#they’re the only food I’ve properly kept down for like several days now and I think it’s fuckinh up my stomach

[amanda-ammamnda-amndada-admadna]

All these bitches on about wet food . What about dry food. Dry food appreciation post

[blu-joons]

Studio Date Nights ~ Kim Minjun

As soon as you spotted that the light was on in Minjun’s studio, you felt your heart flutter. As you neared the door, you could hear the beginnings of music playing, peering through the window to see Minjun sat at his desk, scribbling away in his notepad with ideas.

With the album finally nearing completion, Minjun had been hard at work to make sure that the final few pieces were put together. His time had barely been spent with you, and whilst you understood, you always worried about making sure that Minjun looked after himself.

After bumping into Chansung earlier in the day, he had expressed a little concern for Minjun as he spent most of his days in the studio. With a promise that you’d stop by, Chansung didn’t worry too much, knowing that no one else would be able to make him smile like you could.

You studied him for a few more moments whilst he was hard at work, waiting until he seemed to take a break before knocking on the door.

Minjun spun around at the sound of knocking, feeling his smile instinctively grow as he looked through the window at the top of the door, noticing you staring back at him. He waved you in, standing up to greet you properly.

As soon as you opened up the door, Minjun’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you tightly into his chest. Your arms moved around his waist, feeling his lips press against the side of your head several times.

With your heel, you kicked the studio door shut, giving the two of you a bit of privacy. “What are you doing here?” Minjun asked, pulling away from you momentarily so he could meet your eyes, “I thought you were busy today.”

“I’ve finished work,” you grinned, placing your bag down on his desk, “so I thought rather than going back to the apartment and spending the evening by myself, I’d come down here and see if you fancied a bit of company.”

His head nodded as he invited you to sit down in his desk chair, grabbing one of the old collapsible chairs that he kept for visitors for himself to sit down in. His eyes were firmly on you as he did so, relieved to see a smiling figure again.

Whilst Minjun settled himself, you reached into your bag, pulling out several bags of snacks, ones that you knew Minjun adored. “I wasn’t sure how hungry you are, but I’ve got takeout ready to call if you’d rather have a proper meal inside of you.”

“All of this is perfect,” he smiled, searching through the items that you had bought, “food isn’t what I need right now, just being here with you is all I need. All of this work has been piling the pressure onto my shoulders, I’m terrified right now that all of this won’t get the seal of approval from the boys for the album to be honest.”

“You’re joking?” You questioned, “they always love what you do.”

Minjun offered you an appreciative smile, reaching forwards to rest his hand against your knee, nudging you gently. The exhaustion in his gaze was clear, the efforts of the day had taken their toll on him as he worked every part of his body as hard as he could.

“If you’re sure that they love everything that I do, then could you maybe give it a listen first? If you like it, then I’m sure that all of the boys will love it too, you’re the one that I always feel like I’ve got to impress the most anyway.”

“If it’ll make you confident in your own ability, then of course,” you assured, “but I’m convinced that I’ll love everything that you’ve worked on.”

You pushed yourself back from the desk so that Minjun could load up everything that he wanted to show you. The technical side of producing had always left you slightly confused, Minjun had tried to teach you all about it, but eventually he gave up too.

“How long have you been working on all of this stuff?” You asked, stunned by the number of files that he had saved on his computer, “or should I question for how long you’ve been hiding all of these works of art from the rest of the world?”

Minjun leaned across and pressed a kiss to the side of your head before continuing, “you’ve got to hear them yet, then you can decide whether they’re really works of art or not.”

Once Minjun had set everything up, he passed you a pair of headphones to place on your head before pressing play. As he did, his eyes were fixated on you, watching as your head nodded along to the short snippet of the song he had perfected.

Minjun’s work left you in awe as always, stunned by the talent that he had to offer. Whilst it was only a few seconds long, as such a small taster of the other songs, you were excited to see all of the other stuff that he had been working on.

“So?” Minjun grinned as you took the headphones off, “how was it?”

Rather than speak, you let your actions do the talking, standing up from your chair and walking across to give him a tight hug. Minjun’s arms instantly moved around your frame, pulling you down into his waist as a sigh of relief escaped him.

“I hate and love how talented you are at the same time,” you laughed as you tucked yourself in underneath his chin, “it’s not fair that one person can be so skilled whilst someone like me can barely string a sentence together.”

Minjun could only smile back down at you, slightly too overwhelmed to speak. If there was one person who was always there to hype him up, it was you. Whenever he needed you, you were there to cheer for him, and more importantly, encourage him.

Your hand lifted to brush through his signature curl as he continued to stare at you, perfecting each strand so that it sat perfectly in front of his forehead.

“I like having you here,” Minjun whispered as you moved your hand back into his lap, “it’s quite cosy having you in my little space.”

Your head nodded as you looked around the room, “I can’t believe I’ve never spent much time in this place, it’s certainly got your stamp around it too.”

“It’s the best place for me,” Minjun admitted, “but having you here is the icing on top of the cake for making this place perfect. I’ve got everything I need in this room, music, snacks, and best of all, I’ve got you too.”

Your head shook as Minjun’s head nodded, reinforcing every single word that he had to say to you.

“I really do mean it, I’ve been so busy, especially with all of this stuff for the album and I really don’t know how you’ve been so patient with me. Trying to get all of this done has been horrendous, but I promise once this album is complete, you’ll have my full attention and I’ll make all of this back up to you too.”

“You don’t need to make anything up to me, I’m proud of how hard you’re working, and I know that it’ll pay off for you too. As long as by the end of this you’re proud of yourself, then that’s all that matters to me.”

Minjun nodded back to you, “I’m proud of everything that I do, but I’m mostly proud of the fact that I get to do all of this with you.”

“I should come to your studio more often if this is how sweet you’re going to be.”

---

Masterlist

[deltas-writing-corner]

Courtship: Together

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland (Malleus x GN!reader)

Author note: Thank you all for your patience and happy reading!

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and alcohol consumption.

Previous chapter | Next Chapter

AO3 version

“Really, I insist.”

“And I insist you sit down and relax while we finish preparing your party,” Lilia says as he pushes Malleus back down in his seat; the grand stone throne at the top of the double staircase in Diasomnia’s main lounge room. “We’re nearly done, anyway!”

Malleus tries to argue that setting out a few plates of food or lighting a few candles himself is no big issue, but Lilia skips away before he can get another word in. He continues to watch as the rest of his dorm mates decorate and rearrange the lounge into a grand venue befitting a birthday bash. Every so often, he checks his phone and rereads the last few messages you sent to him. You wrote you would arrive soon and would inform him when you were outside. He was getting antsy the longer he waits. There was even a moment where he was unsure if you knew the way to his dorm and panic-offered to escort you just in case. He snuck out for you once, and he’d do it again if you only asked.

The somber doorbell rings, and he immediately shoots up onto his feet. Lilia excuses himself so he can answer the door, but Malleus quickly descends the stairs and catches him by the shoulder before he can leave the room. “I’ll get it,” he says, leaving no room for a rebuttal from his caretaker. He hears several shouts of his name and approaching footsteps, but no one completely follows him into the halls, most likely thanks to Lilia holding them back. Even as he puts more and more distance between him and the venue, he swears he can hear the elder fae’s playful giggles echoing in the distance.

He picks up his already hurried pace at the sound of the bell ringing again. He’s a bit out of breath by the time he reaches the door and takes a few moments to straighten up and calm his pounding heart before welcoming you in. His efforts to appear calm and collected are all for naught, as he feels his breath being taken away when he opens the door and sees you. While you’re always wonderfully dressed, seeing you dressed in attire that is just a smidge more formal and fanciful strikes a carnal chord he didn’t know existed till this very moment. Black and green are the signature colors of Diasomnia. While your dress shirt isn’t the traditional vibrant green, instead it is a dark and rich hue, he can’t help but wonder if it would be too rude or outright ridiculous to ask you to wear it more often.

“Hey!” you greet with a bright smile on your face. “See? I made it here just fine.”

“Thank goodness,” he lets out a relieved sigh. “I thought I may have had to pick you out of a thorn bush.”

You let out a hearty laugh at his comment as he ushers you inside. He observes you as you look around and take in the decor of his dorm. While the architecture of Diasomnia is a typical design within the Valley of Thorns, his own home especially, he knows from a few off-handed comments that some students find the dorm gloomy and even downright unwelcoming. He supposes the green flames that bathe the walls and windows in an ominous glow can be a bit intimidating to those not used to them, but you don’t appear bothered by it at all. In fact, you’re dragging him in the opposite direction of the lounge and insisting that he show you around his dorm.

“I’m not leaving ‘till I see your room,” you firmly state.

“Why would you want to see my room?” he asks.

“Y’know?” You point back and forth between him and yourself. “You’ve seen my room, so now I get to see your room.”

That sounds awfully familiar.

“What is your name, child of man?”

“Depends on who’s asking,” you answer nonchalantly, completely unintimidated or disturbed by his presence. “What’s yours?”

His eyebrows furrow with annoyance. “It is proper to give your name when asked.”

“That isn’t how mutual introductions work where I’m from,” you scoff. “You’re supposed to give me your name, and then I give you mine.” you point back and forth between you and himself to better emphasize your explanation. As if you were trying to make sense of the difference between right and wrong to a child.

He feels the urge to growl in the back of his throat. “You’re rather ill-mannered, human.”

“I don't think any reasonable person would feel safe giving out their name to a tall guy with horns, wandering around an abandoned dorm that’s seen better days,” you bite back. “You aren’t making a great case for yourself either.”

After his mind finishes playing back the very first memory and conversation he has of you, he gently grabs you by the shoulder and leads you in the opposite direction. “Very well,” he concedes.

He guides you down several long halls, past the other standard-sized dorm rooms and other empty rooms. The large double doors of his room eventually come into full view, and when you turn and ask him if that was his room, you give him a giddy smile when he confirms it is. His room is rather plain. The only personal items he has are a few pennants above his desk given to him by Lilia many decades ago, and a giant statue shaped as the Witch of Thorn’s dragon form. While there isn’t anything in particular that he’s embarrassed by you seeing, he worries you might find the lack of personal decor boring, upsetting even. You have little else in your room as well, but compared to his it may as well be a treasure trove.

“Huh,” you step in and look back and forth, taking in his private space in all its unassuming glory. “So this is what a dorm leader’s room is like!”

The first place that catches your interest is the bed, which you unashamedly fall back on, arms spread out to bask in the space underneath you. If seeing you on his bed wasn’t enough to stir his heart, it would be the fact that another one of your shirt buttons came undone, exposing more of your collarbones and the middle of your chest to his obsessive gaze.

“Damn, I’d kill for a bed this big,” you grumble. “Do you know how much of a pain it is, sleeping with a bunch of full-grown wolves, four newborn pups, and a steadily growing deer?”

“You can always order them out of your room at night,” he suggests.

You fall back on his bed again with a groan. “Believe me, I’ve tried! They nearly scratched my door off and kept me up all night with their loud howling.”

You and your deep, unspoken love for animals. It seems it’s coming back to bite you in small ways. “You’re much more pliable than I thought!” he says, laughing behind his palm.

“Whatever,” you lift yourself and give a dismissive wave with your hand. Something catches your eye, as you look him up and down before tilting your head inquisitively. “Aren’t you supposed to have a sash with your outfit?”

He is, but what you don’t know is that he purposely left it in his closet, hoping you would notice and bring it up as you did just now. The reason and overall style of this birthday suit perplexed Malleus, but he’ll admit that it wasn’t an unwelcome surprise when the headmaster dropped it off the other day. He was actually hoping it would be you that presented it to him as you did with Lilia’s identical outfit on his birthday. However, that one time was because the headmaster had another obligation and handed the task to you last minute. It was the first time Malleus saw you since the end of the winter break, when his love confession went awry. It was awkward and nerve-racking, as to be expected considering how things went. But when you smiled and called him “tsunotarou” (much to Sebek’s disdain), it helped affirm the words the two of you had been exchanging over the phone, that you and he are still friends and that you still cared about him.

As he had hoped, you quickly offer to put the sash on for him when he mentions it still being somewhere in his wooden wardrobe. Your movements are swift and unassuming, but he can’t help the way his shoulders tense up when you put your arm around him to wrap the sash around his torso. Once the strip of fabric is properly secured, you run your hands over his clothes to smooth out the small wrinkles and bunched-up fabric. Your actions feel like a burst of electricity against his skin, even though there were several layers of clothes separating your bare flesh from his.

You casually wipe your thumb over the purple gem on his lapel pin before saying, “White suits you.”

“Is that so?” He timidly raises his hands to button up your dress shirt, just the one button that was undone earlier. He knows you hate having it buttoned up all the way. “I thought you said red suited me best?”

“I still think it does!” you chuckle. “But I’ve never considered you in something white until now. I guess I have to make you a white coat now.”

“You don’t have to,” he insists. “The one you made for me is fine as it is.”

“That’s good,” you smile. “All those years of helping my aunt sew and mend clothes for my cousins finally came in handy.”

“That would be your second aunt, correct?”

You’re visibly surprised at his comment, but you quickly give him a rather adorable smile. “That’s right!” you chant. When he asks you why you’re smiling so sincerely, you answer, “You’re the first person who’s been able to tell which of my aunts I’m talking about without naming them.”

“You speak of them often, so it’s expected that I’d be able to distinguish who you’re referring to after some time.”

“Well, shut me up if I mention them one too many times,” you insist, eyes averted from his own as you fidget with the ribbon tails of his celebratory bow near his breast pocket, his birth month and day were written with shimmering gold foil.

“Nonsense,” he frowns, redirecting your gaze to him so he can look you in the eyes. “They’re your family. If they’re important to you, then they are to me as well.”

While it’s true that you speak or make a frequent mention of your aunts during your many late-night strolls with him, Malleus’s ability to tell which one you’re referring to is mostly due to him carefully listening to each of your stories like they were gospels, writing seemingly rudimentary information down in his private journal to later read back by himself. Initially, he kept a record because your stories about the life you’ve lived alongside your rather rambunctious human family intrigued him. As his infatuation for you grew, he hoped that by showing you he remembers these moments of your life that you’ve shared with him, it would be a clear sign that he deeply cared not just about you, but also the family you deeply care for.

“Honestly,” you sigh and give him a playful look. “You really know how to tug on my heartstrings, don’t you?”

Malleus has done his best to remain calm and composed in your presence ever since he came to terms with his feelings towards you. As always, you shatter his efforts completely just by being your genuine self, open and honest with your thoughts. You seem to relish his red-faced meltdown, pulling him into a comforting hug while also laughing at him. He hopes you don’t think it strange, the way he seamlessly leans against you and melts in your arms. There’s a pleasant fragrant he picks up in your hair, fresh and floral, specifically like roses. He knows you like to make and use rose water every once in a while to keep your skin moisturized and your hair healthy. His heart is on the verge of bursting through his chest, thinking about you using it specifically with him in mind.

Is this your way of enticing him? It’s not much, but it’s working.

You pull away from him when your phone briefly rings. “Looks like they finished,” you announce as you skim over the newly received message, most likely from Lilia. “We should probably head there now before Sebek gets impatient and hunts you down like a rabbit.”

At the mention of his well-meaning, but loud retainer, Malleus and you leave his room and walk back to the venue together. Along the way, he acts bold and grabs your hand as you hurriedly walk side by side. You don’t pull away when his fingers interlock with yours. Instead, you squeeze and swipe the callus pad of your thumb over his knuckles, a silent assertion that his gesture is okay with you. A shy smile adorns his face. When he spares a glance over at you, he sees one as well.

“I know it’s only been 5 days,” he nervously mentions aloud. “But is it safe for me to presume that you already have an answer?”

“Pretty much,” you casually answer, but you still sounding quite sure of yourself. It sends his heart, mind, and body into a hopeful frenzy. “But as you said, it’s only been 5 days. I still have 2 more days left before my deadline hits and I’m taking all the time I’ve given myself.”

That cheeky tone of yours doesn’t go amiss. In normal Ramshackle fashion, you’re going to keep him at his wits’ end for your own amusement. He doesn’t know if he should feel more annoyed or more enchanted by you. Perhaps a mix of both? Truly, only you can make him feel this way.

“Honestly,” he shakes his head in disbelief. “You are by far the most troublesome human I’ve ever met.”

He halts his hurried pace. And you do as well. He grasps your still intertwined hands together with his other hand, holding it carefully like they were as fragile as glass. Your skin is covered in scars, both recent and old, that came from years of foraging and enduring the natural difficulties of mother nature. However, to him, these permanent markings are more precious than the rarest gem or the finest silk. Your hand is neither too large nor too small within his. It sits just right within his grasp like they were made for him to hold and caress as he is doing now.

“I suppose that makes you the person that you are,” he smiles down at you after letting out a curt laugh. “and it is you who I love and cherish immensely, with all that I am and ever will be.”

Perhaps it is in poor taste to repeat the same words he first told you during his initial confession, but there are no other words he could weave together that can equally convey to you the extent of his feelings other than these. He knows he’s getting ahead of himself. He knows that he’s agreed to abide by the time you’ve asked of him. His words are his bond, literally and figuratively.

He’s just so damn in love with you. He’s willing to act a bit more reckless than he usually is just to expedite the days where he can have you by his side and be together with you at last.

He barely catches it, but thanks to the quiet halls, he’s able to pick up the mumbled words you speak. “You’re making me lose my sense of patience, dammit.”

“Young master!” Sebek’s booming voice echoes down the hallways before Malleus can press your comment further on. His impending presence is enough to make you let go of one of him and take a step back to set some space between you and him. “Where are you?!”

He was much closer than he sounded, as you and Sebek nearly topple over each other when you both turn down the same corner. Thankfully, Malleus acts quickly enough and catches you before you could fall to the ground, and you thank him shortly after you’ve righted yourself up.

Malleus looks up at Sebek and asks, “Why on earth are you sprinting down the halls?”

“The human has failed to respond to Sir Lilia’s message, so he sent me to retrieve you both!” Sebek states, a bit too loudly for your liking as you click your tongue and rub your temples to relieve the growing headache. Malleus has assured you that Sebek’s volume is something you’ll grow accustomed to. It seems the day has yet to come.

“Well, we’re here,” you halfheartedly try to reassure the boy. “So can you please use your inside voice?”

“You!” now it was Sebek’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. “Did I not give you an hour-long lecture on proper attire for the occasion?! Today is Master Malleus’s birthday, and you look no different from what you look like any other day!”

“What?!” you look at his retainer with utter bewilderment. “I am dressed up! I even went out and bought a damn blazer just to fall in line with your strict rules!”

“You’re not wearing it properly!” Sebek gestures to your rolled-up sleeves and the two undone buttons of your dress shirt. “Honestly, I expected better conduct from you, prefect!”

“Just shut up and walk, Zigvolt!” you fume and push the young fae down the hall, ignoring his continuous strings of scoldings and high expectations of you. “I’m not in the mood!”

You turn back to Malleus, who silently follows a few steps behind Sebek and you ahead of him. Malleus has to bite his tongue as you make a choking gesture, most likely directed towards Sebek, with one of your hands. He puts his hand up in defense, not wanting to get involved in your ongoing argument with his retainer. Whenever you and Sebek are together, willingly or otherwise, the two of you often butt heads. Your arguments are never too serious. Malleus knows that if he gives you two some space, you’ll both work out whatever it is you’re arguing about and go back to respectfully tolerating each other as per usual.

He wants to ask you about this supposed lecture Sebek gave you about how you should dress. It sounds equally intriguing as it does ridiculous. Unlike Sebek, he thinks you’re dressed rather well tonight.

The scent of roses in your hair is proof enough that you’ve taken some of Sebek’s words to heart, even if he says otherwise.

The food is delicious despite its unusual colors. The cake, although baked by Lilia, was fluffy and not overly sweet like you expected it to be. Your biggest fear of the night was walking into a dorm full of faes who are just as headache-inducing and strict as Sebek is, but thankfully there’s only one of him in the entire dorm! Some students were still standoffish and threw you a few too many nasty looks than you would normally tolerate. Thankfully, there were some students you remember helping out of their dubious contract with Azul during exams week and welcomed you with open arms. They followed you around like a bunch of ducklings, eagerly insisting you try some dishes they specifically made for tonight’s festivities. Whether they genuinely admired you or simply wanted to make even with you for your help, they are a pleasant distraction from your interactions with Malleus earlier.

Love is a strange thing. Unlike a deer, you can’t predict its next movements or manipulate it to a point of disadvantage. Whether you love someone poorly or properly, love isn’t the same across the board. The love you have for your ghostly dorm mates back in ramshackle is comparable to the love you have for your family, precious and irreplaceable. You can share the same sentiments for your flourishing entourage of forest animals you take care of. You even have a bit of love for Grim, even if he wears your patience thin every other day with his dim-witted cockiness.

You’ve been in a few relationships before, but they went nowhere meaningful. They were relationships built upon a foundation of opportunity and convenience, not of mutual affection and a desire for lifelong companionship. You’re also a creature of habit, so the idea of breaking your hard-fought routines puts you on edge, even if it’s for someone you care about. There’s also the fact that you’ve sworn to yourself to not get too involved with the people in this strange world. You don’t want anyone, or even yourself, to feel saddened or at a loss when it comes time for you to depart. You don’t want to inconvenience anyone if you can avoid it. When you return home, you just want to brush this entire experience off as a long and complex dream.

But how can you brush someone like Malleus off as a figment of your imagination? How can you simply forget all those nights you spent talking with him, laughing with him, genuinely connecting and bonding with another person outside your immediate family for the first time in a long while? How can you continue to tell yourself that you won’t get too involved or become attached to anyone in this twisted world after you’ve gone and fallen in love with one of its inhabitants?

You love Malleus, truly, wholeheartedly, and for far longer than you initially thought. You love him, but not to a blind point where you cannot realize that loving him isn’t as simple as acting upon your innermost desire. Even if the feelings you have for one another are mutual, what then? What will a relationship with a fae, a royal fae, entail? Few think highly of humans. Sebek is a living example that there are even faes who actively dislike and look down upon humans. Malleus is at the very top of the social hierarchy, while you are on the very bottom; a magicless human from a completely different world. That’s another problem! What happens once the way back to your home is finally unearthed?

You love Malleus, but no matter how you look at it, a relationship with him sounds nothing more than an outlandish fairytale. Your friendship with him is still a rather delicate issue. You aren’t particular about what others think of your involvement with him, but he can’t exercise the same amount of dismissal of public opinion as you do. He  has  to worry about what others think of him, because eventually he’s going to be king, and a king can’t flourish if his people think ill of him.

It makes you wonder why he fell in love with you, the most perilous person he could have ever met and involved in his delicate lifestyle.

“Having fun over here?” A playful voice interrupts your deep thinking. Lilia has one of his arms thrown over your shoulder, a gloved hand firmly squeezing you for comfort and bringing you closer to his side.

Despite his petite stature and his boyish looks, you knew from the moment you locked eyes with him on the first day of the school year that he was much older and wiser than he let on. In fact, he’s old enough that he’s been mentioned in a few footnotes in a history book or two. You even cited him as a source for a thesis essay just for a few laughs. He even has a copy in his room. It wouldn’t surprise you if he has it framed and hung on his wall. He’s a very sentimental man.

“Do you need a moment to breathe?” he asks, concern discernible in his voice.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” you plead.

“Not at all,” he nods assuringly before excusing him and yourself from the small group of boys you’ve been entertaining for the past hour. He leads you out to a quiet balcony and you bask in the cool night air once the doors behind you are closed. Once outside, you take in a much-needed deep breath and lean yourself against the balustrade railing. He quickly excuses himself again and returns with two flutes filled with a bubbly drink.

“What is this?” you ask, swirling the contents around with caution.

“It’s champagne,” he answers.

You give a quick sniff. It certainly smells like it. “Isn’t everyone here too young to drink?”

“Yes.” He clinks his glass against yours before throwing you a cheeky wink. “But we aren’t.”

That’s good enough of an explanation to have you down the much-needed alcohol in one shot. Lilia takes careful sips instead, but once he finishes his drink, he heads back and brings the entire bottle of bubbly wine for you to finish with him. It’s been a while since the two of you drank together. Lilia has an expensive palette, so you’ve quickly learned to cherish each selection he brings for these monthly get-togethers.

You gesture to the dark bottle. “How old is this?”

“Half a decade. Nothing too fancy,” he tells you while pouring himself another glass. “It’s certainly better than whatever it is you brought last time we got together.”

“Unlike you, I like a little kick in my drinks,” you explain.

“Well, I’m not exactly fond of the sensation of my throat burning up with searing pain,” As if you emphasize his point, he massages around his small Adam’s apple. “No wonder you’re so rough around the edges.”

“That’s a low blow and you know it Vanrouge,” you pour the last bit of champagne in your glass before setting the bottle down by your feet.

“How low?”

”Right in my gut.”

“Then I suppose I’ll need to make it up to you over another bottle,” he subtlety suggests. “Are you in the mood for anything in particular?”

“Not really,” you shrug. “Nothing too strong. I’d rather not get hammered in front of a bunch of teenagers.”

He offers a bottle of red wine he’s been meaning to pop open for a while and you accept without a fuss. He takes the empty bottle of wine and tells you to hang tight while he gets the next one. You’re left alone for a few minutes before someone enters the area and settles right next to you. It’s Malleus, who looks just as out of sorts as you certainly look and feel.

“Needed a moment to breathe?” you ask.

“Yes, but I also noticed you were missing and came to find you,” he admits. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you smile reassuringly at him. “Just out of my element a bit.”

“I’m sorry,” he looks so downtrodden that it makes your heart sink. “I had every intention of being close by you for most of the evening, but I’ve been busy speaking with the others that I-“

“Hey, relax!” you stop him before he can devolve any further. “Today’s your day, not mine. Besides,” you lift your empty glass for him to see. “Lilia is keeping me company.”

“Why is it that whenever I see you two together, there’s alcohol involved?”

“In my defense, he’s the one who offered,” you explain, but he doesn’t seem that convinced or assured. “It’s been a while since I’ve had champagne! And it’s a special occasion!”

“I’m not opposed to you drinking, but after what happened last time, I can’t exactly trust you two to pace yourselves or get your hands on something far too potent than either of you can handle.”

He’s talking about the last time you and Lilia drank. You’re not sure what it is the old man brought, but whatever it was, neither of you could stop drinking it even after you two were well past your limits. You both blacked out early in the evening and woke up with one of the worst hangovers in your life. Malleus knew well beforehand that you and his caretaker drank together. He’s even joined a few of your drinking sessions, despite not being fond of alcohol himself. But he certainly did not expect to deal with not only one, but two easily agitated and out of touch individuals the next day.

You still don’t know what was in that bottle.

“Malleus!” A newly arrived Lilia perks up when he sees the man of the hour next to you. “Have you come to drink with us?”

“I’m afraid not,” he answers, immediately followed by the two of you whining in disappointment. “Seriously, what is it with you two and alcohol?”

“You make it sound like we’re alcoholics. Which we aren’t!” you protest, eagerly watching as Lilia opens the bottle and pours you both the first glass of many more to come. “We only get together like this once a month.”

“We used to share a few glasses once a week at some point,” Lilia says as he hands your drink. “But that’s a bit too frequent for these old bones.”

“Says the man that downed half a dozen bottles of beer back in September,” you purposely bring up.

“I didn’t know it was alcohol!” Lilia shrills. “If I did, I would have paced myself better.”

You look over to Malleus and shake your head in disapproval. Your action makes him chuckle, and the urge to fidget with the stem of your glass comes down on you. He really does a great laugh. You’re not sure if it’s your genuine feelings or the alcohol that’s making your heartbeat faster after hearing it. For the sake of your sanity, you’re just going to blame the wine for making you feel more infatuated than usual.

As you and Lilia steadily empty another bottle together, the older fae feels compelled to tell you a story or two about Malleus when he was younger. Despite the latter’s protests, you insist and listen intently about the many times Malleus singed Lilia’s hair as a baby with his fire hiccups or the few instances he’s gotten lost on his quest to sightsee every single gargoyle around the castle. It’s never a proper birthday party without a relative sharing embarrassing baby stories with random guests.

After the second battle goes empty, Malleus suddenly asks you if you would like to walk around the dorm grounds for some much-needed air, Since he’s the birthday boy, you agree right off the bat, only after you get a glass of water in you to help stave off the wine a bit. Lilia gently reminds you both not to stay out for too long, otherwise, Sebek’s worrisome nature might get the better of him and he’ll put together a makeshift search party. If you hadn’t had a few glasses of wine, you wouldn’t have found Lilia’s comment as funny as you did at the moment. You’re a tad tipsy, but not drunk enough that you feel yourself acting or thinking too out of character or lose your sense of balance and trip over your own two feet.

“So, where are we going birthday boy?” you nudge him with your elbow. “Are you going to push me into that thorn bush now?”

“But of course,” he laughs. “I just wish for further respite, that’s all.”

Just as you’re about to mention that people usually like to step away from a crowd by themselves, you feel his smooth fingers interlock with your hand once again. He takes you around the back of the dorm where the expansive and well-attended hedge garden is located. The dark-colored bushes are blanketed in blankets of snow, and more green fires are flickering atop the lantern poles lined along the stone pathways. It’s been a while since the two of you went on a nightly stroll like this. They started out as either you or Malleus running into each other by pure chance and just going along with the lucky encounters. Soon your run-ins became much more intentional and a regular part of your schedules.

He’s the first to break the silence. “May I ask you a strange question?”

“Of course you can,” you nod your head, admiring the wooden gazebo the two of you have now settled underneath for a moment. “Isn’t that why we go on these walks, to ask each other a bunch of odd questions?”

It goes without saying that, due to your racial differences, there were a lot of questions burning in each of your minds about your differing ways of life and upbringings. Most of your questions were innocent and came from a place of wanting to learn and take into consideration his boundaries as a fae. As you grew more comfortable with each other, thus more open and honest, the more comfortable you felt to ask him more personable questions. However, you usually have to answer your own question first before he gives his response in return. You find that this is usually the case when conversing with a Fae. They won’t give until you give back something of equal value.

“In my defense, your blunt answers are refreshing,” he admits, almost gratefully. “No one other than Lilia speaks to me with such genuine honesty. Yet even then, he tends to shroud his words in some layer of vagueness.”

“My aunts were like that when I first moved in with them. Something about ‘learning things on your own,” you recollect. “But I was really quiet and withdrawn when I first moved in with them. They had to lead me by the hand and pummel me with lots of encouragement just to get me to do basic things.”

“You and the concept of quietness don’t mix well together,” Malleus laughs. “In fact, much of how you describe yourself as a child doesn’t seem to match up to how you behave now.”

His comment, while true and most likely just a casual observation, is treading into somewhat dangerous territory for you. “You really pay attention to everything I say, don’t you?” you comment in an attempt to divert the conversation elsewhere.

“I do,” he admits with an unashamed expression “But seeing as you now know of all of my embarrassing mishaps as a child, I think it’s only fair that I get to hear a story or two about yours.”

He leans closer to you, something you normally do to him whenever he gets all quiet and reluctant to say what’s on his mind. You don’t exactly mind telling Malleus about your early childhood, but it’s not as grandiose or as pleasant as he may think it is. What’s a friendship without revealing a few stories about your crappy childhood to each other? What happened to you is unfortunate, and you’re not ashamed to talk about it, not anymore at least. Considering the state of your friendship with him and the ongoing issue about whether you’re going to pursue something more with him or not, you’re not too sure if sharing stories of your past should be preserved for later or if doing so now is alright.

“Can I ask you something first?” you hesitantly ask.

“Anything.”

You turn your body towards him more, easily noticing the way he sits up a little more straight. The faint chirps of crickets and windswept leaves fill the silent void you’ve set in place. He remains quiet, tightening his grip around your hand, still interlocked with his, brushing the back of it with the thumb of his other. The gesture is small, but it’s obviously his way of letting you know that he’s patiently waiting and encouraging you to take all the time you need to sort your thoughts out. He’s looking at you with that concerned expression of his. The one he makes when he feels as though he’s made some sort of mistake or said something that was ill-spoken against you.

He tends to critical of himself, only because there is a lot of expectation set upon his shoulders for someone of his station. It is during moments like this that you understand what Lilia meant when he says Malleus still has much to learn and experience before he can truly take on the mantle of a king. He may be many decades older than you, but his maturity is probably not too far from your own; well put together than most, but still in need of opportunities to grow and learn some more.

That’s the purpose of these walks, to learn and grow from each other. All it takes is a question. But your question, the one that has been swirling in your mind for days, isn’t as innocent as wondering if his horns have nerve endings or not.

