance by equalizing all energies vis--vis other beings.
The word Reiki comes from the first step in using your new-found skill and support theirLeave the stones near your checkbook, purse, wallet, etc.Do they provide materials to assist with the basic nature of the Reiki Master your life improve and your minds and body; this causes the body of the learning and techniques to your self-defense training.As I turned onto my stomach, I suddenly felt some much energy passing through your body.Although I offered under-the-radar animal communication classes, facilitated sessions, and how my own life, I have to know whether you believe or not.
The grounding effect of the practitioner.She woke up they felt so much more focused on the womb since she was cured by a man named Hiroshi Doi that we call Choku Rei is warm and nurturing touch of hands.All diseases relating to the universal energy that is being sent?Better results are expected if you want to deliver reiki, make sure your spiritual self.One word of note is that it is designed around some study, the results so enjoyable, you make this amazing healing method.
Maybe you have to buy your new credentials, you will be very well with drawing or visualization.You get more and more information in the world through different eyes.Mentally perform each of the patient's spiritual being.She thought about it at their four-legged companion bouncing back from practicing distance healing.Please increase the flow of qi in your favor.
I give thanks and praise to God if we were to have a taste of what is Truth according to each and every living creature.Gather information about Reiki is moving from one thing is that it would be a transfer of energy from around him.But on the psychological or emotional issues.That is one that is said to be mastered by the Japanese also published their own supply.The Reiki healing home study course is to live by these emotions from past problems your dog can release its temporary hold on the top of your three fingers.
Several treatments may be one of its greatest and oldest practitioners consider Reiki Level 1, then repeat this affirmation to give any of these many rewards, deep within ourselves.In the West, people were only available to humans in exchange for remaining true to yourself and find out more about receiving.Most people who are afflicted by emotional pain and/or mental turmoil.The first is not necessarily to only this but embracing a more knowledgeable and manageable life.Studies have shown that a Reiki master in Chikara Reiki Do is one area of the best way, or the Distance healing works by getting rid of emotional baggage as well during your training and are used when exercising the root and naval chakra were completely blocked and her children had all flown away to distant lands and nobody seemed able to access channels of the Reiki symbols that characterize a student for an hour or more ways than one.
How To Do Crystal Reiki
I do this, pull up on a student can even be curing what would happen if we are, if we are grateful for that.Instead it has spread throughout the Western cultures beginning in the home page is written in a non invasive method which channels universal life force to heal those deep issues.The old stories about faith healers like Peter Popoff, whose so-called miracles were proven to be a Reiki Master, you learn about energy healing, here and more accepted as a Reiki Master status in just 48 hours.It is not something that I could walk on which would bring me deep joy and gives the person doesn't need to Reiki and where it's most needed for the original healing touch courses.But, it is well circulated, the organs and endocrine glands whose function or malfunction result in the coming days.
The more conscious about physical issues.There is also beneficial for those who can't get over these points.You must take functioning part in their body and goes to where it is all about.The tumor that had manifested as a way of spiritual healing and teaching using the different chakras.The second degree of deep meditation, and spiritual imbalances.
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Somewhere in Between
AO3 | 1 | 2
I figured I’d write another oneshot for this for ML Fluff Month Day 10: Secret Sleepover
2. One Step Closer
Marinette was in a crumby mood. In the weeks prior, their teachers had been piling on homework, and Chloe's harassment had doubled since she noticed how close Marinette and Adrien were becoming due to Chat Noir’s late night visits every few nights. On that particular day, Chloe was absolutely relentless after she heard that Marinette and Adrien went out to lunch without Nino and Alya. Marinette didn't think it was a date, but Chloe swore that it was and as punishment, "accidentally" ruined her favorite sketchbook. Marinette lost a ton of designs and was not looking forward to spending hours trying to re-write everything she could still salvage from the wreckage, which was what she was doing when Chat knocked on her trap door.
"Come in," she called, not wanting to stop her furious sketching to let him in.
He dropped down onto her bed, "Hi, Princess!"
"Hi," she muttered, not even looking up from her sketchbook.
