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eightmakesonebraincell · 6 months

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ateez as royals who fall for you (hyung line)

read maknae line here

genre: royalty!ateez x fem!reader, fluff, angst, smut, crack, a brainrot and smutfest of royal tropes

length: 12.8k

c/w: very nsfw scenes - mdni, explicit language (dirty talk, swearing, insults), death, violence, blood & injuries, weapons, heavy & mature themes (sex work, murder, assassination, execution, mentions of misogyny)

a/n: this has simultaneously been the pride and joy of my life and the bane of my entire existence for the last 2.5 months 🥴 and tumblr is an inept incapable CLOWN who cannot handle the full 24k worth of bullet points so here is the hyung line first - maknae line coming soon (yumi @sorryimananti-romantic can vouch for my unsuccessful 3-hour attempt at formatting them into a single post)

hongjoong

pov: you're the king's royal courtesan

“fuck,” hongjoong lets out a deep growl from within his chest as his head dips down to rest against the crook of your neck. “you’re just as tight as last time”

when your hips involuntarily buck from the pleasure, he nudges your thighs further apart and keeps your wrists pinned above your head

he can’t help but let out another groan when he feels your walls clench around his cock as you adjust to his thickness

“i thought- god,” a moan escapes you after he thrusts his hips against you, “thought you never fucked the same woman twice”

“i don’t,” he simply says

and it’s true

hongjoong is one of the youngest princes to have ruled during the kim dynasty, having risen to power after the previous king succumbed early to an unknown illness

he has the choice and selection of all the courtesans available within the palace and outside its walls

hongjoong also has a reputation of being highly sought after by everybody, not just amongst courtesans

it’s not only because he is devilishly handsome, knows how to properly fuck somebody dumb, and is the literal king

the main thing that makes him so desirable and unreachable?

he never sees the same courtesan more than once

“yet here you are,” you hook your legs around hongjoong’s waist to gain leverage and meet his thrusts with your own hips, “between my legs for the second time”

you smirk when he curses and throws his head back

his grip on your wrists tightens and his voice drops dangerously low

“the first time doesn’t count because i was meant to see lady chae. so really, this is the first time i’m requesting for your services”

he silences you from retorting by pressing a bruising kiss against you, lips messily attaching to yours before trailing down the sharp angle of your jaw to bite your neck

you are a courtesan for people of nobility and royal status

part of the ‘house of flowers’ and commonly referred to as ‘flower courtesans’, you and the other women are highly-sought after for the companionship you offer

you are well protected by the house of flowers though - the services of companionship that you provide is requested by your client, but is ultimately accepted or rejected by you

lady chae, another of the flower courtesans and one of your closest friends, is requested by the king for her services

it is quite clear what it is going to entail and you both spend several of the following nights giggling and whispering scandalously to one another

whether the rumours about his stamina will be true

whether lady chae will be the first to break his one-fuck rule

except when the day of the meeting comes around, she spikes a sudden fever

lady shin, the head of the house of flowers, takes all but one look at her before ordering her to bed rest despite both of your attempts to, albeit unconvincingly, persuade lady shin that chae’s fever would only serve to help make the king’s dick warmer

lady shin is not amused to say the least

with the last minute hitch, the king agrees for you to be sent out to him as a replacement instead

and you end up being the flower courtesan who he breaks his reputed rule for

(lady chae is initially jealous, understandably)

(but very quickly, she appears to be even more excited than you are as she combs through your undergarments for the “sluttiest set” that she can find)

your attention is brought back as hongjoong flicks his tongue over your hardened nipples, continuing to drag his length in and out of you while your back arches off the bed

you tease in between short breaths, “are you really bringing up another woman’s name while you have your cock inside me?”

“you brought it up first,” he reminds you, accentuating his answer with timed thrusts

you grind your hips against his, chasing more friction against your clit as you feel your high approaching

“why?” he snakes one of his hands down between your connected torsos to rub messy circles against your clit, smirking as he asks, “are you getting jealous already?”

for that, you clench down hard on his cock, immediately feeling the way it throbs inside of you as you bring him closer to his orgasm too

“as if. fuck off”

your words are hardly audible from the whines that are leaving your mouth due to the added pressure of another finger against your clit from your retaliation

“i’m close,” hongjoong releases his grip on your wrists so that he can straighten his body, anchoring his hand on your hip instead so that he can fuck you and rub your clit with his other hand with renewed vigour

when you hear him groan, “cum for me,” the string snaps and your whole body quivers in his hold as your orgasm washes over you

hongjoong’s hips gradually stutter to a pause, an occasional thrust inside your clenching pussy as he milks out the rest of his cum inside of you

he finally eases himself out of you and hums in satisfaction as he watches his cum slowly leak out of you

hongjoong drops down beside you, toned chest covered in a sheen layer of sweat as it rises up and down with his pants

when your fuzzy mind has cleared a little from the blissful haze of your orgasm, he strokes his fingertips along the side of your thigh, along the curve of your ass, and over the dip of your waist just under your breasts as he says, “you better not be jealous. first one to get jealous loses”

“if anyone’s going to get jealous first, it’s you,” you scoff back

he raises an eyebrow

oh yeah?

he shoves his leaking cum back inside of you and fingers you to another orgasm

now that shuts you up

for a man who barks, he sure has no bite, because you find yourself being notified by lady shin several days later of yet another request for your services under the king’s name

and another request turns into another

and every single time, hongjoong makes sure that the only word leaving your lips for those many hours is his moaned name

but at the same time, the more you and hongjoong meet, the more he just savours in your simple companionship

he asks you to teach him how to embroider because you’ve mentioned before it’s how you like to spend your free evenings

he rifles through your bag of materials that you bring

you smack his hand away at the carelessness with which he’s upturning everything

“what’s this?” he holds up a large, wooden hoop before trying to fit it through his head, “a necklace?”

“i wonder if people know they appointed an idiot to be king,” you say as you gently unscrew the hoops and demonstrate how to align a piece of fabric between the rings

he watches with interest as you screw the outer hoop tighter until the fabric is nice and taut and then repeat the process so you both have one to work with

you have to help hongjoong thread his needle too, because apparently the king’s fingers are only good for scissoring you open

you weave your own needle through the fabric at a slow pace whilst telling him the different names and uses of the stitches you’re showing him

except, when you look up to see if he’s following?

his own hoop has been abandoned to one side and he’s leaning against his hand as he gazes cheekily at you

“were you even paying attention?”

he sounds a little too confident when he answers not at all

in return, hongjoong shows you how to write hanja the next time you meet

he positions himself behind you with his hand over yours as he guides you through different characters stroke by stroke

he claims that there are specific ways of applying pressure to the brush so he has to be holding your hand at all times

you most definitely roll your eyes several times but you indulge him anyway

there are a lot of giggles and teasing pushes when you accidentally dip the end of your sleeve into the ink and you try to spread it onto his robes too

(the calligraphy may or may not become forgotten when hongjoong pins you down to stop your cheeky behaviour, because things naturally escalate whenever he has you under him)

you two do eventually manage to finish one decent-looking scroll of characters which he ends up gifting you so that you ‘don’t forget’ about him when you’re not with him

when you walk back into the house of flowers, the hanging scroll perks lady shin’s interest as you walk past

“hongjoong taught me how to write my name today”

lady shin waggles her eyebrows at you suggestively because of how casually you refer to the king, for which you nudge her with a shoulder

she laughs then asks to have a look

you unravel the paper to show her but then she makes a funny noise

“that’s not your name? these are the characters for- oh,” she cackles scandalously to herself, as if she has made a secret discovery

“what does it mean?” you hurry to clarify

you wouldn’t put it past him to have taught you a crude phrase instead, like ‘best tits’ or ‘biggest ass’

lady shin lets out an amused exhale, handing the scroll back to you

“it says, my flower”

you’re looking at those exact characters from where you lay on your bed when a knock sounds on your door several days later

lady shin steps into your room with a warm smile as you greet her

“you have an appointment with lord min tomorrow, but the king has just inquired about your service availability for tomorrow,” she informs you. “would you like me to give him the usual answer?”

this isn’t the first time a clash has occurred, particularly with the increasing frequency with which hongjoong requests to see you

you have always told lady shin to ask for hongjoong’s pardon and to offer him an alternative time or day, because in the end, you still need to maintain a professional and admirable reputation as a flower courtesan

and as you open your mouth to tell her ‘yes’, your eye catches the scroll hanging on your wall

my flower

you hesitate

“actually,” you look away from the hanja, “i’ll see hongjoong.”

lady shin gives you a motherly smile as she nods in understanding and closes the door behind her

the next day you see him, he excitedly points out the large tambour frame in his room that he bought just a few days prior, claiming you two can work on a big embroidery patch together now

you give him one look then demote him back to the small embroidery hoop because he still hasn’t learnt his basic stitches yet

(that’ll teach him to not pay attention when you’re demonstrating, ha)

you relent and end up going through the different stitches with him again anyway

and you find that he’s actually not that bad with embroidery once he’s actually focused on the task at hand

it’s nice, basking in each other's presence while he threads his little square of fabric and you work with the large frame you have now essentially claimed as yours

not that hongjoong minds; he did buy it solely to make you happy

and then you offhandedly mention that someone had gifted you a handkerchief with your initials embroidered on one of the corners the other day

“i actually have it on me, in fact,” and you take it out from where it’s tucked into your waist so that you can show him

he juts out his chin as he peers down at the delicate letters, huffing, “it’s pretty, i guess”

then as an afterthought he tacks on, “bet i could do a better job”

“are you jealous right now, kim hongjoong?”

said man is hellbent on avoiding your eyes as he picks up his needle and thread again

“no i’m not!”

“whatever you say,” you smirk

after that day though, you don’t receive another request from hongjoong to meet until two weeks later

which, in the grand scheme of things, really isn’t much

but in comparison to the frequency at which you are used to seeing him, the frequency at which your body is used to having him, it is much too long

you are almost beginning to wonder whether you shouldn’t have brought up the handkerchief gift

yet, he greets you with his usual teasing squeeze of your waist, dangerously close to your ass

you make a move to follow him through the doors to his chambers but he turns around to produce a silk cloth

he starts to blindfold you, whispering sultrily, “i have a surprise for you”

you feel the hairs on the back of your neck raise at his tone

guiding you inside, hongjoong gently pushes you down so that you sink into the plush duvet of his bed

“do you trust me?” he whispers

trying not to dwell on the urge to lick your dry lips, you answer, “of course”

you feel him tugging slowly on the string that holds the front of your corset together, loosening your dress with tenderness like you are a fragile gift

you shiver when your shoulders are suddenly exposed to the cold air

and then the sensation is followed by the warmth of hongjoong’s soft exhales along the expanse of your collarbones as he leans closer to fully disrobe your shoulders

you have to remind yourself to keep breathing

“you can look now,” he tells you

you remove the silk cloth from around your eyes, unsure of what to expect

it takes a few blinks to readjust your vision to the room around you but then your eyes finally focus

and you gasp

there, hung on the wall with its striking viridian green, shimmering threads and intricate swirls on glorious display, is quite possibly the most stunning dress you have ever laid eyes upon

“try it on,” he encourages

but as you step closer, you realise the lacing across the front of the corset and running down the sleeves of the top dress is in fact, not lacing

it’s patchy

it’s uneven

it has empty areas

but it is no doubt embroidery

“did you…did you make this?” you reach out a hand to lightly caress one of the embroidered flowers, not quite daring to believe that hongjoong would go to these lengths for you

“of course,” he wraps his arms around you from behind and presses a light kiss against your temple, “i’m not losing to a lousy handkerchief”

“is that why you disappeared for two weeks?”

you let out a laugh, sinking into his embrace, because the image of the great king holed up in his chambers for days on end, hunched over your dress with a needle, thread and frown on his face is just too endearing

he lets out a warning huff as he turns you around in his embrace to face him

upturning his hands, he shows you the tips of his fingers and grumbles, “i poked myself so many times for you and you laugh at me?”

you bring his hands closer to your face, pressing light kisses to his fingertips as you smile, “thank you, joong. i love it so much, i really do”

he looks at you impossibly soft

under his tender gaze, something suddenly rushes to your very core

you hold one his hands steady in front of your lips then swirl your tongue out in an experimental lick over his fingers

it’s almost captivating how quickly his pupils dilate and zero in on your tongue

so you dare to bring his fingers into your mouth

you suck on them a little harder

a little deeper

and then you moan around his fingers, “i want you”

he lets out a groan himself, feeling the front of his breeches tighten as his cock twitches

“i- fuck, i didn’t give the dress to you in hopes that it would lead to this,” yet despite his words he is stepping you backwards so that he can pin you against the wall

“i know, but i want you,” you palm his growing bulge, your knees going weak at how hard he already is. “and i need you. now.”

he doesn’t need further encouragement

he shoves the remainder of your clothes aside before inserting his fingers roughly between your folds

it doesn’t take long for him to bring you to your first orgasm, curling his fingers relentlessly as you ride them

he spreads your cum over your pussy and you buck your hips with a whine when he circles over your clit briefly

then he’s turning you around and bending you over, one of your hands bracing against the wall, your other arm held behind your back by hongjoong’s firm grasp

“fuck, you’re so wet,” his whole body shivers with pleasure as his cock slips right into you

the obscene sounds of his hips slapping against your ass and your slick being pushed back into your hole over and over again fill the room

and to the clenching of your pussy from another orgasm, hongjoong also cums into you with a guttural groan of your name

he gently carries you to his bed and lays you on top of the covers

he leaves your side for a moment and you listen to him rummage through something while you try to regain control of your quaking legs

when he comes back, you feel him gently spreading your legs and then the ticklish sensation of a soft cloth along your inner thighs

a whine escapes your lips when he rubs over your sensitive clit and hongjoong grips your thigh a little tighter

“be careful what pretty sounds you’re making if you can’t handle another round”

it isn’t until he finishes cleaning you up and lies down next to you to start wiping himself down that you look over and realise what it is that he’s been using this whole time

your mouth drops in disbelief

when hongjoong notices your expression, he smirks, “the man who gave you this has no idea his handkerchief is being used to clean my cum off your thighs”

“hongjoong!” you flush with a laugh. “you are definitely jealous, aren’t you?”

“yes, i’m fucking jealous,” he growls, “you’re the only one i want. you’re the only woman i’ve been requesting for since i’ve seen you. and i want to be the only one who gets to have you, too”

you confess, “well, you can have all of me. because i’ve started refusing other people just for you”

he looks at you for another moment before he’s suddenly straddling your hips

“change of plans,” he says breathily, “i need you again”

“very good plan,” you grind up against him

and then you pause, mirth starting to bubble in your throat, “one last thing though”

hongjoong looks down with amusement in his own eyes, wondering what could possibly be so funny

“that handkerchief?” you start, struggling not to laugh when his eyes immediately narrow, “i never said it was from a man. it was a gift from lady chae”

seonghwa

pov: you're his royal guard

as soon as you notice the movement out of the corner of your eye, your body reacts straight away

you murmur seonghwa’s name with a tight voice and move to position yourself in front of him, unwilling to risk the prince’s safety

one of your hands grasps the hilt of your sword, ready to unsheathe it at the first sign of danger, as your calculative gaze darts between the two young men stumbling closer on the dirt path and the line of forest trees from which they appear

they are wearing simple tunics and breeches with their colour faded and seams loosening from wear

from what you can discern, they are simply commoners, but that does not rule out the possibility that they are bandits

seonghwa seems to think otherwise, though

unsurprising but still grating

the prince places his hand on your shoulder gently in a silent reassurance and request for you to step aside

albeit reluctantly, you force yourself to move to his left

it becomes clear to you as the two figures stop just shy of a few feet away that the term ‘men’ was pushing it - their faces are young and they appear to be no older than seventeen or eighteen

the young strangers dip their head in greeting, one of them apologising as well as he pulls out a tattered map that he extends out for you two to see

“my companion and i are traveling to the village norshaw but seem to have lost our way. would you be able to point us in the right direction?” the one with the map asks

“of course,” seonghwa offers with a kind smile

you watch as the three of them step closer together to look more closely at the map

on high alert, and just as you are predicting, you see the companion shuffle closer to seonghwa, hand inching towards the leather pouch that hangs from the prince’s belt

you catch the subtle motion of seonghwa’s eyes flickering down just an inch

because of how well you understand his body language, you know that it means he has already noticed the thieving intention

but because of how well you understand seonghwa, you know that he isn’t going to do anything about it either

so you strike in his stead

your hand darts out to snatch the thieve’s wrist, twisting his forearm upwards so that he is forced to lean awkwardly towards one side to prevent his elbow from snapping

his partner drops the map, letting out a string of curses and hesitating for all but three seconds before he turns around to flee

scoffing, you threaten the one who is still in your hold, who then bolts with his tail between his legs after you release him

"did you really need to scare them off like that? it's not like i had any money in the pouch anyway," seonghwa chastises with a chuckle

"yes," you deadpan. "i did not spend the last two hours of our trip pausing every fifty meters to wait for you to pick up a rock because you thought it looked pretty, only for them to be stolen by a pair of petty thieves"

"it would have been funny to imagine their faces after realising what they stole," seonghwa grins

“mhm,” you hum, “and the next thing you know, you’ll wake up to your palace ransacked, because word in town is that you can steal from the prince and get away with it”

he levels you with a boyish scowl, “you’re so dramatic. what are you, my mother?”

“no, but i am your royal bodyguard”

“exactly. you are my bodyguard, not my brainguard. if i am to be swindled of my pretty rocks, then so be it”

you roll your eyes out of exasperation, but everything is swiftly forgotten minutes later when you point out a heart-shaped rock and seonghwa rushes over to pick it up

it has been like this ever since the incident occurred - him, the sunshine; you, the sunshine protector

it has been almost four years since it happened

somebody had attempted arsenic poisoning of not only seonghwa, but also those working under him

you had noticed strange discolouring of the silverware in the kitchen and on the table serving his dinner, which prompted an investigation and subsequent discovery of the perpetrator

an act of betrayal and treachery by one of his closest relatives - his very own uncle

seonghwa was - still is - too merciful and tender-hearted to punish his uncle, even if the severity of his uncle’s crimes warranted execution

to have his trust broken so shatteringly hurt seonghwa more than if he were to actually have been poisoned

you still remember like it was yesterday; the sight of the prince slumped against the wall, weighed down by chains of turmoil and despair as whispers fly through the palace of the weak-hearted prince who is unable to deliver fair judgement

it is the sight of the prince looking so small and lost that drives your feet forward to stand before him

as the soft draught coming through the windows tugs gently on your tresses and the flickers of candlelight illuminate the glint of steel in your hand, you make a decision

“i’ll be your sword,” you pledge

not just as his royal guard, but as his haven when he is forced to face corruption and wickedness

and when you see the way his shoulders immediately sag with relief at your declaration, the way he nods like a child who has been reassured that everything will be okay, you tell yourself that seonghwa will never have to dirty his hands as long as you are with him

you will be the dark to his light; the yin to his yang

quietly, you see to it that his uncle is executed for his crimes - your statement to the rest of the palace that prince seonghwa is not to be mocked

neither of you bring it up again, but seonghwa knows

he pulls you into a wholehearted hug, arms enveloping you securely as his chest shakes with shuddering breaths of thank you over and over again

you rub your hand up and down his sturdy back soothingly

it is an action that simultaneously reciprocates his embrace and his crossed line of professionalism

one that starts the shift in dynamic between you both, boundaries of sought comfort blurring with friendship and then something more

where seonghwa is too trusting and too soft-spoken, you become his skepticism and his voice

“you should be more wary of others,” you always remind him

“and you should be more trusty of others,” he’ll retort

yet, he will never make a decision that does not receive your input nor one that you do not agree with

where seonghwa is too gentle and too humble, you become his sword and his shield

you do not waver when you strike down foe, and friends turned foe alike

you speak up and establish firm boundaries when others take advantage of the respect he shows everybody regardless of their class or status

and yet, if you find yourself on the receiving end of someone’s condescension or discriminatory treatment, be it due to your rank as a guard or identity as a woman, seonghwa will be advancing forward to defend you before you can do so yourself

where seonghwa is too innocent and too bushy-tailed, you become his eyes and his caution

your morning walks together always last for longer than they are scheduled for

he stops to watch every butterfly and bumblebee that flutters along the flowery path, and he waits for caterpillars to crawl onto a leaf that he holds by the stem so that he can move the critters off the pathway

you love to watch him and his glittering eyes, his cheeks rosy from happiness and from the air still crisp with morning dew

but you also make sure to watch his surroundings with greater vigilance because the quiet peace that the freshly awoken sun brings simultaneously increases the likelihood of a targeted attack against him

as much as you rib him for being a marshmallow personified, however, and as much as he banters back that you are more than welcome to resign at any time, neither of you want it any other way

seonghwa carries out a lot of gestures that he justifies to himself as being eternally grateful for you and the things you do for him

he likes to gift you flowers he has plucked from his garden or the bushes he walks past that remind him of you

(“that’s actually just a very pretty-looking weed, but thank you, seonghwa,” you tell him on more than one occasion)

(it’s adorable, because the next time he finds a flower, he goes to the length of certifying that it is indeed a flower with the merchant who sells bouquets in the nearby town before presenting it to you, eyes gleaming with pride)

you stand still and let him tuck a flower behind your ear, sometimes braiding your hair gently so that he can weave and secure the stem into your hair, holding your breath as his features fill with the same enrapturement that he would admire a beautiful artwork with

after you voice this out one day, seonghwa supposes to himself that there is not much difference between an artwork and you

not that he’s attracted to you or anything - you just…have an objectively attractive face

yes.

especially when your usually-piercing expression is softened by fatigue, guard no longer up as you sleep slumped over a desk while accompanying him during his late night of studies

he does not realise his feet have moved until he is right beside your resting form, as if the soft exhales escaping from your slightly parted lips are a siren’s song

seonghwa tenderly brushes your stray locks away from your face and behind your neck

except he forgets to account for the fact that you are trained to sleep on the brink of consciousness

the squeal that leaves his mouth when your reflexes kick in and you almost slit his throat resounds at a frequency so high you almost believe it comes from your own mouth

you have a grand time watching his beet red face stutter out an excuse as to what exactly he was doing so close to you

needless to say, that is the last time seonghwa ever tries to do anything while you are sleeping

but as much as he bumbles around, he also reveals his perceptiveness when you least expect it

like now, as you accompany the prince to one of his meetings with numerous advisors and ministers

it is relatively dull and uneventful, mostly a cordial appearance to maintain amicable and loyal relationships with his subjects

conversation is limited to pleasantries and at one point, seonghwa even points out the calligraphy paintings hung at the back of the room

everyone nods with throaty laughs as if the paintings are indeed the most exquisite and tasteful artworks they have ever laid their eyes upon

when you and seonghwa arrive back at his chambers following the conclusion of the meeting, he walks over to his bed and shakes the sleeves of his robe over the expanse of his duvet

and out drops a neatly-wrapped sweet, followed by another, then another, until there are enough to amount to two handfuls

baffled, you look at seonghwa, because these are the very same treats that had been plated on the tables during the meeting

“you smuggled candy out of the room?” you try to keep the amusement out of your voice

he peers into his sleeves to ensure there are no more stragglers, before turning to face you as he waves his hands over the small collection of goods on his bed

as if they are-

“for you!” he exclaims almost proudly. “i saw you eyeing them during the meeting so i took some for you”

okay

most definitely proudly

you feel something tickling you from within, as if he has reached through your chest to directly caress your heart with a delicate finger

“when did you even…” your voice trails off when it comes out a little fonder than you are expecting it to

“remember the paintings i pointed out?” seonghwa giggles, and you think that the hand in your chest is now cradling your heart completely. “i swiped the sweets when everyone was looking back at them”

“thank you, hwa,” you settle on saying, because you do not trust yourself to say anything else

that is more than enough for him, though

which, of course it is - this is seonghwa, with his huge heart that fills easily with the smallest of things

he eagerly hands you one of the treats and you unwrap it to place into your mouth

you’ve had these before, but this one that he has specially grabbed for you tastes remarkably sweeter

you wonder if his lips will taste the same…

but then you accidentally bite your tongue, hard enough to draw blood, and you realise just how wrong you are for letting those fleeting thoughts into your mind

because while you navigate the world in thick droplets of red and sharp glints of silver, seonghwa sees the world in soft hues of pastel and gleaming rays of yellow

how could the two palettes ever blend together harmoniously?