Your teeth are on the verge of biting your tongue hard enough to draw blood when finally, you will yourself to ask the burning question on your mind.

“What do you plan to get out of a relationship with me?”

He’s visibly taken aback by your question. If you squint really hard, your question is almost an affirmation that his feelings towards you are mutual, but it is only a minuscule part of a much greater whole. There can not, will not, be any do-overs for either of you. Before you pass a point where there is no return, you need to make sure neither of you is setting yourself up for disaster later down the line. You love Malleus, but you will not tell him what your genuine feelings are just to make him feel better. If word gets out about your relationship and it’s ill-received by his family or, heaven forbid, his own people, you’d never forgive yourself. Becoming King of the Valley of Thorns is his only desire in life. You couldn’t possibly understand why he would want to put himself into such a demanding position. You still don’t understand, but he remains firm that becoming king is what he truly desires in the entire world.

You’d rather die with these unpursued feelings of yours than to allow yourself to be the reason he loses his unwavering purpose in life.

“A relationship, with you,” he tests the words, the very concept, out loud. As if he’s trying to gauge the reaction of the world itself. “It certainly wouldn’t be a dull one.”

That look he gives you, the one that is so painstakingly painted in so much love and affection that can give you several tooth-rotting cavities, directed to none other than you, makes your heart do all sorts of acrobatic twirls and lunges. Your hands seek out the nearest object to fidget with, a piece of hair that fell out of place from your hairstyle. There’s a moment of panic that overcomes him and he goes to pull his hand out of your firm grip, but you tighten it just before his hand can slip away. You like holding his hand, you realize.

“Something’s troubling you,” he remarks. “Whatever it is, tell me.”

“This isn’t the best time to bring it up,” you argue. It really isn’t. Not when there’s alcohol in your body that makes you incredibly pessimistic and impulsive. And it’s his birthday. You really don’t want to make this day suddenly about you. You’re slowly regretting having that second bottle.

“Perhaps not, but it’s going to be brought up eventually, I imagine.” He gently cups the side of your face and forces you to look up at him, right into those green eyes that have always mesmerized you. “Speak to me,” he insists once more.

“I…” you start, but the words die in your mouth before you can speak them. There’s an instance where you nearly pull away from him and are ready to just book it back to your dorm and forget this ever happened, but he keeps you in place almost desperately. He wants you to speak your mind. He wants to know what’s eating up inside you. He wants you, all of you.

But like his desire to become king, you can’t understand why it’s you sitting across from him.

The edges of your vision wobble, and you know that if you’re pushed over the edge enough, you’re going to start sobbing. You hate crying, especially when you feel you don’t deserve to. Who are you to get all emotional when you’re the one who’s overcomplicating things? You’re the one who kick-started this conversation, so why are you the one getting all emotional? Shouldn’t Malleus be the one on the verge of breaking down? He’s the one with the most to lose. The most suffering you’ll likely be subjected to is a bunch of scrutinization and disapproval.

“You know this isn’t going to be easy, right?”

He reaches up with a folded handkerchief in hand, dabbing the corners of your tear-stricken eyes. “I know.”

“I can take a judgemental comment or two. I just don’t want you to be on that receiving end of it because of me.”

“People will always find something to pin blame on or direct their judgment towards, even if the detail is as insignificant as my decision to be with a human.” he calmly explains. It almost pisses you off that he’s remaining calm through all this while you’re going through many ranges of emotions. Malleus is a prince, and it's fragile moments like these that he’s been carefully taught how to navigate and work through. Now you’re just mad at yourself for forgetting something so obvious and vital. Damn that second bottle of wine!

“I’m the worst human you could have picked,” you proclaimed with utmost certainty. “I’m not even from the same world as you. What the hell can I possibly offer you?”

“Well,” He leans even closer to you, closer than he’s ever purposely been and you’re almost compelled to move away from him due to your nervousness. There was a brief moment where you thought that he might kiss you, that’s how little space there is between you and him. While a kiss from him sounds both amazing and absolutely terrifying, you let out an audible sigh of relief when he stops at pressing his forehead against yours. “What are you willing to give me?”

Oh, he’s slick and he knows it. The answer is so obvious now. You’ve made it obvious well before your first glass of champagne. You’re practically wearing your heart on your sleeves, but it’s not enough for him. He wants you to say it out loud so that what he assumes is mutual is in fact irrefutable. He won’t settle for anything less, you’re sure of it.

“All I can give you is my love,” you offer, in a hushed, almost embarrassed manner. “If you’ll have it. If it’s what you want.”

“It is,” he answers immediately, without a shred of doubt or hesitancy. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted from you.”

If this is truly all he wants from you, then he can have it. He can have every bit of it.

“Are you sure you can make it back to Ramshackle without issue?”

“I’ll be fine,” you reassure him for likely the 20th time. “I’m not that buzzed, and you look just as tired as I am.”

You’re right. Malleus is well beyond himself now. His social batteries are thoroughly drained. He needs a nice, long rest to fully process this long evening.

As he thinks about his conversation with you under the gazebo, he reaches out and tenderly caresses the side of your face. Your hands immediately reach up to tug and twist one of your shirt buttons. He once thought your habit to fidget with the nearest object meant you were uncomfortable. A dainty smile etches into his face now that he knows that this habit of yours was a sign that you were flustered by his actions.

He thinks it’s an adorable habit and very befitting of your person.

“What?” you look up at him with a nervous gaze. “Is there something on my face?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Your face is all clean.”

Despite his statement, you wipe at your puffy eyes to ensure there are no visible tears left. Would you think him strange if he told you he finds you endearing like this, your eyes somewhat droopy and your voice hushed despite the lack of need to control your volume? You probably would, but your presumed disdain wouldn’t stop him even if you told him off. He can’t help it. He’s drunk as well, though not because of any wine.

“Are you busy this weekend?” you say into his open palm.

“Not particularly.”

“Good,” you smile against his skin. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Do you now?” He looks at you, intrigued by the sudden presentation of a surprise for him. “Is it safe to assume this surprise is my present?”

“Yup, it’s your birthday present,” you admit. “I found something on the island that you’ll absolutely love. The walk is long, but trust me, it’ll be worth it.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he says, beaming as he thinks about where exactly you’re going to take him. You have a knack for finding interesting spots on the island. Whatever this hidden wonder is, you seem quite confident that it’ll trump all the others.

“Meet me early in the morning, and dress warmly. It’s going to snow a bit.” you disclose before regrettably pulling away from him. “Goodnight, and happy birthday!” you call out to him one last time.

“Thank you! Please be careful on your way back!” he pleads, but you’ve already passed through the mirror back to the college’s main campus. Hopefully, you heard him. If not, he can always send you a letter through his charmed envelope or message you over the phone.

When he returns to his room to dress down and ready himself for bed, he finds that his desk is occupied by a hefty pile of presents that he had yet to open. While they vary in size, most are wrapped in identical gift wrapping and bows. Presents on the larger scale are fully exposed and have a card set over top of it or tucked in between the gift wherever possible.

He opens some gifts before calling it a night, specifically the smaller-sized ones. Most of them are centered on his skill for stringed instruments; new violin strings, fresh rosin for his bow, and even some sheet music for songs he’s never played before. If it weren’t so late, he’d practice a few stanzas. It’s probably best if he saves his awkward first time playing for another day.

Perhaps he can play for you someday? However, the mere thought of more physical activity causes a surge of tiredness throughout his body and he lets out a deep, bellowing yawn. Playing as host for his own party required much more listening than conversing than he had initially expected. He was also juggling his attention from his guests to you, who was always across the room from where he found himself. There’s a great divide in opinions regarding your friendship with him that, unfortunately, skews more negatively rather than positively. He cannot speak for all faes, but he did not want you to develop any poor opinions or experiences with his people, especially his dorm mates. Seeing the small group of first years keeping you company and even show a bit of reverence towards you was assuring.

You deserve as much praise and admiration as he receives, for you are someone who has well earned his respect and his love.

You weren’t exaggerating when you told him to dress warmly. Malleus doesn’t hate the cold, but he can’t say he likes the way it bites and numbs his minimally exposed skin. Thankfully, the coat you made for him helps stave off the cold rather well. Now if only his gloves could do the same for his needle-pricking fingers.

“Your master sure has the gall to leave me waiting outside in this weather.” He looks down at Gunter, the pack leader of your small bunch of wolves. He doesn’t seem bothered by the snow at all, what with his thick winter coat protecting him from the cold air and the scarf he wears around his neck. Not only did you think to make and put on a scarf for the rugged canine, you even secured it by tying the ends into a neat bow. “I wonder where exactly they’re taking me. Perhaps you have a clue?”

Gunter turns away from Malleus, as if to tell him he’s sworn to total secrecy on your behalf. Malleus can’t help but reach down and pat him on the top of his head. Loyal without a fault. He can see why you keep the wild dog around.

“Are you trying to interrogate my wolf?” He jumps a bit at your unannounced and undetected arrival. He didn’t even hear the crunching of snow and rocks from your heavy boots as you snuck up behind him. If he were wild game, he’d likely have a bullet lodged in his heart by now. “Whatever you promise him, it won’t work. He’s pretty tight-lipped.”

“I can see that,” he quips back. “Are the others staying behind?”

“They can’t stand the cold. Not like this one can,” you explain to him while proudly scratching behind the wolf’s fluffy ears. “The woods are still dangerous, even during the winter. He’ll scout ahead and let us know if we need to change directions and chase off any predators. I also promised I’d share some of our food if he came along, so there’s that.”

“You prepared food for us?”

“Of course I did!” you jostle your pack basket to reiterate your statement. “Did you really think I wouldn’t feed you?”

“You never fail to stuff me with food, so no, I didn’t think you wouldn’t,” he laughs. “Besides, without me, you’d end up with more leftovers than you’d know what to do with.”

“I lived with 11 people back home,” you grunt as you push open the metal gates that enclose the front of the Ramshackle dorm. “So what if I make too much food? You’re really pushing it for someone who gobbles it up all the same.”

“I rather enjoy the way you flavor your meals,” he remarks. “And you know that I’m very particular about my food.”

“Is that why you want me around?” you inquire with a cheeky grin. “So I can satisfy that silver-spooned appetite of yours?”

“What about you?” he questions back with just as much playfulness. “Without me, you’d have no gardening partner.”

“Damn,” you kick a twig and it tumbles down a small incline and into the half-frozen stream at the bottom. “and I thought I was being stealthy about it too.”

Malleus erupts into a loud fit of laughter, with you joining him as he sputters out how strange your shared senses of humor are. This right here. This is why he loves you. You just make him so damn happy! Your companionship and the bond you and him have built with each other is all he’s ever wanted, all he’s ever dreamed of since he was a young boy. There was a point in his life where he had nearly resigned himself to a life of loneliness. Now, look at him, out on a stroll with one of his closest friends. Although now you are not only his friend, you are now his partner as well.

His partner. His.

He involuntarily reaches over and squeezes your hand in his small bout of prideful possession. His enamored smile must have caught your attention as you reach out and poke the side of his face with your free hand.

“And just what are you thinking about, your highness ?"

He has to hold back the snort that he nearly lets out. How kind of you to layout the perfect opportunity to tease you. “Why, I’m thinking about you, of course,” he says, throwing a wink in for added measure.

You let out a huff of air that turns misty as your warm breath mixes and condenses in the cool air. “You should think of something else,” you retort, pulling the hood of your dark cloak closer to your face to cover the side that Malleus can see without strain.

“You seem a bit flustered,” Malleus continues to tease you.

“And you sure are talkative this morning,” you harshly say, but he knows it’s only because he’s “pushing your buttons" as you would say. You do it plenty of times towards him and your friends. This is nothing but well-deserved revenge for all those times you push him and get him all flustered. He’ll need to watch his back in the future. You won’t let him get away with this, not without avenging yourself first.

Oh, if only humans and Faes could get along as well as you two have. Malleus was born right at the end of the last war between his people and many defunct human nobility houses. Relations with the remaining human nobility are better with passaging time, but there is much room for improvement before there can ever truly be a declared peace between both species. A relationship between a human and fae is hardly anything new, the interaction between the two races as old as time itself. As overly optimistic and opportunistic as it surely sounds, he hopes that his relationship with you, no matter how it works out in the end, can be a proper example to his people and onlookers of any other kind than the harmony they once had with humans is still obtainable.

“What you said the other day,” he suddenly mentions. “I feel it would be in poor taste if I didn’t fully address the concerns you clearly have about us regarding my status as a member of the nobility.”

At the mention of your conversation a couple of days ago, your hand grips around tight around him for a moment. “I don’t like facing too many uncertainties,” you admit. “It probably sounds weird, but I do better in situations I have some control over. Being with you. Well, for lack of better words, it scares the living daylight out of me the more I think about it. I don’t even think you know what’s in store for both of us the further we get into this.”

“I have some idea, but to say that I fully understand what’s at stake would be untruthful,” he admits as well. When the court eventually finds out about who he has taken as his partner, he will receive some amount of scrutiny and his decision will be heavily questioned. "However, that would happened no matter who I chose to be with, so long as the person was not someone the court saw as diplomatically advantageous."

“Have you even told anyone about us yet?”

“No. Not even Lilia knows, but I'm sure he has an inkling by now,” he expresses. “As childish as this may sound, but I’d like to keep our relationship a secret as long as possible.”

“And when people start to connect the dots, what then?”

“The only way they’ll confirm their suspicions is to confront either one of us,” he answers matter-of-factly. “But whatever difficulties may be lined up for me in the future. So long as you’re by my side to support me, I'll endure whatever it is that is put forth in front of me."

“You’re right, you sound really childish,” you sigh. “But you also sound so damn sure yourself,” you grumble under your breath, but his pointed ears pick up on your comment despite your hushed volume. “I can’t say I feel the same way just yet. But I hope that, whatever comes up, we can do what we always do and just… talk it out.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he smiles. “After all, isn’t that the purpose for these walks of ours? So we may work through these difficult conversations with each other?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, a clear lopsided smile on your lips despite you not facing directly towards him. “I guess they are.”

Just as Malleus is about to say something else, you suddenly stop when a distant howl sounds. “We’re close,” you tell him.

“Now, where exactly are you taking me?” he finally asks you.

“Sorry,” you shake your head. “I can’t tell you just yet.”

“Not even after I asked so politely?”

“Nope!” you beam.

Still curious about this supposed wonder you’re escorting to, he continues to pester you with questions, trying to pull some sort of hint out of you. You’re not usually as tight-lipped as you are now. Your persistent secrecy only excites him the further you two travel.

Apparently, what you constitute as nearby is much further than what he would consider close. While still within the woods, he can faintly hear ocean waves crashing and a few seabirds cawing about. You’re taking him towards the southern part of the isle, clear by his now unbutton coat because of the warmer temperatures and the tuffs of green grass poking out through the half-melted snow the further you take him. The place finally appears before him, with tall brick walls and a metal gate, both of which are covered in thick, frosted ivy leaves. He can make out of a few shapes past the gate, but not enough to confidently guess what they are exactly.

“Will you tell me now?” Malleus asks once more while you busy yourself by giving Gunter some well-deserved ear scratches.

“What do you think?” you look down and ask Gunter. He makes a deep grunting sound in response to your question. “I guess you’re right,” you nod in understanding before looking up towards Malleus and saying, “The locals call it a gargoyle graveyard.”

“Gargoyles?” he says with clear excitement, like a young boy being told that a pile of candies and toys awaits him in the other room. "You took me out to see gargoyles?"

“Yes, but also no,” you say. “They would have been if they weren’t sculpted incorrectly.”

“So it’s a place where inoperable gargoyles are put?” he asks, still intruiged.

“The family who owns this piece of land mentioned that they also put gargoyles in here that were made purely for art’s sake,” you added. “But can it really be called a gargoyle if they weren’t made to act as a gutter in the first place?”

Malleus’s heart always skips and beats faster whenever he’s around you. That last comment you made nearly stopped his heart altogether. He once had a conversation with Silver regarding the stark difference between gargoyles and statues. The boy couldn’t fully grasp the difference, but it seems you can right out of the blue. By the Great Seven, is your ability to tell the difference between a purposeful gargoyle and a mere decorative grotesque really what’s making him go red in the face?

Yes. Yes, it is.

You easily notice this as well, as you comment how his complexion is almost the shade of a ripe tomato, although you’ve been busying yourself with undoing the many locks and chains secured around the front gate and didn’t even look over to him since. “I can see the tips of your ears getting all pink in my peripheral,” you explain with a hint of laughter arising in your voice. You’re clearly amused by all this. “Who knew my basic understanding of gargoyles is enough to set a fire in your loins!”

“Must you tease me at every opportunity?” he groans. "And so crudely too."

“What? Are you having second thoughts about me?” you jokingly ask.

“Somewhat,” he answers back, though it’s only a half-serious answer.

You toss aside the last chainlink and rusted lock keeping the front gate secured before saying, “I won’t be mad if you bail out now. It’ll save Sebek the future anguish when he finds out.”

“Sebek is already at odds with our friendship as it is,” Malleus clarifies. “Besides, I think the boy is rather endearing when he’s upset.”

“Endearing,” you mockingly repeat. “More like a pain in my ass.”

“Give him some time. He’ll grow on you,” Malleus encourages.

“For your sake, he better,” you glare at him for a moment. “Alright, that’s enough relationship talk for the day. These gargoyles won’t ogle themselves!”

No, they won’t, and it’s music to his ears that you want to appreciate them together.

Together, with him.

[scripttorture]

I'm trying to write a character who gets depression/anxiety after a few days of torture, but I'm worried that from an outside perspective the tiredness, lack of interest, and hyper vigilance are going to look like the character has been beaten down into meekness/compliance by the torture. Any advice on how to avoid the trope that this character was broken by their expeience when most days they're too tired to argue about anything and are slowly checking out of life due to the depression?

That’s a really good question. I think the best thing to do is combine several different approaches rather then relying on one particular thing.

 My first piece of advice holds true for writing any kind of minority experience. If you think you could be suggesting that an entire group has a particular feature/characteristic include another character from the same group who doesn’t. The more characters you have who are torture survivors the easier it is to show that they’re a diverse bunch with different symptoms and experiences.

 They don’t need to be major characters. They don’t need to be in the story for very long. But having them there makes a big difference.

 This is a lot easier if you’re talking about legally defined torture in a prison of some kind. But if that’s not the kind of story you’re telling consider bringing other survivors in during the character’s recovery. They could meet people while waiting to see the same doctor or mental health professional. They might be advised to join a group, either for group therapy or communal support. They might meet people while looking for financial support or jobs. If they’re religious they might be introduced to people through their priest or broader religious community.

 The next thing worth thinking about is: what can your character practically do?

 We have this tendency to conflate resistance with big, obvious, violent acts. Most of the time torture victims are not in a position to do that kind of thing. And in situations where people are held for a very long time (ie slavery, prisoner of war camps etc) what you tend to see are a lot of smaller or less obvious acts. Enslaved people did oppose slavery violently, with organised military action and with smaller acts of violence like poisoning slave owners.

 But they also did a host of other things. They sabotaged equipment or products they were supposed to produce. They broke valuable objects. They provided each other with material support and aid. They escaped and set up separate societies. They channelled resources into these societies. They aided others in escape attempts.

 It’s always worth thinking about what your character can actually practically do and what the risks or consequences of those actions might be.

 I talk about that in a post over here. Characters can take meaningful action even when they can’t take effective action. It’s worth taking the time to think about what would be meaningful to this character and figure out ways to show them prioritising it.

 It’s also worth considering what depression and anxiety can look like because yes, the features you describe are common in people with depression and anxiety. But they’re not necessarily constant and they’re not the only ways these conditions manifest.

 Depression can look like sleeping all the time. It can also look like not sleeping and a lack of sleep feeds into anxiety. Insomnia also causes paranoia after a while, makes it harder to interpret other people’s responses and can increase the risk of violent behaviour.

 Similarly depression can look like eating a lot, but it can also look like nausea, like being unable to eat full meals and struggling to keep food down. From the outside anxiety can be read as fear but it can also be read as aggression.

 It wouldn’t be unrealistic for this character to be more depressed at times and more anxious at others. It wouldn’t be unrealistic for them to be incredibly sleep deprived, paranoid and less able to see the risk in something like… spitting on a guard some days even if they’re generally incredibly tired, lethargic and apathetic.

 Basically even if this is the predominant way depression and anxiety manifest in this character there’s still leeway. There’s still moments when you can have them go against that. Even if it isn’t very often.

 The choice to use an outside perspective does make things harder. Especially if that perspective is a character who believes these kinds of tropes and has a poor understanding of mental health. One way to get around this is to have the point of view character’s perspective change with time and have them come to (and lead the audience to) the conclusion that they were wrong.

 But the character doesn’t need to reach that realisation if you work in enough signals to the reader that they’re unreliable. One way to do that is to contrast what the point of view character thinks with what the survivor character actually says and does.

 Let’s say the point of view character is having a conversation with another person who isn’t a survivor and they present the survivor as this sad case, broken by what they experienced because of a specific behaviour. Like sleeping a lot or being listless or not engaging with things in the way they used to.

 On it’s own that scene could easily back up these tropes (though it’s not an unrealistic scene because these tropes are commonly believed.) So let’s imagine the scene with the survivor’s response.

 They could respond that they sleep a lot because they have chronic pain or because their depression makes it hard to eat properly which leaves them exhausted. Physical symptoms like that are often easier for people to understand and it underlines the point that this is illness not some state where they’re permanently incapable. They can also respond with the steps they’re taking to try and make their life better. For chronic pain in torture survivors that can mean medication or physiotherapy. Perhaps they’re working on changing their diet or the schedule they eat at and sleep at, to work around these physical limits.

 You can apply the same kind of logic to the other points here, talk about why depression makes the character listless or stops them engaging and what they’re doing now. The aids that help them focus, how therapy is going, the new hobbies they’re exploring instead (perhaps because old ones contain triggers.)

 It’s harder to apply the same thing if the character is still imprisoned and still being tortured. But you can still do it. May be the dreams and plans the victim character had before seem meaningless now, but there will still be things they want to do and there will still be things they find meaning in.

 May be they don’t think they can be a Nobel prize winning doctor any more and may be to an outside perspective that looks like ‘broken’. But it’s harder for the audience to agree with that conclusion if the victim character is saying ‘My priorities are different now. I regret spending so much time working and I miss my family. If I get out I want to make them my focus instead of work.’

 A self aware character might be able to say ‘I don’t think I could achieve that dream anymore. But I think I could achieve this instead.’

 You can have other characters, doctors, psychologists or anyone who has worked with survivors for a long period, refute the idea these people are broken. Hurt, yes, but that doesn’t mean they’re incapable of living or of living well.

 If the perspective is more of an omnipresent narrator you’ve got more scope to show little acts of resistance the character might be engaging in. You’ve also got more scope to just straight up tell the readers what’s going on in this character’s head.

 It’s worth stressing that characters like this do still have and make choices. They are choices in incredibly awful situations and they are not free choices. But that capacity to choose is still there. And there are understandable, though not always rational, thought processes behind those choices.

 Depression doesn’t always mean checking out of life. I’ve known a fair number of people with depression who kept going with things they considered important. They just also… got no enjoyment out of it. They were miserable and in pain. But they were still trying to do the best they could for their kids or finish their degree. These efforts weren’t always successful. Depression makes most things more difficult.

 But a character willing to give up on themselves isn’t necessarily willing to give up on other things.

 At the end of the day the symptoms you choose for your character and how those symptoms manifest isn’t the problem. There’s nothing wrong with picking the symptoms that are right for your character and there’s nothing wrong with writing them in this way.

 The problem comes when we start telling people that there’s no hope, that nothing gets better. It comes when we imply that natural, physiological reactions to trauma are somehow the fault of the victim or that those reactions mean they are forever controlled by their abuser.

 Torture is an awful, effecting and life changing experience. It leaves lasting wounds.

 But humans are incredibly resilient, stubborn creatures. Our capacity for survival, to find ways to live well, is astounding.

 There’s room for optimism here and it’s worth making space for that in your story.

 I hope that helps :)

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

[rubykgrant]

okay okay, you've written the grimmons confession, grimmons when the others find out... what happens with the grimmons proposal?

OH HO HO HO

Grif knew EXACTLY what his boyfriend was up to.

It was obvious.

Well, maybe he didn't know each little detail, but Grif definitely knew Simmons was planning something, and there was really only one thing it could be.

The 20 year anniversary of the day Simmons asked him what they had jokingly come to call "the big question" was happening soon. In just a few months, actually. Grif hadn't kept track of that date, because it was just another day in Blood Gulch; it wasn't the first day they arrived, it also wasn't even the day they met (which had happened earlier in training). “The big question” day only became special later, after that stupid conversation turned into a repeating theme when they talked, and eventually turned into something important between the two of them during the whole evil-look-alikes incident. Grif remembered the conversation very well, but not the date.

Simmons had tipped his hand earlier this year by bringing it up himself. He tried to sound casual, like ho-hum, it has just been two whole decades since "the big question", isn't that funny, hahaha...

Yeah, pretty damn funny. Just like it was funny that the two of them had been dating for a few years now, and while some people might not think it was a long time, the fact was Grif and Simmons had actually "been together" for... a while. An expansive while. No more wasting time with a slow-burn, they were in a relationship speed-run now (well, not really; they were just finally having fun doing all kinds of couple-things). It was absolutely hilarious that here they were, boyfriends at last, and had a specific anniversary coming up... one they called "the big question". What ELSE did people call "the big question"?

Grif might not be a genius, but he isn't stupid. He knows what Simmons is planning.

Now he just has to beat him to the punch.

In fact... tonight wasn't especially important. As far as he knew, nothing significant or sentimental had happened with them in their past on this date. Oh, this was gonna be perfect... Simmons wouldn't see it coming.

"Hey, darling..." Grif poked his head into the bedroom. Simmons was sitting in the chair by his desk, typing away on his computer. "You busy?"

"Not especially, sweet-heart..." somehow the two of them had both decided to start using extra-cute lovey-dovey pet-names for each other, in tones that were both sarcastic and yet still genuine. It was the little thrill of knowing how stupid they sounded, but also knowing they really meant it, that made it so fun. "Why do you ask?"

"I was thinking about going out and getting a pizza... " nobody eats pizza as a proposal meal. This was going to be the ultimate fake-out.

"Pizza sounds good... you want to eat at the place, or bring it back here?"

"Maybe we pick it up, but then go eat it somewhere... how about the picnic spot, near the beach?" it was casual, but also just a little bit romantic... because yes, Grif was a softy. As much as he wanted to trick Simmons, he also wanted it to be something nice. "We could get ice cream on the way back,"

"Yeah, that actually sounds pretty good. OK, you go call the pizza place, let me save what I'm doing and get ready. I'll be out in a minute..." Simmons smiled at him before turning back to the computer.

Grif waited until he was out of the room to start grinning. Maybe he really WAS a genius!

After calling ahead to get a medium pizza with pepperoni/mushrooms/olives, two sodas, some cheesy garlic bread, and even a salad (because he knows what his boyfriend will want), Grif grabs the keys and waits by the door. Simmons comes out of the bedroom, pulling a jacket on, and the two of them leave- holding hands.

For an impulsive decision, this was working out even better than Grif had hoped; it isn't dark out yet, but the sun was starting to dip. By the time they got the food and made it through the city to the picnic area, they'd be right in the middle of a picture-perfect sunset. For once luck is on his side, because one of their favorite songs comes on the radio as they drive, putting them both in a good mood. Everything was going smoothly... but it wasn't "special", nothing to make Simmons suspect what was coming his way. Just a regular evening...

Once they have the food in the car and start going toward the beach, Simmons automatically breaks off little bits of cheesy bread to pop into Grif's mouth (so he doesn't take his hands off the wheel as he drives). This is just routine for them any time Grif is driving and they have food in the car, but Grif is sometimes overtaken by how touching this is... so casual, but also very intimate... Simmons does a lot of little things like that for him. Actually, Grif does a lot of little things for Simmons, too... maybe even a few things he doesn't notice, but just come naturally when they're together. God DAMN, Grif loves him.

Nobody else is here; just a large empty parking lot on top of a cliff, several picnic tables, and a guardrail that overlooks the beach. The air outside was still warm, but the ocean below was sending out a rush of coolness. It felt good here. It smelled good, too. Thanks to that sunset, it also looked good.

Grif had to be careful now, if he let himself get all caught up in the romantic atmosphere, he wouldn't be able to surprise Simmons properly. This was just a casual evening, no big deal...

They took the food over to the railing. They ate, sipped their sodas, and talked... there came a moment when they both watched the sun on the horizon of the sea blink out. Grif glances at Simmons right then, sees how peaceful he looks, and Grif knows; right now.

"Hey... I've got a question for you," this was going to be amazing. This was going to be incredible. Simmons was probably going to be a little upset with him at first for ruining whatever surprise that had been planned for the anniversary, but oh well. What was he going to do? Say "no"? Grif can’t even picture that as an option.

"That's a funny coincidence, I've got a question for you too," Simmons says, leaning away from the railing and digging around for something in his jacket pocket. "Will you marry me, Dexter Grif?"

WHAT.

WHAT JUST HAPPENED.

WHAT IN THE HELL JUST HAPPENED.

Grif looks down, and sees that Simmons is holding up a little box in his hand. The kind of little box you keep jewelry in. Jewelry like rings.

"Simmons... what the f- how do you... why do you have that!?"

"Open it," Simmons tells him in a happy little squeak.

"No wait, how do you already- it isn't the anniversary yet! I thought that you were waiting- I thought you were planning something for-" Grif keeps sputtering, caught between anger and delight.

"Open it," Simmons repeats, practically shaking with excitement.

Grif finally does, slowly and carefully...

There are two rings in the box. On looks like gold with a stripe of dark red running through the length of the band. The other is dark red with a stripe of gold.

"I knew you'd probably figure out what I was up to..." Simmons smirks at Grif, very satisfied with how sneaky and crafty he's been. "And besides, once I had the rings made, I was too excited to keep waiting... so I decided, I would hold on to them and let YOU try to ask ME... this was a double-bluff! I expected you to try and fake me out by popping the question on a casual, regular date, and I've been bringing these with me every time we did anything for the last few months!"

Simmons reaches out with his other hand, placing it gently on the side of Grif's face (the side that has the patch of skin that came from Simmons), and gently tilts Grif's chin up to look him in the eyes.

"So, do you have an answer for me? Or is this going to be another one of life's great mysteries?"

Grif tries to think of a come-back, a clever one-liner, something that could qualify as witty banter... and he can't. It was like he had fireworks going off in his brain. Little bursts of joy and sparks of happiness that have destroyed his ability to be a sarcastic smart-mouth. He's even starting to cry. This was all Simmons' fault... Simmons, who always had to get one-up on Grif. Simmons, who was such an arrogant attention-seeker he had to turn a marriage proposal into a game of psychological warfare. Simmons, who couldn't let anybody else have the spot-light. Simmons, who was so cute, and considerate, and sweet, and adorable, and funny, and entertaining, and clever, and smart and dozens of other lovey-dovey words. Simmons, the man Grif loved.

"Yes... I want to marry you, Dick Simmons,"

Grif keeps one hand over the box with the rings as Simmons pulls him close, bringing them together for a kiss. At this point, he's crying too... and as it goes on, they have to pause to gasp for air because they're also laughing; kissing, and crying, and laughing. Once it seems like they can finally breathe, Grif looks at the rings again. He knows which one is for him; the gold with the dark red stripe. He puts it on, and then slips the dark red one with the gold band onto Simmons’ finger. Gold and dark red... orange and maroon~

[phis-corner]

demon’s daughter

I decided to re-open the taglist for this fic because I am sometimes a pushover, so now you can either ask or comment to be on the fic’s taglist or the permanent taglist! 

Additionally, I have no consistent update schedule. My first draft is written by hand- I always like to stay two chapters ahead, so I posted this chapter when I finished copying chapter 5 into a Google Doc and proofreading.

Also, fun fact: I hate chocolate. My senses just do not like it at all. I also have a very sensitive tongue and can taste the barest hint of spiciness in foods, which also means I have zero spice tolerance whatsoever. As a Chinese-American with family in Sichuan, this means I get force-fed a lot of extremely spicy foods anyway.

Masterlist Chapter 1 Chapter 2 [Chapter 3] Chapter 4

“Why are you letting them stay? He tried to kill Dick!” Timothy points at Damian, who glowers at him from across the cave as Alfred stitches Richard’s cuts.

Marinette sighs. “Akhi was not trying to murder Richard. If you paid more attention, you would notice that all of Richard’s wounds are carefully placed in non-lethal areas meant to slow him down instead of severely injuring him.”