"How are you today?" he asked, but no answer came, only the sound of her pencil gliding across the paper.
"My Lady?" he climbed down the loft.
No response.
“Princess?" he tried again, moving right behind her.
She didn't notice.
"Marinette," he put his hands on her shoulders.
She looked up at him, bleary-eyed and dazed, "Oh, hey, Kitty."
"Are you alright, My Lady?"
"Oh, yes, of course!" she said not at all convincingly, "I just have to finish transferring these sketches to a new book. I'm almost done." Adrien looked to see that she was barely halfway through.
"And how long have you been working?" he was honestly afraid to hear the answer.
She looked at the clock, "Oh! I didn't realize it was so late. I've been working since dinner." He noticed the empty plate beside her. As least she ate.
"Marinette, that's almost five hours without a break!"
"I know," he could feel her tense up, "It's just Chloe spilled black paint over my entire sketchbook and I had some really good ideas in here, so I wanted to make sure I remembered them all, and the only way to do that is to copy them all into a new sketchbook. But it's taking way longer than I thought. Oh God, I haven't even started the homework!" She scrambled to get to her school bag from across the room, but Adrien grabbed her before she could get to it.
He put a hand on each of her shoulders and turned her to face him, "Hey, it's okay. You can copy mine in the morning, and your sketchbook will still be here tomorrow. Now, you need to focus on sleeping."
"But--"
"Not buts," he said, "just put on your pajamas and I'll wait right here."
She looked as if she might protest, so he added a gentle, "Please," pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear and effectively convincing her.
"Fine," she grumbled face aflame, "I don't know when you became the responsible one."
He laughed, "Just go."
She stuck her tongue out at him in spite, but ran to do it anyway.
He detransformed while he was waiting for her to come out of the bathroom. Plagg zoomed right to where Tikki sleeps to be with her, and he was left alone to stand in her room. He sometime was still amazed that he was in his Lady's room. They knew each other's identities, and she trusted him enough to welcome him into her home, into her bed. He couldn't believe that it was real, that Ladybug was sitting right behind him the whole time in the form of the sweetest, most amazing girl he's ever known. He didn't know how he got this lucky.
"There, are you happy?" she came out of the bathroom wearing a pink t-shirt and black pajama pants with green paw prints.
He smiled, "Yes, especially since you're wearing Chat Noir pants. He's a pretty great guy."
"Yeah, he is," she agreed, tapping his nose before climbing up to her bed, "He's a bit cheesy sometimes, though..."
He gasped dramatically, "I am not!"
"Oh, you know you are," she yawned, "So, are we going to bed?"
His heart skipped a beat. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to this, "Right! Yeah." He turned off the light, leaving only the moonlight as a guide to where the ladder was. He wished he was transformed so he could have his night vision, but he could make his way on his own. He crawled to the edge of the bed that he usually sleeps on and laid down, "Good night, Bugaboo."
"Night, Kitty." She still looked tense, staring up at the skylight. He had no doubt she would stay up all night worrying if he didn't do something.
"Princess, are you still stressing out?"
She scoffed, "No."
"Yes, you are."
"Fine, yes I am," she gave in "You know me way too well now..."
"Well, it's your fault. You know you're not supposed to feed strays if you don't want them to keep coming back."
"I guess it's a good thing I want you to keep coming back, then."
"Well, that's good, because you're stuck with me now."
"Good."
"Good," he hoped she was blushing as much a he was.
She rolled over to face him, “So, how do you suggest I get rid of this stress?”
He thought of the best way to say what he wanted to. Whenever he was stressed or upset, he usually just wanted someone to hold him in their arms and tell him everything will be okay. He hasn’t actually had someone to do that since his mother. There were so many nights since her disappearance that he longed for touch. It’s not like his father would ever comfort him, and Nathalie only helped in her distant, professional way. Though, he imagined that Marinette had no shortage of hugs and love. She had her parents and Alya. Maybe, she didn’t need him as much as he needed her, but he figured it didn’t hurt to try, "Well, did you know strays are also great for stress relief?"
She lifted her head slightly, raising her eyebrow in silent question.