so instead, you grant yourself one last moment of selfishness and pull him into a hug, a gesture that toes the already shaky borders of professionalism yet can still be excused under the guise of friendship

you realise that he has always meant much more to you, but that is what this will stay as - a mere realisation

seonghwa wraps his arms around your form as he relaxes into the way your bodies naturally meld together

it’s strange how easily you slot into his life, his thoughts, his heart

he wonders whether it’s possible for feelings of appreciation to run so deeply and potently within somebody, like a drug that he cannot get enough of

and when you take a step away from him, leaving his chest feeling physically and emotionally empty, he wonders if he is perhaps…

in love with you

following that incident, it is almost as if a switch flips - both of you take several steps away from the line that has been danced around

but neither of you notice the distance because you are both consumed by your own thoughts

until one of your usual morning walks around the castle walls of his palace

seonghwa is wondering whether the bushes you walk past remind you of the flowers he used to gift you and you are debating whether to reach out to brush a petal out of his half ponytail

then, like deja vu, your eyes flicker towards the burst of movement as a figure covered in black comes darting forwards with their blade raised intended for murder

you immediately start to unsheathe your sword, feet poised and prepared to defend-

until you are harshly tugged back and the prince steps in front of you to parry the strike that the assassin tries to land

it takes your lifetime of training and experience to snap back into focus and thrust your sword into the enemy’s exposed side

when you are sure he is dead, you whirl around to descend upon seonghwa with a voice trembling from both anger and relief

“what in the world were you thinking?” you yell

“i-”

taking a step forward, you toss your sword to one side, “no, actually. you weren’t thinking at all”

“i was afraid that you would get hurt!” he takes his own step closer

“that is my duty!” the volume of your voice raises even more. “i am willing to lay down my life to ensure your safety! i have been guarding you for years now and you have never acted this way. what has changed?”

for a moment, the only sound that punctuates the silence is your harsh breathing

seonghwa swallows

“my feelings…” he whispers, a stark contrast to the peak of emotions you have been riding. “my feelings for you have changed”

your throat tightens at his words

it is your turn to whisper, a noise of confusion leaving your lips

he takes another step closer, bringing himself to stand right in front of you as he looks down earnestly into your eyes

“i’d rather be the protector, and you be the protected”

“but…why?” your heart races with anticipation

“because i’m in love with you”

right at the invisible border that has been separating you two for as long as you have been his guard, seonghwa now stands, hands wringing together as he awaits a response

“then that makes the two of us,” you confess

you step forward to take your familiar spot on the other side of the line, except this time you do not stop

you stride over the boundary completely to stand by his side

raising yourself onto your tiptoes, you pull him down slightly by the front of his doublet so that you can press a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips

it stretches wider and curves upwards under the nurturing of your own smile

you can’t help but give him another kiss on the other side of his mouth to match the one you just gave him

“from now on,” seonghwa starts, “i’ll be your sword”

you wouldn’t really, and you will fight him to let you continue being his guard, but that doesn’t stop one last teasing question from escaping you

“does this mean i get to retire?”

yunho

pov: you're part of a rebel group

the crown prince is not in his fucking library

for the past three weeks, the crown prince has always been in the royal library at night

until today

under normal circumstances, his royal guards and staff would be alerted to ensure that the deviance in routine is a conscious decision and not an issue of the crown prince missing

except doing that would make your job significantly harder…

considering you have been ordered to assassinate him.

you’re part of the ‘red sun’, a revolutionary movement aiming to overthrow the current monarch

following the debilitating state of the king after falling ill and the subsequent coronation of queen jeong into power, she has since then established numerous royal decrees to keep everyone under her reign on a tight leash

a leash made of barbed wire

people are quick to become resentful and thirsty for an end to the dictatorship and bloodline

although he has made limited public appearances, the crown prince has also developed a reputation rivaling the queen’s

within the second year of the jeong dynasty, red sun has already amassed a multitude of supporters

the focus is currently on growing in numbers, preparing for an imminent revolution and picking off corrupt royals and noblists, be it through incrimination or assassination

dealing with those in positions of higher power is a task only completed by an elite selection of red sun rebels who have distinguished skills and traits that set them apart from peasants and commoners

and you are amongst the elite team

which is why you find yourself staking out on the tiled roof of the imperial palace, clothed in black with a mask and hooded cowl covering your face that blends you in with the darkness of night, on the orders of a higher-up to assassinate the crown prince

except the target is missing; the information you were given is wrong

which never happens

you can’t risk staying around for much longer, especially now that the crown prince has broken his routine

he could be anywhere and so could his royal guards

you shift your body to a crouch and place your hands on the cool tiles beneath you, ready to leave

only to spot a figure, crouched just like you are, on the opposite side of the roof

their face is a black hole of nothing within the shrouded confines of their hood, but you can feel their gaze piercing into you all the same

you run

you scramble to the edge of the roof and nimbly leap off the curved eaves to the neighbouring structure of the study room

when you glance backwards, you see the man - physique now obvious - is keeping up easily along the stepping stones of roofs

this game of cat and mouse isn’t going to work for long

if you don’t get caught by him first, you’re both going to get caught by the palace guards

so you make a split decision and alter your next trajectory lower

keeping your arms outstretched for the eaves, you grab on tightly when your fingers touch the edge of the roof and use your core to kick your legs up to stop your body from slamming into the wall from the momentum of your jump

you let go and drop to the ground like a feline, noiseless, and slink towards a line of trees

then you wait

he’s good, you note to yourself, when the only sound that alerts you to his presence is the quick scuffle of his feet as he softens his impact against the wall and the muted thud of his body landing on the ground

“state your purpose,” he demands, voice low yet firm

you ignore him to ask, “who are you?”

now up close, you can see that the man is wearing attire almost the same as you are, identity also hidden by the his bandana and hood-

wait

even the dark red stitching that subtly replaces the original seam on the right shoulder of his outer clothing is the same

the same as those on the elite team

“one of you,” he confirms your suspicions

except you don’t recognise his voice nor his build

being one of the earliest members of the rebel organisation, you are familiar with all the members who carry out missions like yours

he is not one of them; not one you can trust yet

when you don’t speak, he adds on, “we need to go. the safehouse might be in danger”

he refers to the two of you so easily, as if you and him are an unspoken team

you cannot trust this man until you know for sure he is part of red sun, so you ask him

“when is red most beautiful?”

it is a vague question with a fixed answer

one that reflects the heart of the revolutionary itself

during the sunrise of a new beginning

“during the sunrise of a new beginning,” the man says resolutely

the tension releases from your shoulders

“okay,” you opt to abandon your original mission. “let’s check on the safehouse”

the man offers you a hand to hike yourself up onto one of the outer walls of the palace before he jumps up himself with ease

you both flip over the top and land in unison

the moon illuminates the ground beneath your feet as you both sprint into the surrounding forest

the safehouse is really just a small hut situated far enough from the palace to stay inconspicuous, yet not close enough to the outer borders of the kingdom to risk discovery by the frequent border patrols

you both slow down as you approach the clearing, steadying your breaths and treading with cautious steps

and then you hear it

the shattering clang of a desperate parry

all it takes is a quick glance at the man by your side before your eyes harden with purpose and your steps are dashing in unison towards the hut

you’re both hit with the smell of a metallic tang in the air, and it’s not from your drawn swords

bursting through the door, you quickly take in the scene before you

several red sun members are scattered around the hut and slumped in varying degrees of injury

it’s easy to spot the intruder; they’re yanking their sword out of a body’s torso as they simultaneously turn to look at you

and it’s hard to miss the royal insignia of the jeong monarch on their chest plate

you have the element of surprise

but only for the next few seconds

you leap forward with the thud of footsteps of your partner following almost immediately, side-stepping once you close the distance to dodge a haphazard swing

there’s a brief break in defense when the enemy tries to aim for another strike that leaves the gap in the side of their armour exposed

you feel the slight resistance of your sword entering flesh as you thrust it forward into them

except when you try to tug it back out, a hand grasps your own and the hilt of your sword, stopping you from stepping away

the enemy has realised they are not going to make it out of this alive

but if they are to die, then they are going to take one last person with them

you.

you see glint of metal as they use their other hand to swing their sword down onto you, only for it to be deflected at the last second by another sword

the man you have met for barely an hour is now at your side with his towering protectiveness

in one smooth kick, his long leg sends the other careening into the wall of the hut with a mighty slam

you feel yourself jerking forward from the enemy’s grasp still on your hand

but the man next to you quickly tucks you into his side before you are also sent sprawling

“check on the others,” he briefly says, and then he is striding towards the fallen intruder

you only spare him another quick glance and then you rush to the nearest figure on the ground

you go around checking for pulses, and for those who are still breathing, the extent of their injuries

there are several casualties but nowhere near as many if you and the man had not come to check on the safehouse

which suddenly makes you pause in your tracks

how did he know about the attack in the first place?

you stretch your legs from their squatted position next to one of the red sun members and turn around to confront him

except…the man has disappeared

and so has the intruder’s body

days later, the question of whether you will chance upon the man again tonight flits through your mind when you find yourself perched in the very same spot on the tiled roof of the palace that gives you a clear view of the royal library

you have received another order to assassinate the crown prince as soon as you see the opportunity arise

this time, the note is accompanied by a cyanide capsule, a non-verbal message that this mission is to occur with your life on the line

you spot him

he’s preoccupied by the scroll in his hand as he makes his way through the shelves of parchments

you wait until he’s walked far enough into the library before you drop down from the roof, keeping your stance low to ensure you stay hidden as you silently move closer

you take out the jagged dagger from its sheath by your waist as you anticipate it will be too difficult to wield your long sword in the narrow aisles

and there the crown prince stands

he has his back to you, exposing him to your mercy

mercy that you have no intention of showing him

the cruel heir to the throne of an even crueler dictatorship deserves none

“it’s you again, isn’t it?”

you freeze

the crown prince still has not turned around to address you, but you can feel the dark gaze of his eyes on you as if he were looking at you

“you were here a few days ago”

fuck

how he knows you have no idea

what you do know though is that you have about two seconds to make a move before you lose this chance to assassinate him completely, and quite possibly, lose your life as well

the pill you have hidden in the breast of your tunic feels heavy

“you are part of red sun, are you not?”

this time the crown prince does turn around to face you, but it isn’t the nonchalance with which he reveals your identity that makes your head reel

it is the warmth and softness in his gaze and the hint of a smile on his face that does

what the actual fuck

you’re convinced that the crown prince is not only heinous, but also batshit crazy

“i am,” you spit out at him, “with orders to assassinate you, in fact”

his mouth thins into a tight line, “the orders you have received are false”

“sounds exactly like something a crown prince would say to avoid being assassinated,” you scoff

but then his next words change everything

“red is most beautiful during the sunrise of a new beginning”

before you have time to fathom the bomb that has just been dropped, your heads swivel simultaneously towards the entrance of the royal library when a voice calls out for the crown prince

“hide,” he hisses urgently

and then he’s stepping further away to conceal your presence as best as possible

you hear the shuffle of footsteps approaching before they stop, dangerously close to where you’re crouched behind a bookshelf

“apologies for interrupting your time, crown prince,” they say

from where you are you can see the crown prince’s expression clear as he lets out a small huff, “i have told you many times to just call me yunho”

“of course, crown prince yunho”

even though you can’t see the other person’s expression, you can hear the amusement in their voice

they continue, “i have the information you have requested for”

“thank you,” you see him - yunho - receive a small scroll. “the queen does not know?”

“no, i made sure to be as discreet as possible”

yunho thanks the other once again and your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets when he bows his head in appreciation as he dismisses them

is this the same crown prince as the rumours?

and what is he doing behind his mother’s back?

you don’t realise you’ve been staring dumbly at him until he’s back in front of you with amusement on his face

he stands tall and proud, robes accentuating his stature and nobility

“who exactly are you,” you dare to ask

your voice is small - you feel small, crouched at his feet like a stark physical representation of the power he holds over you

but then he takes yet another step closer and kneels down so that your eyes meet at the same level

“i am the leader of red sun. the creator of the whole revolution”

your ankles actually do give out at that and you have to seat yourself on the floor

because how is any of this possible?

you must have voiced your thoughts out loud, because before you know it, yunho is crossing his legs and making himself comfortable on the floor right in front of you

it makes you feel so strange

the crown prince’s willingness to make himself an equal before you - and even to his staff from earlier

yunho starts to explain

a change in monarch, particularly one of such dictatorship, requires massive momentum and synergy; something he cannot produce alone nor without the support of the people

thus, red sun came into existence for the exact same reason you and all the other supporters have joined

in hopes of a sunrise one day that marks a new beginning

a new leadership

except recently he has had growing suspicious of the presence of a traitor within the organisation, which were confirmed the night the safehouse was attacked

“that night…that man was you,” you realise, “and that’s how you know who i am”

he nods, “and that’s also how i know your orders are false.” yunho nudges you playfully with his knee, “pretty sure i never ordered for my own assassination”

yunho continues to explain that he had taken the intruder back for interrogation, but then you frown when he reveals the enemy had swallowed a suicide pill before any information could be gained

he has an inkling that someone in a high position of power is involved, since the pills are almost impossible to gain access to, but it cannot be ruled out as a coincidence

“hang on,” you pull down the top of your tunic in a hurry

yunho scrambles to cover his eyes and turns his head as he jokingly sputters out, “woah okay, this is moving a little fast don’t you think?”

you tug impatiently on the sleeve of his robe, telling him to look

yunho hesitates for another second before lowering his hands and realising you have-

“a suicide pill?”

you look at each other, because this can only mean one thing

the pills are not a coincidence; the enemy is much closer than yunho would like

you’re both unsure how much time there is until the traitor decides to order someone else to assassinate yunho, or worse, decides to finish the job off themselves

but from that very night of discovery, you and yunho work together incessantly against a ticking time bomb

it’s a delicate balance between finding as many leads as you can and spreading out your investigations to stay under the radar

yunho tries to look further into the cyanide pills while you try to uncover any information regarding the order you had been given

whoever is behind it all has kept their tracks hidden well

there isn’t much to report from either of your ends whenever you sneak into the palace to meet up with yunho

but he makes it very hard for you to feel discouraged when he makes your meetings seem like casual catch ups between - you dare say - friends

you have yet to catch him by surprise whenever you drop down from the roof in front of him in an attempt to scare him; he has an uncanny ability to sense your presence

except, you think you prefer being unsuccessful, because your indignant grumbles never fail to bring out his toothy grin and an excited body jiggle

other times he is the one trying to fluster you

“remember that time you literally tried undressing yourself in front of me-”

“i was taking the pill out to show you!”

you bring your thumb and index finger closer together in front of your face and squint at the gap

“i am this close to changing my mind and assassinating you after all”

he gets a kick out of it, pretending to beg for your mercy, “oh please spare me, your majesty”

other times, yunho teases you for always keeping your cowl and mask on

“bet it’s because you’re ugly or something,” he jokes

and you bite back that he had his face covered too when you both met, so you’re one to talk, ugly

“but since then i’ve always shown you my face as the crown prince. you can see me nice and clear,” he suddenly leans forward, so close you can see the dip of his cupid’s brow. “what do you think about me now?”

you swallow hard

you’re glad you have your mask on because you can feel your face rapidly heating up

“i think…” you gently cup his jaw, “you look better with your mask on,” as you nudge his face to the side

you cannot help but join in with your own chuckles at his laughter and boyish glee

and eventually, you two have a breakthrough

yunho manages to trace the cyanide back to a traveling merchant operating under the guise of selling rare herbs and medicine

in the transaction ledger, there is an unusually large purchase under the name of ‘lee minjun’

“i’m sure i’ve seen the name before somewhere, but i can’t remember where,” yunho huffs

you let out your own huff at his elbow that has very naturally taken a rest on your shoulder

pulling out a stack of paper, you spread it out onto the table before you two

they are past records of certain red sun missions that, upon looking back, seem suspicious

“i noticed a mark on a couple of them, a drawing or character perhaps? except none of them are fully intact. it’s almost like the paper was accidentally marked”

you point them out to yunho in hopes that he will have a better idea

he doesn’t - not at first

not until he chances upon two that vaguely align with each other to form a clearer image

“this-” yunho runs his hand through his hair, “this is butler lee’s stamp. my father’s butler.”

the king’s butler?

lee?

your eyes snap to yunho’s, just as his meet yours

“lee minjun”

you sink back in your seat

there’s now definite proof that the king’s butler is at the very least involved

the question of why and what for remains

in fact, you and yunho would not put it past the queen either to be involved too

there is a long moment of shared silence as you both mull over what this means for the future

yunho breaks the silence first

“after this all ends…do you want to work for me, officially?” he clears his throat, “will you stay by my side?”

after this all ends

you two must still uncover butler lee’s motives; likely part of a much grander scheme involving queen jeong too

you two must still bring down the whole monarch; with the support of red sun, yunho needs to sit on his rightful throne

the sun has yet to rise but you can see the faint hues of orange and twilight blue in the horizon

the new beginning is close

and at that, something in you relaxes

crumbles and disintegrates with utter relief

“it would be my honour to stay by your side forever, yunho”

and then you are removing your hood and mask, daring to breathe and feel alive and hopeful for once

ironically, yunho chokes on air

you glance at him to find that he is unable to meet your eyes

you think your eyes are deceiving you because-

the tips of his ears are a glowing red

you could definitely get used to seeing the usually calm and collected crown prince become a shy, blushing mess

the corner of your mouth rises with smugness, “like what you see?”

“you should really keep your hood and mask on,” he mumbles

“and why is that?” you humour him

he finally looks at you

and when he sees the shit-eating grin plastered across your face, his shoulders suddenly fill out again with confidence and cockiness to match yours

“because,” his voice deep and flirtatious, “with a pretty face like that, you’re going to distract me from my duties”

yeosang

pov: you're in an arranged marriage with him

ever since you could understand the words coming out of your parents’ mouths, you have known that you will be married to yeosang

it just made sense

for the respective princess and prince of two powerful kingdoms to join together, leading to increased power and stronger allies

it is tradition for the pair to meet their chosen spouse for the first time only when both parties have turned sixteen, and even then, subsequent meetings are rare until the time of the actual wedding

so you spend the first sixteen years of your life infatuated with the idea of your prince charming - of prince yeosang - wondering what he looks like, what his personality is like, and how you two will fall in love

and when you finally reach that long-awaited first meeting, prince charming is everything and more than what you have envisioned

if angels with broken wings were exiled to earth, they would look like yeosang

he is soft-spoken and slightly reserved, as any awkward teenager meeting their future spouse would be, but you don’t miss the way that his eyes overflow with adoration and his shoulders shake with exuberant giggles whenever his little sister, yeoreum, comes tottering into the room

he always bends down onto one knee to match her eye level, uncaring of the stains that mark his pants even as his mother narrows her eyes in disdain, and he listens with utmost sincerity when yeoreum tells him about the secret pink and glittery fairy she spotted in the courtyard

they remind you of the relationship you share with your own little brother, juwon, who is barely half your age and height, yet has you wrapped around his little finger

you lean down closer with a hum at the soft tug on your dress to hear your little brother whisper conspiratorially into your ear, “he looks stupid”

if looks could kill, yeosang would be dead right now

you stifle a laugh as you flick juwon’s chin affectionately at his sudden display of childish jealousy

if anything, you’re pretty sure you are the one who looks stupid

stupidly in love

because walking away from that first meeting with yeosang and his family, you know that you are absolutely smitten for the prince

unable to quell the restlessness of having to wait until the next unforeseeable meeting, you pick up a quill that very same day you return to your palace and start writing

it takes you all night, the gentle gleams and winks of the stars keeping you company until they rotate shifts with the songs of the waking world

but by the time you have crossed out and scrunched your way through rolls and rolls of parchment paper, you are satisfied with the letter you have written

the letter addressed to prince yeosang, which you task eunju, one of your maids, with passing it to the royal couriers for delivery to the kang palace

it is a simple letter, thanking him for the enjoyable day, yet it holds the deeper message that you are interested in him and would like to become better acquainted before your marriage

you wonder whether his cheeks will flush a pretty red as his butler hands him your letter

whether he will trace his fingers delicately over the curve of your words

whether he will bite back a smile as he pictures you saying the words to him

two weeks pass, and you approximate the letter to have just been delivered to his kingdom

and although you desperately wish for him to immediately sit down with a quill in hand to pen out his reply, you wait and give him a week before you eagerly start counting down the days until the arrival of his letter

your whole life you have been able to wait patiently

you wonder what has changed now that mere weeks feel like an eternity

the day yeosang’s letter is due to arrive, you are sporadic bursts of giggles, twirls and skips throughout the palace

even juwon is starting to become sick of getting swept up into a crushing hug to the cheery tune of i loveee youuuu every single time you pass him

nothing can bring you down from cloud nine

only…the letter never comes

not the day after, not the week after, not the month after

you’re disappointed, of course, but you busy yourself with reasons why yeosang has not replied, and you don’t give up

you send him another letter, and then another, and another

sometimes you just tell him about your day - what made you smile, what made you sad, something interesting you saw, something your little brother said

other times you tell him about yourself - your hobbies, likes and dislikes, aspirations, fears

and you also wonder about him

you ask what he likes, what he smiles at, what makes him sad, what his dreams are

with each letter that you hand over to eunju to be delivered, it becomes harder and harder to stay optimistic - not even the words of encouragement from your favourite maid lifts your spirits

you continue like this for over a year, still yet to receive a reply

until-

you do.

it feels like you are brought back to that very night of your first meeting, feeling so very alive as hope and excitement cascade into your body the moment eunju hands you a letter with a smile

with shaking hands, you fumble to unpeel the wax seal and free the envelope’s contents - a single piece of paper, neatly folded

your mind races with anticipated words and explanations

perhaps he had been too shy to reciprocate your letters earlier

or perhaps your letters had been lost in transit

you unfold the parchment as the hairs on your skin raise in anticipation, only to find it blank save for one scrawled sentence in the middle of the paper-

stop sending me letters.

and just like that, the clock strikes twelve

your carriage reverts into a pumpkin

and your carefully curated story of prince charming disintegrates into ashes

you don’t write to him again.

years later, the stacks of parchment scrolls on the wooden desk of the guest room you are currently residing in feel like a fresh slap in the face each time your eyes land on them

they are a stark reminder of your very own letters, the cold rejection you received, and the irony of the only letter you ever received again following his being one from the kang monarchs, announcing the proceeding of the royal wedding between you and their son

now, only a few days newly-wed to yeosang, the king and queen are gracious enough to let you sleep in one of the guest rooms temporarily, under your claims of adjusting to a life in a new kingdom and as a wife

really, you are trying to avoid yeosang for as long as you can

you spend your time instead getting to know his little sister better, which is why you find yourself sitting side by side with yeoreum, legs dangling off the edge of your bed

she eyes the vase of flowers on your bedside table curiously, “did you buy that?”