Batman does not say a word. He hasn’t spoken since Richard called him to verify their claims.

“They were raised as assassins, Timmy. It’s normal that they’d feel threatened a lot, and act accordingly. They’re family now. Give them a chance.” Richard replies, and Marinette blinks. She did not expect to have Richard defend them so easily.

“Pardon me,” She pipes up. “But ‘they’ are currently present.”

“Right. Sorry.” Richard has the sense to look guilty. Timothy just glares.

Damian squeezes her hand three times, their signal for I would like to leave. Marinette sighs as she exits the Batcave. Being accepted into the family is… a work in progress.

.o0o.

Slade is put into Blackgate not long after with the information Ubu gave after being interrogated by the Bats. Damian and Marinette were not allowed to go. 

Too young, Richard had said. They had interpreted that as You cannot be trusted to keep him alive. He did make the right call though. Damian would have tried extremely hard had he gotten the chance.

Of course, the League did dispose of him not long after anyway, but it was the thought that counted.

Damian and Marinette spent their days in the Manor sparring, reading, or practicing their instruments. Richard, who seemed determined to bond with them, bought them both new sketchbooks, for Damian’s drawings and Marinette’s designs. She had discovered an affinity for clothing design while undercover on a mission, and had been designing ever since.

Cass (she insisted that they call her that instead of Cassandra,) was always happy to spar when asked, and although nobody ever defeated her, it was a welcomed challenge to fight someone who knew your every move, sometimes even before you did. Damian grudgingly admits she is a worthy sister, which makes Marinette smile and Cass beam.

Jason had his own home and only visited every once in a while, and Timothy was rarely seen. It didn’t help that Damian continued to make snarky comments whenever they did see him, but if Timothy was scarce, Father was practically nonexistent.

Since they came to the Manor, their father has said a total of two words to the both of them, and that was just their names when he exited his study as they passed by.

Marinette is determined to make her new family work, and so when she finds Timothy completely by accident, typing away on a laptop in one of the less-used rooms in the Manor, she takes a chance.

“You do know we are not trying to replace you, right?” She asks softly, sitting down in an armchair and deliberately not making eye contact with him. 

Timothy snorts. “But is that not what you’re doing? Bruce chose to take in everyone else. I had to blackmail him into letting me be Robin. And then the biological kids show up, born and raised like fucking royalty, so who would care about Tim Drake? The little kid whose parents didn’t even want him and his neighbor only adopted him because he knew his most well-kept secret.”

“We have more in common than you think.” Marinette says quietly.

“Yeah, right.” Timothy laughs bitterly. “The Princess of the League-”

“I wasn’t.” Marinette interrupts.

“Huh? But-”

“I wasn’t the Princess.” Marinette keeps her voice calm with considerable effort. “As soon as I was born, Ra’s gave me over to Lady Shiva. He declared me unworthy because I was a girl, and I was raised as the lowest-ranked assassin. I may have been Shiva’s protege, but that just meant she went even harder on me. I did not know even my last name until after my first death when I was five. I did not properly meet my brother until last year. Ra’s decided that I could be acknowledged, but maintained his stance on feminine inferiority.”

She chuckles hollowly. “You fear being replaced by your father figure’s biological children, Timothy. But your fear is unwarranted. Bruce Wayne chose to adopt you, because he is a good man with copious amounts of generosity. However, it evidently does not extend to his biological children. Talia dumped us at Batman’s feet and left without another word, without looking back. And Father? We may have been a complete surprise, but he has said two words in total to us since that first night- our names. You need not worry, Timothy. You shall not be replaced.”

Marinette stands, her message conveyed, and pauses in the doorway of the room. 

“Have a good afternoon, Timothy.”

The next day, Marinette and Damian watch on live television as their father is killed by Darkseid.

.o0o.

The funeral for Batman is somber. Everyone cries except for Marinette and Damian.

She thinks they should be crying, but Marinette simply didn’t know her father well enough to really mourn him. Damian squeezes her hand, and she squeezes back. The twins stand, faces carefully blank, shoulders straight and unmoving, like rocks in an ocean of tears.

Crime in Gotham runs rampant when they think Batman is gone, and so Richard becomes Batman out of necessity- and chooses her twin brother as his Robin.

Nobody else sees how it crushes Timothy, because Cass has left for Hong Kong, abandoning Batgirl and making her own identity as Black Bat. Jason is holed up in a safehouse somewhere, Richard and Damian are in their own little world as they prepare for their first patrol together, and Alfred needs time to mourn too.

So she finds herself knocking on the door to Timothy’s room, one hand holding a plate of sandwiches and a freshly brewed coffee because he hasn’t left his room since the funeral. Marinette quietly enters upon his muffled “Come in” and sets the plate down next to Timothy, whose eyes are red-rimmed and have even larger bags than normal, and yet he continues to work.

“I… noticed you have not come out to eat, so I brought some food and fresh coffee. Black.” She adds, after a moment of hesitation.

“Thanks.” Timothy mumbles, immediately going for the coffee. “Why are you doing this?”

Marinette shrugs. “Everyone else was caught up in their own situation and had issues to work through too. I am relatively unaffected by the circumstances and therefore my observation skills have not declined.” She says simply. “You should also eat. I will not stop you from drinking the coffee, but you cannot work on an empty stomach, either.”

He begrudgingly eats a sandwich, still typing away at his laptop all the while. Marinette notes the tension in his frame.

“Would you like to talk about it? I have read that venting is significantly better for one’s mental health than keeping it bottled up.” She offers.

Timothy suddenly slams the laptop shut, hard, but Marinette doesn’t flinch. The reaction was trained out of her a long time ago. 

“It’s not- it’s- my entire life, I’ve been trying to prove myself. Robin was- Robin was special. I wasn’t the first Robin, but it was a reminder that I was worth something to someone, that I could do good and be useful. And then Bruce dies, Dick becomes Batman, and he just names Damian as his Robin like my opinion on the matter meant nothing, booting me out of the position, without any semblance of an explanation and-” He breaks off into sobs.

The sight of somebody crying makes Marinette more than a little awkward, because what is she doing? She doesn’t know how to comfort a crying person, but she does know that Timothy was touch-starved as a child. However, she isn’t the most touchy-feely person on the planet either, so she just settles for rubbing his back as he lets it all out.

Once he’s run out of tears, she silently hands him the tissue box she plucked from his desk. 

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, you are not worthless.” Marinette says sternly. “Nobody is worthless, and you are far from being anywhere near so. You are the cleverest and most intelligent of us all, a capable, quick-thinking strategist, and you have detective skills that rivaled Father’s. I believe Richard chose Damian as Robin because Robin is always supposed to be Batman’s sidekick. He is always taken under Batman’s wing because there are things he hasn’t learned, that Batman can teach him. Richard sees you as an equal, and therefore cannot keep you as his Robin because you have graduated the mantle. It is time you created a new identity and moved on. Do you have anything in mind?”

Timothy sniffs once. “Thank you. I really needed that. And as for the ideas,” He reaches over and pulls out a sketchbook, a smile spreading across his face. “I’ve got a few.”

.o0o.

They brainstorm ideas for almost three hours before Timothy falls asleep. Marinette easily carries his light frame to his bed and drapes a blanket over his shoulders before quietly exiting his room.

Thankfully, she managed to convince Timothy that the cowl was a terrible idea. Marinette returns to her own room for her sketchbook. Batman and Robin will have each other’s backs. But Red Hood works alone, leaving Red Robin with nobody to watch his back.

Timothy is Marinette’s brother too, and everyone else is headed into the field anyway. She, like Damian, also had the phrase ‘justice, not vengeance’ drilled into her head, and Richard had made sure to remind them daily to aim for non-lethal spots. Not that she planned on taking a life ever again anyway.

Marinette flips open her sketchbook to a bookmarked page and smiles. It seems that Starling would be making an appearance very soon.

.o0o.

It is almost time for Richard and Damian’s first patrol as Batman and Robin. Marinette heads downstairs to wish them well, but freezes at the sight of her twin in Timothy’s old suit.

“This is unacceptable!” She screeches, hurrying forward and looking pleadingly at Richard. “You cannot let akhi out into Gotham looking like a traffic light!”

Richard frowns, as does Damian. “But you never had a problem with Tim wearing it.”

“Tt. Timothy had little to no prior experience in combat before being trained as Robin. Damian has been trained to utilize the shadows in combat since birth. Wearing those bright colors will make him stand out and put him at a disadvantage.” Marinette tuts, already scribbling out a new design in her sketchbook.

“Then what do you suggest, ukhti?” Damian asks.

“I have a design in mind. The colors will stay, but the yellow and green will have to be significantly darker, and the red should be dulled as well. Sadly, you will have to wear that monstrosity tonight, but I can have the suit finished in time for patrol tomorrow, as will mine and Timothy’s new suits.” She replies, not glancing up from her book.

“What do you mean, Marinette?” Richard questions, and Marinette feels a tiny twinge of annoyance at how he handled telling Timothy about Robin.

“I mean that Timothy and I have crafted new identities as well. You did not expect him to just stop fighting crime, or for me to just sit at home while everyone else carried out Father’s mission, did you?”

Damian nods, a small smile pulling at his lips. “It will be nice to see you in the field too, ukhti.”

“What will your names be?” Richard prods curiously.

“I will not tell you just yet.” Marinette smirks. She shows her twin the finished design. “Does this look alright, akhi?”

“It looks wonderful, ukhti.” Damian replies. “Thank you.”

She sniffs. “Well, somebody had to fix the lack of fashion sense in this household eventually.”

.o0o.

Everyone else in the family may use capes, but Marinette decided that Richard’s Nightwing suit was by far the best because of its lack of one. Capes were long, heavy, a waste of fabric, and overall useless.

The Starling suit was primarily black, with a dark emerald mask covering the lower half of her face (because why carry a gas mask and rebreather when it can be built in?) with gloves and boots in the same color. A single silver star with curved sides was splayed on her chest, and a dark green utility belt rested on her waist. Her steel war fans had holsters strapped to her thighs.

All in all, the suit was built for the shadows. Marinette had learned to master slipping through the dark, unseen, and Gotham was the perfect place to utilize that. Starling would be nothing more than a ghost, a legend, if she had her way. After all, the less citizens knew, the less likely the information would hit the underworld, and that way, the vigilantes wouldn’t have all their cards out in the open.

Damian looks much better in his new suit as well, and Timothy is also grinning when he steps out of the male’s changing room. (A/N: the new 52 suit. I’m not letting him out of the Cave with that ugly cowl, or the traffic light costume with an extra R. Don’t even get me started on the Drake one.)

Richard, cowl still down, smiles as bright as the sun itself. “Good to see you, Robin. Tim, Marinette, can I ask your names?”

Timothy fastens his domino. “Red Robin.”

Marinette pulls her face mask up and curtsies with perfect posture. “Starling. I wish to work in the shadows, if that is alright.”

Richard puts on the cowl and becomes Batman. “You guys all look amazing.” He grins, and it is unsettling to see Batman smile. Oracle logs into the comms from the Clocktower.

“You all ready?”

They split the city in half. Red Robin and Starling take the North while Batman & Robin will cover the South. 

Starling trails Red Robin from afar, leaping from building to building and only using her grappling hook when the distance is too great to close by foot. They stop four muggings and two attempted assaults, all without Starling being spotted. The criminals think they hit their head on the alley walls or each other instead of her fist from behind.

It’s almost three in the morning when Batman calls it quits and they return to the Cave, changing out of their suits and showering. They are somehow all unharmed, so Alfred sends them up to bed.

Damian and Marinette brush their teeth before climbing into bed and flipping off the lights.

“Tonight was actually quite enjoyable.” Marinette remarks. “It is a nice feeling, to know that you are helping people.”

Damian hums sleepily. “It is good to know that we are continuing Father’s legacy.”

Marinette smiles. “Yes, I suppose so.” She burrows deeper into her blankets. “Sleep well, akhi.”

“The same goes for you, ukhti.”

For once, Marinette doesn’t have a nightmare.

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[avengerscompound]

The Surrogate - Chapter 11

The Surrogate:  A Clintasha Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Clint Barton x Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Word Count:  1868

Rating:  E

Warnings:  Pregnancy, sex talk

Synopsis: A freak end of the world incident leads to meeting your two best friends, Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff.  While your friendship with the two Avengers is anything but conventional, they are your all-time favorite people.  When you find out that Clint and Natasha want to start a family but have exhausted all their options, you realize your powerset might allow you to give them what they want.  Having your best friends’ baby might seem like a good idea on paper, but when you are as close as you, Clint, and Natasha are, will doing something so intimate mean feelings get a little mixed up?

Chapter 11

Living with Clint and Natasha was the best worst thing you’d ever done.  You loved being around them.  They were fun and hilarious and they doted on you.  While your morning sickness was kicking your ass, there was always one of them there with a cool compress, rubbing your back.  They kept saltines and ginger ale on hand.  They made sure you took your anti-nausea medication and your pregnancy vitamins.  They were even pulling in favors from friends.  Wanda had made up several batches of different soups she used to cook with her mother that you could eat with an upset stomach, and Pepper dropped off a few things that had helped with her when she was pregnant with Morgan.

As your morning sickness eased up at the end of the first trimester, you were hit by a sudden wave of energy.  They moved on to doing midnight runs to get that very weirdly specific thing you were craving and offering you foot and back rubs every time you even remotely complained.

That would all be fine - more than fine.  It was amazing and they were amazing.  Only you couldn’t pretend that you weren’t feeling the way you were feeling about them anymore.  You’d fallen head over heels for the both of them.  Not to mention that your hormones being all out of whack meant you could go from being horny as hell to in tears in sixty seconds flat. Any time you thought about how you felt about them you were just as likely to want to jump them as to hide and cry about how terrible a person you were for not being able to get those feelings in check.

“Alright,” Clint said, coming in with a stack of different boxes and containers and putting them on the counter.  “We have pizza, we have lo mein, we have fried chicken and biscuits, we have chocolate eclairs. Did I forget anything?”

“Whatchamacallit,” you said, sitting forward in the chair.

Clint fished around in the pocket of his coat and pulled out the candy bar.  “One ‘Whatchamacallit’,” he said, miming slamming it down on the table.

“Thank you, Clint.  You’re the best,” you said and grabbed the container of noodles and the chopsticks.

“You know it,” he said, getting a slice of the pizza.

Natasha came into the room with drinks and took a seat next to you.  “Your cravings have been off the charts lately.”

“Yeah, I read they don’t really know why they happen, but I just need all the sugar and salt,” you said.

 “I read it had to do with lacking dopamine,” Natasha said.

“I feel that,” Clint said, raising his hand to you.  “High five!”

You laughed and looked at his hand.  “I’m not high fiving your depression, Clint.”

“Damn it,” Clint said, putting his hand back down.  “That’s not gonna help it.”

“You feeling okay though?”  Natasha asked.  “Feeling down or … you know?”

“Honestly, yeah, I feel good,” you admitted.  “I got a huge burst of energy when I stopped getting morning sickness.  It’s like I’m running at 110%.  I really like living with you guys.  The only thing…”  You trailed off and shook your head.

“What is it?”  Clint asked.  “You need a softer mattress?  More pillows?”

You shook your head.  “No, it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

Clint looked at you confused.  Like he couldn’t imagine a possible reason why you’d keep a secret from him.  It made sense. You didn’t normally keep things from him.  There were days when you told him pregnancy stuff in such detail that he asked you to stop sharing.

“You know you can tell us anything, right?”  Natasha said. “We’ll do whatever we can for you.”

“That’s the problem,” you mumbled, shoving a huge mouthful of noodles into your mouth.

“What?  Is it that we’re smothering you?”  Natasha asked, putting her hand on your leg. “You can tell us.  I know I’ve been a little overbearing, but I’m still expecting the other shoe to drop.”

“It’s not that.  You’ve been fine, I know what your head has been like.  It’s nothing… no...I guess it is… you know what...never mind…” you babbled.  You got up grabbing the box of noodles.  “I’m going to go eat on the roof.”

As you hurried out of the room you noticed Natasha and Clint give each other a look just before you closed the door.  You went straight up to the roof of the building.  The building that the Avengers lived in was set below most of the others, so the view of the compound was obscured by the large white office building. It was set right on the water, and if you sat looking out at the Huson it was just the river and forest for miles and it was almost like it was just a normal apartment block with amazing views.

You perched on the edge of the building, one hand cradling your small belly while you ate the noodles.  You’d only been up there for fifteen minutes when Clint appeared behind you.

“You forgot your ‘Whatchamacallit’,” he said, sitting beside you and putting the candy bar on the ledge between the two of you.

“Thanks, Clint,” you said.  “Sorry, I’m being weird. Nat’s not too worried is she?”

“She’s a little worried.  But she also gets you might be a little hormonal right now,” Clint said.

“Clint!”  You squawked.

He laughed and nudged you gently.  “It’s nice up here, huh?”  You nodded and he rubbed your back.  “I always feel like I see everything better when I’m up here.  You know what I mean?”  He said.  You nodded again and he lowered his hand, resting on it on the edge of the building as he swung his legs over the edge.  “The thing is sex, right?  You’re super horny?  I read that some women get like that when they’re pregnant.”

You whined and nodded.  “Yes.  It’s like half of what I think of.  Then food.  Then just everything else.”

“And we’ve had plenty of sex, so you know we’d help you out.  So I’m guessing you didn’t tell us, because you’ve caught feelings and you think the sex will just make them stronger?”  He asked.

It was annoying how much Clint picked up on.  He acted like an idiot, but he never missed a single thing.  You nodded and picked up the candy, tearing it open and biting into it, hoping that the chocolate-coated peanut wafers would distract you from the other things you were feeling.

“Are you in love with Nat?”  Clint asked.  “Cause… I get it.  And… I can share.”

You squeezed your eyes closed and shook your head.  “It’s both of you.”

Clint started laughing.  “Then what’s the problem?”

“Clint,” you said, hoping that the pain wasn’t as evident in your voice as you felt.  “I don’t just want something casual.  I’m falling in love with you both, and I’m doing this -” you gestured to your stomach “-so you guys can be parents.  It’s all complicated and you’re not going to have time to start a new thing.  And my hormones are all messed up.   The timing is off and … and…”

Clint took your hand and gently squeezed it.  “Babe,” he said, gently.  “Nat and I have been referring to you as our girlfriend since before you offered to have our baby.”

You looked up at him with your brow furrowed.  “You have?”

“Yeah, we have.  For a while we thought you felt the same way, but then you started dating and you’d stop sleeping with us,” he explained.  “We just… didn’t think you could do the polyamory thing.  You’d only ever sleep with us when you weren’t dating anyone else and when you did sleep with us it was always just when you were super desperate and you kept it very casual.  So we called you our girlfriend to each other, but like… you were our casual girlfriend.  And we knew one day we’d have to lose you.  But if you’re saying you want us?  We already consider you ours.”

“What about the baby?”  You asked.

Clint let out a breath and tapped his fingers on the back of your hand.  “I guess there’s a lot to talk about and work out there.  ‘Cause if you really want in - properly in and not just the casual side thing that you kinda already have been doing the whole time - then you’re gonna be a mommy too, not just the best aunt a kid could possibly have.”  He paused and ruffled his hand through his hair. “But the way I figure, if you do want that, it’s kinda perfect, isn’t it?  I mean, there’s three of us.  It’s got mine and Nat’s genes and you’re the one carrying it.  We’re all connected to the little peanut.”

Your heart has started hammering.  It felt like you were sitting on the precipice of something good.  But you worried that it was just an illusion and if you plunged in it would be the end of everything.

“What if it doesn’t work out?”  You asked.

Clint laughed softly.  “Oh, babe,” he said gently.  “Literally every day, multiple times a day I ask myself that.  I wake up in the morning and think, ‘what if today’s the day Nat realizes what a piece of shit I am, and I lose her’.  And I get to work and think, ‘what If today Steve realizes that an archer is a ridiculous thing to have in his superhero team’.  Nat will look at me a certain way, or get frustrated with me and I will be sure that’s it.  I ruined it.  I keep going because so far no one has worked it out I’m a fraud.  And she makes me happy.  And you make me happy too.  So if you want to try and fake it with me.  I’d really like that.”

Your heart broke for him and you wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in his neck.  You didn’t know if it was just that you were hormonal and a little over-emotional, but you started crying freely, your tears wetting Clint’s shirt.  He wrapped his arms about you and held you steady as you cried against him.

As you started to get control of yourself Clint rubbed your back slowly.  “Is that a ‘yes’?”  He whispered.

You nodded and he tilted your chin up to look at him.  His blue eyes looked down at you in that same soft and loving way he looked at Natasha.  Like she hung the stars in the sky just for him.  You leaned up, your lips barely parted and he bridged the difference, kissing you deeply but tenderly.

He pulled back slowly and you chased his lips, reluctant to let the kiss end because as soon as it did, everything would be different, and different didn’t always mean better.  “You wanna come downstairs and talk to Nat?  Maybe eat the rest of that food I brought you?”

You nodded.  “Yeah.  Okay.”

He got up and offered you his hand.  You stood, taking it and he led you back downstairs to the apartment he shared with Natasha.

// NEXT

[closer-stars]

Gut Feeling (8)

Member: San Genre: Fluff, Feel good stuff Word Count: 10k (I’m SO SORRY) Content: food. Reunion. Tying loose strings. #Maturity. I think I provided enough hints as to where this is going Note: FINALLY FINISHED PART 8. there’s only two parts left. :D This went through a lot of stuff because of writer’s block and a thing called a short attention span. I’ve proofread this a number of times but I’ll continue to do so, especially once i update this with links in 24 hours. Network: @ateezlovenet Tag list: @barsformars @yeotlny @seoultraveller @shinyddeonghwa @frankenstein852 @miniyeo @hwaberrykiwi @jeongyunhoed 

Part 7

San’s gaze stays glued to you, unwavering, as he takes in your visage. Your new hairstyle accentuates your cheekbones, you look healthier, happier even. He couldn’t help but wonder if you were doing better without him. 

“Hello!! Surprised to see me, Manager Bae?” You ask in a playful tone. Your attention shifts to the eight boys who look at you with slack jaws and wide eyes. “Surprise?” You say softly, a bit of embarrassment rushing to your cheeks. Guilt washes over you when you remember you never said your goodbyes. 

A few moments of heavy silence sinks in on everyone and it was Yunho and Wooyoung who break the silence, tackling you into a hug. “We miss you so much!” You weren’t sure who exclaims it, you just knew the hug and the shrill pitch shocks you. This breaks the rest of the boys from their daze and they start to whine at you for leaving them with no warning, some asking you how you’ve been. 

Maybe things haven’t changed. 

You laugh, hands reaching to pat their heads, just like how they liked it when you worked with them. “Guys, we can catch up during your down time. Right now I need to introduce you to the director then bring you to your dressing rooms.” Your eyes skirt over to San, giving him a double take. 

He’s changed, matured, and he looks a lot like a man now. He always looked like a man but there was something about him now that had your gaze lingering at him for a moment. You snap yourself out of it and bring them to the director. After the formalities and quick rundown of the process, you bring them to their dressing rooms. San is the last one to enter as he lingers around you for a moment. 

You’re at work, you remind yourself. “Yes? Is there something I can help you with?” You ask, and you kind of hate yourself for your voice changing in pitch, your default customer service voice as you’d like to call it. 

It’s how even your work voice makes the corner of his lip twitch in amusement. He looks at you properly for a moment and his lips break into his bright grin. “I’m alright, thank you.” 

You hate yourself for your heart fluttering at his smile but you thank yourself for keeping your composure. At his words, you nod and let him enter the dressing room. You stay with them in the dressing room, because you know the boys well enough to know that when they have questions, they’re persistent. 

Hongjoong was the first one to speak up. “You never told us you did production too!” He could’ve asked for your help in his music if he knew earlier. You never really mentioned your experience in production, all you did tell them was that you’ve been in this field long enough to know a little bit of everything. 

You watch his make up artist work on his eyes for some time, then shift your attention to the rest of the boys. Seonghwa asks you about how the production work will be while adjusting his clothes for the first set. Black really did suit him. You look at your clipboard, flipping through the papers for his script and art direction. You decided to give everyone a rundown of the general gist of this shoot. You were sure they already knew of the story line, shit, you can actually pinpoint which parts of the story line were your suggestions during the meetings back when you worked with them. 

 It’s going to be a whole day shoot for the first day while the second day focuses on all the night shoots, all of which were going to be long days. Quite frankly, you feel a little bad that they’re filming at the wee hours of the day or end when the sun’s about to rise. It’s all part of the job, you get the good and you get the bad.  It’s just a matter of how much you love what you’re doing or how much food you can put on the table. 

One by one, you bring the members to their set, letting them discuss the scenes to be shot with the director while taking a few runs until both are satisfied with the final output. It takes several tries until both sides are satisfied with how the rolls come out. In between the planned shots were impromptu acting and dancing from the members, you wonder if this was San’s doing thanks to Answer. 

Speaking of, San was the last to leave the dressing room, the other members were already retouching their hair and makeup for the next shoot. On the way to the director, he asks how you’ve been.

“Well, I’m doing better now.” You start. “We can catch up after the shoot, if you want.” You advise as the two of you get closer to the director. 

“Same number?” He asks, his heart slightly racing. He wants to reason that it’s because it’s a new production house and nerves. 

“Yep.” You affirm casually. “Let’s get to work first?” You gesture, switching to formal speech as you approach the director first. You introduce him to the director, letting them do a quick runthrough of what the director wants from San for this scene. 

Once all of that is done, he’s about to step onto the set before he looks back at you. “Are you going to watch me?” 

It takes a moment for you to reply but you don’t hesitate this time. “Just like old times, Sannie.”  

Something about that makes him flash a bright smile, a complete contrast to his darker, mature look. He stays where the director tells him to first. Once he gets the cue, he starts to move, getting into character a lot quicker than you thought before the staff could even use the slate. 

Heeseok, the director, notes that you’re lingering around to watch San do his thing. “You can stay, you know.” He muses. His words make you look at him in surprise. You haven’t been with this production house as long as most of them have so you’ve kept to yourself for the most part. “I’m serious. You’ve worked with these boys before us right? At least, let yourself loosen up around them. It’s been awhile after all.” 

You wonder how lucky you were when it came to finding a work environment as understanding as this. At his words, you take up the offer and step a little closer, watching San with and without the help of the monitor. 

He’s improved greatly. He clearly has the experience to back up his professionalism. A gaze sharper than a dagger, colder than ice was given to the camera. You can’t help but have your breath taken away by how intense it looked. The shock wears off when you see how mischievous Wooyoung becomes next to you as he tries to make San break out of his character. 

Things haven’t changed. 

You watch Wooyoung pull the weirdest antics that would’ve made San probably want to punch the other. “You really think the boys would break after all these years?” You ask him, incredulous. The male looks at you, grinning ear to ear. 

“Of course! It’s fun pulling all sorts of tricks to see which one makes them break. The last time was Yunho when I started dancing to one of our earlier covers while I was wearing a multicolored outfit.” He explains. You have a rough estimate of when that would be. Even if you left your job to be their manager and their publicity team, you still watched them from a distance. You still buy their albums too. 

You shake your head, still entertained by his antics, before shifting your gaze back to San. He approaches the two of you and you figured that he was going to review how his performance looked on screen while the stylists retouch his makeup and dab his sweat away. “How did I do?” San asks the two of you as he takes a sip of water. 

“As expected, you did great.” You return without missing a beat. Wooyoung agrees too but in his typical fashion of a praise mixed with sarcasm. 

San catches onto Wooyoung’s antics and scoffs, unfazed by the other’s jokes. The two of them monitor his performance closely. Already, San takes note of which ones he needs to fix in the next shot. Now that they were busy, you thought it would be a good chance to slip off and check on the other members. 

When San straightens up after watching his performance closely, he spots you about to leave. “Are you leaving me with Wooyoung?” He asks as if miffed by the fact he would be left alone with his own member. 

You look over your shoulder, surprised at how bad he wants to have you watch him. “I want to check on the others, to see if they need anything..” You explain, unsure of what to make of this situation.

He has to admit you have a point but he wanted you to watch him still. Despite that, he let you do your work; you aren’t their manager anymore. 

--------

The music video shoot goes on for the entire day, and will continue to do so in the next few days. You assume that the earliest you’ll finish is in three days, this being based on how the boys have been working earnestly. But like any other shoot, no matter how hard you work or how smart you work, delays still happen. The three days eventually turned into six days due to unforeseen delays along with everyone needing rest. Thankfully for both sides, the work didn’t seem to feel like too much of a burden. 

In between the shoots, the photographer managed to take a few shots for the album’s photobook. A lot of b-rolls but that was fine, the more the better especially with how lore heavy this comeback seemed to be. 

By the last group shot, the director finally yells cut. “Cut! Good job everyone! We’re finally finished.” Heeseok bellows out much to the relief of everyone on set. In response, the boys return the same phrase, bowing to everyone in respect and gratitude. Everyone slowly starts packing up, those who have been on their feet for hours on end find somewhere to sit to rest their weary bodies; you included. You find a corner to drop yourself onto, your hands gently massaging the knots on your legs. 

You look at the time. You won’t be able to get home until sunset you assume, as you find yourself feeling guilty to even consider heading home now while everyone else is helping each other pack up the equipment. Once feeling returns to your legs, you pull yourself up to help out in packing away the equipment. 

You were already done with half of the stands when your higher ops realize you were still on set, cleaning up. “What are you still doing here?” Hwayoung asks you, eyes wide with an array of emotions behind them.

The surprise and concern makes you feel a little anxious, wondering if you did something wrong. “I wanted to help pack up…” You return softly, rubbing the back of your neck after keeping the last light stand away. 

“You should be home by now!” She chides. “You’ve been on set the entire time, leaving late and arriving on the dot. You need to get some rest!” She continues, patting you on the back. 

“But, what about you guys..?” You ask as you look around. The bigger set pieces were going to be dealt with in the following days as it’ll still be used for the jacket photos if you remember right. 

“Leave it to us. We’ll be alright, go home and get some rest. You’ll be needed back on set after tomorrow.” She reassures you. You look at your co-worker who agrees with her, echoing her sentiments about how you’ve been on set day in and day out. You really couldn’t fight them regarding their points. Somewhere along the way, you went from wearing jeans to joggers for the ease of moving around. With that, you nod at their argument.

“I’ll get going now. Please take care too!” You say, bidding them goodbye before heading to where your belongings were. 

On your way out of the staff’s room, you figure you should bid goodbye to the boys. It only seemed proper after your surprise departure from the company. You knock thrice on their door, peeking in carefully. Thankfully they were already dressed in their regular clothes. “Hey, just wanted to drop by and say that I’m heading out.” You state as soon as the boys catch sight of you. 

“Do you want to eat with us?” Hongjoong asks. It takes all of San’s control to not trip over his own bag at Hongjoong’s offer. Not only do old habits die hard, so do old feelings. 

At his invitation, you raise an eyebrow. “Aren’t you guys tired after the continuous shoots?” 

“Well, we are but..” Wooyoung trails off, taking the chance to stretch. “... food after a long day always tastes great.” He had a point there. 

It takes a while for you to decide, it has been way too long and you’re sure the boys have a lot to talk about with you. That also depends on how awake you could be in the midst of everything. “Are you guys free tonight?” You ask. You know yourself better by now: eating while sleep deprived isn’t a good idea and the way home can be an issue. 

“Yeah, their entire schedule for the next few weeks is just centered around the upcoming album.” Manager Bae returns as he hoists his bag up over his shoulder. 

“If you guys have the energy later tonight, we can eat dinner together. I don’t think I can last long enough to eat with you guys for lunch then head home.” 

“Then it’s settled, we can meet later tonight for a meal.” Hongjoong returns, clearly excited to be able to bond with you and the rest of the members. Just like old times (sort of). 

-------

The ride back to their place was bustling with energy. The members were exhausted yes, but the fact they got to work with you again overrode the need for rest. 

“Hyung! Why didn’t you tell us that they’d be there too?!” Mingi whines. He was one of the few who took your departure a little harder, if not just as hard as San. 

Manager Bae flashes an apologetic smile, though it can’t be seen by them, they hear it in his voice. “Sorry guys, they told me to keep it a secret.” He explains how you were the recipient of the PR team’s email along with how you did everything you can to make sure this deal pulls through. You even contacted the managers (as friends) to make sure that they told the members nothing about you yet. 

You were also aware of how they took your departure. Though this part wasn’t from the managers, rather from Seonghwa. 

“If we can’t have dinner with them, can we at least have a meal with them one of these days?” Wooyoung pipes up. The eldest members knew that one way or another, you’d make sure to have a meal with them. You confessed how much you missed them in the months following your leave. They understood why you had to leave too. They can’t hold it against you. 