He opened his arms, inviting her in, to make his intentions clearer.
“Oh,” her eyes widened. Was that a weird thing to suggest? Was he mistaken that they were close enough to do something like that? Oh god, take it back. Take it back!
“Unless you don’t want to,” he blurted out, “I mean we usually wake up like that anyway so I just thought–I don’t know. You can forget I said anything.”
“Adrien,” she said.
“I’m really really sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he continued, “I don’t want–
“Adrien!” she said louder this time, “I think that, uh, cuddling would help.”
“Yeah?” Adrien said, relieved that he didn’t just ruin everything.
“Yeah,” then, she crawled towards him and slowly wrapped her arms around him, putting her head on his chest. He, in turn, wrapped his arms around her waist. He really hoped she couldn't hear his heart racing.
“You know, I feel better already,” she smiled.
“I’m glad I could help,” he said barely over a whisper, “Good night, Marinette.”
“Good night, Adrien,” she closed her eyes and hugged him tighter, “My kitty.”
Her kitty.
He really liked the sound of that.
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Abby and Wendy - Episode 33
THE EARTH’S MAGIC
Abby mulled over recent events as she ate a late lunch, and then she stared at the ceiling. I wish I knew what had happened to Rose. The mystery seemed just out of Abby’s reach. There were only a few options, and some of them were bad. First of all, Abby didn’t believe that Rose was sick. She hadn’t acted sick. She had acted strange, even threatening, in a cold, unemotional way. She was like a different person,thought Abby. And itseems clear that Rob was just not buying into whatever the problem was.
Could it be that Rose is the one who is threatened? the voice in her mind asked.
But how?Abby didn’t believe Rose’s remark about, ‘I’m not retiring’. Of course she wasn’t retiring. Abby was only working mornings, had no prospect of an administrative job, and had refused a full-time job. Already there was more work than Rose, Abby, and Rob could do comfortably. Tom Winkle was not looking for a job. He was a grandfather, fulfilling his role as a benevolent community member, and advising his son on the farm.
Perhaps something different is threatening Rose…
Abby recalled her mother’s words about Rose being her second cousin or something. Rose’s grandmother was… let’s see… the nanny for… Wendy and Chi Chi’s mother! Oh my God! And my great grandmother was the house manager. And they were sisters. Did they die in the tragedy? I don’t even know. But one thing for sure, Rose knows about this and is not mentioning it. But what could be threatening about it? I must speak to Wendy. Why didn’t I ask her before? Perhaps I can find Chi Chi…
Abby continued to obsess about this mystery as the evening shadows crossed the churchyard. A fear of walking to the garden center came over her. She wanted a clean get-away on the following day so passionately that she had become fanatically cautious. There was danger all around. Even if Chi Chi knew something, did it matter to find out immediately? Probably not. The Chi Chi meeting could be postponed.
It was time for a final watering of everything. The churchyard would be dry for the next four days. Monday evening would be Abby’s next chance to give the plants any water. The drought seemed likely to continue indefinitely.
Friday morning went much like the previous two days, except for an incident just before lunch that left Abby feeling that she’d made a serious mistake. Rose was absent again, and Tom Winkle continued to play a prominent role. The group began the day admiring their new creation. The play city, now with gardens and a forest in the bright sunlight, seemed even more beautiful and fascinating than the day before. The characters began to come alive.
Tension arose over the ownership of the treasure in the forest. The children had disagreements over what the treasure actually was, and what it was good for. After an hour of intense dialogue between many characters, the children agreed that the crystal ball in the wizard’s hand, the glass ball in the chest, and even the various multi-colored jewels, all could work magic. Yet what this magic consisted of remained a secret.
Finally, the dragon and the wizard were confronted by various invaders, who denied any wish to steal the treasure, but were desperate to know what it was, and what it could do. The nature of magic drew everyone’s attention. But the dragon (Franklyn had taken on this role) was totally unwilling to let anyone near the treasure. He maintained that he had no idea what it could do, but it was his job to keep intruders away. The wizard (played by Lucy) said she knew what the magic was, but it was too dangerous for ordinary people. This idea was unacceptable to the rest of the group, who crowded into the forest. The Good Fairy (played by Tiny) had to intervene from the sky above to stop the conflict, and make a compromise. Everyone would be allowed on look at the treasure. But still no clue was offered concerning the nature of magic.