“no,” you reach out to touch the baby’s breath, “someone delivered it to my room”

you had offhandedly mentioned to some of your staff the other day that flowers would make your room look more homey, and you had woken up the morning after to find the beautiful vase teeming with flowers next to you

“why?” you ask yeoreum when she hums thoughtfully

“it looks just like the vase in my brother’s room, but he’s weird about it. yeo never lets anyone touch it, much less have it”

you blanch a little, “in that case i’ll give it back to him later then”

“you don’t like it? or…you don’t like my brother? my brother talks about you a lot, you know,” she reveals

caught off-guard by her perceptiveness, you reveal that you have been hurt before

you don’t specify by what exactly or who it is that you’re talking about, but she seems to understand regardless

later that night, sweet yeoreum barges into yeosang’s room and with as much feistiness as she can muster, she glares at her brother and interrogates, “what did you do to make her upset?”

before he can so much as blink, yeoreum concludes, “you boys are dumb. go talk to her and fix it or something,” and then walks out with a huff

there’s no one there to witness it, but yeosang nods anyway

heart feeling a little heavy after your conversation with yeoreum, you head towards the kitchen to seek solace in the sweet pastry you are usually served each morning

the first time you tasted the danish pastry, decorated with strawberries and cream cheese, was when you had traveled to yeosang’s palace at the age of sixteen for your first meeting

you remember the blissful expression that had bloomed across your face with your initial bite, and no dessert ever captivated your tastebuds quite the same way ever again

if there is one good thing out of this arranged marriage with yeosang, then it would be the reunion between yourself and the strawberry danish

“your highness,” the head chef bows, followed by the rest of the staff in the kitchen, “how may we help you?”

when you ask for one of the pastries, the head chef apologises that there are none

“but we can make you one now, if you do not mind waiting”

you tell him not to go to the trouble and ease his worries, “i just thought there may have been leftover pastries”

“we make only one fresh every morning, specifically for you,” the chef explains, and confusion must settle across your features because he adds on, “his highness has expressed that you may like them”

oh?

flustered, you can only muster a short response of, “i do, thank you,” before you smile once more and excuse yourself

because of all people to notice and remember such a small detail, and then to go out of their way to put in the request with the kitchen on the off chance that it was still true, it was yeosang?

first the vase, and now this

you feel something deeply buried inside of you start to stir but you rush to nip it in the bud

your head and your heart are beginning to wage war against each other and suddenly everything feels like it’s too much

when you reach your bedroom, you throw open the double doors to step out onto the balcony, welcoming the chilling breeze of the darkening sky

you’re tired of fearing rejection if you open up

you’re tired of questioning yeosang’s intentions

and on top of it all, you suddenly miss home and you miss your parents and you miss juwon and-

“are you okay?”

yeosang’s soft question startles you, having missed his knocking at your door

he walks closer to join you out on the balcony when he sees that the answer is obviously a no, and he prompts you again, “what’s wrong?”

thoughts of vases and strawberry pastries flit across your mind

you start with half truths

“just missing my little brother”

“you love him a lot, don’t you,” yeosang smiles sweetly, “i can see it in the way you take care of yeoreum”

you can’t help the heat that slowly creeps up the back of your neck and to your ears, because it implies that he’s noticed all the times you’ve showered his little sister with the same love you give to juwon

it implies he’s noticed you

“what’s your fondest memory of juwon?” he asks when you nod

something within you thaws slightly at the fact that yeosang remembers your little brother’s name

you step closer to the edge of the balcony so that you can overlook the garden outside your room a little clearer, resting your hand on the railing as yeosang waits patiently

“we used to have this game we played. we had a lot of gardenia flowers growing around our courtyard and juwon loved cutting some to make me a mini bouquet,” you pause to shake your head with a chuckle, “it drove our mother nuts”

“doesn’t sound like it stopped him from continuing though, did it?” yeosang questions with mirth

“no, it didn’t,” your heart aches with fondness. “he would use a certain number of gardenias and make me guess what phrase containing the same number of letters he had in mind”

it never failed to tug your mouth into a smile whenever juwon giggled at your attempts to guess the flower phrase, even when most times he would bound away whilst singing answers like y-o-u s-t-i-n-k or d-u-m-b d-u-m-b

yeosang supports himself on the railing with one hand as he nearly folds in on himself in laughter, and before you know it, you too are gasping for air and wiping away tears from your eyes

when you both calm down relatively enough, only intermittent chuckles leaving your lips, yeosang clears his throat and scratches his neck awkwardly

“i know it might not be much, but maybe we can go out into town tomorrow and it might take your mind off things? and we can bring yeoreum along if that makes you feel more comfortable, because you’ve probably spent more time alone with her than you have with me?”

you don’t admit it, but you’re already feeling a little better, so you decide to tease, “are you asking me out on a date right now, kang yeosang?”

“oh, well, we’d be doing things a little backwards since we’re already like, married…but, yes? maybe? is that okay?”

it’s yeosang’s turn to flush a deep red as his usually composed demeanor is reduced to stutters, but you don’t notice under the faint glow cast by the moon now reigning the sky

“yeah, that’s okay”

you and yeosang smile fondly as your little trio stroll through a nearby town the following morning, his younger sister skipping ahead to peer at the colourful trinkets being sold at the market stalls, and your own small squad of royal soldiers following behind at a respectful distance

it’s kind of endearing how yeosang points out item after item, asking whether you like it or whether you find it pretty, in a not-so-subtle attempt to learn about your preferences

you have to stop him from buying you something from every second stall you both pass, but you’re unable to convince him from purchasing a small wooden toy as a gift for juwon, insisting that you give it to your little brother the next time you see him

the more you actually interact and talk with yeosang, the harder you find it to associate him with the memory of the yeosang in your rejected letters

because the equation of the letters, the vase and the pastries just does not add up

as you two sit under the awning of a small shop, watching yeoreum play with the shopkeeper’s dog, you find yourself unable to hold back anymore

“why didn’t you reply to my letters?” you break the silence, trying to hide the hurt laced in your voice

yeosang looks at you with wide eyes as his mouth stutters open

and in the smallest voice you have ever heard him speak with, he says

“you wrote me letters?”

your eyebrows knit together as your eyes dart back and forth between his, searching for any hint of deception

“too many to count,” you confess, “until you sent a letter telling me to stop…”

“impossible. i never got your letters”

your head recoils back as you try to make sense of his words, “but-”

“wait,” he interrupts

yeosang reaches into his robes, pulling out a small, wooden block, extending it out closer to you as he asks, “do you recognise this?”

upon closer inspection, you realise it’s a square seal stamp

it has the character ‘姜’ carved into it and you’ve seen it enough times to know it represents the kang family name - but the inscription that stylises the border is unfamiliar

“not the seal, no”

he swallows apprehensively, “i stamp all my letters with this to certify authenticity”

you let his words sink in as they throw you into a sandstorm of bewilderment

“but then-”

but then who wrote the letter?

and where did all your letters go?

the only people who would have known about them would be the royal couriers and…eunju

a memory flashes through your mind - the moment she handed you a letter with a smile

no, not a smile, you realise

a smirk

you are simultaneously overwhelmed with betrayal, guilt and apologeticness

yeosang doesn’t push you for a response, and you come to recognise that you are also grateful

“i’m sorry for doubting you,” you tell him

it’s nowhere close to the amount of things you want to confess, but it is a start, one that yeosang picks up on and understands immediately

“no, i’m sorry you felt the need to doubt me,” he offers. “that i didn’t make you feel loved enough”

“but i did, actually. the vase and the pastries, then our conversation last night…and even today”

he blushes a deep red as you list the things off with your fingers

“you weren’t meant to find out about the first two,” yeosang admits as he ducks his head shyly

then he suddenly perks up with a sudden thought

he ruffles inside his satchel that had been abandoned to one side, mumbling, “my sister said i did something to upset you…so i um, got you these”

he turns around to reveal a bouquet of flowers, looking a little rough for wear after being hidden in his bag all morning, but his clumsy consideration only serves to makes your heart skip dangerously

“forgive me?” he asks cheekily, and you both giggle at the absurdity of his question because it should very well be the other way around

“if you insist,” you take the bouquet into your hands

and finally, you allow the chains around your heart to fall away, “i can’t say no to my husband, can i?”

yeosang lets out a little squeak as you look at the bouquet more clearly, counting the number of flowers

you turn to ask if he remembers the game you told him about, but the way yeosang suddenly finds the patch of dirt near his foot absolutely fascinating tells you everything that you need to know

eight flowers

eight letters

i l-o-v-e y-o-u

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cannabiscomrade · 10 months

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This Disability Pride Month, I want people to picture US healthcare and food scarcity in a different way. Let's get into some anti-work discussion while we're at it. A lot of you need to remember how broad of a class "disability" is.

This is what I eat. This is adult formula and I use it as enteral nutrition. This is all I can eat and gain nutrients from, and I have to have access to consistent electricity and clean water to maintain it. I cannot tolerate a blended diet (also requires electricity) nor can I safely tolerate gravity/bolus feeds. I also get 100% of my hydration via tube- not pictured is the water necessary for my survival.

Despite the room it takes up in my kitchen, you may be surprised to learn that this is less than 2mo of formula. Less than 2mo of food.

I need 15 cases a month, which is $840/mo. My individual monthly food cost is almost $300 more than the average for Hawaii, the state with the highest US grocery costs. It is more than $500 over my state’s average. My medications also cost >$2200 a month on top of that.

Mine is 100% covered by my insurance- which is tied to my employer. This puts my disabled ass in the position of meat puppet for my employer because all of my needs are interconnected- food, drinking water, medications, running water, stable housing, and electricity. My employer has the power to choose whether I live or die and in this "mutually beneficial relationship", being a working disabled person serves them even more than the comparative able-bodied person because I have my hand forced towards company loyalty.

I really like my employer. But if this were not the case, changing jobs isn't really a safe option. Even if I had a job lined up, it can legally take up to 90 days (or longer in some cases) to get onto employer insurance. That's over $9,120 for 90 days (or more) of insurance lapse. COBRA is also a joke- my state charges $675.45/month for individual health insurance ONLY. That's still $2,026.35 and only if I was terminated, not voluntary resignation.

I think a lot of you need to remember how much disabled people are still an oppressed class- in the US disability law really has not done much for us and it has an extremely narrow view of what disability looks like. The ableism I've been seeing from the left has always been around, but during Disability Pride Month it has especially been a slap to the face.

#disability pride month #disability tag

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hanaonesflower · 9 days

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“let me do this for you.”

“let me get that for you.”

“don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

when nanami was around, it was like being watched by a hawk. not in a bad way of course, just not a way you're probably used to. he is always on it, taking care of everything from beginning to end, hell bent on you not ever lifting a finger and actually bar you from doing it, even behind his back.

"seriously, kento, I can do it myself!"

"absolutely not, you worked all day, when you come home, I take care of you."

you try to bargain, dishing out facts that he, too, has a full time job that usually pushes him to the brink of exhaustion that he may or may not recover from, yet, here he is, elbows deep in dough, insistent on making pasta from scratch. according to a recipe that you may have briefly mentioned weeks ago that you wanted to try.

you tried to pick up the knife and dice the tomatoes or turn on the stove, he shoos you away.

"this is getting out of control, kento."

"you can help me by taking a nice warm long bath, honey."

nanami knows what he's doing, the majority of the time. but will he ever express that he fumbles from time to time? never. not that his ego is inflated, but because he has prided himself for being to care for you boundlessly.

so when you leave the bath and find kento with his hand in a bucket of ice water, you realize something have gone south in the kitchen.

"kento! what happened?!"

"nothing to worry about my l-"

"enough! tell me, now."

your stern voice and attitude stun him, he's never seen you like this before. his behavior is downright concerning, he hasn't always been this way though. sure, he loves by serving, but he isn't always this stubborn or ridiculously protective. you have always cooked together, why would it be different this time, or the last few times within the past couple of months. nanami isn't unreasonable, but he can be if something pricked at his pride.

"I may have burned myself with the hot steam."

"may have? your skin is having a terrible reaction! for a smart man you can be so clumsy sometimes."

"it's not that bad."

you glare.

"okay, it's pretty burnt and it hurts."

"I bet it does."

you slowly pull his hand out from the ice bucket and lead him to the kitchen table and command him to sit still when you fetch the first aid. his palm is raw from the burn and his face twists in pain when you apply some pressure.

there isn't much conversation exchanged between you and him, but something is definitely hanging above your heads. kento seems to be closed off to it, but you're willing to get to the root of things.

"you haven't been yourself lately."

silence.

"I feel like this is not just about providing for me, something happened, and it affected you."

kento looks saddened by this. you are spot on. something did happen.

a few months ago, during a dinner party amongst friends, kento found himself begrudgingly involved in unpleasant conversations with his colleagues, the way they audaciously questioned his ability to care for his partner when he was always away on work trips or spending extra time at work. he took it to heart, kento questioned himself. he realized, that even though his colleagues were terribly annoying and invasive, they made some considerable points. he made the executive decision to fully take over, spinning a complete 180 on you. at first you thought it was sweet, until it became authoritarian.

"that's really how you feel?"

"have I been absent to you, y/n?"

you contemplate for a while, you truly wish he is around more, but you always understand the nature of his job.

"I do wish I can see you more often, when you had that 2-week long vacation, I was able to spend such amazing quality time with you, and it was awesome, but I also understand how your job is. I didn't want to come in between that."

"so I have been absent." he moaned defeatedly.

"please don't blame it on yourself like this, it's not healthy, I still love you, kento."

"this is all my fault, y/n, I should have been there for you more."

truthfully, you wish he was, but once again, you are both stuck between a rock and a hard place.

"have you been doing all this to somehow compensate?"

"is it working?"

he is trying to humor you, although at quite a horrid time, you still crack a smile.

"I think it's very kind of you."

he sighs.

"please, forgive me, my love. I became what you called a workaholic, I tried to get more hours to provide for you, only to come short in other aspects."

"I'm not an unemployed housewife, kento."

“this isn’t my way of saying that you are incapacitated in any way, i just wish that you didn’t have to worry about anything,” he groaned from the incessant gnawing of the antiseptic on his burnt wound.

“kento, this is a partnership, you’re not my servant and i’m not a spoiled brat,” he felt a little silly, nanami knew this fact yet he felt impotent in this sense. he opened and closed his lips, hoping to get his point across even further but nothing seemed good enough at theis point, he’s done fighting.

“whatever you’re going to say, it’s not going to change the fact that i love you,” you silence him.

“then can i say that i love you, too?”

“that, you can.”

⭒˚‧ ︵‿⭒ཐིཋྀ ཐིཋྀ⭒‿︵ ‧˚⭒ ⭒˚‧ ︵‿⭒ཐིཋྀ ཐིཋྀ⭒‿︵ ‧˚⭒ ⭒˚‧

note: PHEEeewww… it’s really good to be back :33 this piece shall be the redebut as it is one of my cuter fics. going back with smut pieces after such a long hiatus didn’t feel right so – soft nanami is always the way to go!! more content will be coming soon (smut included >.>), stay tuned ( ˘ ³˘)

#nanami kento #jjk nanami #soft nanami #nanami can do no wrong #nanami kento jjk #jjk nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami x y/n #nanami x you #kento nanami #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk scenarios #jjk fic #aisssHHH i love him more than ever b4 #just the sweetest broody guy evaaaa

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monratarot · 2 months

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How it will be the month of March 2024 for you?

Pick a card reading

Hello everyone! March is here so I guess that everyone is curios how this month will be for them. This is a simple and a short monthly guidance reading. Pick the pile that you are most drawn to and scroll down to read your monthly guidance reading for March.

Takes what resonate with you because remember that this is just a general reading and it might not apply for everyone.

Don't forget to like/reblog/comment and follow me! I would really appreciate it because it will help my blog grow!

So let's get started! Enjoy!

Moni🧚🏻‍♀️

Pile 1 ⋆☽🔮☾⋆ Pile 2 ⋆☽🔮☾⋆ Pile 3

｡･::･ﾟ★,｡･::･ﾟ☆ ｡･::･ﾟ★,｡･::･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:｡･::･ﾟ★,｡･::･ﾟ☆ ｡･::･ﾟ★,｡･::･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:

Pile 1

✨ possible travel for work or business purposes

✨putting in the hard work and effort to achieve your goals

✨ seeking new opportunities for growth and success

✨ avoiding risky financial decisions and focusing on saving money

✨ trusting your instincts and intuition to guide you in the right direction

✨ being open to new beginnings and taking control of your path

✨ being mindful of your health and well-being

✨ ending a relationship or situation that no longer serves you

✨ feeling content with what you have accomplished

✨ embracing change and new experiences

✨ being dedicated and focused on reaching your goals

✨ being open to new projects and opportunities

✨ being prepared for a major departure or transition in your life.

Monthly affirmation - I face the adventure of life eagerly

Quote of the month - ,,A single rose can be my garden...a single friend my world"(Leo Buscaglia)

Power of love message - Transformation - You use the power of love to move through illusions and shift into awareness

Crystal of the month - Rose quartz - New or renewed romantic love is here for you

Flower of the month - Yellow rose

•───⋅⋆₊☽⛦☾₊⋆⋅───••───⋅⋆₊☽⛦☾₊⋆⋅───••───⋅⋆₊☽⛦☾⁺⋆⋅───•

Pile 2

🌼 you may be feeling overwhelmed and indecisive, but trust that clarity will come soon

🌼 stay focused on your goals and trust in your abilities

🌼 communication is key in all aspects of your life right now

🌼 you may need to be open to new opportunities and experiences

🌼 allow yourself to be vulnerable and open to receiving love and support from others

🌼 keep a positive mindset and trust that things will work out in the end

🌼 remember to take care of yourself and prioritize your own well-being

🌼 embrace change and be open to new beginnings

🌼 trust in the process and have confidence in yourself

🌼 remember that success comes from hard work and determination

🌼 seek guidance from those who care about you and trust in their advice

🌼 remain grounded and focused on your path ahead

🌼 allow yourself to be open to new connections and opportunities

🌼 overall, trust in yourself and your abilities to overcome any challenges that may come your way.

Monthly affirmation -I welcome and nurture the new in my life

Quote of the month - ,,A wise man has dignity without pride; a fool has pride without dignity."(Confucius)

Power of love message - Tolerance - You appreciate other points of view because you sense the love in everyone

Crystal of the month - Rhodochrosite- Be gentle with yourself

Flower of the month - Dahlia

•───⋅⋆₊☽⛦☾₊⋆⋅───••───⋅⋆₊☽⛦☾₊⋆⋅───••───⋅⋆₊☽⛦☾⁺⋆⋅───•

Pile 3

☀️ trust in the journey and have faith in yourself; opportunities are on the horizon, and you are capable of achieving great things

☀️ focus on self-care and nurturing your emotional well-being during this time; take time to rest and recharge

☀️ look for the beauty and joy in everyday life; practice gratitude and mindfulness to cultivate a positive mindset

☀️ seek out opportunities for personal growth and self-improvement; be open to learning and expanding your horizons

☀️ relationships with others are important, but don't forget to prioritize your relationship with yourself; self-love and self-care are essential for your overall happiness

☀️ listen to your intuition and inner wisdom; trust yourself to make the right decisions for your life

☀️ remain grounded and centered in the present moment; focus on what truly matters and let go of distractions and negativity

☀️ embrace change and transformation; be open to new possibilities and opportunities for growth

☀️ remember to be patient and compassionate with yourself and others; practice kindness and understanding in all your interactions

☀️ keep a positive mindset and believe in your own power to create the life you desire.

Monthly affirmation -I am serene and still.

Quote of the month - ,A high station in life is earned by the gallantry with which appalling experiences are survived with grace(Tennessee Williams)

Power of love message - Commitment - You dedicate yourself to your beliefs wholeheartedly, knowing that love is the essence of your very being

Crystal of the month - Rubellite- Be gentle with yourself

Flower of the month - Sweet William

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gay-jewish-bucky · 1 year

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Debunking the Claim that Bucky Barnes' Dog Tags "Prove He Cannot Be Jewish"

In 2021 and 2022, when discussing the fact that MCU!Bucky (henceforth referred to simply as Bucky) is based off of Arnie Roth, a gay Jewish man and Steve's childhood best friend, I received pushback from fans telling me that Bucky can't possibly be Jewish due to his dog tags; citing a behind the scenes picture posted by Sebastian Stan to his instagram story.

Transcription of the dog tags:

James B. Barnes (Legal Name) 32557038 (Serial Number*) T41 42 (Tetanus Immunization) O (Blood Type) R. Barnes (Next of Kin) 3092 Stockton RD (Address) Shelbyville IN (Location) P (Religion Marker)

*A serial number starting with a 3 indicated that the servicemember was drafted into the Army, it's important that we do not forget that Bucky didn't chose to fight.

During World War II the dog tags of American service members would have had one of the following regulation religion markers:

P for Protestant (the marker we see on Bucky's dog tags)

C for Catholic

H for Hebrew, this being the marker for 'Jewish'

NO (or left blank) for No Religion

For Jewish servicemembers fighting in Europe, being discovered to be a Jew by your captors–especially if you were captured by the Nazis–carried considerable risk and could mean the difference between life or horrific torture, experimentation and possibly even death.

Some Jewish service members, justifiably incredibly fearful of what could happen if they were found out, would either omit a religion marker altogether or, after getting their tags, would attempt to obscure the 'H' marker in some way so it could not be read by their captors.

While this saved some lives, it was not a perfect and fool-proof system, and we have no way of knowing how many times it failed.

In 1943, the year Bucky was drafted, the Army introduced a more official (and more widely adoptable, and thus widely adopted) option to protect Jews in its ranks:

Through the European Theatre of Operations United States Army, Jewish servicemembers could elect to have the 'H' marker for Hebrew on their dog tags replaced with a 'P' for Protestant.

This would offer Jewish servicemembers a more convincing layer of protection if they were ever captured by the enemy, because, unlike an obscured religion marker (or that lack of one) which could itself draw suspicion, a set of dog tags printed with a 'P' would be entirely indistinguishable from the dog tags worn by a gentile and would be less likely to draw suspicion.

Due to this option being made available to Jewish people serving in the United States Armed Forces, the 'P' marker on Bucky's dog tags not only does not definitively prove that he's really a gentile, in actuality its presence provides even further historical support in favour of him being a Jewish man.

Sources and Additional Reading:

Jewish GIs and Their Dog-Tags by Rabbi Akiva Males - Hakirah

A Star of David for Pvt. Benjamin Garadetsky - Jewish Telegraphic Agency (jta.org)

U.S. Army WW2 Dog Tags | WW2 US Medical Research Centre (med-dept.com)

Do You Know the History of the "Dog Tag" (jcveteranscouncil)

Beyond The Battle: Religion and American Troops In World War II (uky.edu)

World War II and American Jewish Identity

European Theater of Operations, United States Army - Wikipedia

Pride Month 2022, 40 Years of Arnie Roth and Michael Bech - Marvel Comics: The Queer History Behind MCU Bucky’s Backstory

J.M. DeMatteis, the creator of Arnie, confirming the character's use for MCU!Bucky

Full screenshot of Sebastian Stan's post of the dog tag

How to Decode a WWII US Army Serial Number | Amy Johnson Crow

#bucky #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #marvel #mcu #jewish!bucky #jewish!bucky barnes #jewish bucky #military history #marvel meta #arnie roth #Assorted Jewish Writings - Shoah #jewish bucky resources #jewish bucky barnes

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cloveroctobers · 3 months

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FEBRUARY FLUFF — CARMY BERZATTO.

A/N: so carmy won this time around!!! Thanks to all those that voted and ultimately made this decision for me lol. Hope you guys enjoy this and have a safe, healthy, and happy love season 🩷 + yes this is a mixture of fluff and angst...i mean come on! I wouldn't be me if i didn't include that in here somewhere!

PROMPTS ARE FROM HERE + HERE & I’m using: 1. “…Okay, so the only way for us to enjoy that huge discount is to act like we’re dating.” “What, so you’d fake date me for discounted food but you wouldn’t real date me even though I could take you out to the best restaurants out there in town every fucking night if you wanted me to?” + always giving the other the first bite of their food < or the last.

WARNINGS/SN: I wrote with a black or brown reader in mind although reader isn't physically described + they’re given a name only when mentioned, language is a thing here duh!, this is LENGTHY, lots of timelines: reader + nat became friendly before season 1 during the summer prior to 7 fishes which is estimated to be five years before season 2, reader knows of carmy due to past work, I feel like she can be just a few year(s) older than carmy but younger than nat—there’s a age gap for the Berzatto’s anyways, sexual relations are mentioned, this piece takes place months after the grand opening, & finally there’s a possible chance for a poly relationship or maybe just multiple crushes going on? Take that how you will.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

it was a Sunday.

The kind of Sunday you woke up embarrassed about but knew you had to swallow your pride and just send out that text. You knew you wouldn’t be judged regardless reaching out to Fak because he’s built to deal with things like this and never made you feel like shit about anything.

You usually had to squeeze it out of him to get him to lay out any cons about a situation but appreciated most times when he didn’t. Your minds been going haywire with a recent assignment as a food journalist and it really slipped your mind, although you were usually a quick thinker, you’ve been stressed over this recent restaurant. Thankfully it clicked for you after throwing a tantrum to simply reach out to Fak to come help you out.

The stupid lever in your bathroom decided to stop flushing on you and of course you panicked. Who wouldn’t panic in a situation like that? You no longer had a roommate and strongly debated if you even wanted to search for another; after the shady actions of the previous one, so you really didn’t have to worry about them giving you shit either. (Let’s see if your rent feels the same next month!)

It was just you in the end and perhaps you were learning to be okay with that.

Yet that didn’t stop you from FaceTiming Sydney about it. “Hey Siddy, how’s your day going?”

“Pretty good, yours?” She politely asked as she moved down the hallway of her shared apartment to prop her phone on the pedestal sink, moving around her functioning bathroom to grab some oil to grease her scalp.

Smacking your lips you glare, “it fucking sucks.”

“Oh?” Sydney questioned, appearing back in frame, “what happened? Did someone egg and scratch up your car again after a review you gave them? Noo wait, don’t tell me there’s a bullet hole?!”