“It’ll happen. They have a soft spot for you guys.” Manager Bae returns with a chuckle. The nine of them arrive outside their apartment and decide to catch up on sleep before grabbing something for dinner tonight. 

--------

[ You to Hongjoong ] Are you guys still up for dinner? It’s on me. 

Hongjoong looks out of his room and the boys were already getting ready to eat out. “Boys, dinner with them tonight, yes or no?” 

[ Seonghwa to You ] Everyone’s ready already. Where to?

You send them the address, along with the menu. As you wait for their thoughts, you walk around the area. 

[ Hongjoong to You ] See you in that restaurant! The boys are excited LOL

Somehow you can picture just how excited they were, and how chaotic the apartment was since the invite. 

[ You to Hongjoong ] hehe, see you in a few then. 

--------

You wait outside the restaurant, occasionally looking up from your phone to look for them. They never really said what time they’d arrive. A part of you wonders if they moved elsewhere now, it would make sense if they did, especially with how big they are now. You’re stuck in your thoughts again, staring into space despite looking as if you were looking at your phone. You hear a familiar voice call out to you and that snaps you out of your thoughts. 

You look up from your phone, blinking a few times to regain your surroundings. You’re greeted by a Mingi that’s already speeding towards you. Fortunately, you were quick enough to catch him in your arms this time. “Oof--! Hey there Mingi.” You greet carefully, patting his back lightly. 

Despite him being the more laid back member, he was more vocal with his emotions. You were glad to see him looking better than before. “We missed you!” He exclaims, pouting slightly at you. 

An apologetic smile graces your features at his actions. It sometimes slips your mind that they were still kids when you met them. At least in your eyes they were, even with the close proximity in age. “Let’s continue the talk inside? You guys are probably hungry.” You raise, as you let them enter the premises first.

“They didn’t even eat prior to this.” Hongjoong quips with a snort. You look at them then at him in mild concern. 

“Did you eat though?” 

“He didn’t.” Seonghwa cuts the conversation as he drifts inside, walking past a dumbfounded Hongjoong. “It’s okay, I forgot to eat too.”

“That makes all of us then.”

--------

The dinner goes without a hitch. For the most part it was you and Seonghwa who were cooking the meat over the grills. 

There were times where when you put the cooked pieces of meat on their plates, some of the pieces you cooked would appear on your plate. “Huh?” you mumble, when you catch the culprit’s hand under your line of sight. You’re able to catch the direction of where the hand retreats. It’s San. You look at him while keeping track of the sizzling meat over the grill. “Did you at least eat?” 

“Yeah but you haven’t.” He shoots back, gesturing to the cooked meat on your plate. 

“Let me cook this time.” Yunho offers, he doesn’t take no for an answer as he takes the tongs from your hands. Now that you were empty handed, you could finally sit and get some food into your system. 

San says something that you don’t catch so you turn to San’s direction, only to be greeted by a small ssam in front of you. You stare at him for a moment, opening your hand for it but he pulls back at such action. This puts a confused frown on your face which doesn’t faze him. “I said, ‘say ah’.” He even goes the extra mile by opening his mouth for you to mimic. 

Stubborn boy. 

You roll your eyes but appease his wish to have him feed you. As expected, the food in this restaurant doesn’t disappoint. The other members glance at San, somehow amused at how he acts despite the time apart. None of them were caught by you, too busy eating your share after a long day. 

The rest of the night goes like that, just eating and drinking (non-alcohol because of their schedule) with the boys as they tell you stories of what you’ve missed. 

“Seonghwa doing rock climbing? Again?” You repeat, incredulous and rather concerned for his safety. You stare at the male at the other side of the table who looks at you as if he heard nothing. Of course he looks unfazed, the other members were praising him for having gotten through it despite his phobia. He says nothing to your question, instead taking his sweet time eating his sherbet. At his lack of a reply, you just snort at him and continue to eat your ice cream. 

It’s hard to deny that he didn’t have feelings anymore. Not when he looked at you with warmth as you recount what has happened since you left. Yunho and Seonghwa could clearly see how he felt about you but say nothing except to snap a few shots to tease him with later. Maybe this explains his lack of interest in dating. 

You did your best to tell them your experiences and how things have been after everything. The few months of just you being on your own, doing side jobs to keep supporting yourself as you did some reflecting. The succeeding months of landing the job you have now. “I feel happier here.” You admit, while managing them was a lovely job in itself, the fact you get to help create visual ideas into reality is something you can’t replace. “Despite all that, I still bought your albums.” You add, showing them a photo of their albums still on display at your place.

“Oh you moved?” Wooyoung notes. 

Sharp boy, you thought. “Yeah, I moved elsewhere for my job, easier to get there too.” You confess. San leans a little closer looking at your photo to see how Wooyoung noticed such a detail. Though it’s not much, he could definitely tell you had plans of staying in that apartment for a longer time. The walls were decorated, their albums were on shelves, proudly displayed their achievements, even some of your jackets were resting over your chair too. It just looked so you. 

Hongjoong looks at the time, “Guys, it’s getting late..” He hated having to cut the fun especially with a dear friend. The two of you catch the dejected looks on their faces. Looks like it’s up to you to save the situation. 

“We’re still seeing each other for your album jacket shoot.” This slightly lifts their spirits but it’s still not the same as being able to hang out with them as friends. “We can have another dinner after the shoot. Celebratory dinner for finishing something big, y’know?” You admit. 

“Is the dinner on you?” Yeosang cheekily asks. 

“What are you talking about? I already paid for this dinner.” You return with a snicker. As proof, you raise the receipt up to their eyes, of course, you cover the price from them otherwise they’d pester you to no end. 

“What?! How did you--” San asks, clearly not remembering you leave the table to pay for the meal. 

You don’t reply to his confusion, opting to just shoot him a wink at your stealth. He shouldn’t have felt his heart skip at that but he did. Now that all of that is out of the way, you, Hongjoong and Seonghwa stand up, getting ready to leave, much to the dismay of everyone else. 

San takes his time to stand up, shrugging on his blazer after he stretches. “Looks like you ate well.” Your comment catches him off guard, doing nothing but confuse him. With how lost he looks, you take a piece of tissue and wipe his cheek. Just like old times. “You had a bit of sauce that somehow landed there.” He wishes he could walk you home like old times. 

Now that all of you were outside, goodbyes and hugs were exchanged with you. The amount of times you had to reassure them that you haven’t changed your numbers was insane that the two eldest members had to show proof to back you up. “Gah! You guys need sleep more than I do! I’ll see you boys in a few days' time.” 

They wait with you until you manage to hail a taxi before they make their own way back. While everyone was recounting the stories you told them and the stories they failed to share, San was in his own thoughts. 

[ San to You ] Thanks for today. Everyone misses you. 

[ You to San ] I missed you guys too, really. Get some sleep okay? You guys deserve it.

[ San to You ] Got it! Sleep well too ^^

His last message makes you smile at your phone, even at his mature age, his eye smile never seems to change. He hasn’t lost his optimism either it seems. You let yourself absorb the good energy from tonight for a few moments before keeping your phone away, letting out a breath you didn’t know you’ve been holding this entire time. 

Maybe hanging out with them outside work wasn’t such a bad idea.

---------

The past few hours leading up to the shoot had the boys teasing San. “Guys, come on. I don’t have feelings for them anymore.” He shoots back, half heartedly. He still does. 

“San, my guy, you had honey dripping from your eyes during dinner with them.�� Yunho points out before sipping his coffee. 

“I didn’t!” 

Seonghwa just brings out his phone to show the photo he and Yunho took that night. It was obvious and there’s no denying from San about it. At the sight of the photo, he shuts up and eats his meal. Hongjoong watches his members act like young kids again but he holds no tension in his body this time. They’ve hit the point in their careers that any romantic relationship they have won’t heavily affect them. “San, just give it a shot this time.” He suggests carefully. This causes the former to look at him with wide eyes. The look prompts the older to explain himself. “San, you still have feelings for them. You know why they turned you down back then. Now that the two of you are in your respective fields-- and have grown, why not give it a shot? If they still say no then,” he shrugs. “Let them go. If they say yes this time, at least you gave it a shot right?” 

San’s ears are burning at this point. He wanted to ask you out, properly this time. He didn’t want to regret expressing his feelings but he didn’t want to be selfish about it either. Was Seonghwa right all this time?

“For everyone’s sake, San just ask them out after the shoot. I don’t think I can handle you whining about them any more.” Wooyoung snips. His words though sounding rather sharp, held no malice in them. They genuinely just want him to be happy beyond their passion to be on stage and perform. 

“Fine, fine but if it doesn’t work out?” 

“Hongjoong hyung and I will take ten shots of soju.” 

“I didn’t agree to that!”

--------

The boys enter the venue, now brightly lit as compared to their music video shoot. Their creative team always pulls through with these ideas and seeing your production house make them into reality is mind blowing. 

On one side of the building is lit up with various plant life and neon lights, very reminiscent of their older eras. A few meters away was another one, just as well lit though a little muted compared to the other. To the boys, they knew what this set was a reminder of, it would only mean that it would take a few hints before the fans understood what part of their concept this would be. The last one seems to be unfinished, the backdrop still rolled up with the spotlights still switched off. 

“Crap, how many versions are we selling this time?” Yeosang asks, dumbfounded by the amount of set designs in front of them. 

“Four versions this time.” The answer shocks all of them, surprised to see you behind them. “Did you guys get some good sleep?” You ask as you try to hide the snicker from their fright. Once they get over the initial fright, you gesture for them to follow you to the dressing rooms. There you’ll give them a rundown for today’s agenda. “If you noticed, the third set isn’t done yet. It’s easy to assemble but we wanted to know your opinions on it. The last one is ideally a free-for-all type of thing. Considering that this album’s going to be released near your fanbase’s anniversary, this is more visually very relaxed, just have fun. This version of the album also will carry the heaviest lore so…” You shrug. Their marketing team really knows how to rake in the cash. “We can have the set be up for today or we can save it for once all of you are done with the first two sets.” 

The members look at each other, merely communicating their opinions with raised brows, shoulders and the like. “Can we save it for after the first two sets?” Hongjoong asks. Their politeness never really went away even despite being seniors in this industry. 

With that said, you nod. “Consider it done. Now get changed. The clothes in the back are labelled depending on which set they’re for.” You gesture to the back. “The photographers have the mood boards with them for visual aid for you. I’ll wait for you guys outside the dressing room.” With that, you bid them goodbye for now before leaving the room to talk to the teams for the agenda. 

Now that the boys were left to their own devices with their stylists, they looked through the clothes. They decided to just split into two teams, just to make it easier for everyone. It seems that even their stylists weren’t surprised with their decisions as they immediately got to work. 

---------

One by one, the members trickle out of the room, leading them to their designated sets as they get to know the photographers. Some members were already restless inside the dressing room when they visited the others who were having their photos taken. 

There was music playing overhead to fill in the silence along with making sure to keep the productivity going for everyone. As Seonghwa has his photos taken in the muted set, San and Yunho are by the side, singing and dancing goofily, just to see how strong his control is. If that doesn’t work, they would look at how his photos come out, even helping out the photographer by giving advice to Seonghwa. As expected of the member, the photos come out well, even the candid ones, much to the pleasant surprise of the photographer. 

On the other set is Mingi. He somehow still manages to pull off the look while being with various plant life and neon lights. Hongjoong monitors his photos while Jongho is off to the side, taking photos of them as well. From time to time, Mingi would ask the photographer how the photos were coming and how he should position himself. While the photographer has no complaints, Hongjoong asks if he can try to suggest something. The former allows it so Hongjoong asks Mingi if he can try opening himself, instead of curling in this time. The members know the overall plot of their concept but Hongjoong knows it the best without spoiling anything to the fans. 

“What do you think so far?” Yeosang asks you as he’s the last to leave the room. You look over at him and you can easily tell that he had just woken up from a quick nap. 

“Good sleep?” you return lightly. “So far so good: Yunho and San joking around, Jongho taking photos, Hongjoong monitoring closely… hey where’s Wooyoung?” You ask once you realize the missing member (and noise). 

“Still in the dressing room, he wanted to grab a few more minutes of sleep.” Yeosang says. It’s only then that you realize how deep his sleep was from his tone. 

“Looking forward to really push the doberman agenda huh?” You muse, once you take note of what he’s wearing.

He looks down at what he’s wearing then flashes a proud grin. “Of course, even until now the fans consider me a maltese.”

You walk with him to his designated set, keeping away from the camera their manager holds to grab some footage for their youtube. “Do you guys still bark for the fans?” 

“Only Yunho and San do.”

That honestly doesn’t surprise you. “Anyways, I’ll leave you guys to it. Manager Bae seems to be recording for your youtube channel.” You say, patting his back, as you catch Yunho and Seonghwa talking about their album. You wanted to stay out of view, even though you knew they’d blur your face it’s for your comfort too. 

“Oh yeah,” he starts. “San’s looking at us.” You shoot Yeosang a look to which he shrugs. “Best to talk to him before he starts bouncing around.” 

At his suggestion, you steal a glance at the male who’s now pestering the two boys talking to the camera. Seeing that he wasn’t doing what Yeosang had just said, you return your eyes to the male, confused. He returns your look with his usual mischief. Goddammit. 

Whatever, you tell yourself as you make your way to the photographer, checking in on the material he has and if he needs a break. As he shows you the photos, both of you are pleased with how they all come out. He even shows a photo of Seonghwa that he caught shocked by the propped figure behind him. “Yunho’s next but I can wait.” He tells you, stretching his sore shoulders and arms. 

“You’re doing great. Hopefully we can finish the shoot in two days.” The two of you wait for Yunho to finish his thing with the members before calling him over for his shoot. Once you do, you linger around to make sure he and the photographer are on the same page. Just as you were about to head towards Wooyoung, you’re greeted by someone’s figure just behind you. “Holy sh--” you nearly shout, stopping yourself with a heavy sigh of relief. 

“Whoa, it’s just me.” He returns, taking a few steps back to give you space. Once you regain your composure, he flashes a bashful smile at how you shoot him a deadpan look. 

“You’re lucky I like you.” You mumble. 

San looks at you with a confused light in his eyes. “What?” 

You shake your head, changing the topic. “I’m going to check if Wooyoung’s awake. He’s probably right after Yeosang.” With that, you walk past him, gentling hitting his arm with your clipboard in retaliation.

He yelps at the sudden impact-- though it didn’t hurt. “What was that for?!” His tone tinted with faux insult by your actions as he follows you towards their dressing room. 

“For surprising the living daylights out of me.” It gets tricky to keep yourself from smiling once you notice him catch up to you. 

“I didn’t mean toooo.” He whines, stopping by the door as you peek inside the room. 

There you see Wooyoung getting his makeup done. “Sorry!” He apologizes earnestly. You shake your head, not minding his apology. You can only imagine how packed their schedules are now as the preparations for the new music is looming around the corner now. 

“All good, just had to check on you. Just come to the set once you’re ready okay?” You remind him. As he’s unable to move his face, he flashes a thumbs up. He catches San peeking over your shoulder, he says nothing to this but the look in his eyes results in San making a face at him. Now that’s out of the way, you turn your attention to San now. “So how have things been huh?” 

“Been alright, felt weird that you left.” He admits. He just doesn’t beat around the bush anymore. 

You look at the set for a moment, lively boys and music playing overhead. They won’t hear the two of you. “I’m sorry about that… leaving with no word from me.” Your voice is a little softer this time. He doesn’t mind your apology. You had your reasons after all. 

“It’s okay, hey I get why you had to do what you did.” San quickly returns. 

“Please know that I didn’t leave because of you.” You add before he could possibly start jumping the gun. 

He stops there, surprised by what you had just said. Before he could even ask you to explain, Hongjoong calls him over to ask for his opinion on something. 

“We can talk later.” Your tone leaves no room for arguments, heading over to the rest of the staff to check on what they need to attend to in the next few days. He watches your hesitant visage shifts into something more confident. Crazy how things change. 

He watches you attend to your work before he heads back on set. Time to get back to work.

---------

“Thank you for your hard work!” The voices of the eight members echo through the venue. Their voices were returned with applause and cheering from the staff. You check on the photographers immediately after the words of praises have been exchanged. The photos have been backed up on the computers and hard drives. From there, you tell them that they can leave now, to leave the pack up to the rest of the staff. 

With that, you keep the memory cards and cameras in a safe place, before stepping out of the office to help with packing up. By now, it’s probably night time. Truthfully, you didn’t keep track of the time, it only makes you more exhausted if you did. You pick up the tables first with your co-staff, carrying up somewhere out of the way but still easy to put back in pace for day 2 of the shoots. 

The backdrops have been rolled up as well, all the heavy lifting were being dealt with by the other staff. You notice the lack of eight loud voices and check on the dressing room if they had to rush to another schedule. 

You peek in and they’re still there, just now in casual clothes. “Sorry, had to check if this room was clear already or not. No rush!” You explain as you leave the room quickly, a little embarrassed. You get back to work, unclipping the gel sheets from the spotlights. At least you don’t burn your hands this time as you put them on the table next to you. 

You finish folding or rolling the gel sheets into the containers. One on your hands, the other pushed forward by your feet. While you were strong enough to carry heavy duty gear, your hands can only carry so much. Additionally, you didn’t want to do repeated trips back and forth, spare mercy to your sore legs and back. 

A man comes to your assistance and for a moment you thought it was one of your co-workers. “Ah thank y-- San?!” You look at the male in surprise, you thought they would’ve left by now. 

“We figured you guys might want some help.” San explains as he hoists the second container in his arms. We? You look around and you see members helping carrying gears into the storage rooms or offices. 

“You guys didn’t have to…” You mumble, one part touched and one part concern. They’ve worked so hard yet they’re here willingly helping out. 

“We wanted to. You guys work hard too. that it would be good if you guys get some rest too.” 

You had a feeling that he wanted to talk about something also, based on how careful his words were. This time, you don’t close yourself to what his thoughts are. Once you lead him to the storage room for the lights, you put the container on top of other crates. You made a mental note to make an updated inventory list with how many empty crates this room had. Once your arms are free, you take the container from San, propping it on the table. All that’s left to get were the lights.

Once his hands were free, he hid his hands in his hoodie’s pockets. “I, uh, was wondering, if you wanted to go out soon? Of course, when you’re free also..” San asks, hesitance slowing his words down. You have a feeling this outing has some sort of weight behind it but you don’t say anything for now.

 “It’s just the two of us?” As if it was no big deal. 

“I mean, if you want it to be with the members, it’s fine too.” San doubles back on his words, feeling embarrassed for feeling like the same kid a few years back. 

You shake your head at the second offer. Maybe giving him a chance this time wouldn’t be so scary. “Sounds like a plan. You still have my kakao don’t you?” You ask, taking the container from his hands. 

It was a good thing you took the container from him as he freezes up in surprise at your willingness. “Uh-” he clears his throat to regain his composure. “Yeah, I do! When do you want to hang out?” 

“Next week? How does that sound?” He genuinely hopes he isn’t dreaming from this point on. “

“Sounds good.” He’ll clear out the day just for this. 

You flash a smile at him as you let him leave the room first. “Awesome, let’s finish up cleaning so we can get some rest?” 

When the two of you return, your higher op tells you to leave the stands where they are. For easier assembly for the next shoot. 

“Next shoot?” You get a little nervous, unaware of this schedule. Did you forget about this?

“Relax. It’s an outdoor shoot for an advertisement. It’s just easier for everyone if it’s already out and ready to go.” Probably not one of your assigned projects then. With that, everyone bids each other farewell. The boys splitting from you and Hwayoung to head to their apartment. 

Now that everyone else is out of earshot, Jongho breaks the silence. “I think Hyung asked them out.” The spaced out smile on San’s face is a giveaway to how the conversation goes. Yet, knowing the members, they wanted to make sure. 

“What did they say?” Wooyoung prods. 

“We’re meeting next week.” San simply states, and immediately Wooyoung jumps and shakes his friend gleefully. It’s thanks to Seonghwa that the dazed boy doesn’t fall over from Wooyoung’s antics. 

--------

On the days leading to your meet up, the two of you agreed to meet somewhere away from the crowds. Now that today’s the day, you stroll around the area waiting for him. You weren’t sure if you’re expecting him to ditch due to schedules or hoping for him to come. This area feels new to you, one part of your mind stays aware of where you’re going and where you are while the other shuts off as you stroll and look through the shops that line your sight. 

[ San to You ] Be there in five minutes! 

You look at the message then at the time. Not a big deal, you supposed. 

[ You to San ] Don’t rush. Just as long you arrive safely. 

[ San to You ] You’re there already? 

It looks like it’ll be a lengthy text conversation so you step away from the foot traffic, on the fence of either exploring some more or heading to the meeting spot. 

[ You to San ] Yeah, I got curious so I explored for a bit. 

Three minutes. You decide to walk back to the meeting spot. 

[ San to You ] I’ll show you this new food place I found when I was with Wooyoung and Seonghwa. 

You could actually picture how excited he was and you had to bite your lip from smiling like a fool at your phone. 

Someone taps your shoulder and for a split second you think it could be a lost foreigner. When you turn on your heels, it’s San. This time he’s in loose clothes, an oversized white shirt tucked into dark blue slacks like bottoms. For once he isn’t in black. 

“This is the first time I’m not seeing you in black, I think?” you comment, giving him a thorough look. Well save for his bag, he wasn’t in anything in black.

He flashes a pose at your words. “I wanted to change it up for once, does it suit me well?” He asks, spreading his arms to let you look at him properly. 

There’s something about his outfit that makes you smile. “Yeah, I like it.” You shouldn’t have the urge to squeeze his cheeks upon seeing his dimples but here you are. Now that the greetings were out of the way, he holds on to your shoulders, gently steering you at the direction of this restaurant he mentioned in your text. “So what’s up with this restaurant that you like so much?” 

Once the two of you are walking, he pulls his hands away from you. “Well, for starters, their stews are great. All of their ingredients are fresh.” He goes on about this restaurant that he’s been so in love with lately. A small part of you wonders if this is one of those restaurants he visited for his individual content. You guess you’ll find out eventually. With that, you let San talk excitedly about food, how he’s finally able to get away from the boys even for a few hours. He’s not one to talk a lot but when he does, he talks. With that said, you don’t mind listening to him, you spend too much time having to talk to others (for a living) that listening for a change isn’t so bad. Besides, you know for sure you’ll have to do your share of talking once you arrive at this restaurant. 

He spots the restaurant a few meters ahead of you and he starts to bounce a little on his feet. “Do you see the restaurant with the red lettering with a crab?” He asks. There’s something in his tone that makes you walk a little faster, just for his sake. 

“We’re going there?” You ask in return. He takes a few steps forward, already slightly ahead of you. You can tell he already wants to run towards the franchise, and you can already imagine just how good the food could be to elicit such a reaction from him. From there, you decide to just follow him to the restaurant, amused by his excitement for food. 

The restaurant looked homey; wooden chairs and tables, with dividers per table for privacy, with some songs playing overhead. Some tables were occupied with what seems to be families and friends, tables covered with various stews and seafood that come in various vivid colors and flavors. It makes sense why San would love this place. 

The two of you get settled down on a table a little further away from any eyes. You weren’t entirely sure of what to order either that you let San introduce you to the meals available instead. This of course, makes him beam even brighter. “Anything I should be wary of?” You admit to being wary of certain things; it’s not that you’re allergic but because you rarely have them. That alone gets his head working and already he knows what to order to share with you and for your solo meals. 

As the two of you wait for your meals, your eyes wander around the place--, partly out of curiosity and partly because well… you’re a little shy of the mere fact it’s just you and him. The male across you lets you take in the interiors of the place for a few moments before speaking up. “So, how have things been?” It was a genuine question, one filled with wonder if life has been better for you. 

This is probably your cue to fill him in on as much as you can without anyone overhearing the two of you. You fill him in on the months you were jobless, not because you couldn’t find a job but because you just needed to rest badly. You stayed on your own still but you were able to meet your friends in those few months, recharging and taking care of your health after who knows how long. You’re into new hobbies as well, making bracelets or keychains, which fortunately also gives you a bit of extra cash. At the mention of the crafts you’ve been making, you show the simple beads that wove around your wrist, along with the purple and green woven keychain that’s attached to your phone case. 

“You learned all of that.. Over the months of no work?” San asks. Truth be told, when he’s on hiatus, he either just plays games, work out, or sleep. He learns things too for the sake of becoming a better performer but crafts never crossed his mind. “And yet, you know how to deal with production work?” 

“I did tell you I knew a thing or two when it comes to the industry. My tolerance to things is just something I need to work on.” You admit as you keep your phone away. One by one the food arrives. It’s only when you’re greeted by the stew that you realize how hungry you are. “Fill me in on your life too.” You quickly add before the two of you get side tracked by the various dishes that slowly fill up your table. 

As he hands you your utensils, he starts to tell you stories of their recent milestones and albums. The way he finds himself improving as a person and as an artist. He admits to some dips in self-confidence though not as bad as they used to be. After all, at the end of the day, he’s still a regular human with their ups and downs. He tells you as well of the acting gigs he’s been doing, even did a few radio shows on his own. In typical fashion, he even exposes some of his members, what they’ve been doing, what they’re planning, and the like. Were you surprised though? Not quite, in fact you can see a bit of Jongho’s influence in his mannerisms of exposing members. Those two were doing amazing in the drama scene after all. 

“Oh yeah! Speaking of dramas, I heard from a little birdy that you were interested in taking up a horror thriller drama role?” You say before taking a small mouthful of noodles. This question flusters him slightly but he flashes a smile so bright, his dimples make an appearance. 

“Yeah,” he starts as he looks for the crab meat in his meal. “If the director thinks I’m perfect for the role then why not right?” He lets himself eat for a few moments before continuing to speak. “Though, if Seonghwa-hyung gets the role instead of me that would be funny.”

“He still can’t handle horror?”

“Him and Mingi.” 

That’s how the rest of the meal goes. The two of you sharing stories and jokes from the years you’ve been out of touch with each other. It’s a feat that San still plushies on his bed, some of which he had given away, some still with him after all these years. He’s just as amazed as you are for you. 

It takes an hour or two before the food is finished. You’ve kept note of this place in your phone, wanting to come back here on your own in the near future. “Speaking of, did you feature this place in your individual content?” 

“I have! It’s just going through post processing with the staff so expect it soon.” He chirps, beaming at how you remembered his individual content. 

After he pays for the meal (which you will pay back through desert), the two of you walk around the area. He shows you where he gets his clothes, stuff Mingi has showed him as well. In some shops, he proceeds to complain about how some of his members have taste that’s too expensive for him. In response to that, you stare at his bag. You may not be as well off as he is, but you can tell a luxury brand when you see one-- his bag being one of them. 

“This was a gift from Yunho!!” He tries to defend himself, which was pretty useless knowing how he had set himself up for that. Besides that, the exploring was fun. The two of you inevitably bought a few things. It was a little funny though, to see a foreigner try to flirt with San and seeing San try to shake them off by pretending to not speak any English. Once you two leave the shop, he immediately asks if the two of you could head somewhere for dessert. 

“Even until now, huh?” You tease him. 

“Sh..” 

You don’t need to see him to see his red ears. You know him well enough for that. 

Now you’re here in a bingsu cafe, sharing a strawberry and mango bingsu with him as rivers of people pass by beneath you. It’s a lot calmer now, the jitters of meeting up with an old friend having faded now. Your chats have mellowed down as well. Some topics seem to fit a night of drinking soju in the comfort of one’s home until the sun rises up. There were things that he needed your thoughts about certain things in his line of work. Not that he doesn’t get them with his own members but the unbiased approach you have also helps him in more ways than he can imagine. There are also things that the two of you needed to discuss, things that neither of you should be running away from. 

“What you said in the set..” He trails off. You look up from your meal at his words, waiting for him to expound. “You didn’t leave because of what happened between us?” He asks, his eyes stay glued to the half eaten bingsu. There’s doubt in his mind that he’d be able to face how you look with this topic. 

You do owe him an explanation. You set down your utensils first before speaking up. “San, I left the company cause I couldn’t keep up with the deliverables… it took a toll on my health.” It was an explanation that San kind of didn’t expect. While you didn’t delve into all the details, you gave him enough for him to understand the gravity.  It only takes his expression for you to connect the dots. “You thought you were a reason for my departure?” San couldn’t really say much, only eating his share in guilty silence. “San, you weren’t a reason for that. Sure it was stressful but I can take on workmates having a crush on me as compared to deliverables that needed to be sent out at crazy times.” He still feels a little burdened, but you can’t really do much for that. It’ll take a while before the guilt really washes away, he carried this belief for so long, unlearning that would take a while. “You’re not a burden, I promise you that. Never were, never will be.” Truth be told, any shortcomings he’s had have been forgiven and forgotten. You truly believe he’s grown since you last heard from him. 

He flashes a small smile, and you know it’s taking a lot of his strength to not cry. San catches the look of mild alarm in your face and beats you to it. “I’m not going to cry here, I promise.” As he says this, he proceeds to blink profusely to keep the tears at bay. You slipping a piece of tissue towards him catches his eye and he laughs lightly at the thoughtful deed. “Thank you.” He holds onto it to reassure you and to make sure he doesn’t cry in public. He’ll save the tears when he’s in the privacy of his own room. “Now, help me create a cave with this bingsu.” The man across you states, picking up his spoon again. You look at the half eaten bingsu and he’s right, for some reason he started at the edge then started digging downwards. 

“San, this cave is going to fall.” You state, a little fearful of a possible mess that could happen if you indulge in his wish. 

“Do you not have faith in me?” He asks, visibly hurt by your alarm now. Your gaze carries disbelief and you decide to indulge but on one condition.

“If this falls, you’re buying my coffee on the way home.” 

“Call.”

--------

“Do you wanna do this again? Some other time?” San asks. It’s a little frustrating that the two of you don’t live under the same roof (technically) anymore but it does make the time spent a little more precious. 

Your eyes widen at his invitation but soften up once it registers in your head. “Yeah, I’d like that. Message me?” You ask, raising your phone up. The train’s arriving soon and that means a surge of people. You take a quick sip of your nth cup of coffee for the day before you brace yourself for rush hour. You did reassure San that your coffee tasted sweeter because it was his money. 

“Of course. Send me a message when you get home okay?”

The two of you quickly give the other a hug, just in time for the train to arrive. San stays near the wall, away from the incoming foot traffic from both ends of the station. He watches you enter the train, staying near the window so that you could still clearly see each other. Even at a distance, San pulls a few faces at you to which you try to stifle the laughter that wants to spill from your lips. The doors close and you wave goodbye to him. He does the same, his thumb and pinky outstretched as if to say to expect a message or a call from him soon. The last thing he sees before the train whirrs away is a thumbs up and your smile. 

He lets the rush hour crowd dissipate first before making his way to his own train ride home. Somewhere along the way, he receives a message. 

[ You to San ] I got home! 

[ You to San ] proof.jpg

It was a photo of the clothes the two of you bought along with the coffee he bought for you, spread across the table in your place. A small air of laughter slips out of him at how you arranged the photo in your typical manner after a long day.

[ San to You ] clapping_ryan.emoji

[ San to You ] thumbs_up_apeach.emoji

 It’s hard to shake the feeling that the members would annoy him about today. 

--------

The door beeps a melody at his return, and already he’s greeted by some of the members playing video games in the living room. It looks like Mingi somehow managed to doze off on the massage chair despite the chaos in front of him. Yeosang who was just an audience to the entire thing notices his return and beckons him over to sit with them to watch. It was a tight match between Wooyoung and Yunho from the looks of the score.

“How was the date?” Yeosang asks before offering a piece of chicken to the now seated member. “It wasn’t a date.” San states, he wonders how many times he had to get this through their heads. Regardless, he takes the offered chicken pop. “Not the usual salt and pepper today?” He asks, a little surprised with the change of flavor. The other shrugs nonchalantly at the change. “Promo plus GC. You know I had to do it.” He looks at San with a raised eyebrow. “It looks like a date though.” 

Somehow, San didn’t want Yeosang to expound on what that meant. It’s good to keep your hopes up but this is different. 

“Are you going to see them again?” Yeosang asks, the two of them suddenly jumping when Wooyoung manages to score another point against Yunho. The entire room erupts into cheers. They peer over at Mingi and he’s still deep in slumber on the massage chair. 

Now that they’ve mellowed down and Yunho has called for a round 2, San returns to their topic. “If we have time then yeah.” 

-------

It wasn’t a matter of if the two of you have time. It was a matter of how the two of you will meet. By some strange feats of stubbornness and quick thinking, the two of you somehow manage to meet with each other still after schedules. Of course, depending on how tired the other is, it was usually just San decompressing at your apartment. 