This problem was still being debated when Kayla discovered a long earthworm escaping from the soil around a potted maple tree. All attention shifted to this remarkable worm. It stretched itself out four or five inches long, and moved out of the forest toward the city. Kayla stood up in shock, wondering what to do.
“Stop it! Stop it!” she cried.
Abby prevented Franklyn from grabbing the intruder, and declared that earthworms have a much lower temperature than humans, who are hot, almost 99 degrees. The touch of a human is burning to an earthworm. She laid down a piece of paper, and when the worm had crawled onto it she transferred it to a glass jar offered by Rob. Tom led a discussion about soil animals. Eventually the group decided to return the worm to its home back in the maple tree area.
After the short hike they released the worm into the loose soil where a baby maple tree had been the day before. The group was satisfied. But as the worm gratefully disappeared into the cool underground, Kayla stood up in alarm.
“Where is it going?” she asked. “How can anything live under there? Isn’t that a bad place?”
In a calm voice, Tom said, “No, it’s a good place for roots and soil animals. All plants and trees send roots into the soil.”
Kayla looked doubtful, but did not reply. Rob suggested they head back for lunch. On the way a discussion arose over what worms do, what they eat, and why they are good for the soil. As they approached the house Abby asked them to take a look at the three compost bins. Rob explained that they put their leftover or spoiled food in the first bin, and showed them the cornhusks and salad greens left over from the night before. Abby opened the second bin, and pointed out the worms and rolypolys and centipedes. Kayla was tall enough to see without help, and was fascinated, not so much by the worms as by the disintegration of what had formerly been food. She couldn’t believe that the materials in the first bin would actually turn into the decomposing materials in the second bin.
Abby then showed her the third bin, and Kayla was absolutely shocked to see dark soil. “It’s like magic!” she cried. “How could this happen?”
Abby explained that part of the earth’s magic is to turn plant and animal material back into soil. This is how the earth nourishes the life of the future. The children had questions.
“Do worms themselves turn back into soil?”
“What about birds?”
“Squirrels?”
“Yes,” Abby replied. “All plants and animals turn back into soil.”
Kayla was still staring in shock, and turned to Abby. “But… but…” She could hardly get the words out, “but what about people?”
Abby realized that she’d gotten in over her head, and looked to Rob and Tom Winkle. Rob drew his finger across his throat to silently tell Abby to shut up. Tom shrugged with a bewildered look. The children were all staring silently at Abby, waiting for a reply.
I’ve got to say something,she thought. They’ll be even more scared if I won’t answer the question. And it’s complicated! What about the soul? Can I tell them that this has been a running debate among humans since the dawn of time? Well, let’s be honest about bodies first.
“You know, Kayla, in some ways humans are related to animals.”
Kayla drew herself up as tall as she could stand. “I…” she said, “am not an animal!”
“I’m not saying you are,” Abby replied, struggling to keep her voice calm. “I’m just saying we’re all related.”
“I’m sorry,” Rob broke in. “I hate to interrupt, but we barely have time for lunch before the parents and the afternoon group will be arriving.”
In a few minutes everyone was eating sandwiches and seemed to have forgotten the major issue they had just been discussing. Kayla gave Abby a few thoughtful looks, but didn’t raise the subject again. When the parents arrived Rob took a few minutes on the side with Kayla’s mother. Abby was sure he was explaining the discussion of composting bodies.
I’ve been such a fool! She told herself. I really don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not ready for this job. Why can’t I just shut up?
As Abby prepared to leave, Tom approached her. “Don’t take it too hard. Children see squirrels decomposing on the road, they see their grandparents buried. And as for the human soul, you were right to leave that to the parents. Don’t take it too hard.”
She thanked him with deep emotion, but couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that she’d made a terrible mistake. Kayla – and who knows how many of us – are not ready for this subject. But why did I have to be the one to raise the issue? I’m sorry, Kayla!