That was light work compared to New York (it really wasn’t a competition of which state had its worst moments but your home state left you kinda triggered, not gonna lie!) where you were just starting off and those that were in tune with the culinary world didn’t take your words with a grain of salt. Most nights you still woke up gasping for air, reaching for your throat due to some trauma of a break in from a well-known nepo-baby chef. Don’t get that twisted, your mom didn’t raise no punk but that didn’t mean those events didn’t mess with your mental and you acknowledged that every time you had a nightmare. They only served three years and five months compared to the original five year sentence.

Ah the system…got to love how that works out for the privileged!

You shrugged, “no…the threats have been pretty tame lately so I can give myself a pat on the back for that. However! I still am in a crisis.”

Sydney begins to move her braids around to expose her scalp, “Elaborate for me.”

“My toilet won’t flush!” You whine, laying flat on your messy bed. You tended to not make your bed on Saturdays and didn’t get around to making it today—although it was after 3pm.

Sydney asks, “Like the waste won’t go down…?”

“Exactly!” You confirm throwing your arm over your eyes dramatically, “The lever thing is moving like my old dislocated shoulder.”

Sydney gags, “don’t fucking remind me of that day. That was spooky to witness but I am glad you healed from that.”

“Thanks girl, means a lot, truly.”

Sydney gives a small smile, “don’t mention it…have you considered YouTubing it? That’s what I do when I don’t want to ask anyone for help and figure it out by myself.”

You hummed knowing this was true. In a sense you could be like that too, especially when it came to the working field, since writers can tend to be some nasty bitches and always in rivalry with each other. You made a name for yourself in Chicago as well, coming from New York where you worked just as hard-maybe even harder than the rest to mean and write exactly how you felt about cuisine, regardless if anyone agreed or not. It wasn’t about if people liked you, the relationship with food would always be more significant and hold value in your life, just like the rest of these chef’s you encountered and you got that, people were allowed to be sensitive about their work. You’ve come toe to toe with many chef’s around the world who didn’t like your take on their craft but that didn’t mean you didn’t understand them. They hardly took the time to really dive into your ratings and automatically took it as you shit talking or not having any idea what you were saying since you “weren’t really a chef,” but you knew your worth most days.

Yes you could be straight forward but that didn’t mean you lacked compassion like some chef’s liked to think according to your reviews. You often wrote in a way that was puzzling to some, almost philosophical or riddle like with your own twist. Some just didn’t get it and that was okay but you wouldn’t back down from any confrontation. The second they didn’t want to really listen, that’s when you removed yourself from the escalating problem. It didn’t have to get violent like some wanted to inflict.

“Why didn’t I think of that?!” You exasperated, slapping the palm of your hand to your forehead.

Sydney snorted, “maybe because you’re under a lot of pressure lately and the most simplest of things don’t come as easily as they should.”

“You would think I have high blood pressure with the way these past two weeks have been.”

Sydney says, “give it time.”

“Gee, thanks! That’s exactly the kind of shit I want to hear from you.” You roll your eyes at the blurt of words that commonly escaped the braided girl’s mouth.

Sydney breathes out a laugh, “I’m just joking!”

“Yeah, yeah! Maybe I should text fak back and tell him not to come by!”

“You asked fak instead of the apartment manager?” Sydney is in amazement.

“Fuck that noise, he’s so full of shit that he should see a doctor about it. He’ll show up to analyze the problem, then acts like he’s going to fit you into the schedule and then when you catch him in the lobby he pretends that he has amnesia.” You commented with a scowl.

You get ready to minimize the call to text fak but some obnoxious knocks at the door made you pop up from your bed. “That was fast!”

Hopping up from the bed and padding out of the last bedroom in the apartment, you made the journey through the foyer to the awaiting black front door. Peeking through the peephole you spot Fak grinning widely up into it, almost making you jump back.

“He’s made it Siddy! I’ll call you back!”

“K. Good luck!” Sydney calls out before you end the call to pull the door wide open.

“Neil!” You scream, quickly latching onto his tatted wrist ready to yank him in until you notice someone else is with him, “…why is he here?” You point.

Fak quickly glances over at a brimmed Carmy who raised a brow at him in a silent told you so manner, “I mean we were having a boy’s day when you called and I didn’t want my buddy to be left out. Plus, it’s always great to have some assistance.”

“…i find it hard to believe that Carmen wants to fix my toilet.” You cross your arms, poking out your hip as you stare at him.

Carmen shrugs his shoulders, “I wanted to wait in the car if it makes you feel any better.”

“Hmm…it doesn’t.”

Carmy rolls his eyes, pinching at the bridge of his nose briefly in agitation, “you know what, fak you’ve got this right? I know you do so—

“Nope!” Fak quickly interrupts, “this maybe a two person job so aspie if you just let us do what we came to do—

Shooting an arm out to block the doorway you peer into Fak’s dark teal eyes to show you mean business, “didn’t I say I dislike that nickname, Neil?”

He nods.

“Also i find it offensive that you brought an uninvited guest to my place.”

“Just be glad it wasn’t Richie because that was also a possibility before he ran off to pick up the kid.” Carmy snaps making you roll your eyes.

If Richie was here you been would have slammed the door in both Fak and his face. Sure you had some sort of tension with Carmy and beef with .......his cousin but at least Carmy only gave it back to you when he had the energy to—meaning if he was already on one. The issue was simple, you wrote a not so nice review once before when the eldest berzatto, Michael was alive and running the joint. Richie couldn’t forget that and actually kept the clipping, yes the clipping of the review way back when. He had the receipts to show Carmy and Carmy actually brushed it off then, not seeming to really care or doubt some of the words that were said.

He came to revamp the place because Mikey left it for him, to fix the mess his big brother left behind, to create what they’ve always dreamed of. Sure he got shit for it in the beginning and part of him felt like maybe that was your case too? He could relate to you on that, yet the weight was slightly different on his part and he even spoke with you not long after he found those tomato cans.

That gave him a certain push he couldn’t really explain. He may have done a brief dive on you, wondering why you felt acquainted to him—completely forgetting about seeing you once around Noma—choosing to start with reading previous reviews by you on other restaurants here in Chicago and a few interviews you’ve done over the world. You weren’t just some nobody, you held your titles well and it reflected in your work.

You weren’t clueless.

He just didn’t really know what he was dealing with until a short time ago.

What he didn’t expect was for you to show up again on opening night with a certain head chef, also from New York. That made carmy more anxious than anything, seeing you sitting beside that four eyed fuck ready to set off a tornado in the heart of the bear. Was that your motive all along? With carmy attempting to build a bridge, not for you to kiss his ass with praise but there was a odd need to have a simple conversation with you. It was weird but it seemed like Sydney, Fak, and Nat liked you?

The jury was still out with the rest—except Richie but you were a mystery to Carmy. However carmy wasn’t the best at putting a read on people or their emotions in the first place, he was good at fucking that up unless you’re screaming it into his face. That’s just how he operated.

“You two can come in—only because I don’t have the patience with the manager here and Neil’s the best I’m gonna get.” You state while fak slaps a hand on his chest.

“That was really sweet, Aspen.” Fak cooed ready to pull you into a bone crushing hug but you hold up a finger.

“Save the hugs until after you fix my problem.”

“You got it boss,” Fak salutes before diving under your arm to travel through your apartment, ooo-ing and ah-ing before finding the bathroom around the corner from the living room.

Sighing you drop your arm and wave carmy through, who keeps his view straight while traveling through the hallway. You call out to him, “you can have a seat on the couch.”

“What? Did you drop a load or something and is that the real reason why you don’t want me to help Fak?” Carmy comes right out with it, nose twitching in amusement after whipping around to face you in the center of the living room.

See…only when he’s frustrated or overly focused will he just let it out. Some may look at this as Carmy attempting to make a joke but you took that somewhat personally. The only thing you were thinking after he said this was: What an ego on this one huh?

You stop on your heels and tilt your head to the side, “are you telling me that you think women or fem pronoun users don’t take shits? Do you know what it feels like to have period shits?”

Carmy blinks at you and shouts with his hands out, “I...don't even know what the fuck you're getting at? I wasn't even trying to be sexist to you just then! I asked you a honest question—

“About you being in my business,” you pointed out, “contrary to your beliefs I have a heart and decided to be nice to you and let you stay in my place to keep warm. You’re welcome!”

“Oh bullshit, don’t act like you’re doin’ me any favors.” Carmy scowls, “you don’t even want me here.”

You shrug, “yet you’re here in my apartment, yelling.”

Carmy exhaled while you smirked at him sweetly before turning to lean against the wall that leads to the bathroom.

“Everything okay in there, Neil?”

“Oh yeah!” He says, “I think I figured out the problem. Easy peasy!”

“Great!” You exclaim, pulling your phone out from your sweats to read a very important email.

The weight of stress seemed to lift a good chunk as you quickly responded to a email that you’ve been waiting for. You’ve been invited out (squeezed in) to a taste test at this restaurant for this evening that you’ve been trying to get into for a month before you brought it up to your employer. The deadline was approaching for the end of this week to have a review ready and they just responded to you five days before that deadline! Reading over it twice, the squeal in you slipped through your smile until you read the exceptions.

If you were to go over the amount of food purchased, which you would put on the company card anyways, you can get a discount if you brought a plus one and some reimbursement if the review was satisfactory to the owners—which the last part wasn’t unfamiliar to you.

You usually didn’t bring a plus one to any of the places you did reviews for, you got comfortable doing outings all on your own but this was different. Sure you were somewhat known in the culinary world but that didn’t mean you were a millionaire and this restaurant was apparently upscale. There was a waiting list regardless of your status—even for the celebrities that went there so this was a big deal and they gave you a short notice. Usually Sundays were known for a reset for the week but what better way to start it?

You don’t go forward with reaching out to anybody else that you work with. This was your battle and you were aware that two of your other co-workers also reached out to this restaurant. You just hoped you were the only one they picked and wouldn’t miss out on the great opportunity just because you weren’t sure about your guest.

A few hours before show time and you had to find somebody to attend with you. Your best friend was away in Cabo for a honeymoon, the other (who recently planned on moving to ATL) was dealing with the flu and had their no good ex boyfriend taking care of them, Sydney was suddenly MIA, and you even considered inviting Natalie Berzatto to piss carmy off just a bit.

“Hey, Nat!” You greet into the phone as you walk into the kitchen, witnessing Carmy perk up from the couch.

It’s small talk at first: you asking about how her day is going as a mom to be, if she’s going to be at the bear tomorrow, did she watch the Emmy’s the other night, tell her husband you said hello, and then finally if she had plans for tonight.

“…are you asking me to hang out?”

“We had fun at that club way back when no?”

“Yeah! But that was how long ago?”

You knew it’s been awhile. You were always friendly with Natalie, meeting her first—well second out of the siblings down at the small mart one summer you helped out at that your great-uncle owned. She was huffing about something her boyfriend at the time, Pete forgot to bring her and some groceries she was picking up for her mom. You were cool enough to become Facebook friends, exchange numbers, go out for coffee and go to the club together. This wasn’t unusual to call each other randomly but you knew she commonly got shit from Michael and Richard about her talking and hanging out with you.

The thing about Natalie Berzatto is that she always tried to give people the benefit of the doubt. Yes she saw your review yet she kinda laughed about it initially but it was all fuck you’s from the other two loud mouth’s. Of course she was going to listen to her brother but she still had a mind of her own. she didn’t care to listen to Richie go off but she understood how Michael felt, although she was the only other Berzatto that heard you out.

Except you didn’t owe anybody an explanation even if some felt you were more cutthroat in your younger years.

“...Before you and Pete even thought about marriage?”

You were younger than them but you imagined how it would always work out for Nat and Pete, which included growing old together.

“Wow! Yeah that sounds right.”

“So…?”

“Can’t do it.”

“You didn’t even hear all the details!”

“I know, I know and it sounds like it’ll be a real fucking blast but if this kid wasn’t sitting on my sciatic nerve constantly and if my feet weren’t the size of two honeydews…I totally would! But I’ll have to decline this time around—so please don’t hate me!”

“I could never!”

“You know you could always ask carmy-

“Why on earth would I do that?” Your reply was instant.

Natalie sighed over the phone, “aspen…the potential of friendship and love is a beautiful thing.”

You scrunched up your face at the phone before placing it back to your ear.

“Do you want me to hang up on you?”

“I’d call you a rude bitch if you did but then get over it.”

“I can live with that because I know it’s real love between you and I.”

“…whatever that means.”

“Right.”

You both laugh, knowing just how weird the subject of love can be. Although you didn’t talk all the time it was always okay for one of the other to drop a venting text or call each other’s way and know the other would get around to responding. The both of you may not be the best of friends but you did consider each other friends regardless. There were conversations between the both of you that no one knew about and would be a constant reminder of what kind of friends the both of you would remain.

Natalie wished things could have been resolved between you and Michael but she reassured that the dislike wasn’t as deep as it seemed. There was no secret that you felt awful about how his life ended and being there for nat during that time also meant a lot. She told you that one of the last conversations she had with Michael was about you and it felt as if he was learning to let go of your review, slowly taking in Nat’s words of you not having a cruel bone in your body especially with all that you’ve done for her.

Anybody that showed his sister true friendship couldn’t be complete garbage. As much as he tolerated Pete, Michael was always aware that he was good enough for his sister. They were all cut from different cloths and the Berzatto’s were just from the same but opposite corner’s.

Natalie telling you this was not to erase any worries you had since that is always brought to the surface when someone you’ve been face to face with before decides to end it all. It was to show you that nobody ever truly knows what anyone is thinking whether there is love there or not.

You can feel Natalie smiling through the phone, “Think about it…all that tension could be smoothed out if you extend the olive branch…now it’s your turn.”

“It’s not my fault he switched up on me after your opening night.” You didn’t lower your voice or make it louder but you were definitely staring at carmy now who was side eyeing you, looking like phineas from phineas and ferb.

“That’s something you need to talk to him about, don’t you think?” Her tone was always so gentle that it made you sick sometimes because she could be right.

“I’m not here to do think pieces.”

“…aren’t you a writer?”

“Have a good night, nat.”

“Ta-Ta!” Natalie sing-songs, “be sure to send me the deets later because carmy never tells me anything! Bye! Chat later!”

Hanging up the phone, you slide it onto the counter and tap your nails against the island. To the right of you, you pick up on some clinking in the bathroom—which sounds somewhat normal and zone in on carmy who’s also holding onto his phone but staring at the blank tv in thought.

“Hey, Carmen.” You call his name.

His bright blues turn to you as if he hasn’t been eavesdropping on your conversation here and there between his texts with Marcus.

“You. Me. The Saffron Simmer. 7pm.”

The air is frigid as the both of you hunch your shoulders shoving through Chicago’s winter. Shockingly the streets are filled with cars tonight so you had to park on the next street over before walking up and around to The Saffron Simmer. Carmy offered to drive, which was a debate—no shock there—since there was no way he was leaving the bear stock van behind for no license having fak to play around in.

Fak definitely found that offensive and said he didn’t mind hanging out at your place, being done with your toilet but with the look you sent him he said he’s find an Uber or fak2 can pick him up. It’s not like you didn’t trust fak in your place…it’s just that the possibilities of what he can get into are endless.

You also didn’t want to ride in the bear’s van not because of shallow reasons, you just wanted to annoy carmy just a bit more for fun. Walking mostly everywhere was the way to go growing up in New York and Carmy working there so doing so here in Chicago wasnt foreign either. However with the type of cold here in this city is enough to give the bravest of hearts hypothermia. So obviously driving was the best option, it’s just the petty back and forth between you two of who will drive had to be spewed.

Eventually you gave in and sat in the passenger side of the van, being on DJ duty for the twenty-five minute drive—something carmy didn’t care to argue over. The both of you made it on time, throwing the door back for carmy to catch then bouncing on your toes while he blew into his gloveless hands waiting on the greeter to find your reservation.

The pictures didn’t do The saffron simmer any justice. There was so much to look at with its modernized speakeasy décor and the high ceilings did a superb job of making the both of you feel small in the spacious space. Thankfully the dress code was business casual so you didn’t have to go all out but you still put in the effort of looking your best in simple attire. You’re shrugging out of your scarf, earmuffs, and puffer coat while Carmy is already seated; with only the removal of his cap across from you in a chair.

He’s watching you as you place everything neatly to the right of you before you're taking a seat in the leather oversized chair, then digging through your tote to pull out your notepad, Sony camera, phone, and bolt pen. You quickly scribble something on the first line and circle it before dropping your pen.

Rolling the sleeves of your long sleeves back underneath your blazer, you roll your shoulders with a close of your eyes before opening them with a look of determination.

“Wow, that was something.” Carmy tells you, making you set your eyes back on him, forgetting just that quick that he was your plus one.

Clasping your hands together you quirk up a brow, “What?”

“Watching you prep.”

You dip your head, “should have seen me before I got dressed…much worse.”

A smirk appears on the corner of Carmy’s lips, “oh yeah?”

“Well yes, I can contain myself in public, Carmen. Your home is supposed to be your safe space so that’s the best place to go a little crazy sometimes.” You inform, yet still not giving too much away.

“Why are you in your head about this place anyway?” Carmy peers around the slightly filled dining area before meeting your eyes once more.

You lift your shoulders, “have you seen the way they market this place? Giving not too much away although it’s top ten restaurants here and I can either contribute to its success or its downfall. They picked me for a reason so my review matters at the end of this year.”

“But you uh-get a thrill out of this shit don’t you? It’s what you signed up for, right?” Carmy is actually relaxed against the chair across from you.

Which is a sight to see.

You state, “it’s part of the job, if that’s what you mean.”

Carmy blinks and seems to get it, “and so you stay.”

“So I stay.” You echo while holding his stare, which is broken by a piece of the stone table lifting and showcasing the menu illuminated by sepia lighting in the dark of the restaurant.

Carmy’s bright eyes are wide as he stares at the menu that appears right in front of your faces. There’s a grin on your face as you rest your fingertips around its rough edges, almost as if you were expecting this while carmy blows out a breath.

“The hell is this place?”

You peek over at him, “some next level shit, berzatto.”

“Yeah…I think I’m starting to catch on.”

You turn your attention back to the menu, swiping your fingertips along the touch screen although you’ve heard things about the menu, which they kept offline since apparently it renews monthly.

“What looks good?”

“Uh…these pages aren’t even labeled." Carmy exhales through his nose, eyes searching all over the tablet, "I have no clue. You?”

The words come at ease for you, "One of almost everything maybe?”

“Sounds good...I guess?”

“On me by the way,” you state with a wink as you flash your company card.

“I’ll get the tip then.” Carmy pats his jeans, the left containing his carton of cigarettes, the right holding his keys, lifting his hips he checks for his wallet although he’s been sitting on his behind for about ten minutes now.

You don’t argue with that, eyes in awe at the selection of items as you start ordering, “don’t forget to order your drink.”

“Water should be fine,” Carmy mutters to himself, eyes scanning over the first strange title of water that is described as flower and ginger infused purified water and decides to go with that.

You finally express after rapidly letting your fingers go over the screen and taking a picture with your phone, “…Okay, so the only way for us to enjoy that huge discount is to act like we’re dating.”

It sounded so easy to you as you quickly shifted to pick up your pen and start writing notes.

“What was that?” Carmy pressed his elbows into the edge of the table, making sure he heard you right since he’s not even sure if he can trust his inner thoughts lately.

You’re still scribbling but also turning your face towards the messy haired chef, “you heard me. We have to act like we’re in a relationship because I’ve definitely went over the budget on the card.”

“That’s not really my problem?”

“Yes it is,” you demand, “you agreed to be my plus one so that’s that. Plus this menu further confirmed my suspicions from the email.”

Carmy scratches at his brow confused, “what are you talking about, aspen?”

“Here,” you swipe across your screen towards Carmy’s device, which brings up another screen instantly to carmy who’s in awe but scans over the details.

You didn’t share the email with him but he’s heard about how high tech this restaurant is but didn’t have the time to do his own research.

*Significant others in attendance are subject to applicable discounts.*

Carmy feels his stomach cramp at the fine print and it so small that he was sure anyone could have missed that.

Not you.

“…how exactly are we supposed to prove that, hm?” He's gripping at his greasy hair now, feeling himself getting a bit worked up about this.

You fanned your hand along, “just do what couples do and follow my lead...Depending on our witnesses,” you whisper as you look around, “they could always assume that’s what we are anyways.”

Part of carmy didn’t like how that came off.

“What, so you’d fake date me for discounted food but you wouldn’t real date me even though I could take you out to the best restaurants out there in town every fucking night if you wanted me to?” Flies out of Carmy’s mouth before he can even process what he’s saying.

That stoops you too, making you press your back against the chair in thought. That wouldn’t be going down in the notes, as you stare at the pen in between your fingers for a moment. Which brings you back to Carmy’s tatted fingers first that touched you in ways that romance novelist craved to write about.

So you may have left that out, how a shared conversation about the “heartless” review of then Chicagoland turned the bear melted into hot and heavy actions in the front seat of your Mazda. It hits you in those same flashes you take of dishes: the unsure sloppy kisses, you taking the lead to get Carmy to just touch you, shaky hands that trace the tattoo from your rib cage down to your hip before soon holding steady and angled just right beneath your red tapered trousers.

“Where did that come from?” You question just as a server greets you, delivering drinks and announcing the small plates should be out in the next five minutes with a timer appearing on both of the stone tablets.

Carmy says, “you—you didn’t just think I forget right?”

“Well I was hoping.” You were honest, “neither of us are ready for relationships—especially hearing about you and Claire.”

Carmy felt his eye twitch, “and how do you know about that?”

Sydney.

You wouldn’t throw her under the bus like that although you could tell carmy already knew.

“I have my resources but don’t think I’ve been asking around about you or anything like that.” You sipped at the raspberry mint cocktail, it could be stronger.

His thumbs are shaking first on the table top but his icy stare made your chest pulsate in a way you didn't particularly like, “…would that be so bad?”

You and carmy didn’t exactly know each other well enough besides a conversation once had and with his hand down your pants! and you trying to get him to crash, clothes still on right in the center of his lap—It was a spur of the moment hookup and you could tell it was not something that happened often for carmy. He never had time for it or bothered to get attached but there was something about you that had him thinking otherwise. What was supposed to be a one time thing that you swept to the back of your mind was being brought up again.

The annoyance overtook what that feeling brought in the front seat of your ride. You weren’t ignoring carmy after that but the both of you had a lot on your plate with him renovating a restaurant and you diving back into your own work. Both fields of work seemed to matter more and not once did you think he ever thought about you in that way.

Communication was important people!

And here you thought he wanted nothing to do with you, especially with you showing up to the grand opening of The Bear. Now here you were months later, basically at your benefit, face to face hearing only pieces of what Carmen Berzatto was thinking.

“Hey, guys!” A familiar voice gathers your attention and you both turn to see Sydney smiling at you two.

Carmy widens his eyes, “Syd, what’re you doing here?”

Sydney snorted, “doing the same thing you’re doing? Having dinner.”

“Right.” He lightly shakes his head.

“Oh my god…am I interrupting this um? Date?” Sydney quickly connected the dots eyeing the both of you back and forth while you’re choking on your drink, “you okay?”

She pats your back for you while you gasp and Carmy slides over his water your way although you have your own glass near by. Gaining some air, you swallow some water and breathe through your nose. Normally you would have a response for Sydney’s joke but given what carmy just said to you had your mind running along with some burning tears you wiped away.

“So this is where you’ve been instead of answering me back?” You decide to switch the subject-you were great at that-wheezing a bit while Carmy scoffs and looks away.

Sydney frowns, “huh? When did you call me besides the FaceTime call…” she starts and pulls out her phone, “oh shit sorry. I placed it on do not disturb like thirty minutes after you didn’t call me back. I got wrapped into some entail about the menu from one of the chef’s that works here and is also a friend.”

Carmy speaks, “Didn’t know you had a connect with anybody here, Syd.”

“Can’t reveal all my moves, Carm.” She winks and lightly elbows him while Carmy sends her a small smile and a shake of his head.

Carmy asks, “scooping out our competition?”

“Only a little," She pinches her fingers before continuing, "and my dad thought it would be a place I wanted to try.” Sydney admits, “and if you two weren’t on a date I’d say let’s make this a group thing! so I’ll be going! I see my dad coming back from the bathroom…he’s got like a bladder problem and I don’t know why I’m sharing that with you two. But bye! Enjoy and just know I’ll be keeping my eye on you two.”

“Fuck,” carmy exhaled feeling his nerves rising, “don’t do that.”

Sydney chuckles to herself and sends a wave to you two before walking back to her table by the window.