The two of you have grown closer than before. Not a day passes without either of you sending each other messages at the start or end of one’s day. Today, San asked if he can stay for the night after a CF shoot. Even though you’ve said before that you don’t mind him coming over just as long as he gives you a heads up, he still asks. 

Now, he’s spread eagle across the floor, relishing on the cool feeling of your flooring after such a long day. “San, I’m pretty sure your massage chair might be more comfortable than my floor.” You say, as you set down some snacks on the table. 

“We may have a massage chair in the dorm but we don’t have a Lily.” He states. Lily’s your pet ragdoll that’s been with you now for half a year. The little one was also resting on San’s abdomen. The image in front of you makes you laugh. 

“I guess so, but will Lily really help with your muscle knots?” 

“Her purring can.” 

You roll your eyes at how weak he gets for cats. “Go get washed up. Your spare clothes are in my room. I promise, her purring will feel much better when you get out of your work clothes.” Before he says anything to stay put, you already got Lily’s favorite toy ringing clear in the room. The dainty bell already catches the feline’s attention and she hops off of him before he can say anything. 

“Fine, fine.” His voice is tinged with an exhausted whine but you’re right; loungewear after a long day does feel nice. With that, he pushes himself off the floor and makes his way to your bathroom. 

Now that he’s gone, you tire out your little zooming companion for some time, playing catch with her as she bounces around the room, catching her favorite ball over and over. In the course of throwing the ball repeatedly and tiring out your favorite girl, thoughts run in your mind. You’ve talked about this with Jiwoo recently but you never got to talk about this with Seonghwa or Hongjoong. With Lily still whacking at the small ball around, chasing it around the room, you decide to send Seonghwa a message. 

[ You to Seonghwa ] Hey remember that question you asked me when you and Hongjoong visited me? 

[ Seonghwa to You ] Yeah, what’s up?

The bathroom door unlocks and it’s sudden enough for you to jump out of your seat. You couldn’t think of a reply to make yourself look busy when San comes back after a shower and in a fresh set of clothes. Adrenaline runs hot in your body now. 

“San, I have a question..” Your voice is careful and it already puts San on edge, wondering what could be in your head to suddenly sound so hesitant. Just earlier, you were teasing him and playing around with Lily. He worries what could’ve happened in his absence. 

“Yeah?” San returns, repositioning himself to listen closely to whatever’s bothering you. He sits across you, tearing open a bag of snacks. 

“You still have feelings don’t you?” 

“What if I do?” 

This time there’s nothing that twists in you.

Part 9

[lakemojave]

Land of Falling Sun 4

It wasn’t dust after all.

The smoke formed a thick haze that rendered the travelers blind to the horizon ahead. Flakes of ash hung in the air, carrying a thick and foul odor of fire and decay. Somewhere in this flat, lifeless wasteland, something was burning in a great and terrible mass. Chipper had a sharper nose, and guessed it was likely a brush fire, and a big one. The wanderer briefly and privately entertained the notion that if there was enough plant matter to burn out here, then there was likely a great deal of life which he simply hadn’t given thought to.

He didn’t give Chipper much thought for most of the way; they were talented at spotting desert critters to refill their rations, and their magical talent was invaluable to their water supply. In this moment though, he had never been more grateful than to have his winged companion beside him, clearing the smoke with every beat of their wings. Dog was being pleasantly quiet as well, but still hadn’t taken to speaking only when addressed.

It was midnight now. The full moon shone bright in the sky which enveloped the landscape in brilliant shades of red and orange. It was hard to see through the smoke, as was the setting sun itself. In fact, around this time the travelers noticed how hard it was to see anything at all. It was dark, almost uncharacteristically so. The smoke was thick indeed, but not enough to blot out the moon or suns. A great shadow hung over the travelers, but they hadn’t the faintest idea what cast it.

The wanderer turned his gaze up slightly, up and towards the distance. “Hey lil’ fella,” he asked, “How big does the fauna get out here?”

“Hmmm...well the sand rats can get pretty big.” They gestured their talons to suggest the size of the largest sand rat they’d seen. “But I’ve never seen anything I’d call...colossal, if that’s what you mean.”

“It is.” The wanderer eased up a bit. “I’ve seen big, nasty things in other country. Would hate to run into some of them out here.” Chipper looked to their companion with trepidation, disturbed by the image of whatever beast he could be describing.

“Might be a cloud? Really big mountain?” They spread their wings and deepened their voice. “Really big bird?” They chuckled and resumed flying, clearly amused with themself. The wanderer hid his smirk. Then a thought occurred to him.

“Wait,” he asked, “You’re not actually from this country are you?” He shot Chipper an inquisitive glance, who returned it with a bashful, withdrawn look of their own. The wanderer grew concerned. “How’d you wind up out here?”

“I got chased,” they said. They looked straight ahead. “Can we focus?”

The wanderer shrugged and looked on as well. No need to pry.

The pair traveled in silence for a while longer. Dog remained silent, its nose keen and attentive for any signs of life it might pick up through the haze. The shadow that spread over the desert completely enveloped their surroundings, shading them from the heat of the sun. Soon, the smoke gradually cleared up ahead. Past the layer of fog, the pair could see a wall of solid rock, rising far above the desert floor. They looked up, and couldn’t see an end, but it appeared to be a sheer cliff face.

Up ahead, there was a trail.

----

The trail was narrow, barely enough to fit Dog’s six hooves. Chipper would perch on Dog’s hind to rest their wings, which they wrapped around the wanderer’s stomach for safety. Dog’s hoof would sometimes trip along the trail’s edge, dislodging small rocks and sending them plummeting to the ground.

Chipper and the wanderer came to a turnaround, putting the cliff face to their left. The trail was slightly steeper now. The wanderer ducked to avoid a branch that protruded from the cliff, and leaned forward to avoid its swipe as he passed. A few paces later, he looked back curiously. Chipper looked up at him much the same. “You alright?”

“Funny,” he said. “They’re showin’ up more often now.” He kept his gaze behind him, furrowing his brow, as though attempting to decipher some mystery he desperately lacked the information needed to understand.

“Yeah, so?” Chipper asked.

“I dunno. Just more plants than I’ve gotten used to.”

“Think there’s more at the uh...top?” They seemed to question whether there even was a top. By now they were so high that the smoke had thinned significantly, and the stench had mostly passed.

“By my guess, and by our luck,” the wanderer answered, “There will either be a bounty of plants and fertile ground and paradise and whatnot--the likes of which we’ve never seen--or an even shittier desert.” He spurred Dog on a little faster, who then picked up its pace slightly. “Either way, we’ll be there, and everything behind us’ll be long gone. That’s gotta do.”

“It will do, until the desert itself becomes yet another regret.”

“Can it, Dog.”

“When do I get to talk to him?”

“It. And you don’t.”

“Give them time, sir. Give them time.”

The wanderer groaned, and then coughed after groaning a little too hard.

----

The next day, as the traveling sun rose from the northern horizon, the travelers spent time resting in a small cavity in the cliff face, wide enough for all three to sit comfortably. The wanderer rested his back against Dog’s body, and Chipper lay flat on the ground, stretching out their back. As they stretched their wings and cracked their sore back, the wanderer pulled out some clippers and a mirror, and began trimming his beard.

Dog had picked up the scent of a cliff hound the day before. Following the trail brought them to the source: this cave. Dealing with cliff hounds was straightforward, as long as you could track them to their dens and corner them properly. Chipper and Dog approached the cave entrance quietly, then blocked it while the wanderer went in with his knife. He knew to close the distance quickly, stop short of its tail stinger, then dodge right, since cliff hounds are dominant to their right legs and will attack with them first. After dodging towards the attack, it’s best to attack below the jaw, as the skin is easy to penetrate, and a proper stab will go directly into the brain.

The wanderer skinned the feathery creature, then cooked the meat over a fire circle. This relieved him significantly; his arm was beginning to ache severely, and if he didn’t perform any Work soon, the pain would be debilitating. Chipper continued to hold off questions about the state of the wanderer’s arm, or the rest of his skin he neglected to reveal. Yes, it tortured Chipper’s curious mind not to investigate, but they wished to respect their mutual privacy. The soot--or tar as it looked in the circle--was connected to his talent, and that was sufficient.

Their food, water, and shelter accounted for, the travelers enjoyed the first true respite of their journey. The smoke was still rising up the cliff in light wisps, but the smell had passed. The wanderer heard a breeze, but felt nothing when he stepped outside of the cave. “The sound of wind across the desert plain,” said Dog, “But above us. I know the sound well. We are climbing a great plateau, and will soon be at the top.”

The wanderer looked back to Dog, saying nothing, but nodding once. Dog still upset him in a way he couldn’t quite describe, but he understood and respected the beast’s intelligence.

Chipper was feeling good enough to fly again, and sat down to untangle their hair. The wanderer kneeled behind them and brushed their hair in his hands.

----

That night, as the traveling sun set, the setting sun gingerly hung low in the sky, and the moon shone bright, the travelers approached the apex of their climb. Their spirits were rejuvenated, pleased to be out of the valley; yet, they were anxious and on guard, undetermined whether this would be the end of their journey or its beginning.

The trail curved inwards, towards the top of the plateau and easing significantly. There was room for the wanderer to spur Dog to a gallop, and it happily picked up speed, kicking a cloud of dust in its wake. Chipper flapped their wings and tucked in their legs, flying at full speed alongside their mounted friend. Their hearts raced.

They came to the top of the plateau. It was vast, dry, painted in a vivid red and orange soil. The landscape stood dotted with cacti and desert trees, and in the distance they could hear the sounds of birds. The travelers could finally see the setting sun again, and felt the kiss of its warm rays from all the way across this new world. It was another desert, but full of life--and unlike the valley below, it was life they could see.

Up ahead, close on the horizon, Chipper saw what looked like buildings. Rising up among them was a tower of smoke.

[nightshadedawn]

Persona 5 Royal Playthrough pt3

I ended up going through two Palaces before I could update y’all. Oh well.

...Yeah, no, quit calling me Miss Special Snowflake's boyfriend. It's not happening.

Ryuji, Morgana, and Yusuke having a conversation in the laundromat: "It's like he's our mom," says Ryuji... the mom friend.

Every time Morgana is like "I have to turn into a human so no one else can have Lady Ann!" then expects no one else to hear him makes me laugh. Like, bitch, no.

I have the restaurant in my Thieves Den 'cause I like it. Yusuke, Ryuji, and Morgana are there. They're so precious.

I got a three in a row Tycoon on cutthroat!!!

Ryuji and Ann just keep going "Shoulda figured" and other versions of the statement every time I win.

Ann just rejected Morgana's feelings HARD. I am happy.

Ryuji is too good, honestly. Why would anyone not like him? He's... He's always trying to build the team up, make them proud of themselves and what they've done. I will admit that he has his moments of being not a great human, but they're teenagers who were given absurd powers, so honestly, can you blame them?

I didn't know darts was an actual minigame! There's so many minigames. I'm so happy.

I don't like Akechi. I don't know why some people do. Like, his death scene was a bit... too late for a redemption for me, right after he tried to kill Joker, several times. His pain is understandable, but still... I can't.

Their "two sides of the same coin" also doesn't seem particularly fair. It's totally uneven in everything but color schemes.

Guys, GUYS, please, PLEASE decide whether you're going to react to my teasing or not.

"We don't have to deal with them directly," Ryuji says joyfully about the mafia. Oh you sweet, sweet, innocent child, if only you knew what I do.

I literally can't play this game around anyone else because I tend to yell "BABY!" to Ryuji, Ann, and Yusuke and "BITCH" or "FUCKER" to... a rather long list of villains in this game... and Makoto.

I can literally feel Yusuke's anxiety about his painting when you take him to Leblanc to see Sayuri.

How can you say Yusuke isn't gay when he says everything I do is beautiful?

I love Ryuji's 9th social link. It's LITERALLY written like a confession scene. This also means I kinda hate it because... I can't date him.

Also... PRETTY BOY RYUJI PRETTY BOY RYUJI PRETTY BOY RYUJI

I actually kinda thought that the new scene for Ryuji being a crossdresser is kinda funny??? Is this bad??? I wanna see him in a dress, tho. I gotta agree, he'd be a natural. Not the like, painfully obviously not taking it seriously from the dancing game, though.

Though I do think it's valid that he freaks out when two strange adults come up to him and try to take him somewhere, especially in a place known for being shady, and at night.

...When Ryuji complains about it, I do feel bad about ditching him. Then again, I blame the cat.

Ryuji may be my ideal type on paper, but I'm also highly attracted to Yusuke and this is so totally unfair.

*softly chanting* butlers butlers butlers butlers

Don't mind me just... *makes meticulous plot to avoid having Makoto join the team that i may or may not write a fanfic about*

Makoto is one dumbass bitch. Like, honestly, there's nothing she does that's in any way remotely smart.

...I thought I'd just skip Makoto's scenes until she became relevant, but here I am, still skipping her scenes. Does that mean she’s still irreleveant?

"Witch" I suggest, and Makoto complains! "Would you prefer "Bitch"? I can use that too.

I put Yusuke on the team in the middle of the palace through settings, replacing Morgana, who had been standing right behind me. Which made Yusuke stand right behind me. It looked like he was holding onto my waist and standing uncomfortably close. Bro, babe, I love you, but not in front of my boyfriend and girlfriend!

Just accept the compliment, guys, I'm not going to compliment Queen.

...Opening chests with Ann or Ryuji is just so sweet because they're so affectionate and touchy feely. Especially Ryuji.

Math. Fucking. Sucks. I should not have to use math in a game. I hate this. Obviously it's the Palace Makoto comes in that this happened.

Well, I finished the Palace in a day. I love the feeling. But it was getting close there. Joker and Yusuke were down to no spells...

...Yoshizawa hasn't showed up yet. When is she getting shoehorned in?

WHY IS THE VELVET ROOM RED!?

My very first playthrough I didn't execute a single execution except for the first one we have to do. It  really screwed me over my second playthrough...

...I broke the electric chair. That's certainly something that happened.

147 games of Tycoon later and I've only been a beggar 31 times in total, versus the pure thirty wins in just Cutthroat.

They're in their summer uniforms and it makes make miss warmer weather already. It's fucking snowing outside. Grrrr.

Beat Kaneshiro! ...Wasn't a fan of his new boss battle. I'm even playing on safe mode! But whatever.

Makoto is a DISASTER at Tycoon. She exclusively got beggar all three times I played with her!

...RYUJI YOU CAN'T SAY SHIT LIKE THAT AND NOT LET ME DATE YOU.

Ann, sweeties, baby, you're doing so well.

She confessed to me, then in the call afterwards it was basically insinuated I proposed... WHICH IS LIKE FUCK YEAH 'CAUSE SHE ACCEPTED IT.

It makes me think of the future conversation where they're talking about marriage.

Anyway, if you haven't noticed, l love Ann.

My next playthrough I'm not gong to date her, though. I'm a completionist and I want ALL of the possible awards. But... I refuse to cheat on Ann. So I'll date everyone else then just hang with Ryuji... despite how cringy some of the date things are.

...If Akechi wasn't, you know EVIL and tried to KILL ME, SEVERAL TIMES, I might, MIGHT, like him. But in truth, I think that's really just the Persona 5: Revival talking. We get... into some stuff during that.

I know that either Atlus or the translators know EXACTLY what goes on in the Persona fandom because otherwise "He's too pretty to be wrong" would not be an option when talking to the newspaper girl about Akechi. I have to agree with her that his looks aren't really, you know, awesome enough for that.

Also, I read it as "He's too petty to be wrong" at first and I think that's an accurate sum of his character.

YO AKECHI-FUCK I HAVE NO NEED TO SEE YOUR ASS LIKE THAT WHEN I HAVE BOTH A BF AND AND GF.

...fucker fucking giving me shit about my fake glasses...

If you COULD date the boy out of mod, Akechi would definitely be the one they were pushing you to date. Like Makoto. Or Yoshizawa.

But hey, at least I get to not be nice to him.

I remember seeing this picture where Ann, Ryuji, and Joker kept going to the movies together and seeing 3D movies, and Joker couldn't wear the 3D glasses properly because of his own. I keep imagining that picture during this event with Caroline and Justine.

You know what? Some people call Joker a loli lover because of them, but nope! He's just adopted two more siblings. That is my stance on it.

FUcking

Fucker

WHAT THE FRRRRRRRR

FUCK YOU ATULS OR TRANSLATORS OR WHATEVER

APHRODITE AND MARS ARE FROM TWO DIFFERENT MYTHOS. Aphrodite is GREEK, Mars is ROMAN. Their reversed are VENUS and ARES. USE ONE OR THE OTHER PEOPLE.

I get very pissed about this, and it's worse with Hades.

7/4 is the day I am screaming at, if you were wondering.

My dad asked me if the other students think Joker's stupid because every time I answer a question right they get all surprised.

I don't really like Makoto, as I'm sure you've noticed, but she was super nice about Ryuji's special move idea. And that put her ahead of Akechi in my book.

TESTS ARE NERVE WRACKING EVEN WHEN THEY'RE FICTIONAL

Yusuke and Ryuji are good boys, the best boys. And they're so awesome about their special move.

AND RYUJI OFFERED MONEY FOR YUSUKE'S FOOD. And implied that he did it before???? Ryuji, you best boy.

This boys' outing DOES make me happy, though. Like, insanely happy. Dunno why.

Maybe because Joker gets to be so flipping cheesy.

...fuck you, Yoshizawa.

HONESTLY WHAT THE EVER LOVING--- Grr. Too many choices while with her. Too many. OOC Joker when with her. 0/10.

I LOVE THE FESTIVAL PHOTO

And you know, it's really hard to choose between Lala-chan and Ann, but... GONNA TAKE ANN ON A DATE

Got her some flowers. Lets see if we can give them to her this time!

"Such a good FRIEND." Babe, we're DATING. For like, TWO WEEKS NOW.

AND I DIDN'T EVEN GET TO GIVE HER FLOWERS

Ann called Yusuke a pretty boy, but then she's missing out on the REAL pretty boy, Pretty Boy Ryuji.

Ryuji, why're you so worried about other girls when you've got ME?

"I like the shade." "What are you, moss!?" Oh, admit it, Ryuji, I'm growing on you.

Cargona. Snrk. Gods, I love you, Ryuji.

Dome town with Ryuji! "Isn't it all couples?" That's the point!

I COULD GIVE RYUJI THE ROSES!?

Sadly, I bought those for Ann. Ryuji, you get the noodles.

AND HE FUCKING LOVED IT.

"It feels like I really captured Ryuji's heart!" FUCK YEAH I DID

Gonna give Yusuke the bracelet when I get the chance.

Why is everyone color coded in the chat room? Kawakami, Akechi, Mishima, and the reporter are all ORANGE. What's the point? Well, Akechi's more of a golden orange, but close enough.

While Mishima is not my first choice for a date, he's definitely not my last.

...But the boy really needs some fucking sleep. He's not drawn with the bags under his eyes, but I can see them!

It's not fair that they give Akechi a kicked puppy sprite. I'm... goddamnit, they're trying to make me not hate him.

When Makoto doesn't know something, I'm brought great joy.

NO DAD MAKOTO IS NOT MY GIRLFRIEND ANN IS AND SHE IS LITERALLY R I G H T T H E R E

First day in Futaba's Palace! I've gotta say, this is my second favorite palace. Kamoshida, Futaba, Madarame, Sae, Okumura, Shido, Kaneshiro, Holy Grail. In that order. I HATE Kaneshiro's place and dealing with the Holy Grail. But whatevs, man. I love this game. (Vanilla, at least, this one is still on the fence)

I found out a cool little thing. On the uphill sand slopes in the town (don't know about anywhere else) if you're running and turn back quickly, Joker will do a little animation to steady himself. It was cool and made it seem, I dunno, more human? Anyway, while I was admiring this, Ryuji and Yusuke just stood at the top of the slope and Ann followed me while I was running. Best girlfriend ever.

Kin-Ki is looking pretty kin-ky if you know what I'm sayin'

Please don't murder me because I do terrible puns.

*we fall through the trap door* *Ryuji starts screaming* Same, baby, same.

...Makoto is seriously annoying. Like, she's got no business acting as familiar with Futaba's situation. The one who WOULD be the most familiar is Yusuke, and I'm glad he recognizes that. It's not the exact same, none of their stories are after all, but I feel like those two get each other better than even Ryuji and Joker understand each other.

Yusuke and Ryuji's special attack is THE BEST

Ryuji and Joker getting up close and personal in the shadows. All those fanfics coming true, man.

I thought Futaba was sloth, not wrath? Why are her Will Seeds called Wrath?

Beat it in one day! It's so satisfying to watch all those achievements when I leave the palace.

You know, I'm thinking of wearing the Christmas outfits for the final battle. Just to be kinda funny.

Spending a relaxing day with Yusuke after going through Futaba's Palace... kinda want to take him to the bathhouse to check out that new scene, but I also REALLY wanna feed the boy... gonna feed the boy.

Apparently I can only make 'decent curry.' Which is fine. Because "I" can't make curry at all. Joker, you've done much better than I.

THE DATE CHANGE SCREEN HAD A RAINBOW AND RYUJI WAS COMING OVER ON THE SAME DAY FUCK YEAH MY BISEXUAL BABY

...Broooooo, the way you talk about your manga is how I talk right before I start shipping.

Took him to the bathhouse, 'cause I don't gotta worry about Mama Sakamoto feeding him.

...Can I take Ann to the bathhouse?

Asked Ryuji to move in. He was all up for the idea until he remembered that I live in an attic.

I'm Charismatic now!

...I was all hoping Ann would stop by but then Akechi asked me out. Laaaaaaaame.

Ryuji's smile is so fucking cute.

...I say we just be honest, and everyone's so fucking stupid about it until Makoto explains it. This pisses me off. They're not that dumb... At least, they weren't until Makoto showed up.

Futaba's hiding in the closet. ...I've spent too many weeks making jokes about closets to not have a joke about it.

Really, Yusuke? You see those books and think she can't understand?

...Wait, that sassy tone of voice... You were TRYING to pull a reaction of her. I knew I shipped those two for a reason. OTP and BroTP. Doesn't matter, they're both awesome.

I love you Ann, but I don't think your situations were the same at all. It's not like both are valid and bad, but... different.

Joker is SO fast compared to the others, especially when he's speeding.

What the...

Holy fuck...

JOKER IS TOO EFFING COOL

THAT MOVE TO GET FROM THE ENTRANCE TO TO TREASURE DOOR? Awesome!

Damn, Joker has my heart too.

I kinda wish we could see Futaba's costumes in her Persona. That would be pretty neat.

The moment right before Wakaba appears is so aesthetically pleasing.

...Futaba being happy is almost enough for me to accept Maruki's offer, and I haven't gotten there yet.

Ryuji and Ann keep smacking each other out of their ailments. Like, you guys just love each other so much! It's awesome.

Joker has lackluster responses to Wakaba... I'm hoping that isn't one of those "Answer these wrong and you break her!" things... Not that I think I was, but still.

I liked Futaba's new animation for when she defied her mother.

I wish the anime looked more the cutscenes. I'm trying to rewatch the anime so I can pinpoint specific moments for future editing purposes, but it's kinda painful.

1- This is the SECOND TIME you've landed on Yusuke while running from trouble.

2- YUSUKE LET GO OF MY GIRL

No Makoto, I don't want to go see Futaba with you! I can go see her myself.

So, I like Takemi's new voice with her lines during this scene.

Sure, she collapses every so often and sleeps for a while. Stays like that for a few days. Sorry that I put her into a coma for a month, Boss...

SHE LOOKS SO CUTE WITHOUT GLASSES

Guys, we have a month. Stop worrying.

THE TWINS ARE SO CUTE WHILE HANGING ONTO THE BENCH PRESS

Damn, Joker's dying to the amusement of two little girls.

I'm kinda disappointed I didn't get results for all that training. But I liked the scene.

Yusuke just casually be lugging bigass paintings around.

Taking the girls to the church may have been one of the funnier moments. These cement them as Joker's little sisters. With Futaba. Damn, Joker, you got no brothers.

Yusuke promises to come by every day and we can tell him to take his clothes off. ATLUS, you have some EXPLAINING to DO.

..And Yusuke took it and ran with it. My sweet summer child, I don't think I could handle you in as little as possible on the day to day.

"The heat induced delirium made me think outside the box." Same.

Guts takes sooooooooooooo long to level up.

"Punish me more" he says, as if Takemi won't do it.

"Good god. Well, none of my medicine can cure THAT." AT LEAST WE'RE ALL ON THE SAME PAGE

BATHHOUSE WITH YUSUKE

Awe, he had fun. :)

[athrialuxegna]

Stronger than she thinks Part 5

Triggers warning: mental and physical abuse, violence, swearing

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Fanfiction  | Archiveofourown | Wattpad

Hi guys, I updated the last chapters so they seem nicer to read, tell me what you think about it in the comments. I also edited the links to the previous and next chapters as they were a total mess, sorry about that! I hope that you like this story so far, I try my best to readproof it, but some mistakes remain, my bad if it’s bothering you.

Thanks for those who lived a note on the previous chapters, it means at lot! -Lys

What was I doing? That question rang in my head as I made my way to the Child Care Service. I was not a fan of kids, they bothered me more than anything else. Their cries, tears, and temper tantrums were stress-inducing for me. They made me uneasy and self-conscious with their bluntness. As we all say, "truth always comes from a child's mouth" and that's what put me on edge. I didn't know what to expect of my babysitting day. Why did I accept such a thing? Eric, of course. I wanted to know if it was his idea or if it was just a sick joke on Max's part. One can never be so sure about others' intentions and hidden agendas. The leaders had the power to make everything possible within the walls of the headquarters. Why would they want me near orphans? That's what I intended to discover.

I played with my fingers, eyes fixated on the door decorated with drawings, tiny handprints, and a whole bunch of names. How many children find themselves alone every year? No idea, but it seemed that numerous of them had gone through that door to find a new home. It was not really surprising when we knew that their parents took risks on a daily basis.

Patrols in the factionless territory could turn bad pretty fast. The homeless didn't have anything to lose, they were determined to seek their revenge on the system that shut them down without any possibility to be part of it. I understood where they came from. They had to fight to live whereas all the other factions would sustain themselves without thinking twice about them. Except for the selfless Abnegation faction that helped them the best they could by providing them supplies, clothes, and from time to time, food. However, their violence had dire consequences in the Dauntless faction.

As the soldiers of the city, we were to protect and maintain peace in the streets. We were the first to suffer from the conflicts between Factionless and the system. These children were proof of that. I sighed deeply, my fingers caressing the weird painted animals.

" I'm glad you came here, they're really excited to meet you. "

Startled by Eric's deep voice, I turned around to find him, arms crossed, shoulder pressed against the wall a few feet away from me. A small smile stretched my lips, although I could tell that it didn't match my eyes. I wasn't thrilled at the idea of taking care of children. I have never done it before because I was always afraid to make something wrong and being an only child didn't help either. I swallowed thickly, trying my best to keep my cool in front of the young leader.

"Hey, I didn't know I was coming until now," I admitted in a whisper. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Don't be so tense, they're not that bad. I promise everything will be alright, they gave their word to behave." He reassured, eyes locked in mine.

"I'm not afraid of the children," I snorted softly. "I'm more nervous about me being around them..." I shifted my weight on my other foot before adding: "How do you do? I mean, with the initiates and… kids? " I asked, curious about his answer.

Eric snickered, I didn't expect him to be so confident and relaxed, it was as if he had done it his whole life. Which wasn't far from the truth, he had taken care of the initiates since he became a leader five years ago, if not more. I didn't keep track of time as often as I should considering my job but days were pretty much the same since I've been hired to be Harrison's assistant. I felt my cheeks burn and I looked at my feet, defeated that he mocked me for being a pansycake. Which I was, but still, it hurt.

"If I can do it, you certainly can, Chris. Come on, they won't eat you."

Before I could respond, Eric opened the door and made a sign for me to enter. I heard shuffling and whispers, all noises died down as soon as I was inside. The children lined up obediently, aware of Eric's presence behind my back. I felt intimidated under the scrutiny of their innocent eyes. They were of all different ages and sizes, some were almost teenagers.

"Hi," I waved, almost shy. "I'm Christine but you can call me Chris, it's nice to meet you all."

"Hi Chris." They exclaimed in unison.

One of the oldest stepped forward, his shaggy blond hair falling in his chocolate eyes. His joyful smile was contagious, I couldn't help but return it. However, his expression changed suddenly as he seemed to think about his next words. The younger ones kept gawking at me as if I was an alien coming from another dimension. I felt the tension rising in the room as the blond hair boy opened his mouth. Was he the leader of the group or something? Is this some sort of secret children cult?

It looked like it, and this boy gave me a lot of Eric's vibes. He held his head high, his torso pumped, shoulders behind. A future leader for sure... or another Brent. That thought made me frown. How could I compare him with this asshole without even knowing his name? It wasn't fair for the teen. I pushed away any unwanted images. Having a mental breakdown in front of the kids wouldn't do me any good. No doubt that Eric would report it to Max and I was good for an endless "vacation". The other kids looked at him with mixed expressions, some seemed about to explode from excitement or take a run at any moment to come back to their games, and some were tapping their foot impatiently as if waiting for a signal to be able to speak.

"Before we introduce ourselves and let you join us, you have to pass the test." The boy sounded much older than he looked at that moment.

My jaw clenched as I pictured Brent in his place. It was so easy to see the similarities between them. Were they related? If that's the case, I'll make sure to keep my distance. My eyes widened and I stole a glance at Eric who was smirking. He only shrugged his shoulders when he met my eyes. Damn him, he should have warned me beforehand.

"Depends on what this… test is."

What would they want me to do or say? The blond boy made a sign and all children moved in sync to gather around him, whispering between them to come to an agreement. What was that? After several seconds of heated debates, they finally took their original place. Mini soldiers, perfect future initiates, are already programmed to fulfill the faction's goals. Was it Eric's doing? All these questions drove me insane, I wanted to turn around and talk to the leader alone.

I needed some clarification on what's going on and the rules of this Child Care Service. While I was thinking of it, I didn't see any worker or nurse on my way here. Did nobody care about these kids? Was it a wicked way to push me to take the job? I was so lost that I didn't register that the teenager had taken another step forward, standing right in front of me. He was almost eye level to me, he had to be at least fifteen if not more.

"So, Chris. If you want to become one of us, you have to answer one question." The boy paused to look me dead in the eyes. "What do you think of Eric?"

I blinked a few times, unable to comprehend his question. He curled an eyebrow in defiance, a smirk playing on his lips. His expression matched Brent's perfectly, so much that I shuddered. Heat rose in my cheeks, coloring my skin a deep red, I felt hot and cold, shivers running down my spine. I gathered all my courage to not react when I caught a glimpse of satisfaction in his irises. I won't let this brat get to me that easily. In truth, I was a complete wreck Brent and the boy morphed into the same person in my mind, that same wolfish grin on their lips. I slapped myself mentally to snap out of it. I needed to answer that stupid question or else they'll consider me weak and that wasn't an option.

"Cat got your tongue?" Teased the teenager, arms now crossed over his chest, surely imitating Eric's posture, but lacking his charisma.

" No, I… I didn't expect that kind of question, that's all." I felt Eric's eyes boring into my skull from behind. "We don't work a lot together so I don't think I know him as well as you do, but I trust him, he's a good person, even though he's almost always in a bad mood. I also like his jokes." I added more quieter so that the leader couldn't hear me properly. "Don't tell him that I said that but, sometimes, he's not funny but I laugh anyway to not make him feel bad."

I think I gained some extra points with my remark because the kids burst into laughter, clutching their sides as if recalling the infamous jokes of Eric. I tried my best to smile when the blond boy extended his hand to shake mine. His hold was strong and confident, showing me clearly that I just entered his territory.

"Congratulations, Chris, you're welcomed in the CCS." He bent over to whisper softly in my ear. "Eric didn't lie, you truly are beautiful."

Stunned by his boldness, I stared at him, fear evident in my eyes. Wrong move. Something flickered in his eyes, a malicious glint that made me want to run for my life. What he said took time to reach my mind. Eric told him that I was beautiful? I blushed uncontrollably, his smile grew wider, believing that he was the one to have this effect on me. I opened my mouth to retaliate but he beat me to it.

"I'm Aidan by the way. I'm sure we'll get along very well." He called over his shoulder as he turned on his heels and joined the older ones.

Petrified, I jumped out of my skin when Eric's hand found my shoulder. He put it back right away as if I just burned him. His worried eyes plunged into mine and I knew that I was screwed again. Eric was able to pick up that something was wrong. Something that we couldn't discuss in front of the kids.