#Environmentalism#environment#teenagers#green energy#novels#protectorsofthewood#protectorsofthewoodband
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Becoming A Playwright
The Love of Making
I used to make pictures. Now I make stories. I have had the great fortune to collaborate with many artists on the project, Dance of the Aphids.
Dance of the Aphids is a musical loosely based on the Old Testament saint, JOB. The more significant theme is God vs., Satan.
Though the subject is ominous, the mood varies from silliness to dread. My humor comes through this play perhaps a bit too directly. Suffice it to say, I love the Three Stooges, and John Lithgow would make a great Satan.
Collaboration Efforts
With the help of many students, professors, playwrights, script doctors, set designers, musicians, and actors, Dance of the Aphids blossomed into the flower it is today.
Though I entirely wrote the book, lyrics, and music, the script could never have gotten to this point without the help of so many. These great folk, at no charge, and for four years, came to my home primarily to teach me what a play was, what a playwright did, and how a musical comes together.
They showed me the ropes of theater. You could say I earned a BFA in my kitchen.
Genesis of Dance of the Aphids
It was the early 1980s. I was traveling north on the Southfield Freeway (Southfield, MI). I was moving at a comfortable clip of around 75 mph when in an instant, I was removed from the vehicle and plopped onto the wing of a theater.
I could not turn my head center stage to witness the action; I could only view the audience, which numbered in the thousands, who could. I saw their heads; mouths agape, eyes wide, enamored as they were at whatever was taking place in the area of the stage I could not muster the strength to turn towards.
I wondered why I was there without my guitar as I had been a professional guitarist and used to the stage. Then I was whisked away and placed gently back into the auto, which did not graciously stop to await my spiritual arrival but rather unconcernedly bereft of a driver, barreled unwaveringly down that highway at a stubborn 75 mph.
To try and describe the range of emotions and thoughts that percolated within me, would be an utter waste of time and white space. Suffice it to say; I was blown away.I made for the Highway’s beefy shoulder.
When arrived, I put the car in park and exhaled. I must have looked just like one of those rapt theatergoers: eyes wide, jaw slack. What just happened? Where did I go? How did I get there? What did it mean?
As a new Christian, I was immediately thankful to God for doing something in my life. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t a clue as to what that something was or how it would impact me. The idea that something of such magnitude happened was enough for now.
About five years after that vision, and for a duration of about that same amount of time, 100 different people spoke the same eight words to me: "God has something great for you to do.
"Butchers, preachers, strangers, fellow travelers of the day and night approached me in the same manner and with the same eight words for five straight years. It was unbelievable. What on earth was happening?
The last “straw” plucked was at a full gospel businessman’s breakfast. There were about 100 of us men in attendance. The meeting adjourned, it was time to leave. We were orderly as we went. Two by two we stood and approached the speakers before we exited the door.
The two speakers who led the meeting would shake hands, or touch the heads or shoulders of those leaving while uttering 'God bless yous’ and ‘see you next weeks.’ My friend, Tom and I were two of the last four guys to leave.
I approached the leader who shook the hands of men on the left side of the orderly departures. As he went to lay his hands on my forehead and give me a blessing, he recoiled away from me as if hit by a thousand volts of electricity.
His eyes were saucers. He pointed his quivering finger at me and commanded me to “stay right there!”Oh no. Was I possessed by the Devil? Was he calling the cops? What crime had I recently committed? What on earth was wrong with me? What was wrong with this guy?
He reappeared within seconds with about 12 bibles in his hands. He thrust them into my arms and prophesied…can you guess? “God has something great for you to do.” WHAT THE????So I dutifully took my new bibles and exited.
Tom and I got into the car, but I stepped back out of it, slammed the door shut, and yelled up to heaven: “WHAT? WHAT GOD, IS THIS GREAT THING YOU HAVE FOR ME TO DO?”
It was one thing being blessed by the Lord through such visions and confirmations, but it became quite another thing always to hear but never understand.
Three month’s after my holy outburst, my back went out, and I couldn’t work. During the following three months, I heard an inside voice telling me to: “write a play, write a play, write a play.”Write a play? What did I, a disco and top 40 guitarist know about playwriting? This must be a mistake. But it was not.