“Siddy kicked me to the curb for her dad,” you sigh resting your cheek into your knuckles for a moment, “can’t be mad at that.”

“But you can be mad at me for what exactly?”

“You wanna do this with me right now?”

“Yeah, I think I do.”

“I thought we could move past what happened—

“You can say it you know? Me with my fingers inside—

“Excuse me!” You hiss, “I don’t need you to repeat action by action thank you. I was there too. We both know what happened, we’d agreed we can coexist around this big ass city. I show up to support—

“Did you though?” Carmy pressed, “support me? Or am I waiting for something else to be thrown at me with your upcoming review?”

“What?!” You bite, “is that what your stank ass attitude is about?”

Carmy tightened his jaw just as the first serving was handed over. You let him sulk in that for some time as you study the plating of the four appetizers, making note of each before taking more pictures with your sony.

“I wasn’t there to write a review.” You reply.

“I saw you—

“Let me finish. I understand pressure so I get it but you have to learn to channel your anger and this grief, elsewhere and deal with it better without projecting it onto any and everybody. I’ll tell you that right now that won’t get you anywhere and especially with me, Carmen.” You affirm.

You’ve been in Carmy’s position before so you can speak with experience. He seemed to always be waiting for the worse to continue filling up his plate but it takes time to accept the good in life. He was giving you something but you weren’t sure it was the best option for the both of you and you weren’t afraid to say that.

“Alright…I didn’t come here to talk about feelings either you know? That’s what those meetings are for.” Carmy spills just a tad.

You stare at the vibrant but delicate plating but his tone and the soft upbeat tempo above your heads don’t go unnoticed. “What did you come here for then?”

Carmy blinks and snatches up a spoon, almost weighing it in his hands before he dives the utensil into the dish. He stares as the stretch of cheese, twisting the spoon to break it apart before holding the Macaroni and Brie with Crab out for you to take the first bite.

He doesn’t answer for awhile and so you do the honors of taking a bite and savoring it's texture and taste.

“…that’s not my favorite.” You announce and notice that Carmy waited for your view.

He raises his brows, “tell me about it?”

“They need different plating.” You deeply sigh, “I know that type of plating works best for a dessert and that’s not it. There’s more breadcrumbs than meat, which seems to not be fully removed from its shell so be careful with that. It’s also lacking flavor even with the brie, which is my least favorite kind of cheese in Mac, although many swear by it.”

Carmy flicks his attention to your disappointment to you scribbling into your notepad with a shake of your head. If he was making you a dish, he’d try his hardest to make sure it was everything you ever wanted.

He quickly has his share and thinks to himself.

Carmy can agree, this was lacking flavor and the breadcrumbs didn’t even have a crunch to them. You can’t just depend on the cheese to give you flavor in Mac and cheese.

“What’s your favorite dish? I—I don’t think I ever asked you that. We just went straight into talking about the beef.”

And doing dirty things in the front seat but who needs to relive that?!

You look up from your notes and lift your chin, “you’re looking at it. It’s childish I know...but that’s exactly what it reminds me of: my childhood. Mac and cheese! then as I got into my adulthood…crab kinda took over. Which is funny because I hated on it for so long growing up. My papa—my grandad, he helped my mom raise me, he's from Ocean City so you can only imagine the amount of seafood on our table.”

You’re smiling to yourself and Carmy can’t help but to feel his small laughter lines appear by his lips as you’re locked into some memory only you can remember vividly. This was the most Carmy was learning about you, sure it may not look like much but he didn’t feel the need to dissociate even if at times he really couldn’t help it.

You were the question mark that he wanted to figure out and get all the answers to. Maybe it was his gut and he shouldn’t have blabbed to sugar about you because now Carmy was thinking this was Michael’s doing.

If you believe in that shit.

So the both of you take your time trying the small dishes before getting the main courses. It seems the longer you sit across from each other—the tension was definitely still there especially with Sydney’s eyes burning into the two of you across the room and attempting to not get caught—although she had once or twice but gradually it lifted as you and carmy shared this time together.

He watched you work while you asked for his input before you told your own. He also provided a few things he would do to tweak it if he agreed with what you didn’t enjoy. Which was eye-opening for you, yes you went to school for journalism and sat in on some cooking classes once that also tied into your passion for learning. After completing your first degree you decided culinary may take you to different heights and enrolled into culinary school. You didn’t find the need to continue going through with being a chef after Copenhagen, finding writing to be your stronger suit but you still understood food and the relationship with it when it came to chef’s.

So you took carmy’s input into consideration.

With the last serving being a Asian dessert called, “Jjan Hae,” which consisted of: coconut rice pudding served with fresh citrus (orange, grapefruit, kumquat) and coffee ice cream, topped with crispy pop rice & a shot of Korean rice wine, it was a strange concept but the both of you came to terms with the dessert working well.

Carmy even took a video to show Marcus tomorrow at the bear and sent a photo to an old colleague, Luca, that you were also familiar with considering Noma was a thing that you didn’t bother speaking much on…but it was your turn to give carmy the last serving.

He hesitated since he had his own bowl, which he finished way before you did but it was clear you wanted him to have the last bite so he also took it while saying something with his eyes.

Breaking the stare, the both of you felt your phone buzz with a text. Carmy didn’t jump to answer it right away…he was the worst texter according to Nat and Sydney but you can answer for the both of you as it was a group text from Sydney who was long gone with her dad.

Siddy + (773) XXX-XXXX: Carmy, invite aspen to breakfast in the morning?? See you guys then! 👍🏾😉

“You guys do breakfast at the bear now?” You say lifting your eyes from your screen.

You heard Sydney made a mean omelette but you haven’t been back since earlier this year and you weren’t in the mood for that that night.

Carmy frowns and closes his eyes with a shake of his head, “uh yeah it’s a new thing that Syd came up with but we agreed to do that with everyone once a month…later this month. Why?”

“She wants me to have breakfast with you guys…knowing I’m not a morning person.”

“It’s not happening tomorrow anyway, so what is she talking about?” Carmy digs into his jacket, where he carelessly shoved his phone into after sending the photo off to Luca.

Another text rings out: at carmy’s place. just us three???

Not Sydney making plans and then placing it all at Carmy’s apartment.

He’s taking a breath, almost as a silent reminder for him to do so before his thumbs move over his screen: i don’t even eat breakfast, Syd.

Syd: well youre gonna.

~ Syd has notifications silenced 🌙 ~

“Well, looks like your work wife told your ass.” You laugh, which you translated into her message but didn’t comment further than that.

Carmy harshly exhales through his nostrils in disbelief, “my work wife huh?”

He didn’t hate how that sounded but he also never thought about marriage or relationships in awhile.

“Yeah…the proof is in the pudding, no matter what anyone says.”

Carmy pinched at his bottom lip as he attempts to dryly joke, “I thought it was rice? and what about outside work…”

“That’s something you have to figure out yourself.” You shrug, getting ready to pack up your notes and cameras.

You turn your attention to the table, which knows just when to lift as you tap on the screen to signal that you’re ready to pay while holding out your company card, “are you paying cash for the tip or card?”

“Uh, cash.” Carmy answers, “…what if I’m starting to think about what come’s next?”

“With Syd?” You question, your now sage and mint scented hands flying over the screen as you select the correct paying method before tapping your company card against the screen.

Carmy starts bouncing his leg underneath the table, “with everything.”

“Well…when you’re ready you’ll make moves to make it happen won’t you?”

Carmy dips his head, “you bet.”

And here comes the intense eye contact that you can’t help but to huff out some laughter.

“What’s funny?”

“It’s just people with light eyes always do this thing where they’re just staring into your soul you know? Like damn, relax!”

Carmy’s confused as he holds his wallet open, “uh sorry for having eyes?”

“Shut up, glacier eyes.” You tell while Carmy just snorts at you.

The both of you don’t waste any time rushing back to his car as the clock is approaching 10pm. The wind’s definitely picked up and the temperature dropped, making it easier not to get caught up in the night time city lights which you often liked to do. Back in the van, carmy doesn’t wait to crank up the heat and you don’t bother to mess with the radio this time.

“So?” Carmy asks as he waits for the car to warm up some.

You keep your attention outside the window shield, “yes?”

“What’s the rating?”

“What makes you think I’m going to tell you that, Carmen?” You continue holding yourself.

He sniffs, “I mean—I was sitting across from you the entire night while you told me some of your thoughts.”

“So you thought you should also get the final score? I don’t even know what I’m going to say yet.”

“Ah, I think you’ve got some idea.” Carmy lolls his head over to peek at you.

Laughter bubbles past your lips, “I do. I’ve absolutely had better because—what the fuck was that?”

Carmen feels a crooked smirk appear on his own face, “I don’t want to completely bash other chef’s work but fuck, I thought it was just me? You said it got a 4.3 out of 5? The ambience and service was spot on but…the flavor for most of the dishes?”

“I knew you knew something about seasoning,” you continued laughing while carmy rolled his eyes, “should spend less on the tech and interior and more on some fresh herbs.”

“Isn’t it called simmer saffron?”

That made you laugh even harder as you gripped your stomach, “You’ve got that so backwards!”

And carmy couldn’t help but to scan your features as you laughed and he felt his chest getting somewhat lighter? Just listening to the sound of you and being beside you. What kind of feeling was this? He’s felt it before looking at someone else but that feeling was more of a tug with that light while this one slowly poured in from the black.

“Don’t be too hard on ‘em though? There’s always room for improvement.”

“Sure, but we both know the bear is better and you guys don’t have a waist list months in advance.”

“We also don’t have any celebrities showing up either.”

“Yet.”

Carmy taps his fingers against the steering wheel, appreciating that, “right, yet…I’m sorry about March. I was too in my head about so much shit and you’re right, I took it out on everyone and I’m still trying to make up for it.”

“Effort doesn’t ever go unnoticed if people look and feel it hard enough.”

Carmy chews on his lips at that, “if you believe that…then why do you feel what I said about dating—uh us—about us dating is out of the blue?”

“I said that?”

“Your eyes did. It’s the most expressive thing about you which is funny to me when you talk so much shit about mine when you hide the rest of it away on your face. It’s fucking confusing but I think I gathered that from our dinner tonight.”

Carmy was just as detail oriented as you. It was in his language with food and maybe even in his tattoos that you tried to understand starting with his fingers first. The way he spoke about what he would do with the dishes that were lackluster, except for the dessert—that was pretty good. Carmy wasn’t much of a talker because he wasn’t sure how to express himself, always been that way since you knew of him at Noma…but he told just enough in his dishes and you told just enough between the lines you wrote.

Someone just had to look hard enough.

“…I ever tell you I was engaged? Of course I didn’t, we’re still…I don’t know what the hell we’re doing here Carmen but I’m starting to sense that we could be special if we both want this badly.”

“What do you want?”

“Does anyone ever really know?” You laughed, “ I guess someone to look past the circumstanial and I had that once but then he died. So that was the end of that.”

“You swore off love.”

“Love is many things but maybe I closed off the long lasting part.”

Carmy could relate to that as least with family. He never had much interest in romance even growing up because he lacked that confidence in anything being permanent besides the chaos he’s used to, then he found some of it once he proved what he fucking set out to do yet cooking was all Carmen really opened himself up to. While Luca and others encouraged him to have a night out in the town, he always left early or if there was one person that caught his interest, they get to talking and both get bored of each other since Carmy hardly made the move to take them back to his. Before Noma?

Maybe.

Back in Paris there was one that could have been permanent but Carmy had to break her heart since Noma was calling. Culinary was his true love and he honestly couldn’t tell you what she even looked like now if you asked him. Things that should have mattered tended to get buried in the blue of his mind unfortunately.

He didn’t have the time to be attached and you didn’t want to have your heart ripped out again.

“How’d—

“He was a firefighter.” Was all you said and just those words alone told carmy it was anything but peaceful.

It took a lot for carmy to scream at himself how Michael went out and he imagined it might have been the same for you. So he wouldn’t dare ask for further morbid details because what did that help?

So maybe you weren’t wrong about the both of you not being ready to take that step on going on dates but change was everlasting.

“Uh—what about breakfast then after that not so great meal?” Carmy asks as he pulls off from the curb now.

You think about it. Really think about it that carmy starts to assume you may have dozed off.

“Depends on the time honestly? And who am I to turn down a free meal?” You beamed at Carmy who lifts his shoulders with a chuckle.

Carmy explains, “Syd and I usually start our days early, sometimes even earlier for me if I don’t get enough hours in. but thanks to the reno those on the early shift can get prep ready and I heard…you’re not a morning person?”

You’re just as sarcastic but there’s no lies, “I don’t even know my name or birthdate when I first wake up…what do you think?”

Carmy snickered at that, “okay? So how does 10am sound?”

“That’s pushing it but…I think I can be there so that’ll give me the rest of the day to work from home.”

Carmy nods, “can’t wait to read it. Shake on it?”

“On what? My review or showing up?”

“Both.”

“I’m not sending you a sneak peek, maybe syd or even nat but not you.”

“Ouch.” Carmy mocks, still waiting for your hand to touch his.

And when you do there’s a spark, that makes you yank your hand back and you feel like you’re in one of those cheesy teen movies.

You’re aware carmy’s felt that too but he just clears his throat and placed his hand back on the steering wheel. Leaving you to lightly massage the palm of your hand, now glancing at the profile of carmy’s face.

Life takes time to live but once you start to just let it be, the green starts to stand out more and can be equally as joyous…once you get through the rain and mud that is.

And once the ice blue sets back on you, the both of you can’t exactly see the future but there’s always warmth waiting for the cold to give them a try.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

February fluff anthology series continues here.

201 notes · View notes

catslvrr · 5 months

Text

broken thread

pham hanni x fem!reader | one shot

Synopsis: Your whole life, you had been waiting for the red loop to appear on your ring finger. The string leads straight to your soulmate, you had heard. You weren’t really expecting your soulmate to literally cut ties on the first day of getting it. And you definitely weren’t expecting to meet her months later at your university library.

Contains: cursing

Playlist

Your favorite color had always been red — a rich and blazing red.

You learned from an early age that it was the color of love. The color of the string that would wrap around your ring finger one day, and lead you straight to your soulmate.

You spent countless days pestering your parents to retell the story of when they first received their string, the story of how they first met, the story of how they fell in love. You would watch them send teasing smiles to each other as they fought over who fell first, and see their eyes gleam with fondness as they reminisced about their younger days.

They would tuck you in bed with goodnight kisses after sharing little tidbits of their love story, and you would fall asleep with a smile on your face, comforted by the fact that you would one day find your own soulmate — someone who would love you unconditionally.

The first time you saw the red string in action, from someone other than your parents, was in the first year of high school. A girl from your class had rocked up to school one day, waving around her hand to flaunt the red loop that had appeared around her finger, the first to do so.

That was the telltale sign that she had found her soulmate: everyone could see the loop, and only she could see the string that led her to them.

(Getting the loop didn’t mean that you would immediately find your soulmate, though. You had heard from your parents that it was different for everyone. It could be mere days, or it could take weeks, months, sometimes even years after receiving the loop to meet your soulmate face to face.)

News traveled around fast. By second period, it was all everyone talked about. Students rushed to the girl during the break, eager to see it in person, as if to confirm that this concept was tangible and real.

You didn’t have to see for yourself. The look on the girl’s face was enough for you, glowing with ardor and pride. And it was not only the girl who was left eager at the prospect of a soulmate after this. This day planted a seed of hope in everyone, their own expectations and fervor beginning to grow and flourish.

It’s so nice, you had thought to yourself at the time as you absentmindedly drew a red line that looped around your whole page, that everyone is so excited for love.

And you loved love, too. How could you not, when it was in everything you saw growing up? It was in the mornings when you would wake up unusually early, and peek outside your room to see your parents conversing in hushed tones over some coffee, the sunlight just barely spilling through the curtains to tenderly greet them.

It was in the tooth-rotting sweetness of the candy your cousins would secretly buy for you without your parents’ knowledge, along with the bandaids to cover your scraped knees when you rode your bike together.

It was in the way you and your friends would bring extra servings of your snacks or lunch to share with and ‘trade’ together.

It was everywhere, a constant and certainty, there for you to give and take at your will, and that’s what you loved about love.

As years went by, more and more students burst through the school gates brandishing their red loops, and more and more couples began popping up. Valentine’s Day at school was always sweet to see — the school would decorate the hallways with red threads and balloons, and students sent heart lollipops and roses to their lovers or friends.

By the time you reached your senior years, your ring finger was still bare. Your friends and family always reassured you that your time would come, and friends who hadn’t received the loop yet would lament and rant about their anxiety. You weren’t too worried, though. Love is patient and so you figured you should be too.

It was a few weeks after graduation when you finally received your red loop. You woke up in the afternoon to the disruptive revving of a car that zoomed past your house.

(You had been waking up later these days, enjoying the last taste of freedom before the start of university.)

You stayed up late last night, suddenly feeling the motivation to perform a surgical deep clean of your room. You enjoyed doing this every few months to give yourself peace of mind. It was bittersweet to look back at your past exams and the old notes you took, reminiscing the endless hours you spent hunched over your desk.

You were about to drift back to sleep when you felt a slight itch on your ring finger, and instinctively went to scratch it. Then, you realized what that meant, and quickly sat up to investigate.

There it was, in all its glory: a red loop around your finger. The string that extended it passed through your walls. You leaned in closer to inspect it — it seemed like a real string, like what you would find on a spool. You could see the little threads that it was made of. But when you tried to touch it, it would just pass through your fingers.

You sat there for a few minutes, letting the reality sink in. You were overwhelmed with emotions, the good kind, and your cheeks started to hurt because you were smiling too hard.

You didn’t feel any different, didn’t feel suddenly whole or complete, and you didn’t expect to. You were just content that there was someone out there to share your love with. Though, there was that small sense of relief in the way your shoulders relaxed.

(There was always a small margin of error with soulmates; you had heard of it through whispered rumors and seen it in the fine print of your research. The selfish part of you was glad that it wasn’t you.)

Your hands wouldn’t stop trembling, even when you got out of bed to brush your teeth. You couldn’t help but begin to fantasize about who your soulmate would be — what they would look like, what their personality was like, if the two of you would click straight away.

Just as you finished washing up and began to make your way to the kitchen, you winced as you felt an unexpected sharp tug on your ring finger. Your hand felt like it was burning. Cradling your wrist up towards you, you noticed what was wrong.

What was once a red string that carried your love beyond these walls, to wherever your soulmate was, was now cut short, frayed at the edges. Its color had faded, as if lifeless, now a pale pink.

Oh. Maybe you spoke too soon.

You stood there for a while, in the hallway, in denial. Hadn’t it only been a few minutes? When your mom made her way to your room to check up on you, she saw your stricken face first. Her eyebrows knitted, mouth open and about to ask what was wrong. Then, she saw the string, or a lack thereof.

She didn’t say anything, only pulling you into her arms, the arms that once engulfed you as she told you everything she knew about soulmates. You let the tears run down your face.

You never thought that love could be pain, but you were feeling it now, and you didn’t know how to make it stop. Each gasping breath after the sobs that wracked through your body should have been breaths that your soulmate would’ve taken away.

You bit your lip so as to no longer make a sound, and you were biting so hard that it bled the red you once thought meant love.

You felt empty for the next few days. There was an almost imperceptible lighter feeling to your ring finger now, and you felt bare.

The loop was still there, and the sight of it that had once brought joy, now only gave you sorrow that you would’ve never thought to associate with soulmates.

You cried until your eyes were bloodshot red, and you imagined that your tears would stain the pink loop, if it could be stained — soaked with your tears so that it darkened, and maybe it would be closer to the red you love.

It was as if the universe was mocking you. Everyone knew how much you loved the idea of soulmates, how badly you were waiting for the day to get your loop (even though you tried to hide it).

But we always want what we can’t have. And you thought that the world was cruel, for letting you just have a taste of soulmates, only for it to be ripped away from you not even an hour later.

Or perhaps you should blame your soulmate for being selfish and entitled enough to deny both of you the gift that is love. You wonder if you would actually say that to them if you ever met face to face.

(You wouldn’t. You have a feeling that you’d love them regardless.)

It was stupid, being heartbroken over someone you had never met. But you had spent so much of your life waiting and hoping, that the disappointment was stifling, like the string had wrapped itself tightly around you, leaving you no room to breathe. Maybe it was your fault for being too idealistic.

The worst part was that there would not be any closure. But perhaps this fate was better than being rejected upon the first meeting. It hurt all the same, anyway.

You kept yourself occupied as best as you could, which manifested itself into more of just holing yourself up in your room, listening to sad music and cleaning away your thoughts.

Eventually, you forced yourself out of hiding and faced the music. The pitiful looks and words of comfort from friends and family felt more burdening than anything, but you knew they meant well.

You took it day by day, learning to slowly chisel off the bitterness that had engraved itself onto you. You didn’t want to become someone your past self would’ve hated.

Romantic love may not be on the table for you anymore, but there was still plenty of love to go around. And that was what you would tell yourself to move on. You had to move on, because time doesn’t wait for anyone.

The good news was that the start of university was not too long after, which gave you something to focus on rather than the gaping hole that your would-be-soulmate left.

University was a big change, but you were never one to be unnerved by change. The hardest part was finding where all the lecture halls and rooms were on campus, but other than that, you had successfully cemented yourself into uni life among hundreds of other students.

Faster than you could process, you settled into a comfortable rhythm: taking public transport to get to uni, attending lectures and tutorials, rotting away in the library to complete your weekly exercises, going home to sleep, then doing it all over again.

At least you didn’t have classes every day.

Ignoring the relentless workload, the freedom and flexibility that university offered in comparison to high school was a breath of fresh air.

You enjoyed romanticizing the train rides to university, getting lost in the scenery passing by with your Airpods on. Grabbing a coffee early in the morning, feeling as if you were an adult now. Feeling insignificant under the towering skyscrapers that the city boasted.

It was lonely though. With a fresh set of classmates every semester, it felt harder than ever to make friends. Your high school friends had branched out to different universities, and the ones that went to the same one as you, were busy with adapting to the new lifestyle.

You still met up from time to time, of course, but it wasn’t the same as seeing each other every day in high school.

So yes, it was incredibly lonely. It didn’t help that all you could see around you was the bright red of everyone’s loop, a reminder of what you lost.

You were in your zone, catching up on a lecture via recording and making notes, when the opening of a door startled you.

You looked up to see a girl who, despite her short stature, still exuded an intimidating vibe. You took out your Airpods.

“I booked this room.”

“Oh,” you frowned. You were so sure that you booked this room. You always did, this same room, on Wednesday, every week. “I thought I booked it, but maybe there was an error with the system.”

You started to pack up, the air painstakingly awkward as the stranger stood there and watched you.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured.

You struggled under her scrutiny, fumbling over your pens and pencils as you internally berated yourself for not verifying the booking.

“You booked it?” She said after a while. (You were still packing up.) You felt small under her gaze, only nodding in response.

“Don’t worry about it then,” she mumbled, plopping herself on a chair. “We can share.”

“Oh.” Your hand that was stuffing your stationery into your backpack froze. “Are you sure?”

The stranger grunted and waved her hand dismissively. She then folded her arms on the table, leaning her forehead on it. You took that as a sign of the conversation ending.

You hesitantly sat back down and put in your Airpods again. You spent the rest of the time studying, occasionally glancing at the sleeping stranger. You were slightly concerned, more curious if anything.

It was around three hours later when she stirred back to life. You watched her out of the corner of your eye. She puffed her cheeks out as she ran her fingers through her hair, proceeding to check her phone before setting it down on the table.

She rested her chin on her folded arms, diverting her sole attention to you. You quickly averted your eyes back to your laptop screen, feeling her burning stare.

You suffered under her gaze for a few more minutes that seemed to drag itself out before you mustered up the courage to look back up.

Out of habit, you looked at her ring finger. It was something you had been meaning to stop. You wouldn’t want people staring at yours, but you couldn’t help yourself.

To your shock, her loop was also a pale pink. You hadn’t met someone else who also had a pink loop yet.

She noticed your fixated gaze. “Yeah. No soulmate for me.”

“Sorry,” you hastily said, sitting up straight. “I didn’t mean to look-”

“It’s okay,” she shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

You bit your lip and showed her your ring finger. “No, really, I wasn’t judging. I’m the same.”

For the first time since meeting her, you seemed to pique her interest. She smiled as she leaned back, a mix of pride and dryness. You couldn’t really pinpoint it. “I cut mine. How about you?”

You wavered for a split second, but quickly shook the thought off. It’s just a coincidence. You tried to play it off. “Me too.”