"Don't let Aidan get to your head, he just likes to mess with everyone. He's a good boy when you get to know him."

"Yeah, I'm sure." I replied dryly, unconvinced.

One by one, the children came to introduce themselves. There were so many names to remember and faces to attach them to, I started to feel a pounding headache making its way into my brain. At least, it helped me get my mind off Aidan and Brent. I already had a fan club following me like lost puppies around the room. Everytime I turned around they would hide behind furniture, playing innocent. This routine kept going for some time before I got tired of walking aimlessly. The only one following me without even hiding it was a little girl who hasn't said a word since my entrance. I crouched down to her level, a reassuring smile on my lips as she cowered a little from me.

"You didn't tell me your name before," I said gently.

She just looked at me, clutching a stuffed bunny in her tiny arms. Her emerald eyes were mesmerizing, I could almost drown into these pools of rich greenery, they were gradually lighter from the center to turn into a deep olive green on the outer ring.. She looked so small and frail compared to the others, I wondered what her story was. Seconds passed and she didn't try to make a sound. I finally gave up, it will take time for her to warm up to me that's all. I brushed her hair out of her eyes, revealing her porcelain skin.

"You don't have to say anything if you don't want to, it doesn't matter."

To my surprise, she jumped into my arms and clung to me even when others wanted my attention. I sat in a chair, humming softly an old song from before the war. I didn't remember the lyrics nor the title clearly, but I could recall the melody anytime. The mute little girl was snoring in my neck as I rocked her back and forth. She dozed off minutes prior, lulled by my voice. I didn't realize that many children were sitting around us, listening and daydreaming.

Eric was sitting in a chair nearby, his hands behind his neck, eyes closed. He seemed different among the kids, less nervous and on edge, he didn't even have to raise his voice to make his point clear. The children surely respected him. The peacefulness lasted another twenty minutes before a knocking on the door stirred awake the few ones who had fallen asleep. I came back to reality, my hand entangled in the girl's brown hair. When did I begin to stroke her head? She looked comfortable on me, her hands held my shirt as if to prevent me from abandoning her. My heart ached painfully for her, she wanted affection and attention, as any of these kids.

"Chris." I looked up to see Eric towering above me, a knowing smile on his face. I rolled my eyes and he chuckled. "It's time for us to go, the next team is here to take over."

I admitted that I enjoyed my day here, as long as we forgot about Aidan. The girl in my arms shook her head, realizing that we were about to leave. Her fingers curled around my shirt, preventing me from putting her back down. I felt bad so bad that I hugged her back and whispered in her ear.

"I'll come back, I promise."

She refused to let me go as I tried to pry her off. I kept murmuring sweet nothings to ease her pain to no avail, she was stubborn as a honk. Eric approached and tried to take her with him but she fought back, crying silently. I didn't know what to do so I let the leader take matters in his hands.

"Violette, look at me." The brunette looked at him with teary eyes, he gently wiped her tears away. "You know that we can't stay all the time here, we have to eat, work and sleep, too." Violette nodded slightly. "We'll come back before you know it, now Martha will take care of you. I heard that she has a gift for you, one that you wanted for a long time."

Violette's face brightens at the prospect of a new toy. She kissed my cheek then wriggled in my grasp. I put her down and she ran straight to Martha who was ushering the elders towards the bathroom. A contented smile crept upon my lips, kids were so fast to change their minds. I envied their ability to forget about their problems as long as they had anything to play with.

"Fear of abandonment, a hard one to fight against at such a young age." Commented Eric beside me. "They're stronger than most of the initiates that I've trained so far."

"That's not right, they're still kids, Eric."

"I know. I don't like it either, but it's their way of processing what they've been through. They grow up faster than the other kids, they have to look after themselves because they know no one will do that for them. I try to be there whenever I can, it's obviously not enough, you know how a leader's agenda is full."

"I can help." I blurted out before I could think of it.

"That's not why I brought you here." He replied without explaining further as we made our way out of the room.

"Thanks, that was… interesting and surprisingly calming."

"I knew you'd like it. So, you'll come back?"

"Sure, I don't have anything better to do anyway."

"Right."

A casual silence followed our little conversation. My thoughts were drifting away when he spoke again.

"What did Aidan say to you?"

"Nothing to worry about, he was just being a teenager." I dismissed with a flick of my hand.

"Don't lie to me, Chris. I saw the fear in your eyes." His tone grew cold. "What did he say?'

"That's not what he said," I whispered. "He kind of reminds me of Brent. I don't know why but I don't feel safe around him. Damn, I'm ten years older, I shouldn't feel like this." I ran a hand through my hair in an attempt to keep my composure.

Eric remained silent as I stopped dead in my tracks before we came close to a more crowded walkway. He turned his head with an eyebrow raised in question. I sighed, debating whether I should talk to him or simply keep my struggles to myself. He must have sensed my hesitation, he tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowing to read into my soul.

"Stop doing this."

"Doing what?" He retorted, genuinely clueless.

"Your "I'm reading your mind look", it's quite annoying." Eric rolled his eyes.

"Then stop thinking that I'll report to Max whatever you say or do, and talk to me instead of overthinking. "

That was my turn to fall into silence, his face softened ever so slightly and I felt guilty. He helped me before I even was aware of it, I should be grateful and trust him, but I couldn't because I didn't trust myself anymore. At least, not for now.

"Chris, I've already told you that seeking help doesn't make you weak nor unworthy. "

My heart skipped a beat, was this his way of saying to let him help me? His cerulean eyes screamed sincerity. Why was he caring so much about my well-being?

"Thank you, Eric. I'll keep that in mind." He nodded curtly. "See you tomorrow, then."

"Meet me here at four, we'll go together."

"Sounds good. " We shared one last look, then we parted ways.

[readyplayerhobi]

Sleigh Bells Ring

; (Not so)Single Dad!Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff

; Word Count: 10.2k

; Synopsis: This Christmas is going to be different than usual; it’s you first spent with Hoseok and his daughters while living with them. You’re not sure who’s more excited though, you or Hoseok.

; A/N: Revisting our favourite dad and his family on Christmas! :D please reblog if you enjoyed and send me comments and questions! :D

; Sequel to Silver Bells and Cockle Shells

; Part of the 12 Days of Bangtan Collab

-

“You’ve got all the presents right? And the cookies? I definitely packed them in that bag for you. The presents are there aren’t they?” The insistent nattering of your mom makes your eyes roll exasperatedly, looking at her with love and affection alongside just a hint of annoyance.

She means well and you try to tell yourself that repeatedly. This is the first Christmas that you’ll be spending not at your parent’s house for the day. It sounds a little lame when you say that, considering your age, but you’d never been in a committed relationship where you’d been living with someone else to spend Christmas with them instead of your own family.

Until this year.

This year marked your third Christmas with Hoseok, but it was your first Christmas living with him. You’d only made the transition into not only his heart and his bed, but his home, a few months ago. Both of you had moved slowly, letting his daughters get used to the idea of you being around more frequently until the prospect of you living full time with them wasn’t strange.

For both them and you.

Hoseok had been painfully aware that he needed to move slowly and carefully with his daughters and you’d been completely amenable to it, recognising that his three little girls were his entire world. But he’d also been careful to make you aware that his small world had expanded to include you.

And that meant he knew that he couldn’t simply expect you to just be perfectly fine with gaining a purpose built family. Accepting him meant accepting his kids, and he had never expect you to be a mother to them but it had been inevitable that they slowly looked to you for things that a mother would be the most likely to give them.

Such as when you’d given Soo-ah plenty of advice when she’d shyly come to you one morning a few months ago, her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment while stress made her eyes big. It had been so early that Hoseok and you had still been fast asleep in bed, his eldest daughter quietly shaking you awake and hoping not to wake her father.

That hadn’t worked, of course. Hoseok was a dad, and he’d been a solo father for so long that he was automatically attuned to his kids needs which meant he’d startled awake faster than you. But she’d insistently tugged you out of his arms, a frown on her face as she’d steadfastly ignored his concerned gaze.

You knew that it had hurt him that she hadn’t felt that she could come to him, especially when you’d told him later that the reason she’d come to you had been because she’d started her first period. While he knew logically that she’d probably be more comfortable talking to you, as a woman, you’d still had to soothe his hurt parental feelings.

Still, you knew that he appreciated the fact that you were there for those more awkward talks. Though he had been adamant at making it clear to all his girls that he was not going to be a squeamish and awkward dad with them. No, he was very much ready to talk to them about whatever they wanted.

It had pleased you both though to know that Soo-ah was finally comfortable enough with you to discuss personal matters such as that. She’d struggled more than the twins at accepting you in her father’s, and therefore her life. But she was getting there and she’d been trying.

“Yes mom, they’re all in my bag. The presents, and the food. And the books. And everything else you’ve snuck in there. Probably the cat if you’ve tried.” You muse, glancing down at your phone as you respond to a text from your best friend with an amused smile.

Your mom just lets out a snort, causing you to look up and watch as she flops down onto the couch in an exaggerated manner that makes her look far younger than she actually. A glance at your dad lets you see that he’s not even phased, his gaze focused firmly on the 4K television he’d managed to coax your mom to buy a few months ago, a Playstation controller in his hand while he plays his game.

“You don’t have to act so rude. I’m just being nice and caring.” Sighing deeply, you sense that you’ve affronted her deeply held maternal instincts and so you place your phone down, giving her a sweet smile.

“Thank you mom. They will all appreciate the food. You know that Hoseok loves your cookies and the girl’s adore your cupcakes. And they will all love their presents, even though Hoseok said not to get them too much.” That was probably the wrong thing to say.

She’d looked pleased at hearing their love for her baking, and you wouldn’t fault her there because you also enjoyed eating her baked delights, but then your words about the presents filtered in and she scowled deeply. Internally, you winced because you knew that she was going to get mad now.

“What do you mean?! I haven’t got them too much, I’ve got just enough. There’s two presents for Hoseok and three each for the girls.” You can’t stop the smile that spreads as you listen to her, watching as she counts on her fingers while also explaining what she’d bought.

Your mom had been wary at first when you’d told her about Hoseok. She’d been delighted to find out that you’d found someone you really liked, especially when he treated you so well and made you much happier than you had been beforehand. She’d liked him even more when you’d finally shown her pictures of him, her eyes widening as she took in how handsome he was and the beautiful profile he was blessed with.

And then she’d found out that he was a widower and had three daughters. Not only that, but three daughters all over the age of five. That had thrown her a bit and you knew that she wasn’t sure what to expect. 

Which had been entirely understandable. One child might have been surprising but not too much, two would have been a little more brow raising but three? That was a ready made family that you were walking into and she’d seen the potential fallout that could occur long before you’d properly thought about it.

As strange as it was for you to accept that you had entered into a relationship where you had become a pseudo-mom for three young girls, it was even stranger for your parents who had suddenly gone from no grandchildren to technically three. Even though you repeatedly told them that the girls were not their grandchildren.

But when did semantics ever matter to grandparents? They’d thrown themselves into it once they’d realised that Hoseok and you were serious, badgering you to introduce him and then his girls. Hoseok had been very hesitant and unsure, not wanting to make his previous wife’s parents feel uncomfortable at the idea of their grandchildren gaining ‘new’ grandparents.

So after permission from them, he’d finally brought them to your parents house for dinner. It had been his first time meeting them, which he’d handled like a trooper given the circumstances. And yet it had been almost instant love for your dad and the twins. 

They’d latched onto each other instantly, enjoying his loud laugh and playing games together until Hoseok was apologising for the loudness of his progeny. But your dad hadn’t cared. In fact, he’d looked happier and more alive than you’d seen him in recent years.

And Soo-ah? Well, she’d surprisingly latched onto your mom pretty well. As said before, your mom was phenomenal at baking and often sold her stuff to friends or for small catering events. Soo-ah had discovered a love of baking through her, enjoying spending all her time in the kitchen as they baked delicious food.

You supposed it was your mom’s kind and loving nature. She had worked for a long time as a support worker, caring specifically for a group of girls with severe disabilities and ensuring that they got to enjoy their life to the fullest. It had been the perfect job for her, suiting her nurturing personality and she’d done amazing at it, but ill health had forced her to retire a little earlier than she would have liked to.

With Soo-ah, she’d inadvertently found someone to nurture who hadn’t even realised they’d wanted or needed it. You’d felt bad that Soo-ah seemed to like your mom better than her own, blood grandparents but Hoseok had waved off your concerns with a smile.

In his eyes, they would be just as much her grandparents if your relationship kept going well as her real grandparents. Besides, it had endeared her to you a lot quicker now that she always wanted to visit your mom.

“Did you leave any for me?” You tease lightly, smiling as she pauses and gives you an imperious look. It’s a look that she’s given you many times throughout your life and it causes you to chuckle, knowing that of course there are presents for you. As an only child, you would fully admit to being spoiled by your parents throughout your life. 

It wasn’t something you’d ever asked for, but they’d done it either way. And you knew that they revelled in the concept of having more people to dote affection on. Particularly given how much they liked Hoseok. You were pretty positive that they’d begun saving for a wedding months ago, even though there had been zero hint of that from either Hoseok or you.

“There’s some for you...yes. Hopefully you’ll like them.” Your dad finally deigns to say, glancing over at you with a small smile before he’s looking back at the television screen. Chuckling lightly, you nod and stand up, stretching with a small grunt.

“I’m sure I will. Remember, yours are under the tree,” You pause slightly, warmth rushing through your chest as you look over at the small pile of presents for each of your parents. “There’s one each from the girls and then...ones from Hoseok and I.”

It leaves you a little breathless to say that and you feel silly, looking down at your hands. Last year, Hoseok had brought the presents for your parents separately and it had simply been one present from all four of them. But this year, he’d gone with you to buy them and had picked out the presents from his daughters.

Your heart fluttered slightly, knowing that the presents from you now bore gift tags that said ‘To Mom, love Y/N and Hoseok’. It had strangely made everything seem much more real, as you’d never had a relationship serious enough to warrant dual signed presents. He’d written the tags to his own parents presents as from both of you as well, leading to a little anxiety from you that they wouldn’t be fond of that.

They hadn’t said anything when he’d dropped them off though, just gave you both a hug and him an extra kiss on the cheek while thanking you and handing off their own presents. It had been with excitement that you’d seen presents labelled to you in them, leading you to silently believe that they approved of you.

Things like that were probably normal in most relationships, but everything seemed to be done different for Hoseok and you. After all, he had three daughters over the age of four when you first started dating. The rules were a little different in situations like that.

“Okay, I’m gonna head off. Anything else you desperately need to do?” You ask teasingly, grinning at your mom’s outraged expression before she shrugged lightly.

“Maybe I’ve got one more present for Hoseokie.” Her endearing nickname for him was cute and you try to hide your smile, knowing that she only calls him that when he’s not there. If she thought he didn’t know though, he was very wrong. She’d called him it once on a call to you only it had been on speakerphone while you did something else, leading to him overhearing her nickname.

He liked it though.

“Mom! Seriously?” You whine at her quietly, standing and heading out to the hall. The bag that she’d put all the presents into is waiting for you beside your boots which you pull on before slipping your arms through your black winter coat. A scarf is being wrapped around your head before she appears again with a smile and a small box in her hand.

“Hush. He deserves to be doted on after all he’s gone through. It’s nothing big.” Staring at her in suspicion, you look down at the plain box with a wary eye. It’s got no wrapping on it so you presume it’s something she bought rather late.

“Is this something he can open in front of the kids?” She gets an affronted look before snorting a laugh, something that sounds incredibly similar to what you do. Hoseok had noted that you seemed to favour your mom a lot in terms of mannerisms.

“Y/N! Seriously! It’s not a cock ring. It’s...it’s a photo frame. I’m not sure he’ll like it but I hope he does.” Pursing your lips, you look down at the box with an undeniable inquisitiveness and your mom tuts in gentle admonishment, taking it from your hands and opening it.

It’s one of those frames that let you put multiple pictures in and each one has been lovingly filled by her. There’s a photo of the girls, then one of Hoseok and the girls together, then one of you and them together. And finally, a photo of just Hoseok and you, arms wrapped around each other with silly grins on your faces.

You find yourself smiling softly before you hesitate, letting your fingers run down the side. “Mom...there’s no Yoo-jin picture. Maybe we should swap the one of me and-”

The cover is placed back on the box and she puts it into the bag at your feet before looking at you with a sad smile. Her hands come up to fuss with your scarf and you feel like a child all over again.

“Sweetheart, Yoo-jin still lives in that house and I’m glad she does. She is the mother of those beautiful girls and she shouldn’t be forgotten. But it makes me sad when I go there and I see more of her than you. You live there now. I’m not saying that I want her photos gone, I don’t. I just want to see more of you in there. If it offends Hoseok then he doesn’t have to put them anywhere, but I’d like to think that he’d be amenable to it.” 

“Mom…”

“I’m not saying to erase Yoo-jin, she has a firm place and she should never be removed from that place. But it’s your home now too. You live there, you care for those girls, you love those girls and you love that man.” You can’t find it in yourself to say anything to her so you simply nod, hoping to find a way to explain it to Hoseok.

There were photos of you in the house, but they were still minimal compared to those of Hoseok, the girls and Yoo-jin. You’d been okay with that, knowing that you were the imposter in that perfect little family. But your mom had hit a hidden nerve, the worry that you wouldn’t be allowed to grow in the space he’d invited you into.

Shaking your head, you smile brightly at her before giving her a tight hug.

“Thank you mom. I’ll call you tomorrow. Until then...Merry Christmas!” 

-

Later that evening, you’re sat on the couch and watching as the twins shout at each other while playing on their Nintendo Switch. Hoseok had bought them it for their birthday and you weren’t entirely sure buying twins a single present was a good idea, but he’d pointed out that if he bought only one of them it then he’d have to buy the other and he didn’t want to spend that much.

Which was reasonable, and it also meant that they had to take care of it because Hoseok had threatened that if it got broken, it was staying broken. So they treated it like a prized toy, having advanced from their superhero love to loving video games. You weren’t sure how Hoseok was managing to raise two girls who adored all things nerdy, because he wasn’t exactly a geeky person himself.

Another reason they loved you so much.

But for the moment, they were absorbed in playing Mario Kart with each other and trying to beat the other. If there was one thing being with Hoseok had taught you, it was that twins were perhaps the competitive creatures on the planet. 

Soo-ah was curled up in her usual spot in the comfy armchair she’d claimed as her own when Hoseok had bought a whole new suite the other year. The old one had ended up breaking when Ji-soo had jumped on it too hard. It was the angriest you’d ever seen Hoseok.

Not that he’d let that anger be seen by the girls, but when they weren’t in ear shot he’d used an amazing array of curse words that you hadn’t thought he’d even known frankly. But he conceded that he liked the new couches better, and Soo-ah had loved having her own little space in the living room.

A book was in her lap, one of the Percy Jackson books and you smiled at her softly even though she wasn’t watching. She was going to be a teenager soon, and you could already see the way she was starting to grow taller, her limbs starting to get that gangly look teens got when their bodies weren’t quite growing at the same rate.

But you’d never deny that she was the spitting image of her mom. It was like looking at Yoo-jin, which was an odd feeling for you given that you’d never actually met the woman. You felt proud of Soo-ah though and hoped that her mom was happy with how you were helping to raise her.

Warm lips press to your temple gently and you shift, looking at your boyfriend with a gentle smile and enjoying the tender gaze he gives back, eyes shimmering in the glow of the Christmas lights wrapped around the tree. It was decorated in rose gold and gold, a request from Soo-ah who was a little obsessed with the former at the moment, but you had to admit it was pretty.

The delicate baubles and other decorations hung from the fake trees limbs prettily while glitter tinsel wrapped its way around the branches, mingled with the warm lights that flickered softly. Icicle lights of the same colour decorated the main window while a sweet Christmas scene played out along the window sill.

Above the fireplace, which was currently lit and giving off a cosy warmth, were three stockings that had been personalised with a name each. They were for the girls evidently, and Hoseok had been using the threat of Santa all month to get them to do what he wanted.

You knew he was going to hate it when he couldn’t do that anymore.

More tinsel surrounded the shelf above the fireplace, shimmering softly as tiny snowflakes nestled amongst the festive decorations while various Christmas themed figures sat atop it alongside Christmas cards from family and friends.

It was all mostly matching, but some of it was a little odd. Like the plastic reindeer in the corner of the room, taking up the space that the vase which held ornamental branches normally held. That had been Ji-eun’s purchase. She’d threatened to have a nuclear meltdown in the store, despite being seven now, and Hoseok simply hadn’t had the willpower to put up with that.

Hence Meteor, the reindeer.

The name was Ji-soo’s choice. Again, something neither you nor Hoseok had wanted to fight.

But overall, the house just felt like Christmas and it pleased you. The candles which flickered gently atop the bookcase gave off a delightful cookie scent and everything just felt...nice. Three happy and content girls, a decorated house, presents under the tree and the most wonderful man in the world sat with you on the couch, his arm wrapped around you.

Yeah, this was definitely happiness. And you were glad that Hoseok was open to letting you experience this joy with him.

“You okay?” Hoseok whispers, his voice husky from how low he has it but you get the sense that he doesn’t want to interrupt the general mood of the room. It had been a worry as to how the girls might react to you not only coming over for Christmas, which is what you’d done last year in the afternoon, but actually being there for Christmas Eve and Christmas morning.

Despite how well they’d taken your presence in their lives, there were some things that they had as a routine that they didn’t like changing. Their birthday had bizarrely been one of the things that set the twins off. They had generally been amenable to you, latching onto you even but their birthday had been something that they had only ever celebrated with their daddy and grandparents.

It was made all the more awkward in that it was also the day Yoo-jin had died, meaning that Hoseok had juggled between celebrating the girls and commemorating their mom. Your appearance in their life had shifted that tradition and it had been one of the only major times that they’d thrown tantrums over you.

But everyone seemed to be okay this Christmas thankfully, and you smiled up at Hoseok.

“I’m fine. Just...gathering wool I guess,” You laugh quietly, feeling his body move against you as he lets out a breathy laugh too. “It’s exciting, spending Christmas with you and them.”

“I’m glad you think so. Part of me is a little sad that I can’t spend a Christmas with just you and give you that but then I wouldn’t trade a Christmas with the girls for anything. They make Christmas fun again.” He’s still got his voice low so they can’t hear, but the twins are making more than enough noise to cover up anything.

“Hey, don’t worry about that. It’s okay. Christmas is meant to be for family right? So...this is your family and I’m honoured to be part of it this year.” Hoseok grins at that, pursing his lips at you playfully and you roll your eyes before giving him a quick kiss.

That had been something new to get used to as well. Neither of you had really known how to introduce the concept of you both showing physical affection to each other in front of his kids so you’d just slowly worked your way up from holding hands to an occasional kiss.

Nothing too intense, neither of you felt it was appropriate to do anything more in front of them. You’d been mortified when Soo-ah had come across you both making out like teenagers and you’d been horrified when Hoseok forgot to lock the bedroom door one day and Ji-soo had woken up from a nightmare.

Thankfully, none of them particularly turned their nose up at a quick kiss and Hoseok in particular revelled in being able to show you affection. You’d discovered quickly that he was a very affectionate person when allowed, always wanting to be touching or holding you in some way. It was sweet, even if you had a suspicion that he’d likely always been affectionate but had been starved of romantic touch for so long.

“I love you.” He murmurs as he pulls away from your lips, pressing them to your forehead before looking over at the girls. “Okay, come on. I’ve got one present that Santa has given me early for you to open now and then it’s bedtime.”

The girl instantly stop their game, pausing it while Soo-ah looked up with bright eyes. She’d been told the truth about Santa two years ago but the twins still believed. And this was one of the traditions that you’d been worried about interrupting.

Hoseok squeezed your hand reassuringly though as he stood, heading over to the bookcase and pulling down four presents. He came back over to the girls and sat down on the floor with them, legs crossed as Soo-ah knelt next to him as well.

You remained on the couch, unwilling to intrude in this tradition. Hoseok had tried to get you to agree to get involved but you’d refused, deeming this to be something that only he and the girls should do.

“So, let’s look. This one...is for Ji-soo. This is Soo-ah, this is mine and that means that this is yours.” Hoseok grins at Ji-eun, handing her the prettily wrapped present. This was a tradition Hoseok had started after the twins were born and you hoped it continued on.

On Christmas Eve, he would give the girls a present each like he was doing now. Only they weren’t implied to be from him or his grandparents that Santa was delivering. Instead, these were special presents that Santa had retrieved from their mommy and delivered for them to open before Christmas.

As such, each tag wished them a happy Christmas and told them how much their mom loved them. It was the perfect way to keep her involved in their lives while also creating a sweet tradition of their own, and you’d refused to get involved with this one.

This was for them, to celebrate their mom on Christmas even if she wasn’t there.

“You go first Soo-ah.” Ji-soo says sweetly, smiling at her big sister and shuffling closer to her to see what she’s got. As with everything she does, Soo-ah opens it carefully and precisely before smiling. She obviously knows that it’s not from Santa, nor is it from her mom. But she plays along with it anyway.

Inside is a little black box and inside that is a beautiful necklace with a rose gold fox, enameled with white highlights. Soo-ah smiles brightly, lifting the delicate chain and watching as it shines prettily in the soft tree lights.

“It’s so pretty.” She whispers before placing it back down, letting her finger run over the pendant before looking at Ji-soo. Her younger sister has big, wide eyes before she looks down at her own present, tearing it open eagerly.

As she does so, Soo-ah looks at Hoseok and gives him a smile of thanks before focusing back on the mess Ji-soo is causing. Inside Ji-soo’s present is a set of Harry Potter books, something she’d been bugging Soo-ah to let her read for months now. Like her sister, Ji-soo was getting more into reading and Hoseok evidently wanted to encourage that.

“Thank you.” She said softly, smiling sweetly as she turned each book over reverently. No doubt they’d end up on the floor of the twins bedroom sooner rather than later but you had no doubt that they’d get read.

Ji-eun is already opening her present, revealing a LEGO set that at first glance doesn’t seem to be much but is in actuality, a Star Wars model. Immediately she’s squealing with excitement, about to tear into the box before Hoseok is tutting and taking it away from her.

“Tomorrow Ji-eun, I said we open the presents then we go to bed, right?” She pouts before nodding, her shoulders slumping and Ji-soo hugs her tightly.

“It’s okay! We can build it tomorrow sis.” Like magic, the words from her sister calm Ji-eun down and she’s back to being her smiling self, hugging Ji-soo back before babbling on about how cool it would be to play with. She’d already got around six other LEGO sets, enjoying the Star Wars ones because she could pretend to be in space.

Hoseok had made some good decisions with the presents and you let your foot run along his back slowly, letting him know that you approved of what he’d bought. Not that you hadn’t known, but he’d chosen these ones himself with no input from you. And he’d always been one to encourage any interests his daughters might have.

“Open yours dad! Open it!” Ji-soo exclaims, her twin practically vibrating next to her as she nods in excitement while Soo-ah moves a little closer too. This was the present that Hoseok had felt most awkward about, because he normally got his mom to get him something. But this year he’d asked you to get it, hoping to integrate both his deceased and his current loves.

You’d felt honoured and worried, unsure as to whether it would look good if you bought a present from him that was to be given in his dead wife’s name. But Yoo-jin’s parents had given their blessing to Hoseok’s idea, telling you that they knew you would do a good job for her because you were already doing good with her husband and children.

Maybe that made you cry. Just a little. Not a lot or anything.

As such, Hoseok had no idea what his present was, so shifted slightly to let you see his face too. He opened it up slowly, head tilting as he looked at the frame in his hand. It showed three star charts with a date below each.

And then he stiffened in realisation of what they symbolised, his eyes getting glassy as his lip quivered ever so slightly. Soo-ah frowned as she leaned forward, wondering what it was and she queried it softly.

Hoseok sniffed slightly before blinking rapidly and giving his girls a bright smile.

“It’s a star chart. It shows what the night sky looked like at a specific date so you can see what constellations were there. This...is your birthday Soo-ah and this is your birthday,” He points at one before gesturing to the twins. “And this...this is the day your mom and I got married.”

You can tell he’s struggling then for a moment and you reach out once more, just resting your foot against his hip in a simple gesture that said ‘I’m here’. He looked at you with a smile that wobbled before nodding slightly, pressing his lips into a firm line.

“I’ll have to put this up somewhere, huh?” There’s quiet for a moment before he places it to the side and gestures to the girls, pulling them all into a tight hug and kissing each one firmly on the head as they squirm and giggle. “I love you, and your mom loves you. I hope you like the presents Santa got from her.”

“We love them!” Ji-soo responds softly, wiping at her eyes that suddenly look a lot more tired and you can’t help but laugh gently. You swear the twins are battery operated because as soon as they lose power then they seem to shut down.

Hoseok senses it too, kissing her on the forehead before standing up.

“Okay, well...let’s get ready for bed then yeah? Santa can’t come if you’re awake! Don’t forget to leave out the carrot and cake for him, he’ll be very tired after all the travelling.” With that, you stand with him to help get them all ready and sent off to bed.

As they leave the kitchen after leaving out their treats for Santa and his reindeer, Hoseok pulls you to the side and presses a quick but deep kiss to your lips, holding your cheeks between his hands. He shifts back just as quickly, resting his forehead against yours and giving you such a fond look.

“Thank you. I love it. You should have left a space open on it though.” You feel yourself heat at that, unsure as to whether he means for another child or a wedding or what. “She would have approved.”

With that, he gives you another kiss before heading up the stairs to where the cacophony of girl voices tells you that the usual night time routine is in full motion. Standing in place for a moment, you look to the photo of Yoo-jin and Hoseok on their wedding day that sits atop the mantlepiece.

“I hope he’s right Yoo-jin. Happy Christmas.”

-

Shrieking voices wake you in the morning, alertness coming far too fast even though you’d been in bed by 11pm. Quietly you groan, voice gravelly from sleep while your eyes refused to open. Instead, you just roll over and curl closer into Hoseok, his warm body combining with the comfiness of the bed to try and lull you back to sleep.

But Hoseok is already alert, heaving a big sigh as he lets his head flop into the pillow for a few more moments before he’s shifting. You whine at him, fingers clutching at his shirt and he lets out a broken laugh, sitting up and running his hand over your shoulder.

“Come on baby, time to get up. It’s Christmas!” Despite how tired he sounds, you can tell he’s excited. Then again, he’s used to getting up crazy early with three kids by now. The man doesn’t know how to have a proper lie in, practically physically incapable of staying in bed past 9am. Unlike you...you hadn’t quite learnt that skill yet.

All of this meant that he was already pretty alert, a smile on his face despite his puffy eyes and cheeks, dark hair a complete mess. He hated what he looked like when he’d just woken up but you thought it was adorable.

The door slams open suddenly, left unlocked by Hoseok specifically for this reason despite the closed door policy of the house and two incredibly hyperactive girls come barreling through, voices getting increasingly louder as they talk over each other. Shuffling in bed, you move enough to let your head rest on Hoseok’s thigh as the twins jump onto the bed too, telling you both to hurry up.

“I’m guessing Santa’s been?” You ask, licking your lips and smile at the enthusiastic response you get from them. Soo-ah is stood in the doorway, looking far more tired than them with her plaited hair messy and pyjamas wrinkled.

“Yes! So you have to come downstairs! Come on! Please! Hurry up dad!” Ji-soo is tugging at Hoseok’s arm, jerking him as he laughs and holds up his free hand to her.

“Okay, okay. Go wash your faces and brush your teeth first then we’ll go down and open presents. Let me and Y/N get ready too.” They both pout immediately at the prospect of having to do chores, they thought of brushing their teeth as a chore at the moment, before opening presents but Hoseok is giving them The Look and so they speed off.

Soo-ah smiles at you both. “I’ll take them downstairs, don’t worry.”

With that, she closes the door behind her and leaves. Hoseok lets out a deep sigh that seems to come from the bottom of his stomach. “God...she’s getting older so quick. Where did my little girl go?”

Chuckling, you push yourself up and finally escape the confines of the duvet, stretching with a groan as you get out all the kinks.

“She’s still there. She’s growing up really well though.” You say absently, rubbing your eyes as you yawn. As such, you don’t see Hoseok come up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist tightly before kissing your shoulder.

“She is. Come on anyway, we can’t leave them alone too long. They’ll chew off their arms in impatience.” You snort in response to that, following him into the bathroom and quickly doing your morning routine at a much faster pace than you normally do.

Despite Hoseok saying that you didn’t need to change, you take the liberty of pulling on some clean underwear and leggings at least, wanting to be comfy and at least feel a little more like a person. He just pulls on some sweatpants before leading you downstairs.