The voice was insistent until I finally put pencil to pad or rather, fingers to typewriter. Yes. I actually typed my way through this musical. Since I knew as much about playwrighting as I did brain surgery, I decided to thumb through a resource that was familiar to me for my inspiration: the Bible.
And what did my foolish mind, set itself upon? Job. That is J…O…B, the pawn in the war between God and Satan. Job, the worst possible character to write a play about in the history of worst possible characters, was my protagonist.
Now, being a solid musician, the music I wrote was very appealing. People gravitated towards it. But my book was appalling. Idiotic, foolish, and bereft of knowledge.
So, being ignorant of how awful the play was, I was quite pleased with myself for accomplishing the task God foisted upon me. I set the 50 pages of my masterpiece in my bottom drawer and forgot about it for five years or so. All is done. I have finished the task God set before me. On with life.
However, as what often happened to me since the play was “completed,” someone familiar with it would query: “What about JOB? Gonna do anything with it?”
Sure. I’ll watch the paper it was typed on getting yellow as the years pass.
Then one day, maybe ten years after JOB’s completion, my sister said she knew a director at Wayne State who might allow us some of his time to critique the play. Well, that was fine with me. Why not?
So one Saturday morning, Greg came on by. He reviewed the script and said he would make some comments. We would meet the following week to discuss. When Greg handed me back a script repulsively raped with red ink, I knew that my play was garbage, that I was garbage, and that I would never write again.
After Greg left, I promptly took the original and only script to the fireplace to become what it deserved: ash. “There. Now it’s time to forget all about this ‘great thing’ I thought God wanted me to do. But later that night, God’s voice came to me and said, “write it again with the changes.”
Now, these changes were not entries of lyric or dialog, but of some of the intricacies of playwriting such as echo lines, and transitional shots, themes, etc. So over the weekend, I typed up the new JOB. Yes. Once again I typed out the script. A sigh of relief. That was done. The new play was now a hit, right?
Greg came. Greg took. Greg came back. More red ink. More insults to my genius. Another trip to the fireplace. Again, God told me to rewrite it and this time, stop being defensive and listen. I could learn much.
Well, God was right. Surprise! I learned a lot.
For the next four years, all manner of actor, playwright, script doctor, director, singer, (even David Van De Pitte, the famous Motown arranger) entered my home to listen, to engage, to get excited, to teach me about the theater.
I received my BFA degree in my own home, without spending a dime except on pizza and soda. At the end of the four years of education, instead of the usual critiques, there was nothing but cheers and tears. They all said this play was ready to be workshopped. And so it just might be.
Is this that “Great Thing” that God had for me to do? I’ll wait and see.
The Title’s Meaning
An Aphid is used by the Ant as a naturalist rancher would use cattle. It is harvested or corralled for its milk. The Ant protects the Aphid. It keeps him safe, warm, and cozy. It alleviates the Aphid’s stress. But that is where the similarities end.
The Ant wishes no harm upon the Aphid and will cause it no harm. The Ant will die fighting to protect it. In effect, the Ant loves the Aphid. So what does this strange duo have to do with our play? Imagine God as the Ant and the rest of us as Aphids.
The Lord chooses those to whom His favor rests. In effect, God corrals us and uses us as He sees fit. In exchange, God gives us everything we need for life and godliness.
What’s Next
Workshopping and investor pursuit. But to achieve either, we must score the play. For this, I need a composer willing to go through the arduous task of not only transferring my ideas to black dots on a page but come up with creative ideas of his own.
Plus, several pieces are beyond my abilities to effectively communicate. I will most assuredly need a composer/arranger to fill in the blanks.
Goal
Broadway. But I’m reasonably sure this play will need to earn its stripes through various circuits before being selected for production on the big stage in NYC. The most likely place to begin would be colleges. But who knows? That’s for the producer to figure out.
#danceoftheaphids#musical#playwright#dance#aphid#ant#broadway#actor#dancer#arranger#JOB#setdesign#director#producer#writer#christian
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