“Really?” She tilted her head, still skeptical. “Why?”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. “Didn’t feel right, you know. I wasn’t ready.”

She let out a sigh of relief. “God, finally someone that gets it. Everyone’s so obsessed with soulmates, I can’t stand it.”

“I know right,” you laughed awkwardly. Your response only seemed to spur her on.

“Soulmates are such a scam. Love should be a choice. Some stupid string shouldn’t dictate who I love,” she muttered, drumming her fingers on the table.

You nodded slowly. It sounded personal to her. You had never really seen it like that, but you could understand where she was coming from.

Maybe the pain I felt from the cut string was the same pain my soulmate felt when they got the string.

You weren’t sure how to feel about this. You didn’t have much time to dwell on it though, because the stranger spoke again.

“I’m Hanni.”

You were expecting a follow-up question, but realized she was waiting for a response. You promptly introduced yourself, although quite clumsily, but she didn’t seem to mind.

“You almost done with studying?” Hanni asked, kicking her feet on the table. You were pretty sure that was against the rules, but she didn’t seem to care.

“Kind of?”

“What do you study anyway?” You kept your eyes trained on your laptop while she kept hers on you.

“Actuarial studies.”

A whistle. “Damn. You must be crazy.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely something,” you scratched your nape before continuing meekly. “How about you?”

“Nothing,” Hanni closed her eyes, arms behind her head as she teetered the chair back. This left you on edge, you were scared she would fall. “Took a gap year.”

“Oh,” you said. “So what do you do with all the time?”

“Whatever I want. Which basically means nothing.”

“Cool,” you nodded stiffly. You were about to end the conversation there, but realized,

“Wait,” you furrowed your eyebrows. “So what are you doing at a uni library?”

She cracked an eye open for a second before smirking. You found this immensely attractive. “Is it not open to the public?”

“It is,” you backtracked. “Sorry-”

Hanni suddenly stood up and stretched. “I’m just messing with you. Most of the time, I come here to take a nap. Sometimes I meet up with my friends though.”

Not giving you any time to respond, she continued. “I’m gonna head out.”

“Oh,” you said, again. That was all you could say really, you weren’t the best with strangers. “Okay.”

Hanni stuffed her phone in her pocket as she shuffled towards the door, putting on her headphones again. You flexed your wrist before continuing to write down lecture notes.

“Hey.”

Hanni hovered at the door, hand on the doorframe. “We both like booking this room. You don’t mind sharing from now on, right?”

You tapped your pen on the desk to relieve your hand of its shakiness. “Yeah. I don’t mind.”

Hanni nodded. “I’ll see you next week.”

“See you…” You mumbled, but she had already walked out. You watched her leave. That initial gut feeling started to die down.

Hanni was someone you wouldn’t necessarily consider a friend in the first few weeks of knowing her. She was consistent though, you’ll give her that, always showing up to the same library room just to sleep for a solid 3 to 4 hours every Wednesday without fail.

So the conversations between you two were minimal. Not that you minded. But there was just something pulling you toward her, maybe it was her assertive nature and the way she carried herself with confidence, the complete opposite of you, or maybe it was the fact that she was very pretty.

Despite her being asleep most of the time, there was a subtle sense of tranquility that she brought — the idea that the two of you were in the same boat; you knew she wouldn’t walk on eggshells around the topic of soulmates around you. You liked that.

(It had been months since the incident. You thought your friends and family would’ve moved on by now, hell, even you have, but the way they tread lightly around you about soulmates was like opening old wounds.

It made you feel as if you were weak. As if you were a defect. You knew this wasn’t true. There was more to life than soulmates. This is what you had to learn.)

Before you knew it, two months had passed since your first meeting. Time flies when uni completely bombards you with assignments. It was just another ordinary Wednesday when Hanni decided to strike up a conversation.

“Hey.”

Hanni flung a pencil in your direction. It had only been ten minutes since she entered the room.

(It was your pencil. You had no idea how she got a hold of it.)

You barely had time to dodge before taking out your Airpods, slightly annoyed, but mostly perplexed.

“Do you do anything other than study?”

“Obviously…”

She still seemed dubious. “What do you like? Any hobbies?”

You paused.

“I like astronomy?” You said it as more of a question than a statement.

Hanni’s eyebrows furrowed. “Like signs and shit?”

“No,” you laughed softly. “That’s astrology. I mean, you know, space and all that.”

Hanni didn’t reply. You hoped that it was because of indifference, rather than judgment. You didn’t know why you cared anyway. You continued on with your work.

She spoke again a few minutes later. “What do you listen to?”

You took out your Airpods again. Usually, this would be irritating, but these seemingly trivial conversations and small talk somehow wormed their way up to be the highlight of your week.

“Um…” You trailed off. “How am I meant to show you?”

Hanni hummed in thought for a moment. “Do you use Spotify?”

You nodded. She grabbed your phone, pushed it in your face so it would unlock, and started tapping and doing who knows what. You just sat there, appalled by her brazenness.

She handed your phone back to you with a proud smile. “There. Our Spotify’s should be synced now.”

You don’t know why your face started to heat up. Something about listening to music together felt so intimate. Like you were opening a window into your soul.

“Are you sure you want to listen along?” You mumbled. “You might not like my taste in music…”

“I’m sure,” Hanni insisted. “It’s a good way to get to know a person.”

She stretched before settling comfortably into a familiar position, arms folded on the table. She motioned for you to put your Airpods in as she put her headphones back on, before dropping her forehead on her arms. “Wake me up when you’re done studying.”

You took a glance at the pale pink loop on her finger before focusing back on your work.

The sun was beginning to set by the time you finished, the sky painted with an array of vivid yellows and oranges.

You cracked your knuckles as you quietly started to pack up, observing a sleeping Hanni. If you strained your ears, you could hear faint snores, which you found quite endearing. You thought that Hanni was much cuter when she was asleep, a stark contrast to her usual brooding demeanor. Too cute that you almost didn’t wake her up, but guilt would eat you alive if you didn’t.

You cautiously poked her shoulder. “Hanni?”

It took a few more pokes until she blearily opened her eyes, grumbling under her breath. You retracted your hand as if she would bite. “You told me to wake you up…”

You suppressed a smile at the sight of a bright red mark on her forehead. “What time is it?”

“Just about to hit 7. I’m gonna head home.”

Just as you turned to leave, Hanni somehow got out of the chair in the blink of an eye and grabbed you. “Wait.”

You swiveled back around in confusion. She rested her headphones around her neck before stuffing her hands in her pocket. “Do you need to get home urgently?”

You shook your head.

“Okay,” Hanni said simply. “Let’s go.”

You wanted to ask “Go where?”, but Hanni brushed past you and was already walking out the door. You bit your lip. Surely you could spare an hour or two, just for today. You hurriedly adjusted your backpack on your shoulder before jogging to catch up to her.

Your hands were clammy for the entire walk. The sky continued to grow darker, and all the lessons of stranger danger that your parents had taught you were flashing in your head. Maybe it was a bit stupid to blindly follow someone you had barely talked to and only known for a few months or so. Well, if Hanni ended up kidnapping or killing you, at least you died to someone pretty.

Before your thoughts could derail further, Hanni finally stopped walking. Your legs were starting to ache. The last time you got this much cardio in was when you were running late for class in high school.

You took a few seconds to absorb your surroundings. It was a small lake, the water still as it reflected the last remnants of the sunset. It was secluded — you didn’t see or hear any other signs of life besides the inevitable chirping and buzzing of random insects. Hanni seated herself on a small grassy hill that faced the water, patting the space next to her as a signal for you to sit as well.

She leaned back and rested her head against the grass as she closed her eyes. You sat down awkwardly and set your weight on your backpack, just staring at her. Is she asleep again?

“Pretty, right?” She suddenly asked. Okay, not asleep. “I come here to think a lot.”

You gently tugged her hoodie over her head. She didn’t even flinch. You didn’t want bugs to crawl into her hair. “What do you think about?”

You were caught off guard by her deflection. “How do you think your soulmate is doing?”

“What?”

“You cut off your string, right? How do you think they’re doing?”

“Oh,” you tensed. “I’m not too sure. I hope they’re okay, wherever they are.”

Hanni hummed. “You’re awfully nice.”

You hesitated before asking the pressing question on your mind. “Do you really hate the idea of soulmates that much? What if you met them?”

“I wouldn’t say hate,” Hanni clicked her tongue. “I don't really know how to explain it, but I want everything to be my choice, you know? I don’t believe in things like fate. I just happen to meet people, and I choose who I want to stay and who I want to love.”

She shifted before continuing. “And I’ve seen what the string can do. People get too attached to the idea of soulmates, but sometimes they never end up meeting them and are left heartbroken, or their soulmate turns out to be a terrible person. So what good is it, really?”

You bit your cheek as you reflected on her words. Your instinct was telling you that there was more to the story, but it wasn’t your place to ask.

“And I don’t know what I’d do if I ever met my soulmate. I wouldn’t even know it’s them, first of all. But I guess if they’re a decent person, we could start off as friends.”

Hanni finished off with a sigh. “Anyway, enough of my rant. Can you spot any constellations? Or whatever astronomy entails.”

You stared at the sky. You could see the faint twinkling of stars if you tried hard enough. The wonders of light pollution.

“I actually don’t know much about astronomy,” you answered sheepishly. “I just remember having a space phase in, like, 4th grade. And so now I just remember random facts about space and find everything about it pretty.”

Hanni opened her eyes and turned to face you. “Tell me one.”

You pursed your lip in thought for a second, racking your brain. “Magellan was the first teddy bear in space in 1995. It even got a special astronaut suit. Very charming fella.”

You showed her a picture of it on your phone with a stupid smile. You felt your face warm up as Hanni chuckled at the photo, eyes crinkling. Ah. Her smile is so cute.

You cleared your throat to alleviate your fluster. “How about you? What are you into?”

“Nothing special,” she shrugged. “Music and games. Do you play games?”

“Not really,” you admitted. “I remember illegally downloading the Sims and never playing it after my Sim randomly died from a kitchen fire.”

Hanni cracked a smile. “Happens to the best of us.”

"By the way," you said curiously. "Did you learn a lot from my music taste?"

"I did actually," she smirked with arrogance. "You seem to be the sentimental type. A romantic."

"Huh," you blinked.

"You don't need to say anything," she continued smugly. "I already know I'm right."

The buzzing of your phone cut the conversation short. Your mother was calling.

“Oh no,” you winced as you slowly got up. “I lost track of time. I should get going.”

It looked like she wanted to say something, but chose not to. “See you.”

“Don’t you have places to be?”

She flicked her gaze from the lake to you, one that was unexpectedly intense. “Yeah. But I’ll stay here for a bit longer.”

“Okay,” you lingered there for a few seconds. “Stay safe.”

You started making your way home, oddly feeling content.

As more months passed by, the lake became a spot of solace for the two of you, meeting there regularly when either of you felt like talking (mostly Hanni). It was a bit hard at first, getting used to spontaneous hangouts (usually you enjoyed the comfort and stability of routine), but Hanni’s presence was a big help. You learned a lot from her, and especially admired her self-assurance.

You cherished these times as it was an opportunity to learn more about Hanni. Like the fact that she worked at the cafe on campus, despite hating coffee.

(You wondered how you never saw her.)

And the fact that she had performed for her high school talent show and ended up being the grand winner. And the fact that she once slept through the night at the library, and then woke up to the blinding light of a security guard’s flashlight shining in her face.

The more you got to know her, the more your feelings for her grew. Which you found to be quite problematic, because you were such a firm believer of soulmates all your life. Although there was that minuscule possibility that Hanni was your soulmate, you felt as though you were betraying your soulmate by falling for someone else.

Surely, it was free real estate. Your soulmate was the one who cut the string after all. To be honest, they probably don’t care at all. You don’t know why you were creating such a fuss about it. It was your inner guilt clawing at you. Didn't liking someone who wasn't your soulmate debunk the idea of soulmates itself?

You thought about what Hanni would say. You could hear her voice in your head: Love is a choice. Soulmates shouldn’t determine who you love. As much as it conflicted with you, every time you woke up to the thought of her, you found yourself agreeing with her more and more.

You also started to like the pale pink loop on your finger more and more.

“Hey.”

You sat cross-legged on familiar ground, picking at the grass. Hanni hadn’t come to the library today, which left you embarrassingly worried, but she had texted you to meet at the lake around 15 minutes ago. The two of you exchanged contact information the week after the first lake hangout. The two of you didn’t text though. That was, until today. “What are you doing here?”

Hanni’s eyes were closed, as usual. She seemed to ponder a lot. You always wondered what was on her mind. “Thinking.”

“And you called me here because…?”

“Figured you needed a break.” The corner of her lips tugged up. You let out a small smile too. Behind her nonchalant tone and nature, she was surprisingly sweet.

“What are you thinking about this time?”

“You.”

“Me?” You sputtered. “What about me?”

Hanni let out a breath. “My bad. I should be more specific. I’m thinking about my feelings for you.”

Luckily her eyes were still closed, because your face was turning red at an alarming pace.

“Really?” You squeaked. “And what are those feelings?”

“Good feelings. Something that could grow into love, I think.” She opened her eyes to meet yours.

“Oh,” you said. “...I may share those feelings.”

She closed her eyes again, a satisfied smile on her face. “Good. We’re dating now.”

You blinked in astonishment.

“It’s that easy?” You muttered to yourself. “I thought after getting my string cut, I’d never find love again.”

Hanni abruptly sat up. “What?”

You blanched at her cold tone. “What?”

“You didn’t cut your string?”

Shit. The air became tense, her anger palpable. Your hands tightened around a patch of grass. You bit your lip in shame. “...I’m sorry.”

“When?”

You looked at her in confusion.

“When was it cut?” She asked, exasperated.

“December,” you murmured, your throat clogging up. “The 4th of December.”

“Fuck!” She turned away. “That’s when I cut mine.”

Oh. She stood up and started pacing around in circles, running her hand through her hair in what you thought to be frustration. There was a whirlwind of emotions swirling in your chest — fear, guilt, regret, but also joy, as crazy as it sounded.

Hanni was your soulmate. You had to repeat that to yourself internally to really process it. Of course it would be her. Who else would it be?

You pulled yourself back to reality. Reality being a very distressed Hanni who would blow up and ghost you if you didn’t do something.

“Why did you lie?” You hated how you could hear the raspiness in her voice.

You desperately tried to explain yourself. “I panicked the first time we met. But I never thought to tell you after that because I thought you would hate me for believing in soulmates."

“I’m not that spiteful. It wouldn’t have mattered to me if you believed in soulmates.”

“But we wouldn’t be where we are now,” you reasoned, your voice raw. “We started talking because we bonded over the fact that we both cut our strings.”

“Look at where we’re at now,” Hanni bitterly muttered. “I feel like our relationship is a lie.”

“It’s not,” you stammered. “This doesn’t have to change anything.”

Hanni whipped her head around with a glare. “Of course it changes everything!”

Her eyes softened when you flinched at the harshness of her voice. “Look, it’s just that I genuinely thought that I could finally be loved without either of us being bound by a stupid string.”

You plucked out another strand of grass. “There’s another reason, isn’t there? Of why you hate soulmates so much.”

She stopped walking back and forth. “Yeah.”

“Might as well air everything out, right?” You offered a wry smile.

Silence. You thought that this was the end, but she sat down, a bit further from you than before, and spoke again. “Long story short: I was in love. She was in love with me too. A year into the relationship, she got her string. She didn’t tell me. She just broke up with me and blocked me on everything. Found out days later when one of my friends told me about her new relationship with her soulmate.”

You wanted to reach out and grab her hand to comfort her, but that would have probably just made her hate you more.

“I’m sorry,” you swallowed, an ache in your chest. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“Now that I know we’re soulmates, how do I know if any of our feelings are true? What if this whole relationship, from when we first met to now, was all because of ‘fate’?” Hanni said in a flurry, aggressively ripping out grass. “How much of my feelings are really mine?”

You flattened your hands in the grass to stop them from trembling. “I don’t know. But if we both like each other despite not knowing that we’re soulmates, and even after the fact that our string is cut, doesn’t that mean something? That this was our choice?”

Another pause. You held your breath.

“I need some time to think,” Hanni closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. “You should get going.”

You shakily stood up and took one last glance at her before turning around to leave, your voice small. “Stay safe.”

You didn’t see Hanni for the next two weeks. She didn’t turn up to the library, and you didn’t expect her to. You still felt a pang of disappointment regardless.

The revelation that Hanni was your soulmate weighed heavily in your mind. But that wasn’t the main issue. It was Hanni’s reaction to the fact that created an uneasy feeling in your chest. You found humor in the way that the thread that binded you together ended up being the thread that unraveled everything.

You cried for the first few nights, because you knew it was all your fault. It was like reliving that day in December all over again. At least you got some form of closure though — an explanation as to why your string was cut. But eventually, you accepted the fact that if this was to work out, you would both have to make a deliberate choice.

Your choice being to wait, and Hanni's being to forgive. You once believed love was all about fate, but after meeting Hanni, you learned that it was about choice, too.

You carried on with your routine as usual, but Hanni’s absence followed you wherever you went. The library room felt emptier, quieter. You just hoped that she was okay, wherever she was.

Was it selfish of you to be celebrating the fact that Hanni was your soulmate, when she clearly resented it? Your feelings for her didn’t change, they were the same before and after the realization that you were soulmates. Again, you hoped she would come to the same conclusion too, and still feel the same.

You didn't try to reach out to her or to find her working on campus. She needed the time and space, and you promised yourself you would wait for her.

The next time you met was not planned. It was a Wednesday, like always, and you had just finished a grueling 3-hour study session. The sky was particularly pink today, and it reminded you of Hanni. You found that a lot of things would remind you of her these days. You missed her greatly.

You decided to go to the lake. You lay down on the grass, closing your eyes. Doing this made you feel closer to Hanni somehow. Your mind meandered and you could imagine her here, doing the exact same thing. The solitude of the lake brought some temporary peace to your restlessness.

You got lost in your thoughts for the next hour before you heard the sound of footsteps, steadily growing louder and louder. Fear ran through your veins before you relaxed at the sound of Hanni’s voice.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you replied, voice hoarse. You kept your eyes closed. You didn't think you could handle Hanni’s gaze for this conversation. You felt her sit down next to you, her hand brushing against yours. You tried to ignore the goosebumps that followed and the heat radiating off her body.

It was silent for the next few minutes. After a bit, you opened your mouth to speak, but Hanni beat you to it.

“Did you really not know we were soulmates?”

“No,” you confessed. “I knew there was a small possibility, but I thought it was too good to be true.”

You swallowed as there was no response. “...How are you feeling?”

You heard her sigh. “Confused.”

“Can I tell you what my parents said when I asked them for advice?” You asked tentatively.

Hanni made a small noise of approval.

“They told me that the string doesn’t mean you don’t have a choice. The two can coexist. They said there are plenty of people who meet their soulmates, but choose to be friends. And that they can still end up in a happy relationship with someone else.”

You gave yourself time to breathe before continuing. "I know that what happened in the past hurt you. But, don't let that define your view on soulmates. I think love is choice as much as it is fate."

“Thank you,” she breathed out after a while. “I think I realized that in the past two weeks, but I’m just stubborn.”

“And just to be clear,” you started slowly. “I still would have feelings for you. Soulmate or not.”

You felt the weight of the world fall off your shoulders as she replied, “Me too.”

“Hanni,” you bit your lip to stop a growing smile as you tested the waters. “Are we still dating like you said?”

Your smile only widened as you heard her laugh. “That didn’t count.”

Your ears perked up as the sound of Hanni shuffling around filled the air.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Just keep your eyes closed.”

You furrowed your eyebrows as you felt something wrap around your ring finger, but your doubt quickly washed away as you recognized her movement. You waited for her to finish before opening your eyes.

You looked down to see a very real, tangible pink string connecting your ring finger to hers. You grinned as you tugged on it. This was infinitely better than the red string.

“Now it’s official,” Hanni huffed, turning away to look at the lake with the tip of her ears colored pink.

Your heart was full, it felt as though it could erupt at any given moment. “Thank you for choosing me.”

Hanni smiled softly. “And thank you to the string for leading us to each other.”

The two of you watched the sun dip below the horizon, bathing in the soft pink and purple hues.

You think that pink is definitely your favorite color now, though red would always be a close second.

("...There's no more secrets between us right?"

"No," you quietly chuckled. "That's all I have. You?"

"I..." Hanni cleared her throat. "Remember the first time we met? I actually didn't book the room."

You almost broke your neck from how fast you whipped your head to face her. "What?"

There was a guilty smile on her face. "Usually, I just storm into a random room and say that to kick people out. People just believe me and leave."

"Wow," you said in disbelief. Of course Hanni would do something like that. "So why did you let me stay?"

"To be honest, you were kind of pissing me off because of how long you were taking to pack up, and I just wanted to sleep," she admitted sheepishly. "But, let's just say that it was fate."

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. "Right. Fate.")

#newjeans x reader #newjeans fanfic #newjeans fic #pham hanni x reader #hanni pham x reader

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cherrycola27 · 9 months

Text

Red, White, and Bradshaw

A Red, White, and Rooster Sequel

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption, political inaccuracies. Mentions of and acts of terrorism, death. Allusions to and full smut. Banner Credit @thedroneranger

Masterlist Next Part

...........................................

Chapter 1: Designated Survivor

At thirty-nine years old, you'd lived quite a life. You had been married to the man of your dreams for almost a decade. You had four beautiful children with him. You had been the First Lady of the United States, and you were currently the Secretary of Commerce for Bradley's successor, President James Hamilton.

Though you had worn many hats during your time in Washington, you never lost sight of who you were. After his time as president came to an end, Bradley supported your political career. He was more than happy to take a back seat from the spotlight and be a stay at home dad to your kids.

Andy and Elle were now seven, Leo, whom you were pregnant with at his second inauguration was five, and Wren, your fifth anniversary vow renewal oops baby, whom you loved very much, was three.

Your two boys were the spitting image of their father, and your two daughters were like mini versions of you. Out of all of them, Elle and Leo had definitely inherited your can-do attitude and "bossy" personality, as Bradley would say, while Andy and Wren shared his laid-back vibe.

Your family was your pride and joy, but you were also proud of the fact that you never had to sacrifice your love of business and politics to have them. You were blessed with a supportive husband who recognized how hard you worked.

When President Hamilton had first offered you a cabinet position, you were hesitant to take it. How could you raise a family and serve? Being First Lady was one thing. This was an entirely different level.

Bradley listened as you told him about your worries and assured you that he would do everything in his power to support you if you wanted to make this career move. "You supported me when I need you. You helped me follow my dream, and now it's my turn to help you." Bradley had told you as he held you in his arms one night.

The next day, you accepted the offer, and after a relatively quick vetting process, you became Y/N Wiseman-Bradshaw, Secretary of Commerce.

The first few months were an adjustment. You spent many sleepless nights venting to Bradley about how you thought you'd made a mistake and that you should quit. He would listen to your concerns and encourage you and soothe your worries each time. He celebrated all of your victories in your new position, both big and small. Everything was going well—too well.

.............

It was a quiet night in Washington D.C.

President Hamilton was about to give his first State of the Union address. You were in a secure, undisclosed location with your family. You had been chosen as the designated survivor. You thought it was silly, really. What were the odds that every single person ahead of you in the line of presidential succession died at the same time?

But you also understood the importance of it. You appreciated a good backup plan.

You were relaxing in some leggings and a well-worn, oversized Georgetown hoodie, staring at the TV when Bradley joined you.

He had an old Navy shirt and some flannel pants on. He'd just tucked the kids in bed before coming to watch the State of the Union with you.

He wrapped his arm around you as the two of you shared a bowl of popcorn.

"Oh my god, did I look that stuffy when I gave my speehes?" He asked as the two of you listened.

"No, Dearest. You looked exceptionally handsome." You told him. He laughed as the two of you continued to watch the screen. Everything seemed fine—normal even.

Until it happened.

A large boom shook the safe house just as the live feed of the address went black.

You and Bradley looked as each other with panic in your eyes.

"Bradley, go get the kids." You told him. He was out of his seat and racing down the hall before you could finish your sentence. You quickly flipped through the TV channels to see if you could figure out what was wrong. The sound of sirens and helicopters blared from outside. Whatever this was, it was serious.

Just then, Dante, the head of your security team, burst in the door. Mrs. Bradshaw, we need to move all of you now." He said in a protective tone. "Dante, what's going on?" You asked him. He didn't respond.

Just then, a news flash came over the TV, and your heart sank. Your children came running into the room and gathered around you as Bradley followed behind.