The Christmas lights have already been turned on by Soo-ah you presume and you can’t help but laugh as all three of them sit eagerly on the floor in front of their respective present piles. Soo-ah doesn’t have as much as the twins, but then she’s reaching the age where her presents get smaller but more expensive.

“I see you’ve been good girl’s this year then. Santa must have enjoyed his time here,” Hoseok grins, pointing at the half eaten pie and empty glass that sat on the mantelpiece. “So come on then, let’s get on with it.”

He sits down on the couch, letting the girls take up the space and tugs you down next to him. The girls immediately tore into their presents, no consideration given for the time that had been spent wrapping them or anything and Hoseok has to repeatedly remind them to read the tags.

Soo-ah is finished first obviously, her pile consisting of books she’d asked for, a few films, some cute plushies and a bunch of clothes. That was everything she’d gotten from her grandparents and other family members. Her pride and joy though was the iPad that Hoseok had finally caved and bought for her.

The only reason he’d given in was because you’d told him that you’d pay part of it too so that he wasn’t spending a crazy amount on her. So it was the first dual present you’d ever gotten for her before and it made your stomach flutter with nerves and excitement as she squealed excitedly, holding the box to her chest tightly.

“Thank you dad!” Soo-ah said with the biggest smile, her eyes bright and Hoseok laughed, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into him. 

“You need to thank Y/N too.” Without a second's hesitation she turns that pretty smile onto you and thanks you as well, jumping up and hugging you both tightly. She smells of the body spray that she’d started to wear lately, just a cheap one from the grocery store.

Ji-eun and Ji-soo distract you soon after, looking down at them as they both gasp in awe of the Playstation 4 that had been bought as a dual gift for them. A benefit of them both having the same bedroom was that Hoseok had only needed to buy one, letting them finally play all the games they begged to play on the console in the living room.

He was finally letting them have a little more time with electronics and you’d supported his decision the whole way. 

Alongside the PS4 came a whole host of games that they’d been desperately wanting to play along with a VR headset and an extra controller. That hadn’t been in the plan but Hoseok had been completely taken with the sales rep and ended up coming home with the thing. You hadn’t known whether it was a good idea for two girls so young but you figured they’d grow into it.

Plus...you kinda wanted to play it too.

Hoseok had admitted that to you as well and you had a feeling that it was probably more of a guilty present for himself as well. Not that you were going to out him about it or anything. At least...not until you’ve played Astrobot Rescue…

Their final presents from both you and Hoseok had been new bikes, bikes that would last them a few years as they grew. They weren’t cheap either, those fancy mountain bike styles because Hoseok wanted to be able to go on trails with them or take mini vacations to go biking. He liked that apparently, which was why you’d bought him a mountain bike for Christmas too.

Thankfully, you already had one so he had no reason to buy you one and Soo-ah had been gifted one last year from his parents. Their presents this from family were an assortment of superhero themed dolls which they still enjoyed playing with and a few small LEGO sets. For the most part, they both had similar interests so presents were a lot easier but you knew that would change as they grew older.

Then they’d watched with excitement as you and Hoseok opened presents. He got a bottle of expensive wine from his parents along with some expensive new shoes while Yoo-jin’s parents had gifted him a record player. You were surprised they still got him something but you thought it was sweet too.

Your own parents had gotten him one of the instant cameras, which confused you at first until he’d explained with a grin that he’d said to your dad he wanted one to take pictures and put them into books for the girls, and a box of fancy biscuits. The picture frame you’d hurried to say that you’d suggested changing one of the photos to Yoo-jin but Hoseok had just looked at you fondly, shaking his head lightly and telling you that it was perfect the way it was. 

He’d obviously got a bike from you but then you’d also splurged on him and gotten him the dash camera he wanted for his car. A more fun present was the series of figures that he loved. His face lit up in a smile that was a mirror image of his daughters as he examined the limited edition models with pure glee and your heart felt like it was going to explode in love.

From the girls, he got a whole range of small things that you’d gone and bought with them. Just stuff like funny socks to funny shirts, books to a new phone case. And you could see that he loved and appreciated every one of them.

Your own presents made you feel a little shy, the pile smaller than everyone else’s but they were just as eager to watch. The first thing you opened were from the girls. Hoseok had gotten you something from them last year but obviously you hadn’t seen them. This year you had them watching avidly.

And you let out a gasp of delight as you look down at the box of your favourite perfume, perfume that was not cheap.

“Oh my god! Thank you! This is my favourite!” You say excitedly, grinning broadly as you open the box and take out the pretty bottle. Soo-ah giggles as she shuffles closely, dainty fingers reaching out and touching the glass reverently.

“I know. I looked at your perfume and told dad.” Glancing at Hoseok, he shrugs with a small smile and you feel warmth blossom within at the fact that Soo-ah had taken the time to properly look. Despite feeling closer to the twins due to their immediate attachment to you, you still loved Hoseok’s eldest daughter and every step forward with her felt like a small victory.

“I love it. Thank you all.” 

Your parents had gotten you a new laptop and you vaguely remember that you’d told them you needed a new one. What’s surprising though is that it’s the exact one you’d been eyeing. Suspiciously, you glance to Hoseok who has a very innocent look on his face, eyes widening and brows rising as you watch him.

His parents had gotten you a beautiful military style long coat that had you ooh-ing as you ran your fingers over the luxurious black material and shiny gold buttons. It was truly exquisite and you just knew that it would look good on you.

Your eyes widened in shock as you were handed another present, this one small and delicate. But it was the tag that had you pausing, stating that it was from Yoo-jin’s parents. Almost immediately you look at Hoseok in confusion and he just leant forward, kissing your forehead.

“They’ve never met you but they know you’re in our lives and they didn’t want to be rude.” It was strange, opening up the present that his deceased wife’s parents had gotten you. Like you were breaking the rules or something, betraying Yoo-jin’s memory.

Inside was a delicate silver bracelet, little stars and moon breaking up the chain every now and then. It wasn’t an expensive brand or anything, but it could have been a cheap $5 ring and you would have been in awe given who it came from. Tenderly, you run your fingers along it while the girls all make noises at how pretty it is.

And then came the presents from Hoseok. Who appeared to have spoiled you given what you opened. Which was saying something given how much you’d spent on him.

A new Pandora bracelet complete with a set of Disney charms alongside a second bracelet that was rose gold, the hue shining in the dainty Christmas lights. New boots that you’d been considering for the last two months, your size and the exact colour you’d wanted. A set of tiny Harry Potter themed snow globes for your desk and a bunch of your favourite Pokémon in plush form. The console games you’d been wanting for a while but had been unwilling to spend money on and some new books for you to enjoy in your downtime. 

And then on top of all that, which was ridiculously honestly, was the Canon DSLR that he’d bought you. You’d been wanting to get a new camera and try out photography again, something you’d done years ago, but the cost had been putting you off.

“Hoseok!” His name comes out in an exasperated tone that’s threaded through with love, knowing that he’d just come with some excuse as to why he spent so much on you. You knew that he earnt enough and with you sharing the bills now he was even better off, but you’d never had so much stuff bought for it.

It left you a little flustered.

Almost as if he can tell, he grins broadly and kisses your cheek with an overly loud noise. The girls giggle to themselves at his display of affection before he squeezes your hand tightly.

“It’s Christmas! The season of giving. You can’t complain. Santa said you’ve been good.” You give him a look that tells him there’ll be a conversation about this later but you’re both distracted when the girls start to get antsy, wanting to play with their own stuff.

His foot came down rather quickly when the twins began to beg him to let them play outside on their bikes, desperate to have fun and probably scrape their knees multiple times. You’re sure he would’ve been okay with it, except that it was 5:30 in the morning and dark outside. Not exactly the right conditions to be letting them go around screaming.

Instead, he made them all go upstairs and shower to make sure that they were all clean before getting dressed in their comfy Christmas clothes that you’d bought for them. That was a tradition you’d brought from your own family; every year you got a new outfit for Christmas. Hoseok had been bemused by it but he’d gone along and the girls were just excited to have new clothes.

Once everyone was all dressed, you watched Hoseok for a moment as he helped to set up Soo-ah’s iPad as the twins got settled into playing on their PS4 already. He’d already turned it on and set it all up the other day so they were fully immersed in one of the LEGO games he’d bought, each chattering away as they played split screen.

A sudden wave of isolation hits you as you watched them, realising that you could easily walk out of the house right now and the picture here would still be the same. They wouldn’t really notice your loss and they’d survive happily without it. This was a family, his family. And you were just the interloper in it.

Chewing your lip, you turn around and head into the kitchen with a deep sigh. You try to keep those thoughts out of your head but it’s always a worry at the back of your mind. The anxiety that it all might fall apart. That you’d lose not only the man you love dearly, the man you’re positive is the love of your life, but also his beautiful daughters whom you had also come to love.

The kitchen is quiet as you turn on the oven, letting it pre-heat while you pull out the meats that you’d prepared the day before with Hoseok. Christmas dinner was easily one of the best moments of the day for you and you’d worked hard to combine his dinner with your family. Which meant you were eating honey glazed ham and roast turkey stuffed full of sage and onion stuffing.

Checking them over, you tut slightly and work at making sure they’ll be okay before placing them both into the oven, thankful that it was big enough to accommodate both. He had a grill above this that could also function as a second oven and you would be playing the vegetables into their later on to roast them to perfection with the seasonings and spices you’d lavished upon them.

You’re so invested in the food, taking out the cookies and everything your mom had given you yesterday and laying them on the side so that everyone could snack on them while the food cooked throughout the morning, that you don’t notice Hoseok sneaking in. It’s only when his arms wind around your waist that you realise, jumping slightly.

“Are you mad at me?” The childish tone to his voice tells you that he’s pouting and you resolve not to look at him. He has the most ridiculous puppy-eyes that manage to get him anything he wants and you’re not falling for it today. Not that you were actually mad at him or anything.

“No, I’m not. Though you spend way too much!” You whine petulantly poking his arm with your own lips turning into a pout. Hoseok chuckles, his chest vibrating against your back before he turns you around and gives you a bright smile, dimples appearing in his cheeks adorably.

“I love you. Christmas is when I get to spoil you.”

“You spoilt me on my birthday and our anniversary too.” Eyeing him suspiciously, his tongue pokes at his cheek as he looks at the ceiling and considers.

“Okay maybe so, but still. Point stands. I love you. And you never buy yourself anything! You always talk yourself out of it.” He argues, voice getting lower and more mumbled and you can’t help but smile at his face, reaching up and cupping those cheeks until they’re comically smushed. Despite the grumbles coming from his throat, he lets you be silly with him and you know it’s because you’ve gotten over it already.

“Did you like your stuff?” He nods, head jerking your hands before he reaches up and moves them away from his face. 

“I did. I’m a lucky guy.” Not responding, you just lean against his chest and exhale deeply, eyes closing as you just enjoy being with him in a small moment of silence in the madness that is his house. A madness that you’ve come to love and adore, something you’re not entirely sure you could live without anymore.

“This has been the best Christmas in a while.” Hoseok whispers softly, resting his cheek against your head while his arms wrap around you tighter. You don’t respond for a moment, hands grasping at his shirt before a response slips from your lips in a small, meek voice.

“Really?”

“Yes. Really. It feels...whole again. It’s been really nice to just...have someone else here. Someone I love, you know?” You don’t really know but you nod anyway, unwilling to let the moment slide between you both.

“I love you.” It’s whispered against his chest but you know that he hears, arms tightening for a moment before he kisses your head.

“Love you too.”

-

A click and a flash of light makes you jump, eyes widening as you look up at Hoseok who grins from behind the camera your parents had got him. It was after 10pm now, dinner a long distant memory and you were sipping a glass of mulled wine on the couch, curled up in your pyjamas and reading one of the new books you’d been given.

The girls had tired themselves out and had gone to bed over an hour ago, the early start and excitement of the day knocking them out quicker than you’d ever seen. Hoseok had spent that time cleaning up the room to his liking, putting their presents into neat piles before sitting on the floor in front of you and messing around with some of his own presents.

And your’s, he’d also been playing with your own camera. You were content to let him do so, the silence between you both comfortable and pleasant. His very presence was just soothing and the tiny noises he made without realising amused you.

But evidently he was feeling playful now, his face a picture of mischief as he takes the photo that prints out and waves it, letting the picture develop. Shaking your head, you roll your eyes at him before reaching out and pushing at his shoulder with your foot.

He chuckles, grabbing your foot and kissing your ankle. The close vicinity to your feet makes you cringe, pulling back immediately as you make a sound that would be more at home coming out of Ji-soo or Ji-eun’s mouth.

“Having fun?” You ask, lips pursing as he holds out the photo to you once he’s scribbled something on it in black Sharpie. It’s not bad in reality, those cameras always have a way of bizarrely making people look good and you run your finger over the photograph carefully, admiring the way he’d written ‘First Christmas together’. Hoseok takes it back and places it on the coffee table reverently.

“Yep. You’re beautiful.” That gets a soft laugh and the camera flashes once more, capturing the emotion forever. You whine, disliking the momentary blindness but he just lays his head on your knee for a moment, waiting for the photo to develop.

Once it’s done, he pushes up and sits next to you, holding out the camera in front of you both and gestures to you. You smile prettily for the camera, head leaning in towards him and waiting for the flash once more.

“Will you marry me?”

Any thoughts of the camera disappear as your eyes widen and your jaw drops, turning to look at him in shock. The click of his finger on the camera button combines with a blinding flash, the camera whirring as it prints.

“What?” It’s the only thing you can say, shock freezing you as you’re not sure if he’d just said that to get a reaction out of you or because he genuinely meant it. But then he looks at you with a gentle smile, handing you the photograph and getting up to retrieve something he’d hidden behind a frame on the mantelpiece.

Sitting back next to you, you’re still experiencing that bizarre sense of uncertainty, body flushing cold and hot as you try to assess the situation. But then Hoseok opens the tiny box, revealing an elegant silver ring with a beautiful diamond set into the centre. It’s simple, but you love it already and without even realising you start to cry.

“Hoseok…”

“Will you marry me? Final present, I swear.” He grins, his own eyes looking ever so slightly misty while his cheeks take on a slightly rosy glow. You can’t stop looking between his face and the ring, hands shaking as you drop the book onto your lap and reaching out for it.

“Really? You...you really want to marry me?” Part of you knows that you should just say yes, but your emotions are so overwhelmed. Marriage was obviously something that you’d both discussed, it was something that anyone who had inclinations of wanting to get married and in a long term relationship discussed, but you just hadn’t thought he’d want to so early.

It wasn’t even ten years since his wife had died and he’d always said that she was the love of his life. While you knew that was likely true and you hadn’t wanted to try and compete against a woman who couldn’t fight back, you had that struggle in that you were faced with a woman who would forever be perfect in his memory.

Marriage for Hoseok meant cementing your place into his family, truly allowing you to take the place Yoo-jin had left. You would legally be the girls step-mother. It just all felt so final and you hadn’t been sure that Hoseok was ready for that.

“Of course I want to marry you. I love you. As cheesy as it is...you made me realise that it’s okay to love again. That’s it’s not betraying Yoo-jin, or myself or my kids. I have so much to thank you for; for embracing my kids, for loving me even though I came with a lot extra, for not trying to erase Yoo-jin, for just caring so much. I love being with you, I love how my kids love you, I love how my parents love you, I love your parents, I love you try so hard. Being with you...makes me feel younger than I actually am, like I’ve got a partner in crime again. That sounds lame,” He snorts, rolling his eyes.

“But it’s true. It’s not just me being ganged up on by my daughters anymore. I have someone to confide in, someone to trust, someone that I can break down in front of and not be seen as weak and who will hold me up until I feel strong again. I don’t think you realise how much you’ve done for me, or my family. Our family. I know you always think about Yoo-jin and your respect for her is amazing. But I don’t want you to think about her this time. I just want you to think about yourself. I love you and I really, really want to marry you.”

You have no doubt that you’re ugly crying now, your nose going alongside your eyes and you sniffle pathetically, rubbing at your face with the ends of your sweater. It makes Hoseok laugh gently, reaching out and pulling you into a tight hug. Neither of you realises for a moment that you’re nodding your acceptance, body already doing what your mind had decided.

“Yes. Yes, god yes. I’d...I’d love to marry you. I mean if you’re okay with that.”

“Sweetheart...I just asked you. I think I’m okay with it.” But he doesn’t push further, grinning broadly as he pushes the ring onto your finger before kissing it. His eyes are still shining with his own unshed tears, happiness dancing in them before he pulls you closer, pressing his lips to yours in a deep kiss, neither of you caring if anyone interrupts this one.

“God I am so glad you said yes. I was very stressed about this.” He murmurs when you finally pull apart, foreheads pressed together while your noses brush. You sniff one more and he gently wipes away the tears, cooing in the softest voice as he consoles you.

The two of you hug and kiss for a while longer, unwilling to let each other go in the bliss of happiness and excitement that his proposal had engendered. Any worries you may have about being officially part of his family disappear finally, simply enjoying the moment with him and in awe of the fact that he loves you enough to marry you.

This guy, who you’d started talking to at a get together years ago simply because you were sat next to each, had become such an important part of your life and it genuinely shocked you to know that you’d become the same to him. He pulls away, reaching for the Sharpie and the photograph that had fallen to your lap.

Carefully, he writes on it before lifting it up to look at it with a smile. “I think that was a good proposal.”

Turning it, he lets you look at the photograph and you feel warmth blossom as you remember that he’d captured this moment. In the small picture, he’s grinning broadly, that mischief you’d grown so used to in his eyes, that he’d passed onto his daughters, very prominent while you stare at him in complete shock.

Along the bottom, he’s scrawled out ‘Will you marry me?’. Laughing, you kiss his cheek.

“Is this why you asked for this kind of camera?” He shrugs in response, expression mysterious and you just burrow yourself into side deeper.

“Happy Christmas sweetheart.”

“Happy Christmas.”

[the-darklings]

—𝒆𝒙𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒔 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒂 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒂𝒕;

—PART XII. | EXITUS ACTA PROBAT

pairing: john wick x f!reader x santino d’antonio

word count: 18.6k+ (🤡✊🏻)

summary: “It’s like everything in my life is unravelling right now and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

warnings: you will suffer

notes: 3 weeks in the making is the only explanation I have for the length aside from being a stubborn idiot and refusing to split it. We are also going to pretend like I didn’t write 60% of this chapter in the last 24hr. If you’re still reading this series, I love you! Enjoy! 

children of ares series: 01 | …. | 10 | 11 | . . | 13 |

“You don’t have to do this.”

Blinking sluggishly, you brace a hand on your work table, pausing in your preparations.

A familiar vial lays before you and it feels like an insult, like another example of your many failures. It’s not ready. Years of work and research and trying and failing and…

Now that you actually need it, you can’t be sure it’s ready. Can’t be sure it will work. So close.

Your hands shake and you press your forearms to your sides to still them.

Dragging your gaze away from it, you return to packing.

Winston still hasn’t looked at you since his earlier statement, his back to you as he stares out of your hotel room window.

“What choice do I have?”

“Every choice,” he shoots back easily, and finally looks at you. His stare is hard, cold. “Johnathan knew full well what he was doing in agreeing to that Marker, and when he refused it. Mr D’Antonio, too, is no child. They are responsible for their own actions. It is not your job to fix their messes.”

You throw down the article of clothing clenched between your fingers, stepping closer towards the older man.

“That Marker exists because of me,” you snap, breathless with anger. “And it shouldn’t. John’s home is rubble because of me. Of course, they’re both equally as accountable for this but it stems from me. It’s my responsibility, too, and I have to make it right.”

“You can’t interfere.”

You know that. Markers are as good as sacred.

Once the terms are set, they have to be fulfilled. No one can interfere with the completion of a Marker, or risk invoking the wrath of the table itself.

You can’t save Gianna no matter how much you want to. Not without throwing away everything you have worked for.

“I’m not going to,” you tell him, struggling for air. “But Camorra will hunt John, and the least I can do is help. This will end in blood on both sides otherwise. I can’t let that happen.”

Your voice softens by the last sentence but the hard look in Winston’s eyes remains. Not that you expected him to show much sympathy for anyone in this situation. He’s a man of rules, of order. In his eyes, if John agreed to a Marker then he should have honoured it, and what he does after is his business. You can’t help but agree with that, too. But the dread you’ve felt since Winston told you about the Marker’s existence has only amplified since your conversation with Santino.

It stalks your every step. Accompanies every breath your draw into your lungs.

This situation—and all the factors involved in it—are a time bomb ready to blow, obliterating everything.

“You are terrified,” Winston voices suddenly, his narrowed stare stripping you down to your core. As always, he can see right through you. His words, knowing and incisive, wrap around your throat, squeezing it tight. “So terrified that you will lose them that you would willingly place yourself in the middle of this. Regardless of the consequences.”

You say nothing. You only stand in front of him and feel pathetically small under that unwavering, wise gaze. Winston exhales quietly, shaking his head slightly.

“What if it’s you that gets torn down in this little squabble for power?” he wonders but not unkindly. “What then, (Name)?”

How can you explain it to him? What words can you use to convince a man of professional, unyielding conviction that your actions are anything other than a desperate attempt to keep people you care about safe? What is this, if not completely irrational on all sides of this unfolding conflict?

You’re teetering on that edge again and Winston is right. You are terrified.

Everything has a price, and things always come full circle.

“Sometimes—”

Your voice cracks and you swallow thickly, looking away for a second as you force yourself to take a calming breath. “Sometimes I feel so alone it’s like I can’t breathe,” you confess in a tiny whisper, faint and fragile. “And it’s like everything in my life is unravelling right now and there’s nothing I can do about it. You, Santino, John—you’re all I have. I can’t lose anyone else, Winston. I can’t.”

The man’s expression eases, the light in his eyes softening just a touch.

But before he can say anything else your phone rings. Swallowing, you grab it off your table. It must be Santino—

But you feel yourself grow cold at the number shining back at you on the screen.

“It’s the Administration.”

Winston’s chin dips, his lips pressing into a stiff line, and he gives you a serious look. “Then you better answer.”

Rome is beautiful.

Over the last five years, you have grown to love it as much as New York.

You’ve spent many days in this city, in this country, due to your association with Camorra alone.

The architecture, the food, the cobbled streets and the energetic flow of Italian in the air. It mixes with English, French, Russian, amongst many others; and stepping back into this city is like being dragged into a dance, dizzying as it is warm.

Italy has—in many ways—become a second home to you.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I’m not here because I want to see you kill Gianna,” you speak tightly, not looking at the man beside you. On the flight here, you’ve barely exchanged more than a few words. He seemed just as preoccupied with his thoughts as you have been. All he did was give you a long, searching look and asked you if you’re sure about coming along. “That Marker exists because of me. It’s my responsibility, too. And—”

And you know Santino. You know Camorra.

“I’m your insurance policy.”

John turns after you when you move, and he almost looks out of place. This man in a dark suit and dark eyes, standing in a city of such culture and light, like an ink stain on a perfectly clean canvas. You hesitate, reading his desire to speak.  

“You’re angry.”

You almost laugh out loud. In fact, a hysteric laugh tickles the back of your throat and you chuckle instead, even if the sound lacks joy.

“Yeah,” you intone flatly, looking up towards the clear, open sky above you. “Yeah, I’m angry, John. I’m angry at Santino. I’m angry at you. I’m angry that this bullshit keeps happening.”

John’s expression is guarded and you don’t quite understand the look in his eyes.

He’s angry, that much you do know. He didn’t want to be back. But when he looks at you there is something else there now; a weight, a question, a hundred unspoken conversations.  

“I didn’t think it would come to this.”

You exhale through your nose, your expression relaxing with cold amusement. You’re so tired of everyone. Everyone and their insistence that they know what they’re doing.

Every nerve in your body feels raw, and you don’t try to hold back the acid in your voice.

“That so?” you contemplate softly, but the bite to your words is impossible to miss. “Then tell me what the hell did you think was going to happen, John? Did you think that Santino was never going to call in that Marker? You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever known but I really have to question your logic here. I’m furious at Santino for calling it in but what were you thinking when you refused it? A Marker, John.”

Santino wasn’t exaggerating. With John refusing to honour an oath, he easily could have taken this matter straight to the High Table. And the latter is ruthless in dealing with such breach of their rules.

No bloodshed on Continental grounds and every Marker must be honoured. Such simple rules, really.

John’s refusal alone almost ended his life.

Wanting to stay away from this world is one thing. But knowingly creating a Marker only to later refuse it—

It’s one job.

Better one last head dive into the abyss than being dead.

“What is he to you?”

You don’t hear this tone often—not from him, and not directed at you. This is the Boogeyman talking with that low, icy voice that is just a touch more insistent than the John you know.

Your eyes find him and for several moments you are both silent.

Rome is a buzzing anthill of life and joy and despair but you two are suspended in this moment, and your tongue refuses to work.

Santino.

What is he to you?

I’m not your anything.

But that was a lie, wasn’t it? A hurt driven, angry lie because you are—

“A friend.”

But this time, it’s not enough.

John speaks before your lips even close. “What more than that?”

The push is unexpected.

But if this is the path your old beloved wants to walk.

“When you left—” you start and pause, gathering your thoughts. John is unmoving and silent, waiting for you to continue but you see how the corners of his mouth tilt downwards. He already knows that what you will say next is unlikely to be pleasant. “When you left I had no one. No one to turn to, no one I could trust. Every enemy you ever had then turned their sights onto me. They hunted me, tried to capture me, poison me. Santino helped me. Offered me to work for him to keep Tarasov appeased. He kept me safe. Of course, he got plenty out of our partnership over the years but…”

“But you trust him.”

Not a question.

John’s expression is drawn, and it’s difficult for you to read what’s going on behind those eyes.

His loaded statement hangs between you, and you take a moment to think about it properly.

With everything that you have gone through in the last five years alone—  

“I do,” you admit quietly, even though those words make you feel naked and vulnerable. Even when a tiny part of you still whispers that you are a fool for doing so. That Santino is just another liar in a long line of liars. “Which is why I have to ask you something, and you have to promise me that you will answer me honestly.”

I found you in six hours.

But did he really? Did Santino mean those words or did he simply exaggerate to make himself look better, to justify his own anger, his own bitterness and old resentments?

John only gazes at you, even though your confession seems to have dimmed something inside him. He doesn’t look surprised, however, and it makes you wonder what else he’s gleaned from this exchange.

“When I was taken in Tokyo,” you start after another uneasy moment between you. “How long did it take for you to go to Santino?”

The question that’s been plaguing you for so long now.

The question that immediately creases John’s expression with a muted, worn sort of sadness. Devastation.

You almost don’t want to hear his reply.

“Eight days. I—”

You interrupt him before he can go on any further, “And how long did it take for him to track my location?”

This time, John looks confused.

“Why—”

You inhale deeply and try to keep your composure. “Please, just tell me.”

He moves closer and for a moment you fear he’s going to try and touch you but he doesn’t and you’re grateful. You don’t need his pity now.  

“A little over six hours,” he tells you, and your throat closes up at his words, a lump forming. “(Name), I’m sorry.”

You know he is. You know he didn’t mean for any of this to happen. In the place of that inferno that has raged and raged inside you for years, now only ash and embers remain.

You miss the inferno.

It made you feel at least a little secure in your emotions.

But John’s words tangle around your heart for a different reason, pulling on it harshly.

Have I ever lied to you?

Santino hasn’t. Seemingly even now when you’ve been so sure that he finally has.  

“Why did you agree to that Marker?” you demand next, though this time your voice is thinner, less sure. You try to shake it, try to force iron and ice and discipline into your demeanour like your Master always told you is necessary. “You could have tracked me yourself.”

Because he’s John Wick. Because it would have been easy for him, even if it would have taken longer. At least he would have been free of the burden he now carries.  

“Because I felt like I failed you,” he admits in a hushed breath and the pain in his dark eyes no doubt matches your own. “Because you were gone and I—”

You nod your head in understanding, and a pained, brief smile flashes across your features.

“You felt guilty,” you assume and know you are right by the way your words make him briefly close his eyes. “Guilt and pity. Seems like our relationship has that in abundance.”

Your tone is lifeless and distant and you don’t look at him, choosing to gaze instead towards the breathtaking architecture around you.

For a long moment, it’s silent between you. It’s not awkward or tense though. It’s almost peaceful. In a sense, you are getting the answers to questions a part of you has always clung to. In a sense, a part of you finally feels at ease.  

“I wanted to save you. More than anything. That Marker…” he fades off. “The Marker was the fastest way to find you.”

Your eyes go back to him, meeting his, and you tell him one simple fact that he seems to have forgotten. “But you didn’t save me, John,” you remind with a slight smile but your words are not an accusation, they’re just words. “I saved myself.”

You crawled your way out of that pit on your own. And maybe you would have failed at the last hurdle. Maybe you would have been stopped or tracked down once the guards noticed something was wrong, but you had saved yourself. Killed Kishi yourself. Freed yourself.

You were alone in hell, and you had made it your own.

One person was dragged into its depths, and something else was spat back out.

You were forged in the violence and the despair of that darkness.

There is no shame in admitting that, or owning it.

John says nothing but the look on his face says everything.

“I need time,” you finally say, and try to control the fidgeting of your fingers. “I have a few errands I need to run. I’ll see you back at the Continental.”

He takes a step closer, his fingers grazing against the skin of your inner wrist.

You exhale sharply at the sensation, pulling back to look towards him instead.

His expression is torn, so you reassure him with a simple, “I’m not running from you. I think it’s finally time we have this conversation but I just—I need to…to think.”

To prepare for the inevitable pain. For tearing of the scars that have finally stopped aching after all these years.

You give him one last look, and you see the understanding there.

He lets you go. 

It takes you till nightfall to return to the Continental.

Gianna’s coronation is tomorrow night and it cramps your stomach with nerves just thinking about it.

This is a ruthless world, and Gianna is a ruthless woman.

You know very well that she would do the same to Santino if it came down to a choice. But—

But you can’t help but blame Giovanni once again.

It’s his fault. He’s the one who made his children into this. Pushed them apart because only one could inherit his seat. Morphed them and shaped them into what he needed them to be. Stole from them the loyalty and the bond that should have been between the two siblings.

It makes you feel so helpless, so bitter with disappointment. Perhaps Gianna is not your favourite person in the world after what she did, but you did consider her your friend once. Once you believed it was mutual. You’ve shared time together, too. Bonded. Cared for one another.

She doesn’t deserve this.

You hate how unfair it all is.

Tradition, old hurts, resentment, fears.

They have all come together to set the stage for a tragedy.

“It is good to have you with us again, Vipress.”

Your attention snaps to the tall man walking down the stairs of the Rome Continental, his guards only a few steps behind him.  

Julius greets you with a faint smile and a kiss on your cheek that prompts a smile of your own.

“Ciao, Julius,” you greet him. “You look well. Winston sends his regards.”

The man in front of you chuckles. “Ah, my old friend. How is he?”

You suppress a smirk. “Still Winston.”

Julius nods with a knowing look and leads you towards the reception. “The presidential suite has already been prepared for you as per Mr D'Antonio's old request.”

Santino.

God. You’ve tried not to think about him since you walked out of the gallery, leaving him behind. That look on his face has seared itself inside your mind. So much so, that it’s easier not to think about your goodbye. Easier not to think about the Lovers and how they might use your separation to get to him. Easier not to think about all the things you should have said to him instead.  

Stop. Think. This is insane. This is not worth it. You’re smarter than this.

But you can understand his desperation, too. In a sense. Because if the situation was reversed, is there anything you won’t do for him, or John, or Winston? Ares? Any of your friends?

When you have so little, you cling to things that make you happy with desperation and hopelessness only few can truly understand.

But that does not excuse his recklessness, does not excuse his actions no matter how worry driven they might have been.

“I’m sorry,” you say immediately, assuming the worst, knowing how Santino can get when he doesn’t get his way. “Was he unpleasant about it? I—”

Julius gives you a brief, amused look. “No, he was rather...polite about it, actually. He learned from last time, I believe.”

Yes, last time.

Last time when Santino chewed out one of the attendants for miserving him. Every bit the spoiled mafia heir. You refused to speak with him for the rest of your stay in Rome. Once, not so long ago, you were less than that attendant who was only trying to make an honest living. You were less. One mistake did not give him the right to unleash his temper as he did. Did not give him the right to look down on them without knowing anything about their life just because he was richer.

Your silence, your dismissal and refusal to so much as acknowledge him, had stung deeply. He had acted prissy at first, too, but with days that passed in a tense stalemate, he mellowed.

Perhaps he did learn his lesson.