"Oh my god." The two of you said in unison. "Bradley, they blew up the Capital." You said in disbelief as you watched the screen. You couldn't believe your eyes. In the spot where the beautiful building had once stood was nothing but a pile of burning rubble.

"Dante, I need you to get the Seresin's on the phone right now." You demanded. "Mrs. Bradshaw, we need to get all of you out of here now. We will call them from the car." Dante said. You wanted to protest, but he was grabbing your arm and hauling you out door as more members of your security team escorted Bradley and your children.

You looked back over your shoulder just in time to see a banner flash stating that there would likely be no survivors. Your heart sank as you thought about all innocent men and women who lost their lives— your parents included.

Suddenly, it felt like everything was moving in slow motion. Andy and Elle sat on either side of you in the car while Leo and Wren clung to Bradley.

You were vaugly aware of him telling you that they had reached Jake and Jaycee. The Seresin's and their three children were fine, and more security would be sent to them.

Bright lights from police, fire, and military flashed through the streets of D.C. as Dante navigated them. You were sure someone was talking to you, but you didn't hear what they said. You felt like you were underwater.

You didn't register yourself getting out of the SUV or the fact that you were being taken through a back passage of the White House. It was only when Chief Justice Inglewood was asking Bradley to hold the Bible and for you to place your hand on, that you snapped back to reality.

"Wait, what's going on?" You said as you looked around the room.

"Mrs. Bradshaw, you're the designated survivor." Chief Justice Inglewood said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You still hadn't processed what was going on.

"Honey, you're about to take the oath of office. You're going to be the president." Bradley said to you calmly.

You took a deep breath as Justice Inglewood looked at you. "Please place your left hand on the Bible, raise your right hand, and repeat after me." She began. You didn't even have time to process what Bradley had said before Inglewood started the oath.

"Do you, Y/N Wiseman-Bradshaw, solemnly swear to faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of your ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States?" Chief Justice Inglewood asked you.

That's when the reality of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks. The president, vice president, and everyone else in the Capital tonight were dead. You swallowed thickly as your children huddled close, not sure of what was happening, but aware enough to know something was off.

You took a deep breath and looked at Bradley for reassurance. He nodded his head and smiled.

"I, Y/N Wiseman-Bradshaw, do solemnly swear to faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States." You affirmed in a shaky tone. You felt like you were going to throw up. You tried to swallow, but your mouth was dry, and your tongue felt like sandpaper. You were vaugly aware of someone taking pictures in the background as you spoke the words.

"Congratulations, Madame President. I wish this could have been under better circumstances." Justice Inglewood said as she shook your hand.

You thought that it was odd that she was shaking your hand and congratulating you. You were here because hundreds of people had died, not because you won an election. You did deserve this.

Your hands started to shake as tears pricked your eyes. This was wrong. All wrong. You felt like you couldn't breathe. How the hell did you end up here?

Your husband turned to you and saw the fear in your eyes.

Bradley immediately pulled you in for a hug before cupping your face in his hands. He could sense the terror running through your body as the severity of the situation set in.

"Oh my god, Bradley. I—I—what am I going to do?" You said as tears threatened to fall from your eyes.

"Right now, we are going to tuck the kids in and read them a bedtime story. Then, you are going to go with Dante to a secure conference room and talk with the department heads that weren't at the State of the Union. You are going to figure out a way for us to get through this because that's what you do best, honey. You solve problems. Tomorrow morning, you are going to drink way too much coffee, put on a suit, and address the nation. You are going to let them know that we are down, but not out. You are going to show them how strong their president is. But most of all, you're going to do your best. That's all you can do." Bradley tells you as he kissed your forehead.

Dante doesn't give you time to respond or to help Bradley with the children before he is whisking you away again.

"Go get 'em; Madame President. I love you." Bradley said as he ushered you to go. You nodded and followed Dante.

You couldn't believe this was happening. One minute, you were enjoying a quiet evening. The next, you were thrust into a position you weren't even sure you wanted and knew you weren't qualified for.

"Oh my god." You said to yourself for what seemed like the hundredth time this evening as the weight of everything settled over you.

You were no longer Secretary Wiseman-Bradshaw. You were President Wiseman-Bradshaw.

Life as you knew it would be forever changed.

Dante and your other Secret Service team members stopped outside a door. Dante went ahead while you waited behind. Moments later, he returned and said,

"Madame President, they're ready for you."

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#cherrycola27 #top gun maverick #top gun #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster top gun #tgm #rooster smut #rooster x reader #lt. bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw smut #tgm fanfiction #tgm fic #tgm smut #top gun 2 #red white and bradshaw #red white and rooster

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dreams-writings · 4 months

Text

Pride - (NSFW)

Top!reader x sub!Feitan (short drabble)

CW: Voice kink, praise kink, Feitan gets ridden, mild suggestion of breeding kink. Reader is FwB with him, but he trusts her a lot.

A/N: Wanted to write something that is the polar opposite of the usual Feitan x reader content I see, which is typically dense with dark, heavy noncon and aggressive feral Feitan themes. This is a more wholesome short, with him bottoming, and Feitan allowing himself to be treated by his woman. Fairly vanilla.

Of all the fleeting, forgettable men you'd fucked in your time - his moans undoubtedly sounded the prettiest. Compared to him.. they were entirely unremarkable. Glistening lips parted with his soft pants, giving way to a rare mewl or whimper every now and again.. he certainly made you work for them. You couldn't complain however - it made the reward all the more delightful when you received them. Touching him the right way.. finding the right places, there was some kind of addictive kick to witnessing him unravel and let one slip, before quickly pulling himself together in a frantic mental effort to remain composed. The pleasure you gave him, being good enough to make him betray his pride - and reveal his ecstacy; it was the highest form of praise.

You were enamored by him. Utterly smitten. He was stunning, with the most soft spoken voice; his gorgeous, sweet sighs and pants were practically symphonic to you.

"Feitan~ aren't you just the prettiest boy I've ever had in my bed,"

You praise and coo at him softly as he shudders by the feel of your body rocking rhythmically in tandem with his squirms and bucking hips. To your satisfaction, you watch his porcelain ghost white cheeks darken with a tiny dusting of blush. He was surprisingly subtle, and tame, during these moments with you.. when you took care of him and his needs. A statement that didn't really apply to when he took control, however. Or even how he was in daily life.

Perhaps it was simply a vulnerable circumstance that left him with little ability to keep the detached veil up - and all that was left beneath was a very touch starved man with a shy aversion to the situation .. not understanding why a beautiful girl might want to pleasure him - but he wouldn't question it anyway.

At first he'd been reluctant, seeing the interaction as a moment to be ashamed of. But, upon pitching the idea as an act of dedication to service him, to showcase your worship - you'd watched his expression mold into something less defensive. Yes, this was an occasion in which he was allowed to relax and completely destress at the hands of his doting subject. It was an honor to you, to be given this duty. It wouldn't be shameful to let his woman serve him, because she couldn't get enough of him.. because she wanted to earn his favor.. right?

Well, that's how you had carefully propositioned it to him, after a good few months of having beneficial sex.

After more gentle coaxing and bribing he finally let you wiggle into his lap and straddle right on top of him, watching his dick nestle with ease right between your slicked, fluttering walls. A moment he would easily remember forever. From this view.. he thought to himself that you looked irresistible, filling him with voracious urges.

So by now, you were wrapped in his arms as he realized the appeal of watching you fuck yourself on his cock. He had little to worry about.. it was a moment of mental clarity that was rare for him to enjoy. And he wondered why he hadn't thought of this sooner.

"Feeeei~"

You purr his name affectionately, slowing down for a brief moment to fully obsess over the sensation of his erection rubbing on your insides with every motion, the pit of your cervix tingling with warmth.

He gave a cute little squirm, lip pouting slightly as the good feeling you gave to him became a bit overwhelming. He still wasn't used to all of this.. to being adored and cherished in a way that made him feel all gooey and disgusting on the inside. Yet, disturbingly pleasant.

He couldn't help but whine softly when your lips locked passionately over his neck in a deep kiss, and you watched his ghostly pale skin blossom all over like cherry flowers into the same soft pink flush. First, reddening his ears, and then down past his jawline. His starkly contrasting raven locks tickled your nose, as you nuzzled into him, suckling softly to leave little purple love bites spreading into that paper white flesh you doted upon. He was so soft.. so so perfectly soft.

"Feeling good, love?" You ask him in a purr, seeing his chest begin to rise and fall a little faster with your bounces increasing to an eager pace.

"Mm..mhm.." was all he managed reluctantly, wincing at the higher pitch than what he intended.

"I'm gonna make you cum really hard.. I wanna have it.. please be good for me and give me everything," you plead with him softly in an appeasing tone. His eyes widen and you see him tremble, finally letting loose a more willing moan for you.

"Mmm.... Such a beautiful voice, my love," you tell him earnestly with a sensual glimmer in your eyes.

"Whenever you make those sounds hunny, it really turns me on," you finally admit, leaning forward to hold his hands and lace your fingers together with his slender, cold, dangerous ones - however dainty they may be.

He seems slightly surprised to hear this, shuddering lightly as you switch your angle. He feels your vaginal walls tighten and squeeze to rub more directly straight over his tip with every plunge you take down his length, and he gives a few flustered gasps as he grips onto your hip bones a tad too tight, not being prepared for the orgasm that hit him way faster than anticipated. The sensitive head of his dick was a sweet spot for him, and the sweet drag of friction right up on that slit was making him unravel pretty fast.

"O-ohhh-!" he breathes in anticipation,

You feel his body tense and tighten with ripples and twitches of euphoria, whimpering softly whilst his eyes roll back, toes curling at the tingly sensations he braces himself through. He still seems to struggle sometimes, like his body isn't sure how to handle immense pleasure when it's given to him so freely. But he loves it, satisfied fully with the luxurious treatment you give to him as you allow him to push his seed into you, and fill you with his cum. Mark you.. breed you. He liked it, that you let him use your body like it personally belonged to him. And he was rather territorial by nature.

Feeling the wave begin to calm into a nice buzz of aftermath dopamine, he went limp and laid peacefully, panting lightly to catch his breath whilst you did the same. His hands lower to rest gently on your thighs, perhaps squeezing subconsciously every now and again to feel the plushness squish between his fingers. It was comforting.. it was good.

"Mm. Good now," he mumbled, expressing his mood and also perhaps his gratitude in an indirect way.

"Good girl for me." He patted your thigh in approval, and maybe it could even be taken as an affectionate gesture. He laid back into the pillows again and closed his eyes, huffing lightly as the tiredness seeped into his bones. He had to remember.. next time you asked to ride him - that it was well worth the sacrifice of his pride.

#feitan porter x reader #feitan portor #feitan #feitan x reader #hunter x hunter x reader #mdni #18+ please #hunter x hunter #hxh #phantom troupe

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bokettochild · 3 months

Note

maybe put wars in solitary confinement? he seems like the worst person to leave alone with nothing but his own thoughts >:3

Your wish is my command!

Rating: Teen

Wordcount: 8,921

Enjoy!

Coming home is something that ought to be wonderful.

The ranch means Malon. Outset means Aryll and Wind’s granny. Ordon is Twilight’s adoptive family. Castletown brings them Four’s mother and father, sometimes a visit to various Zeldas. Legend’s house has Ravio, Skyloft is a promise of a bustling community above and below the clouds, all warm and bright and eager to see them all. Warriors really had even hoping to share a similar experience with his brothers in his own hometown, but it’s quickly becoming apparent that that will not be the case.

He wanted to show them the markets, the vendors and shops and all the things he’s steadily watched rebuilt after the war. Some of it was there before Tune and Mask had left, but a lot of it wasn’t, and there ought to be more now since the last time he’s seen it considering his absence. He knows not all of them will probably enjoy everything, but there’s still a part of him that wants to show them. He wants them to see his home, to see how far it’s come and how much it’s grown. He wants to show the heroes who come before what it is they’ve left behind, and the heroes who are yet to come what their world can be again. More than that though, he wants his chance to show off everything he loves about the kingdom he’s spent so long serving, just as each of his brothers have. Maybe it’s a bit arrogant, because there’s a part of him that can’t wait for their awe and delight and shock, but even Fi can’t deny him this small bit of pride!

Fate, however, can.

The moment he realizes that they are, in fact, in his world, it’s when he’s recognized by a passing soldier, one who starts and stares, doing a double take. Based off of previous encounters, he doesn’t think it’s too far-fetched to assume that the man, stationed out Akkela way and far from the capitol and most of the fighting during the war, is simply just shocked to be seeing the hero with his own eyes. It’s not egotistical if it’s founded in prior experience, and even Fi couldn’t blame him for thinking so. So, really, it’s not a huge shock that the man approaches them as they linger on the side of the road, resting out of the midday sun.

They'd been wandering about, searching for anything that might tell them what to do or where to go. He’d thought they might be in North Hyrule when he’d seen the plant life around them, but the presence of a stone citadel to their north had been a sure sign to prove it right. He hadn’t known if it was his era upon seeing it of course, considering as the thing was ages old even by his time, but the soldier who approaches is wearing a familiar uniform and not the old style. Furthermore, the man looks directly at him, rather than, as most do, turning his attention to their leader reflexively based off of presence alone. “Captain,” he’s greeted, a sharp salute offered as the man stares down at him. He’s not a tall fellow, but the horse snorting and pawing the earth beneath him helps give him enough to look down on the war hero.

“Sergeant,” he returns, saluting in kind. It’s not necessary, not standard, but he does it anyway. His men, no matter where they come from, deserve his respect as much as he does theirs. “How goes things at the citadel?”

The wide eyes stare of the soldier continues, and the longer he looks, the more it becomes very apparent that it’s not wonder that has the young man looking at him so, it’s confusion and something else, something dangerously close to wariness which he doesn’t like.

“Sir, begging your pardon, sir, but are-” there’s the slightest hesitation, a licking of the lips and then, this time firmer, “Sir, you’ve been missing for three months, half Hyrule is out searching for you, sir.”

His stomach drops at the words.

“Well, he’s here now, so how about telling him what’s going on so he can help, yeah?” Thinly veiled ire laces the veteran’s voice as the younger regards the mounted soldier. There’s one ring clad hand hovering just over the bag of items he knows holds more than a small armory would, but quite frankly he’s just glad the younger hero hasn't simply drawn his sword in response to the presence of the soldier before them. He needs to work with the vet on that, at least while in his world, but right now isn't the best of times.

No, because hero or no, he’s still a soldier before and after all else. A soldier who went missing without first consulting his commanding officer. A soldier who has failed to make contact with any commanding officer in an extended period of time. Three months, the man had said. Three long months during which he’s been chasing monsters and fighting just as he would have had he been with his men. A portal had swallowed him up, whisking him away from his duty though and carried him away without giving him a fair chance to warn his commanders that he’d be absent, much less allow him to consult the princess about taking on this task. He’s stood on the other side of this enough times to know the results of such actions. His name is scrawled on more papers than he’d care to recount, sealed and signed to declare absent soldiers as defectors, deserters, traitors. Those who leave without warning are marked the same as those who willingly turn on their fellows. Hero or no, knighted at Hylia’s behest or bearer of the sword of Evil’s Bane, he’s still a soldier, and soldiers, no matter the rank, are treated the same when it comes to matters of treachery.

The man before him is as aware of that fact as he is himself, and it’s clear the thought leaves him likewise wrong footed, looking down upon the hero who’s name no doubt has been spread around not in praise these last few months, but rather in ire, seeking him out to answer for his stolen absence. “Sir, I must ask that you return to the citadel with me,” the young soldier shifts his reins, nervous but no doubt summoning his training in the case that the hero before him resists against the order. He’s ready to kick his mount into action to chase, if need be, and they both know it.

Warriors has no intention of resisting though, although the other heroes don’t seem to have caught onto what’s happening before them. “Sorry, no,” the vet hisses, “we’re headed south.”

The soldier’s jaw tightens, hands stilling and gaze slipping off of himself for a moment to trail to the brother at his side, who’s already making to draw his sword in the case that the mounted scout will push his point. No doubt, such a thing will happen too. They’re trained to never take ‘no’ as an answer when it comes to giving orders, and resisting orders without a very good reason is out of the question. Still, he’d rather not allow it to come to that point. He doesn’t need resisting arrest added onto his list of crimes here, not when this is something that no doubt can be cleared up quite easily.

Her highness understands time travel, to an extent. She has, like him, watched the confused refugees of the war struggle with finding themselves dropped for seemingly no reason in the midst of a land and a time that is not their own. Last he knew some of them were still in Hyrule, still seeking ways home. They’ve never had the displacement occur in the reverse yet, but if he’s the first case then so be it, it’s still a valid answer to why he hadn’t been reporting for duty or notifying Impa as to his required absence. It’s shameful, yes, to need to be marched back to an outpost like a miscreant, more so when all there will know perfectly well who he is, but it’s the thing that’s got to be done.

“Put your blade away, vet.”

Dark eyes lift to him for a moment, wary and startled at once, darting between himself and the strange knight with a guarded sort of look as the vet awaits his explanation.

He sighs, settling a hand on the shoulder of the younger, guiding his arm down again, hands empty for the time being. “He’s following procedure.”

“What for?” Sky questions, because he doesn't know. Sometimes it’s easy to forget, as they’re both knights, but these laws and standards won’t have been established in the eras of some of his brothers. Explaining it fully to them isn’t exactly something he has time for though,

Instead, he stands straight and tall, proud as a hero ought to be and slipping easily into everything his men know him to be, everything that’s expected of him as a leader; his ‘captain’s stance’ Wind calls it. “Listen, I need you all to do me a favor,” he doesn’t want to ask, but he doesn’t trust the postal system or the speed with which the citadel commander may or may not elect to notify the queen of his ‘capture’. Fortunately, his brothers are all ears, tense and confused, but listening closely. “Head up towards Castletown and seek out her highness. Sky has the Master Sword, so you’ll be allowed in to see her. Tell her what’s going on here.”

“And what is that?” Hyrule hisses, not harsh, not yet, but uncertain and highly uncomfortable with that factor.

He wishes he could smile, something reassuring and warm, but it won’t come. Instead, he’s left to only bite back a sigh as he meets snapping green eyes. “The Hero has been arrested for abandoning his post.”

None of them had taken his words well, but, thank Hylia, Time had had the good sense to hold them in check. It’s been years for the man, but he still remembers, apparently, all the times that men had disappeared or left behind their stations, resulting in chaos in camp both during and after the war as they were sought out and punished. It wasn’t pretty then. The princess had been missing and the council was too busy to try cases regarding deserters, all things considered. Many had fallen into the purview of the sheikah, and few of them had survived after that. He’s lucky that now there’s more of a chance to explain his actions, and more so that he’s already got the good standing to back up his words, but that’s not enough to stop him needing to march back up to the citadel beside the scout.

The others had continued to protest, of course. He doesn’t blame them either and honestly, it’s touching in a way that they care so, but there’s nothing he can do. He can’t grant them access to the citadel as his own power is most certainly frozen on account of his current status as a defector, and even if one of them was to come with him rather than accompany the others in seeking out the princess or Impa, there’s no promise they could enter, much less find safety in the walls of the citadel. Most of the treachery had occurred in central Hyrule, and by now has been weeded out, so he doesn't suspect foul play will be as likely this far north, but in the case that it occurs, he'd rather have the rest of the heroes well out of its way all the same.

He goes alone.

He’s spared being bound, be it out of trust that he won’t leave or respect for his person, he’s not sure, but it’s maintained until they reach the gates and he’s handed off to the commander of the place. Unlike the young scout, unfortunately, the woman has no interest in letting titles, honors, or past actions affect how she handles deserting soldiers. His blade and uniform are confiscated, shoes and belt quickly following; as in accordance with procedure, and it’s not long after that he finds himself locked up in a small cell, just the same as hundreds of men before him have seen under his command.

It’s fine, he promises himself. It’ll be a few days, but the rest will arrive at Castletown and find the princess. He knows Zelda wouldn’t be willing to believe he’d just leave behind his duty to the kingdom out of the blue. He knows not even Impa would think it of him, even as suspicious of people and doubtful of their good intentions as she can be. No, the two will be willing to listen, it’s just a matter of lasting until he’s either summoned, or someone is sent here for him. He just needs to give his brothers time to reach the castle and then things will be cleared up in no time.

Time seems to drag by.

The cell he’s been left in isn’t a large one, just four paces this way and that. The lighting’s dim, and none of it is natural, so he’s not entirely sure what time it is anymore. Torches line the hall outside but one of them spluttered out even before he came, and while there’s evidence that there was once an outer window to the cell, it’s been closed off. If he had to guess the work was done during the time of the war. More likely than not, a commander had wanted to prevent escape from within, and while he’s never actually heard reports of prisoners escaping through the tiny windows that there sometimes are in cells, there’s no telling what desperate men will do. He’s heard and read enough reports to know that for sure.

He's not a desperate man though. He’s a soldier that was taken from his post by forces outside of his control. While he’s not sure that Hylia specifically had cast the portals, especially when all evidence currently suggests that the shadow had done so, he does know that such an event would probably qualify as being an “act of Hylia” and thus absolutely something outside of his control.

He’s not even sure why he’s nervous about all this. It’s terrible that it’s happening and he hates that there will be any word among the people that he’d left them behind or otherwise fallen so far as to leave them on purpose, but it’s a simple misunderstanding! One that can be cleared up with one simple conversation with the princess, or even just with Impa, which is far more likely. He only needs to explain how he’d come to leave and where he’s been, give a full report on his actions and the measures taken, and more likely than not his absence will be pardoned, his record struck clean and- Hylia’s will be done- his pay reinstated.

Yes, he is at no fault for this. So then why does he feel the urge to pace restlessly up and down the brief length of the floor? Why are his eyes already darting up towards the door? His brothers won’t be back for a while!

The trip to Castletown will take the rest of the heroes several days at least. The exact length differs of course, but the current weather, by his approximation based off their time here so far, will be mostly cloudy, with some rain, but not enough to slow them significantly. If they rent horses at the nearest town, it will take less time, but the quality of available horseflesh will make a significant difference. Even under the worst conditions though, his brothers can’t take more than a week to reach the castle, and that’s accounting for monster attacks, bad weather, and a lack of horses! Impa can send word back within a day or two if she calls on a rito messenger, and knowing the woman as he does, she likely will. She makes no betrayal of feelings towards him but it’s undeniable that she wouldn’t leave one of her people in a bad spot if she can help it, especially not one important to the princess.

He forces himself to stop pacing, to instead sit on the thin bunk provided in the cell, hands rubbing dow over his face. He only needs to wait a week. How bad can that be?

It’s bad.

The thing about a week is that it seems to fly by when you have duties and battles and travel to attend to. Left i a room with only a bed and a bucket, he doesn’t exactly have very much to keep him occupied and the time seems to crawl past. In camp with the others, he’s always doing something, be it writing up reports to give to the princess once he’d returned home (reports he’s now entrusted to Wind for delivery), tending to hir gear, training with one of the others, scouting, hunting, foraging- there's always something to be done with the other heroes, and it’s early always accompanied by the sounds of life.

Wind’s feet scuff the earth as he walks, more accustomed to ship and sea than to rolling hills and long, stretched out fields. Legend hums softly to himself, singing sometimes when the younger ones encourage him. There’s always someone whispering or talking aloud to someone else, and the tapping or rubbing of fingers fills in the small gaps between voices as they all fiddle and fidget for lack of anything other than walking to be done.

There’s always a continual stream of feedback and information, in the sounds of their voices and the feel of the wind, the weather and the world around them. Sitting still now, with nowhere to go but four paces that way and four paces this way is strange, as is the absence of anything other than grey stone, a colorless tick of a bed and the faint orange glow of the one torch in his area.

The captain sighs, running a hand through his hair.

Patience. He needs to have patience. How many times has he reminded Mask to remember that same thing? How many times has he reminded Legend? The thing is out of his hands, e’s just got to trust someone else will handle matters for once, and until the he’s got to wait.

But he hates waiting. He hates sitting back and doing nothing, and however many hours he’s spent here already highlights that fact. Still, he’s got nothing to do! There’s no reports to read or write or hear, no forms to be filled out or documents to file, to dig through, to read. He’s got no men in and out of the room with questions and reports and demands, no fellow heroes asking him questions or in desperate need of teasing and laughter. There’s no sword to sharpen, no armor to clean, no letters to write or- or anything! He’s got a straw tick and a bucket! Neither of which he feels particularly keen on touching.

In the end, he ends up deciding to meditate for a bit. Impa had suggested it to him when he started stressing too much after the war, and she’d said it would offer help in repairing his connection to the sword, or at least could, if he did it right.

Meditating is the most boring thing on the face of the earth.

It feels like hours have passed, maybe a day? He's got no way of knowing for sure. A meal had been dropped by a while ago, but the man who’d left it hadn’t spoken so much as a word to him in the two minutes it took to slide the food in and leave.

Warriors gets the distinct impression that the soldiers are under orders not to speak with or to him. He can’t name why he thinks so, precisely, but it’s there. It’s there and he’s left stewing over it as he eats the food. A runny stew and a tough roll. It’s better than many a meal he’s had, and for garrison food, it’s on the better side. During training, their bread had been stale or moldy half of the time, and the soup wasn’t even necessarily hot. Here, it is, and it’s a small comfort as he eats and then leaves the tray back by the door where it was placed.

Eating, at least, gives him something to do, and he takes his time with it for the first time in ages. The food is gone after a while though, and then he’s left with nothing again, just the empty room and a fervent need to be doing something.

Well, since he doesn’t want to go back to trying to reign in his thoughts, perhaps mastering something else will be different. He’s heard many soldiers say that the best way to serve out time in the guardhouse or otherwise in temporary lock up is to just work out, and while he hates push-ups with a fervent passion, it’s not like there's anything better to do.

Pushups suck.

When his arms are sore enough that he knows pushing will leave him unwilling to move at all in a few hours, he stops. It was later in the afternoon when he’d been brought in, and while he’s not sure if the meal earlier was meant to be dinner or an early soldier’s breakfast, he’s not slept yet. Not that sleeping in a small space is ideal, but if he curls up tight enough on the straw tick and puts his face to the wall, he can almost imagine he’s back at the old house in Hebra. It’s not nearly as cold here as it was there, although Akkela isn’t warm by any means and dungeons by nature are chilly, but it’s easy enough to pretend. There’s a prominent lack of little sisters climbing over each other, whining and fighting and whimpering at the cold, no little bodies clinging close to try and leech heat off of their big brother, but it is what it is.

Other once showed him that pressing a fist over your heart can simulate the weight of a small child’s head, and it’s strangely soothing when he tries it. Not as soothing as holding an actual infant, but it settles a small part of his mind that he can at least stop thinking so hard instead, he can stare, listless, at the stones, tracing the way their mottling seems to make strange pictures and faces.

He must drift off like that eventually, because he wakes sometime later with a sharp start, but nothing to startle him. It’s disconcerting, not knowing how long he’s been asleep, but stranger still is the fact that he slept at all in a strange place and without the promise of someone watching his back. Sure, the cell is barred, and no one had come at all before he’d drifted off, but that doesn’t mean no one ever will.

He kicks himself, mentally, for dropping his guard that much, but honestly, with nothing and no one around, not even the sounds of footsteps, he knows how he’d done it.

Unfortunately, being awake comes with the return of the ceaseless need to move to go to work at something, and the area around him hasn’t changed at all since he drifted off. He’s not sure how long he was out either, although by the way it’s hard to pull himself up again he knows it was probably several hours at the least, although, again, he’s not sure how many. Tiem would know. Time always knows and although he’s asked a good dozen times, usually teasing but sometimes not, he’s still not sure how the younger hero has managed that.

Or- no, Time is older than he is. At least, he is now. He wasn’t before, but since meeting again he is, most certainly, older than the captain. It’s strange, and sometimes, like now, it catches him off guard that the id he used to toss over his shoulder like yesterday's washing is now big enough to throw him across Hyrule field.

The mental picture makes him grin, chuckling softly as his head taps against the stone of the wall behind him. Time probably would never actually throw him, but even just the idea is something he thinks would make the rest of the boys laugh and tease.

Gods, he misses them! It’s been only a day or so, he thinks, and already it feels like forever ago. They’ll be back soon though, or else he’ll be headed back to them. Whichever the case, if they come back for him personally, if he heads to Castletown to meet with them, or if they meet him halfway, he’ll see them soon. A week, he tells himself, just a week or so. He ca last that long. He survived a war, he can surive sitting alone in a cell for a week.

The week can’t be over soon enough.

He’s got no way to track the time, having no idea when or how frequently the meal trays will come, but four have been dropped so far. All of the hold the same fare, and while a canteen of water is provided, one that he doesn’t have to return until it’s empty apparently, or at least which he’s not asked to return, it still doesn’t make anything any easier.

He’s not starving, although the food isn’t filling either. He’s not sure if the meals are once, twice, or thrice a day, and not knowing is making him restless. Well, it’s not the only thing making him restless but it’s certainly not helping either! He needs a way to be able to track the time, to know how long it’s taking between one thing and the next, but there’s really nothing. There's no sound of patrolling guards, no light save the singular torch, and even that has begun to splutter and fade. He can’t track time y how long the torches take to burn out because they’ve been there longer than he has.

He has one tell-tale sign though, and he hates it: he needs to shave.

It’s not bad just yet, just a faint stubble. Still, that’s a lot more than he’s used to. Mother used to ask him if he’d grow a beard, but expectations of the hero are a well-kept sort of person, and honestly speaking, shaving is easier than upkeeping a mess of hair any day. He's never fancied himself a person to go around with facial hair, especially since it’d been so patchy when he was younger.

The Hero’s Curse, he’s learned, is that none of his brothers seem to be inclined towards decent facial hair. Unless of course they are fervently against it, like Four. The smithy has every hope that he doesn’t, considering if one even spares a glance at the men of the short hero’s family, they can see quite easily how well off Four would be, should he wish. He doesn’t seem too though, much to Time’s relief. Their own old man has little chance of ever adopting a decent beard, and Warriors would have said the same of himself if he wasn’t being met even now with evidence otherwise.

Gods, he needs a razor! He may be a prisoner for the time being, but is it really so much to ask that he at least be allowed some hygeine? Even as the thought leaes his mind he sighs. He sounds like a city boy alright. Gosh he hates how Twilight is right aout these things. He’s never telling him though, ot in a thousand years.

Seven trays.

It feels like he’s losing his mind.

He hasn’t actually seen anyone save the hand of the guard that leaves and takes his trays, The bucket in the corner stinks and he feels like a caged animal, left pacing the cell, four steps thus way and four steps that. It's three steps from door to the back wall, and the stoned up window has never looked more spiteful and taunting.

It’s days, he’s certain. The trays have to be once daily, there’s just no way they aren’t. There’s no way that it’s been anything less than a week already and it’s beginning to feel like more than that too. The idea of the lieutenant feeding her prisoners once daily doesn’t sit well with him, but the cells around him are quiet and after this long, much of which is either spent working out or leant against the door, he can say for a fact that there is no way that there’s anyone else in this small dungeon. There’s not even so much as a rat, which is honestly just a little depressing.

Somehow, the little torch across the hall is just hanging on. No one’s changed it out, but he’s a little scared that too swift a motion from the singular guard that comes at mealtimes may be enough to snuff it out entirely. Warriors has never considered himself a coward, but with everything he’s faced in this life, he thinks he has full grounds for fearing the dark. Being left alone in it for the next few days sounds miserable.

It stinks. He stinks. He smells like sweat and he desperately needs a bath. The little straw tick smells terrible and quite frankly, sleeping on teh floor with his arm as a pillow is far better than trying to curl up on the thing anymore. He thinks the straw might be molded.

There was a leak earlier. Water trickling in from above. Rainwater, if he had to guess, considering where the citadel is. It’s made the cell even colder, and there are damp places on the floor that seem to refuse to dry up. It makes slipping easy, working out difficult, and sleeping miserable. He’s given up altogether on trying to meditate. Maybe it’s good for you if the world is spinning around you, but everything seems so much slower if he’s also not moving, and elongating his time here is a maddening thought.

He lost count of the trays.

It’s either been ten or eleven, but sometimes he thinks it might have even been twelve. He’s got no way of knowing, and guessing at anything makes him uneasy. If he settles on more than he’s being too hopeful, but if he determines it’s less than the fear that it will take even longer for something, someone to return overcomes him like a thick black fog.

He needs out.

He needs out yesterday, or a week ago. Pacing is only driving him mad and by now he’s taken to sitting with his back to the door, desperate for even the softest of footsteps to tell him there’s even another living being in the area.

He was told he’d be held until her highness summoned him, or else the courts. From writing so, so many reports, he knows that there are so many more people in line for both of those things. His brothers will have found the princess by now though, they will! They’ll have told her and it’s only so much linger before word is set that he is to appear in castletown. He doesn’t acre if he’s marched there or allowed to ride back on his own. Gods, he’d swim back if he had to! As long as it meant getting outside again!

He sighs at the thought, throat raw. The silence is maddening, more so than the stink and the feeling of being filthy. He’d tried to fill it by talking to himself, humming one or another of those ditties that legend likes to sing while they’re walking, or even the ones Marin would share over the course of the war. He has no ear for music, but he’s heard most of them enough to remember bits and pieces, and there’s hardly anyone around to get mad at him for screwing up when he does, again and again.

Hylia, he misses the others. He misses the road and long days and dust. It’s wet in here and it’s dark and it’s worse than even the longest night out in Faron woods. At least in the woods there’s light, flashes of it and large, booming sounds that echo off of the rocks, rather than just the raspy sounds of his own breath in the tiny, cold, damp space he’s been sitting and stirring inside of for what feels like forever.

A full grown man he might be, but when the torch gives out, Warriors can’t even find it in himself to feel shame at the tears he sheds.

It’s dark, so very miserably dark, and the room feels ever so much smaller without the light peeking into it through the bars in the door’s tiny window. Without it, he can’t see where the puddles lay or where he’s set the canteen. Not that feeling about doesn’t tell him perfectly well, but that doesn’t help anything he needs to see. His hearing is shit and they all now it, his nerves in one hand near shot from the burns that trail up his arm. He needs sight more than he needs touch or he needs sound, especially in a place like this where there’s nothing to hear and nothing but stone and rotting straw to touch.

He curls in on himself, choking back the urge to sob.

Just a little longer. They’ll be back soon. Just a bit longer and then the lights will come back, he’ll get out just hold on just a moment more, Link.

When his guard comes with the next tray, the man is carrying a torch. The light catches his attention quickly, has him standing ad watching it approach with overwhelming relief. Only, once the tray is changed out and food is left, the light flickers away again, carried off.

No one makes an effort to change out the torches. He’s left in darkness.

Somehow, eating sounds miserable without light to see by. He forces himself anyways. At least it’s something to do and at least the soup is warm still. He’s getting rather tired of the taste of barley though.

It’s been too long. They should have been here by now.

He’s given up trying to track the time, but it feels like it’s bee forever since he’d told his brotehrs to head to castletown they should have reached it ages ago, should have already set back something, he knows her highness will understand and he knows he has no reason to doubt that, so why has it taken this long?

Have the other heroes been attacked? Did the shadow catch them when they were short of their tactician and injure someone? Have they become wrapped up in surviving so much that there is no hope of slipping back to the castle to seek help for him, who’s still alive, still breathing, and still safe, even if it is locked up in a dark cell?

He curls in on himself, tucked into the corner and sweating against the stone after far more push-ups than he was capable of when he last saw them. He shouldn’t entertain such thoughts but they ring aout the silent room so loudly.

What if a portal appeared and whisked his brothers away? What if for some reason, they’ll ever get word to the castle? Wil the lieutenant send word? Will anyone realize that the captured deserter up in Akkela territory is their hero? Will anyone bother telling Zelda? Or perhaps, because he’s only a soldier, the same as anyone else, or will they simply put his name down after so many others to be dealt with once they get to him?

The thought is a terrible one, but the longer tie ticks past, silent and cold and dark, the more it seems likely.

He just hopes his brothers aren’t dying out there without him to watch out for them.

When light peeks down, again, he doesn’t bother rising. He moves away from the door of course, but he’s given up trying to lock eyes with his guard, or say anything, or even back in the light when it does come. It hurts honestly, at this point. The brightness that was very welcome before is now too bright, eyes having adjusted, and he hates that he has to shield his face in his arms when the flames dance and flicker just beyond his door.

There’s the fait fumble of keys.

His guard usually is more elegant with the heavy ring, but maybe today he’s just a bit off.

There’s a curse, soft, hissed. The voice is not the rough sound of a soldier. It’s a youthful voice, one that has him raising his head just enough to prick his ears towards the door.

“Din bless, I’d be better off picking this dratted thing!”

He hasn’t heard a voice in what feels like forever, and while his mind wants to say it’s familiar, he doesn’t dare entertain such hopes. There’s no promise of anything anymore, but the sound of jostling keys and a rattling door are very much real, as is the sharp light that comes pouring in when at last the thing is opened.

“Gosh!” He’s too busy shielding his eyes from the light to catch sight of the figure, but he hears them stumble back. “Heavens, what a stench!”

Yes, well, no one was exactly changing out the bucket. Also, he thinks mold is growing in here.

“Wars?” And his heart jumps up into his throat at the nickname, “you in here?” It’s quickly followed by, “so help me if it’s some random shmuck in here I’m gonna-”

It doesn’t get further than that. He can’t see past the glaring presence of the light, but even if his hearing is shit, he knows that voice, he does, and it has him wanting to bawl and throw himself at the form of his brother. “Vet...” His voice breaks, from tears and lack of use, but he doesn’t care, “oh, thank Hylia.” Thank Hylia he’s here, thank Hylia he’s alive, thank the goddesses all that he’s here with keys and a lamp!

The light in the room fades, the wick of the lamp turned down to the faintest of glows and with it he finds he can lower his hands, eyes still burning a bit in the presence of light, but it’s worth it. It’s worth it because it shows him dark eyes that glint red in the faint light, one swollen nearly shut and with blood still spattered over the younger’s features, but Legend is all familiar long ears, filthy cap and freckle dusted cheeks, watching him, wary and worried, from where he kneels by his lowered lamp. His brother is here, here at last, and here in mostly one piece.

A desperate sob catches in his throat, preventing anything further.

Brows furrow, the one eye not swollen mostly shut narrows at him as the lamp is finally set on stone, carefully out of the water t6hat’s only just started to dry up again, and Legend hisses soft between his teeth, voice dropping to a near whisper. “You look like shit.”

He smells like it too.

That doesn’t stop the younger making his way over to him, surprisingly slow with his motions, like Twilight when the man approaches a strange cat, crouching low and reaching out slowly, watching him closely and listening for anything to give concern.

Warriors doesn’t wait for his brother to close the distance, instead catching that hesitant hand and squeezing. Legend squeezes back, and then, face twitching with something dangerously close to worry, the youngster darts in, wrapping arms around him for a moment, shoulders tight and face still furrowed in a frown. “You’re going to be alright, cap, I promise. We got you out.”

In the moment though, out isn’t his concern. No, the living, breathing form of a brother, cast in faint and flickering light in the dingy cell, smelling like forests and blood and somehow, always carrying the scent of fresh apples, is right here in front of him. Here where he can hear another breath, hear a voice, see someone else, someone who’s taking and sees him and-

He doesn’t care if desperation bleeds through his motions as he clings ahold of his brother, but he holds tight until Legend shifts away, and even than he’s hesitant to let go. It’s not missed, but the younger hero doesn’t tease, instead staring at him with one of those long, hard to read, considering looks, before stretching out a bejeweled hand. He takes it without question, letting himself be pulled to his feet and guided towards the door.

He doesn't release the vet’s hand, focused on it on his skin and the sound of the soft voice caressing his ears. Legend keeps his voice low, as though he knows somehow that noise has become foreign, but he keeps talking as he guides the both of them through the dungeons with the same sort of blind confidence as he takes when leading the way through a time gate. “Her highness signed a pardon the moment we told her what happened, so you’re free. We’re getting you a bath and a meal before we join the others, and whether you like it or not you and I are sleeping somewhere before heading back.”

He’s very much not objecting to that idea.

The vet pushes on as though he does. “It doesn’t have to be her. All things considered I’d be shocked if you wanted to spend more time here then you have to. I mean you look like the First Hero himself, danggit, but I’m not getting back on the road without a sleep, and quite frankly I’m not keen on running all the way back to Hyrule Castle again today.”

Running?

Again, Legend keeps talking, glancing back here and again with strange, searching looks, before continuing to chatter as he moves around a corner, hand tight on Warriors’ own, but not nervous. O, he’s assured, confident and collected as he leads the way, talk rambling but with only a faintly pissed air, as though he’s fighting off some sort of ire against something. Warriors has no clue what, but he get’s the feeling it’s not him. If it was, Legend wouldn’t be holding his hand and most certainly would be giving him the silent treatment.

“So, bath, clean clothes, food, and then bed. And we’re sharing, by the way, because frankly I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

He’s not objecting. In fact, he grips the hand in front of him tighter at the words, a promise that he has every intention of doing the same.

When they reach the stairs, Legend stops at the base, turning back to him and lowering his lantern. Light pours down from above, a promise of freedom, but the vet doesn’t chase it. There‘s a part of him that screams to, but he holds back as well, waiting. It’s when he realizes the vet is letting him set his own pace that he does move closer, and then closer again, until he’s stepping up the stairs and his younger brother is darting up in front of him again, hands still joined.

The light hurts his eyes. He has no clue how long the torch had been out, but it takes a fair bit to accustom himself to sunlight again as it streams in through a nearby window, sending long shadows across the floor that dance and flicker with their passing.

With a spark of relief, he finds himself able to note that it’s evening, and while that means it will be dark again quite soon, Legend hasn’t blown out the lantern either, and it’s flame is still a soft warm little thing behind the glass as the hero before him marches through the halls, looking not unlike the princess on her way to tan some hides on the training fields or in the council chambers. Granted, Legend has more blood on him, an almost concerning amount, but from stance and carriage, he supposes that it’s not his brothers.

Hylia above, he hopes Legend hasn’t killed anyone again.

They stop after a bit at a room. He's a bit turned around, head still spinning front light and sound and everything that dark little hell-hole hadn’t had, but the warmth in now clearly violet eyes helps to ground him as the vet turns to him, stopping at a door. “There should be a bath in there and all your things.” A brief nod at the door. “I’m headed to tear that lieutenant a new one for prisoner abuse, but you clean up. I won’t be more than thirty minutes.”

Quite frankly, that’s not a very assuring statement. Well, not until the vet pulls a pocket watch out of seemingly no-where and presses it into his hand, closing both his own around the steadily ticking device with a small squeeze.

“Thirty minutes.”

It’s a promise.

He has no clue how Legend could know about the light hurting, about not being sure of the time or even how the other had known without asking that he’d needed the physical anchor of a hand in his own, but he doesn’t question it as the other turns, shooting him a small half smile that's neither warm nor cold, but simply tense, although genuine. The moment the vet’s back it turned on him though, he sees shoulders roll and hangs wring, fisting as a tight line is drawn across the form of the younger as the vet storms down the halls.

He’s sorry for the lieutenant, but frankly, he’s not willing to even try and stop the vet this time.

The bathwater is divine. Warm, somehow, as though freshly drawn, and he’s surprised to find the fire rod close at hand should he need to warm it again he does, once, before pulling himself out and dressing. Not before he’s scrubbed himself down thoroughly though.

There’s no razor available, either on purpose or by accident, he’s not sure, but he makes do with a comb and some of the other things set out to at least make himself feel somewhat kept again. Detangling his hair would be harder if he hadn’t been careful to work at it each time he woke up, and it’s surprisingly soft to his own fingers in the wake of being washed and clean.

Fresh clothes are a blessing too. More so because they are his. Not his uniform, not an old shirt he keeps in his bag as a quick change, but fresh and clean clothes from his own room in the castle, still scented slightly with aftershave and sword polish, smells that wash over him with an overwhelming sense of home. Despite no doubt being tucked in the vet’s bag, they’re only slightly wrinkled, but it hardly matters because they’re soft and comfortable and make him feel relaxed in ways his uniform could never. It doesn't hurt that the light blue color is his favorite either. It feels like a gentle assurance from Zelda herself, one that all will be well very soon. Although, it’s already starting to feel that way.

It feels even better though when Legend comes back, knocking gently at the door and then entering when given permission. Dark eyes have eased some, although ire still burns off of the younger as he shuts the door.

“Alright, there’s an inn just south of here, not far from where we split up. Do you want to head there for the night or not? Lieutenant Dumbass offered us a room, but considering it’s still under her roof, I thought you’d like a say.”

He appreciates it, even finds himself smiling somewhat. “I don’t mind.”

“You’re sure,” there’s an arching of one brow, the vet’s good eye trailing over him, still considering. “You want to spend another night here?”

He appreciates the concern, and honestly, it’s quite endearing, but he nods. “I’ve lived in military caps for years. This citadel too, at times. As long as it has a bed, I think we can make do.”

The preference of not going back down to his cell goes unspoken, but he hardly has to say it, Legend somehow knows, just lie he knew everything else. “Right then,” is his answer, and the younger stoops, gathering his things, and Warriors quickly moves to help him. “We’ll stay here then. Kinda glad honestly, I wasn’t looking forwards to walking more today.”

A fair point. Having to walk might explain why it took the others so long, and based off what Legend was saying, it sounds like they’d turned around the moment they had Zelda’s pardon and headed right back here. Although, that does beg the question: “Where are the others?”

The vet huffs, shifting his things to one arm and holding out a hand towards him. Thoughtlessly, he takes it. “Back at Castletown. My Pegasus boots could get me back the fastest, so they agreed to have me go back while they waited there. We weren't going to just trust some postman, not after your arrest notice never even reached her highness.”

He stops, tugging some on the vet’s hand in the process, and it earns dark eyes trailing back to him for a moment, wordlessly waiting for what’s bothering him. “You ran here?”

A faint snort. “I would have run there, only we all needed to be there to make your case and I couldn’t exactly leave the others out in the middle of nowhere.”

Legend ran, from Hyrule Castle, to Akkela. “How long?”

“Two days,” his hand is tugged gently, boots scuffing the floor as he’s led down another hall, this time upwards to the scanty single rooms that are reserved for officers and visiting nobles. “Took three for us to reach Castletown, and I would have made better time, only I ran into an unholy amount of stalfoes.”

He stops short again, this time well and truly pulling back on the vet and sending the other stumbling as he stares. “Three days?”

Violet blink up at him. “Yeah. A week, roughly.”

“No.” It had been more than that. He’d lost count, but it was much, much more than a week! More like two, more like a month! He’d had no way to keep track but the time was far too much for it to have simply been the one week he’d been expecting!

Understanding flashes before him, none of the usual ire or playful smirks to hide it, and the hand still caught in his own squeezes. “Let’s get some rest, yeah?”

It’s easy, letting himself be tugged into the room. Watching Legend scour the place, upending the bed and checking the windows, checking the door, locking and relocking the room and then pushing the bureau over in front of it for extra measure. It’s a bitter reminder of the other’s lack of trust in soldiers, but watching tense shoulders relax with the door barricaded stops him asking if the other is okay.

The blast from the ice rod, freezing their door shut, actually makes him snort a laugh, earning a roll of the eyes in answer, the vet scoffing.

“Get in bed.”

He does, climbing up and relishing the softness that he’s missed.

He’s no city boy; he and his sisters grew up in Hyrule’s slums and things like goose feather pillows and warm quilted blankets are more of a luxury than most of the others would assume, but he loves indulging in them all the more for that reason. Leaving the warm bath is worth it to climb up into the bed, and while the room is only dimly lit, it’s only a bit more puttering from the vet before there's a fire on the hearth, and the still-lit lantern is set on a hook near the door, lighting the entry point for both of them to see easily.

It’s only then that Legend moves over, crouching briefly to kick off his own shoes before popping back up and into sight with a half-smile that’s almost a smirk. “Scoot over, I’m not sleeping on the floor.”

Laughing in answer is like tasting freedom itself, but he happily obeys the order, lifting the blankets enough for his younger brother to slide in beside him, warm and breathing and safe. Safe and alive, thank Hylia. Legend’s yawn shows off all his teeth, but the other doesn’t huff at him for his laughter at it. In fact, the vet betrays nothing remotely close to ire at all, instead shifting close, not touching, but present all the same as they settle under the covers. When he reaches out though, he’s not pushed away, and while there’s a token grumble, his move to wrap his brother in his arms isn't resisted. No, instead, Legend wraps his arms around him too, warm and safe and solid.

If he cries in relief, in disbelief that it’s over- well, Legend never shows sign of realizing, just nuzzles close against the soft fabric of his shirt, voice hazy with exhaustion. “Sleep well, Link.”

He does. For the first time in the longest week of his life, he does.

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