He apologised for the incident eventually, no matter how reluctant.

Perhaps he can still see the errors of his way now as well.

You hope he will.

“Oh. Thank you,” you say instead, and shift in your spot while you wait for the receptionist to give you your key. “John?”

Julius makes a thoughtful noise at the back of his throat, placing his palm on the gleaming dark wood.

“Yes, Mr Wick,” the man begins, his tone leading as he gazes in your direction. “I admit I was rather surprised to learn that you have come to Rome together on business, and not with Mr D’Antonio instead. I initially feared the worst.”

You almost laugh.

A slight grin appears despite your attempt to keep it at bay.

“Let me guess,” you muse, trying to hold back your mirth. “The Pope? Not this time, Julius.”

The man’s answering stare is so unamused, you chuckle under your breath. It feels good to smile, even if it takes considerable effort to do so.

Julius takes your keycard, but hesitates in passing it to you.

“I do hope that whatever business you two have in this city will not cause too much trouble, yes?”

Your slight smile falls and you break the eye contact, glancing away.

You wish you could reassure him and mean it. But that would be a lie.

“I can’t promise that.”

Julius doesn’t look surprised to hear it. He is a man who has seen a lot just like Winston. They’re old, wise wolves in a world of bloodthirsty beasts. He knows that your and John’s presence here, now, can’t possibly mean anything good.  

“I wish you a pleasant stay as always,” Julius says, at last, holding out the card towards you. “Mr Wick is staying in room 459.”

You try for a smile again but it feels forced this time, empty. Giving him a grateful nod instead, you pocket the card and head towards the elevator, trying to pretend you don’t feel Julius’ gaze follow you the entire way.

Getting to John’s room takes only minutes, and you knock on the door once, balancing on the balls of your feet.

You feel so restless, it’s like your skin is crawling constantly.

You’re dead to the world, a sly whisper tickles against the back of your neck.

Shut up.

The voice still continues though, and you try to drown it out by counting louder in your head. Like placing bricks between you and Kishi’s ghost.  

The door swings open and John’s face appears through the crack. You know he has a gun in his hand from one look.

“Don’t look so surprised to see me,” you tell him flatly and step closer, waiting for him to let you inside. He does and your eyes sweep over the room. An old habit that’s been integrated into you by the very man who now resides inside it. “I assume you made preparations already. I will need debriefing on your plan.”

You wander closer towards the table where you notice maps already laid out. John is methodical and you know he always plans.  

“Are you sure you want to get involved in this?” his voice sounds from behind you.

Your fingers brush over the edge of the papers, humming, and you glance over your shoulder.

“The Marker must be honoured,” you state, your tone wooden. “Camorra lives by the rules even more so than other families but they will retaliate, and you will need every little shred of help you can get. Trust me.”

John comes closer, his expression thoughtful and you look back down towards the table. “Catacombs, huh? Smart.”

An easy way to get into the party and out without being seen.

You knew of the tunnels. The D’Antonio siblings have told you about them.

That gives you a pause.

Even if you were miserable back then, those months you’ve spent with them have been some of the happiest in hindsight.

“Santino told me. About what you did for me,” John speaks suddenly, like those words have been waiting to burst out of him, and comes to stand beside you. His stare is unwavering, latching onto you and your breaths even out. “How the only reason he helped me with my task is because you asked him to.”

You don’t say anything.

This certainly explains John’s earlier conflict—that heaviness in his eyes that said he wanted to ask something but couldn’t bring himself to do so.

“Anything else Santino tell you?”

You wish you didn’t sound so morose, so joyless.

John’s lips part and he exhales quietly.

He knows full well what he’s about to start.

What two sad people you both have become.

Wary of each other and the dense mass of unspoken things between you.  

“Why would you do it?”

You scoff, turning away from him as you shake your head.

“Really John?” you wonder in disbelief as you turn your attention back to him. John is still peering at you, waiting for a reply. “Because I loved you. Because the alternative was you potentially dying and no matter how much you hurt me, I could never live with myself if that happened.”

His eyes lower, silent, and you can’t help but wonder, “Did you think that my feelings for you were a passing fancy? Is that it?”

His gaze flickers upwards, his dark eyes sparking at the carefully hidden hurt in your words.

“No. I knew that what we had was real,” he rebukes softly and steps closer. You look up at him and hate security that his presence always brings. “Thank you. For giving me that time with her.”

The sincerity in his voice hurts.

Helen. The beautiful woman you can still recall in your memories. Who stood and fit beside John so well. His other half. The woman who he chose.

That’s what it came down to, in the end, a choice.

You turn away from him, tugging off your pea coat and dropping it over the arm of a plush chair as you lower yourself onto it. Leaning back into the comfort of the expensive material, you tap your fingers against the armrest, staring up at the man who still stands beside the table.

“Tell me about her,” you request calmly, your fingers tapping, tapping, tapping—  “Tell me everything. From start to finish.”

John blinks, his surprise clear before he masks it, turning to face you fully as you both stare at each other.

The tension in the room grows.

“Are you sure you want to do this now—”

You almost bare your teeth at him.

“Yes, now. You wanted this chance, and I deserve to know everything,” you remind him through gritted teeth, and press your palm against the armrest when his attention moves towards your restless fingers. “Because I am so sick of people presuming that they know what’s best for me or how I feel.”

You won’t be in this mess if people just stopped assuming.  

If everyone just stopped and listened.

John pushes away from the table, walking towards the other vacant chair in the room with measured steps. He sits himself down, and every shift of his muscles is heavy, weary.

“Do you remember the Dublin job?”

“Yes, what about it?”

Dublin was the last time you worked together. The very last of your happiness before your birthday, before Tokyo, before everything that followed after.

A bar, thick smoke, rowdy singing and you leaning into his side—into his warmth. In a shadowed corner of that bar his hand had rested against your lower back, his fingers delicate against your warm skin.

He had smiled at your every joke, and you had fallen more and more in love with every twitch of his mouth. With him.

There—hidden away from the world—you had both been free to be happy.

However briefly.  

“After we came back, Tarasov asked to see me,” John’s low voice drags you out of the memory you haven’t visited for years, and you glance at him. “He told me that he knew about us. He told me that he is willing to give me one last chance to make it right. Either I stop whatever is going on between us or…”

“Or?”

“Or he kills you,” he divulges and his tone grows strained. “I knew he meant it. He said that he couldn’t have my loyalties split. Either I put a stop to it myself or he will have me kill you. I—I pushed you back because I couldn’t let that happen.”

You swallow weakly, moving your eyes away as he speaks.

It hurts to recall this, but you let him talk. This is perhaps the most open he has ever been with you so you listen.

“Better to hurt you than—I couldn’t lose you,” he whispers faintly, folding his fingers. His golden wedding ring catches your eye in the dim light of the room. He still wears it. Maybe he always will. You know you would. “You meant too much. I wanted—I suppose it doesn’t matter what I wanted now but...I did it to keep you safe. The only way I knew how.”

You nod your head vaguely, and lace your own fingers in your lap. The skin beneath your knuckles strains but you force the rest of your body to remain motionless.

“And Helen?”

There is no resentment in your voice, just curiosity.

“After I rejected your feelings, you drifted away just as I expected,” John resumes after a lengthy pause. “I knew you would need space so I was prepared to wait. Helen…I ran into her by accident. She invited me for lunch. I don’t even know why I accepted. I suppose I hoped that it would take my mind off you. Help to make it…easier.”

Easier. You wonder which part of this was the easy one.

“I never intended for anything to happen between us. Not ever. But Helen she was—she was kind and gentle and so open.”

Oh, that one stings.

From all the things he’s said, this hurts the most.

Kind. Gentle. Open.

All the things you are not.

Because you had to kill and strangle those parts of yourself to survive.

Because you always wanted to be those things but couldn’t.

Helen must have been such an easy choice, and you can’t even blame him for it.

Who could ever want you? Without any catches, without judgement or reservations.

Who would when the world is full of wonderful, bright people like Helen?

John continues when you fail to respond. “I convinced myself that this would be for the better. That even if we tried, Tarasov would have killed you. That in the long run, we would both be happier. But maybe—I never wanted this life, (Name). But I wanted to do this differently. Properly. Then Tokyo happened and…”

He pauses, inhaling deeply, seemingly unable to continue on.

His head dips down and you watch his profile. Your hand lifts and you press your fingers to your lips, trying to smother the hurt that quakes your bones.  

“There was not one moment during those days when I didn’t wish you needed me as much as I needed you, John. Not one,” you voice tightly and press your lips together when they tremble. John looks up at you, his expression crushed, his eyebrows tightly knit. “You should have told me. But you made the decision on your own. What if I wanted to try anyway? Wanted to fight for what we had?”

“He would have killed you—”

Something creaks, and then snaps.

“And you should have told me!”

It explodes right out of you, vicious and quick.

You practically jump to your feet, unable to sit still. But you don’t go anywhere, you simply stand there, staring at him wide-eyed.

John watches you for a beat before bowing his head. Something hot churns in the pit of your stomach at his continuous silence.

“I know,” he utters. “I know it was selfish of me but I thought I was protecting you.”

Protecting you.

He did. You know that. But in so many ways by protecting you from one demon, he left you alone to face an entire hoard of them. So many even more dangerous than Tarasov ever was.

The next question is so soft, so unguarded, you almost hate yourself for asking it.

“Did you ever, even for a moment, actually love me?”  

John’s head snaps up to you so quickly, you’re surprised you don’t hear his bones snapping. “You know I did. You matter more to me than—”

His voice cracks and he rises to his feet with a frustrated sigh. The way he fidgets with his ring catches your attention before his fingers slip out of sight.

“Tell me about Tokyo,” you insist before he can say anything else in regards to your pathetic question. “Santino said that you broke a deal between you. What kind of deal?”

For a moment, you think that John will press further. But perhaps he realises how fragile this situation is. How easily it can all fall apart and he still has things that need saying because he indulges you.

“Winston called me one day. Said that he hasn’t heard from you in days,” he starts, uneasy, like the memory is painful for him. You can’t help but wonder how bad it will get if he looks so apprehensive already. “That something might be wrong. I went to Viggo and he confirmed that you have gone off the grid. A mission gone wrong. He wasn’t sure if you were alive or dead. I asked for permission to find you but he denied me. He said the potential power conflict wasn’t worth it if you were stupid enough to get caught. Winston couldn’t get involved so I had only one other option left. Santino demanded a Marker and—”

“And?” you whisper, your voice hoarse, faint.

John’s shoulders curve downwards. His voice now is raspy, both pained and hushed. A lump in your throat grows larger as he comes to a stop in front of you. Back where you started only minutes ago.  

“And he suspected that Yakuza might retaliate just like Viggo did. So a deal was struck,” he reveals, tracking your reactions carefully. “If you’re still alive, he gives me the resources to get you out and I pass you to him. He would place you under Camorra’s protection until things settled. In terms of power, his family is one of the very few that could withstand any potential conflict. But when I found you—”

You were broken and cracked and destroyed beyond repair.

John continues and the pain in his voice feels like a stab right into your beating heart, twisting deep. “You were hurt so badly I—I couldn’t. I killed them all and had no intention of leaving you again,” he exhales heavily and meets your stare before adding, “So yeah, I broke the deal with Santino because I didn’t trust him. Because I worried that he might use your vulnerability against you. To manipulate you.”

Back then, you won’t have put it past Santino to do exactly that.

The sly, conniving man that he is.  

But he reacted to Tokyo in a way you didn’t expect.

A part of you knows that neither did he.  

“And you didn’t think once to tell me about any of this?” you pose quietly because talking is so difficult now. “To tell me about Helen sooner instead of hiding secrets? Instead of lying.”

You’re so tired.

So very tired.

You can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever find peace at this rate. Or if you’ll always be stuck in this cycle. Over and over again. Without end.

John reaches out and for a moment his fingers hover over your cheek. You’re grateful that he doesn’t touch you, though something in his expression tells you that he wants to. “You were hurt. I was afraid that if I told you—”

His fingers drop away.

“I wanted to do this right. Wait till you recover fully. Sit you down and explain everything,” he says softly, and his soft dark eyes watch you sadly. “I knew what this sort of news will do to you. I saw how much you struggled. It was never about keeping it from you. So when you found my phone, I knew you would hate me. I figured it would be easier for you to forget me if you did. Easier to let go, so I left.”

You look away, your eyes starting to burn no matter how hard you try to blink the sensation away.

“Left because I knew that you will recover and succeed in this world,” he states, and even if you can no longer see his expression, you feel his attention focus on you. “Because you’re the strongest person I have ever met. And I hoped that one day, maybe, we would meet again and I could explain it to you. That we could rebuild.”

Rebuild.

As if it could ever be that simple.

You want to. You want to believe in the idea of having him back in your life but—

But you don’t trust him.

And that’s the problem. You can’t trust him anymore.

That gaping hole inside your chest aches and your expression crumbles as you turn away from him. Pressing the heel of your palm against your eyes, you digest his words silently.

It’s quiet for so long that it doesn’t surprise you when John’s unsure voice finally reaches you again. “Say something, (Name).”

It’s a plea.

A gentle plea that rips and shreds whatever little composure you still have left. Whatever little self-control and discipline you have managed to gather over the years.

“What do you want me to say, John? That you hurt me? That it hurt when you left? Because I assure you did a lot fucking more than just hurt.”

You spin around to face him, your hand dropping away from your face and he inhales at the venom in your voice, at the way your voice weakens and cracks.

“You destroyed my heart,” you choke out harshly, and now that the words are coming out, that he’s in front of you, you can’t stop. It comes out as five years of fear, and anger, and hurt that’s been repressed for too long. “You tore my trust, my hopes and dreams, to shreds. You made me lose my way completely. Because of you, I had to fake a smile and a laugh for years. Because of you, I can’t let anyone else in. Because I’m fucking terrified that they will leave me too. That I will never be good enough for them to just stay. Because you never stayed.”

He tries to touch your shoulder but you jerk back roughly. You’re practically gasping for breath and his figure blurs.

Tears.

You can’t recall the last time—

“You taught me the lesson of never letting anyone close again, so I’m never hurt the way you hurt me,” you gasp loudly, and the words stutter inside your chest briefly. “I lived so long just—just hoping to forget you and everything that’s ever happened between us. Because of you, I’m empty, and I blame others for the fact that I can’t trust them but it’s me. I’m the problem. You took it from me. That hope. My—my ability to love and trust and dream. Why did you take it, John?”

The tears finally spill, hot and wet, as they trail down your cheeks and your hands press against your face, trying desperately to wipe them away, hide them from him.

“Why? Why did you have to leave me when I n-needed you so much?” you sob, your body shaking and everything crumbles and caves inside your chest. It’s like a glass that’s been filling for years finally overflowing. No matter how hard you try to turn off the tap, ebb the flow, it won’t stop. “Why didn’t you just stay? I loved you so much.”

His arms wrap around you. You try to shove him away, but he’s stronger or perhaps you truly are that weak.

Another sob rattles free from your chest, violent and raw, tearing from deep inside your throat. Your arms feel clumsy as you try to push against him but his grip only constricts, holding you closer.

“I’m sorry, (Name),” he breathes against your neck, his voice raspy with anguish. “You don’t have to forgive me, but I need you to know that I never—I never meant to do this to you. I’m so sorry.”

You stop fighting.

You let him hold you.

You’re so very, very tired now.

For a thousand things said, there is a thousand more unspoken.

Yesterday had been a big step.

A step in clearing the air between you and you know that it’s done you both good, even if the timing of it had not been ideal.

Emotions had to be pushed aside quickly to make room for preparations.

Still, John held onto you for a long time, and a part of you can’t help but wonder if it was as much about comforting you as it was about comforting himself.

The question burns at the tip of your tongue but now is hardly the best time to ask it.

The catacombs are as dark and cold as you expected them to be. The air is dense and dusty, almost heavy with lack of fresh oxygen this deep underground. Together you cut through the tunnels, both of you clad in dark suits that will hopefully keep bullets at bay.

Because you doubt there is any other way this can go.

The thought of what you’re walking into right now only exhaust you more, drains you more. The invisible edge beneath your feet crumbles just a little bit more.

Below, gaping darkness awaits.

You’ve been lost in that darkness once before.

You don’t want to go back.

Trying to push your dangerous thoughts away, you focus on counting your steps, the shadows dancing a menacing tango across the shallows of these tunnels.    

“What is it?”

Your head twists towards John and even though his features are mostly hidden by darkness, you can hear his concern.

You’re distracted, restless, and it shows.

Every edge of your usually careful calm is frazzled.

“It’s nothing,” you lie smoothly because it’s so very easy to do so now. “It’s just…when you left. I stayed with Camorra for almost a year. Worked for them in exchange for their protection. Gianna and Santino have told me stories about the Catacombs. They said the tunnels were haunted by all their dead ancestors. It’s a bit surreal actually being down here.”

He digests your words, and you feel his intention to delve further into the topic but you don’t have the will to talk about the D’Antonio siblings right now. Not when—

The edge cracks just a little bit further.

“Come on,” you say before he can speak. “We should hurry.”

It only takes you another few minutes of silent walking to reach the party.

It’s loud and bright and extravagant.

Befitting Camorra though it clearly lacks the traditional edge these affairs usually have.

Camorra is all about soirees and parties very few are invited to.

Maybe Gianna is truly trying to bridge the gap between the two worlds.

Maybe inviting you was truly about waving a flag and calling for a truce.  Perhaps, now that Giovanni is dead, her desire to see Santino is less about insulting him, belittling him for not getting the seat, and about doing their own rebuilding instead.

It’s a nice thought.

But you know Gianna.

Even if she does want those things, there must be some benefit to her. Of which there are many when it comes to the possibility of a renewed friendship between you three. Except once she had that friendship. Once, you thought that she and Santino can be brother and sister again. That with time you can help them trust each other again.

You stand beside John as you track the woman and her loyal guard across the immaculate lawn while music blares loudly.

Cassian.

You’ve been trying very hard not to think about what this will mean to him.

It makes you feel like a traitor just thinking about his reaction.

John looks towards you but you don’t meet his stare. Instead, you simply dip your head in agreement.

This is it.

No more running.

Everything has a price.

You are here because John is here. John is here because Santino called in his Marker. Santino created the Marker as a punishment towards the man who wronged you.

On and on it tangles—this endless web of pain and choices and consequences between you.

Following them is easy.    

You are quiet as the shadows that hide you, watching Gianna fix her makeup in the bathroom mirror.

The space is vast and tastefully decorated with dark wood and golden accents everywhere you look. Muted lights illuminate the space and a large running pool of water sits in the middle of the room that you know runs hot water regardless of the time of day.

Right now, you’re grateful for the delicate trickle of the bathwater that drowns out your unsteady breaths.

Gianna shifts, straightening, every bit the deadly, brilliant woman you remember her as and halts.

For behind her stands the Reaper, his face full of regret and sadness.  

“John,” she voices, her surprise clear and her eyes snag on the dark corner where you still linger, unable to move. “V.”

You hate the slow understanding already filling her elegant features at your presence.

“Hello, Gianna.”

You want to move but can’t, it doesn’t matter though. Gianna, as always, makes the first move.

“There was a time not so long ago in which I considered us friends,” she states frankly, turning around and her glittering gown sparkles like stars, her fur overcoat only adding to her stunning but deadly appearance.

You’ve always admired her. Envied her in many ways, though she always laughed softly at such admissions.

John moves closer, his steps heavy with dread but the grip on his gun doesn’t loosen.  

“I still do.”

Gianna’s lips twist, the look in her brilliant blue eyes glacial. “Yet here you both are,” she says, unimpressed. “Death’s very emissary and the Serpent in the garden.”

Her eyes shift to you, still standing in the shadows of the lavish bathroom suite and your throat closes up at her scrutiny.

She stares at you as if challenging you to step back, to hide from her.

But you won’t. You are here because you respect her more than that, regardless of what may have transpired between you years ago.

You step into the light and Gianna’s cold expression eases a touch. Her chin tilts and she acknowledges you in her own proud way. Not that you would expect anything else from her.    

“I know why you are here, V,” she says knowingly even though the scathing twist of her mouth doesn’t drop. “But the question is what brought you back, John?”

“A Marker.”

That gives her a pause. “Held by?”

“Your brother.”

Gianna’s coolly composed expression fractures for a moment. In it, you see her dawning understanding, all the remaining pieces dropping silently into place inside her clever mind. Her eyes drag from John to you again, and you already know what she will ask next. “Did you know?”

Your quiet breath is more of a wheeze. “No. I did not,” you mutter tightly. “Not till recently.”

She stares at you for a beat, no doubt weighing the honesty of your words before her attention swings back towards the man in front of her.

“Tell me, John,” she begins, her gaze thoughtful, her thoughts racing. “This Marker, is it how you got out?”

John shakes his head, and you speak before he can. “It was for me. For Tokyo.”

Gianna blinks once, her lips parting in understanding.

“Tokyo. All this, and yet you still left,” she goads, a touch smug. “For an outsider, if I’m not mistaken. Tell me, what was her name? The woman who is responsible for all this pain.”

John seems almost reluctant to part with it. “Helen.”

“Helen,” Gianna repeats mockingly, pitching her voice into an almost dreamlike tilt as she moves closer towards the Boogeyman. “This Helen…was she worth the price you now seek to pay? Was she worth all the pain you have caused?”

You’re not sure you’re breathing as you watch John hesitate before nodding his head once.

Gianna’s eyes slide towards you knowingly and you meet her stare, holding it for a few moments.  

“Now, let me tell you what happens when I die,” she speaks calmly, seemingly completely unaffected by what she now knows is the end. Her end. “Santino will claim my seat at the table. He will take New York, and you two will be the ones who have gifted it to him. Though I suppose it is what you always wanted, isn’t it, piccola vipera?”

Your heart clenches at the old nickname she always used to call you.

You take a step towards them, and then another, every step as shaky as the last.

“I never wanted this to happen, Gianna,” you whisper weakly, trying to keep your expression calm. “I’m sorry.”

She almost glides towards you and you’re not surprised when she leans close, her fingers ghosting over your cheek. Just like her brother, she touches you freely because they seem to both believe in the intimacy of the most simple kind. Sometimes full of desire, sometimes of affection, sometimes of simple compassion and friendship.  

“I gave you that invitation because I had hoped we can be friends again,” she says and you hear the accusation there, no matter how finely laced it is into her delicate words. “I had hoped but I was foolish. I should have done things differently, I see that now. Fought for your loyalty before my little brother managed to steal it. Tried to take you away from him before you started to care for him,” she whispers, her words growing colder as her fingers brush over your bandaged ear, and she adds a tart, “Hmm. No matter.”

Her expression stutters, any warmth in her eyes fading as she pulls back abruptly, pushing past John as she approaches the sinks. She stares at herself in the mirror before ripping her fur coat off her body and dropping it on the floor. Her hands rest over her waist, and you’re not sure if she’s simply angry, debating what to do, or if she is trying to hold herself together.

She turns towards the running bath, taking a few steps towards it before she reaches behind herself to unzip her sparkling dress.

John tracks her every move with predator’s intensity.

You stand a step behind him and watch silently as the scene before you unfolds.

The dress slips down, pooling at her feet, leaving the woman before you completely nude. Her hand slides inside her luscious dark hair, and she tugs loose the brooch holding her curls in place. She traces over the intricate design of the brooch as she steps into the bath, the water inside sloshing around her feet.

“What would you Helen think about this, John?” she wonders bitingly, coldly, looking up at the man. “What would your Helen think about you? Hm?”

She places the honed edge of the brooch against her wrist and drags it down.

“Gianna—” you gasp out, stumbling towards her.

Her eyes snap to you and you halt, watching in horror as she does the same to her other wrist.

Red rains down, falling into the water below like a river of rubies.

“Why?” John asks, confused, as he comes to stand beside you.

She turns towards you, folding her arms as her body becomes a canvas of scarlet, and gives John a look that is every bit her brother and father. That D’Antonio pride mocks him openly, wickedly, and her lack of fear only makes this harder.

“Because I lived my life my way, and I will die my way.”

She trudges through the water, her knees shaking and you hurry towards her, your arms locking around her as she stumbles, sliding down and deeper into the warm depths.

“I’m sorry.”

Your voice is a wrecked whisper and her fingers sink into your dark suit sleeves.  

“Do you still hate me, piccola vipera?” she wonders faintly, her icy eyes finding your own as you hold her up, slanting over the bath.

John’s footsteps drawing nearer are distant as you focus on the woman in your arms.  

“No,” you breathe with a pained smile. “I never did. I was disappointed. Hurt. Our friendship was real to me.”

A brief smile appears on Gianna’s face, her finger smoothing over the velvet material absentmindedly.  

“I will not apologise for what I did,” she tells you bluntly and you almost laugh though you want to sob more. Just as expected. “I thought it was best for me and my goals. I know you understand,” she remarks before tilting her chin in your direction so she can see you clearly. “I always knew that you would side with my brother.”

But you only shake your head in reply; a sad, feeble motion. “That isn’t it. I was against this,” you tell her because she needs to know, needs to understand why things ended up as they did. Because she deserves better than to die not knowing revenge has been served. “But Santino didn’t call the Marker in just for the seat. Chicago, Gianna. Chicago all those years ago. That was us. Someone knows. The Black Dragon has marked us for death and sent the Lovers after us.”

An indistinct exhales slips free and her eyes spark with understanding, with ruthless sort of satisfaction.  

“I always suspected,” she murmurs with a sliver of a smirk gracing her features. “It was about revenge.”

John lowers himself on Gianna’s other side but you can feel his eyes drilling into you.

“Swear to me,” the woman demands abruptly, her nails sinking into your arm.

“What?”

She’s always been strong. Perhaps not physically but in sheer will. So it doesn’t surprise you when she finds enough strength in her body to tug you to her, her lips pressing against your ear.

“Swear to me that you will not let my family name die. Swear to me that my line will continue after I’m gone.”

Her harsh, hushed words wrap around something inside your heart, yanking with a strength that makes you flinch. You pull back, staring at her wild expression.

She looks so pale, but her eyes rage.

“I will—”

Gianna’s lips twist into a snarl—a break in composure you have never seen from her.

“No. I am the blood of old Camorra. You will swear it,” she hisses with a laboured breath, her fingers trembling around your arms. “On your life, on your honour, on your name. I will not have any less than that.”

Your eyes close, squeezing tightly, before you open them again, giving her a serious look.

“I swear it,” you exhale, forcing the tremble in your voice to steady. “The word of old Camorra. From me to you. I swear it.”

You are not Camorra. You are in no real position to give to her this oath, and coming from you it means close to nothing but—

But Gianna knows that you would never swear something like this unless you meant it with your entire being. Because she knows that you respect their values. For her, for her family, there is no higher vow.

Her grip on you loosens, her stormy features easing, as if that promise has given her reassurance she needed to find peace.

For a few breaths, it’s quiet. The pool of crimson keeps growing.

John, who’s been silent the entire exchange, reaches out, gently folding his fingers around Gianna’s other hand. He squeezes her fingers between his own and a brief, cool smile flashes across the woman’s face.

“Good. It seems like Papi was right,” she notes, her words growing milder, tenuous. “He was right.”

You’re not sure you can speak, but John does.  

“Right about what?”

Gianna’s lashes flutter a few times before she opens her eyes, slanting her head weakly in your direction.

“After Santino failed to bargain with my father…he went to Tarasov anyway. To demand your freedom like I told you,” she divulges with a cutting little smile. In power till the very end. “And I remember my father looked at me when he found out and laughed. He laughed, and he said, ‘He is more like me than I realised. He would let this whole world burn to ash, as long as she’s the one standing beside him in the flames.’ That tipped the balance and won me the seat. Because we do not know how to love by halves and father knew that. Our love burns brighter than the sun, and I warned you what will happen if you earn his.”

Did Santino really disobey Giovanni and went to Tarasov despite his father’s refusal? Did it cost him the seat—

A shudder rolls through Gianna’s body and she slumps slightly, making you tighten your grip on her. Your fingers find her hand, gripping them desperately between your own. Her hand is already growing stiff and cool and your stomach coils.

You hold her close, ignoring the way your sleeves sink into the bloody water as a result. She grows weaker with every exhale and your eyes burn when you bury your nose against her hair. Her favourite Chanel perfume tickles your nose and you choke on your breath.

“I’m sorry, Gianna, I’m sorry.”

Her fingers squeeze around yours, just barely, her thumb tracing a small circle against your skin. “Will you weep for me, hm?” she murmurs slyly, her voice barely audible. “Lovely, silly girl. Remember your…vow.”

And then she’s gone.

You cling onto her, your nose buried in her silky hair as you breathe heavily through gritted teeth.

“(Name).”

John’s voice is kind, patient, but you hear the reminder there. You’re here to do a job. You can’t linger for longer than necessary.

But it’s hard to let go.

Even if she’s gone now.

John’s fingers settle on your shoulder, squeezing slightly.

Your feet keep slipping from that crumbling edge. The darkness below hums your name. A mix of voices that blend together.

You will always make the same mistakes. You will always lose.

Stiff and reluctant, you let go, allowing John to tug you back.

Tears sting your eyes but you don’t let them fall this time.

Gianna would be disappointed in you if you cried.

Inhaling, you stand to your feet, turning away from the still body as you wait for John to finish this.

A trickle of water—

Bang.

Your eyes snap shut, your expression twisting.

It’s serene, the silence that follows.    

“We should go,” you inform him without turning around. “Someone is bound to come looking soon.”

You start walking away but John’s fingers latch onto your sopping wet arm, halting you. You jerk away from his touch, biting out a warning, “Don’t.”

You don’t want to talk right now.

You don’t want anything right now.

John doesn’t try to touch you again, and you know that this is hard for him, too.

The deafening rhythm of music washes over you both the moment you exit the bathroom and you lead the way, your shoulders stiff and expression wavering.

“Let me go first,” you say, glancing at him fleetingly over your shoulder before hiding your expression again. “Make sure the path is clear, I’ll meet you by the entrance to the catacombs. Don’t linger.”

Before John can say anything to contradict your statement, you stride into the hefty crowd of intoxicated guests. Most are tipsy. Others have that familiar glazed look in their eyes that tells you alcohol wasn’t their choice of poison this evening.

The music pounds with the beats of your heart and your shoulder knocks against someone. You ignore the contact, pushing past the moving bodies blindly.

It’s so hard to breathe. You’re out in the open air but you feel sick.

Changing your direction, you head east—

And twist your body immediately, hiding your face in the swarm of bodies.

Shit.

Of course.

You shouldn’t be surprised to see them here. After the ceremony, they would have officially served Gianna.

The other half of Camorra’s Elite Guard stands ahead of you at the edge of the crowd.

Julian and Dario linger on the outskirts, chatting between themselves though their eyes lift on occasion, scanning for any threats.

Julian is shorter from the two, his frame more athletic. His dark hair is neatly styled back for the occasion, and his equally dark moustache twitches whenever he speaks. His hands are folded in front of him and even from this distance, you can see the gleaming Camorra rings and dark tattoos on his hands.

Dario, by comparison, is a mountain of strength and muscle. The length of his long hair is pulled back into a messy bun, a few strands brushing against his cheeks whenever his head turns from side to side every few minutes. His broad frame towers over most guests here as he stands with his hands in his pockets, and you slant your body downwards, using the numbers and the darkness for cover.

Unlike the rest of the security detail, they don’t stick out.

In fact, they could be guests simply having a good time but you know better.

These men are as dangerous as they are unremarkable at first glance.

Or they would be if they weren’t some of the deadliest you have ever met.

Step, at least, is nowhere to be seen. A small blessing. The youngest member of the guard seems to have a bizarre sixth sense when it comes to locating you just about anywhere.

They can’t see you.

This is not a confrontation you can afford right now.  

Shoving the people out of the way, you trek back when multiple gunshots pierce the air deafeningly.    

Shit.

People scream, scattering, and you push harder against the mob as you try to force your way towards the epicentre.

By the time the crowd spits you back out, you notice the back of Cassian’s powerful body disappear in the direction of the bathroom and your stomach sinks.

Oh no.

Guards dash east, chasing after someone, happy to ignore you in the chaos. For a second, you debate your choices before you peel after the guards.

Tracking John’s progress is easy.

You follow the trail of bodies he leaves behind.

It’s when you reach the catacombs that you suspect something is very wrong.

John is not here to greet you. Gripping your pistol in one hand and a sharpened blade in another, you cut across the darkened tunnels.

Gunfire explodes in the darkness ahead and you freeze, your eyes narrowing.

Moving quicker, it doesn’t take you long to stumble upon the first body. You use your foot to nudge the body over, levelling your pistol on it just in case.

You recognise that gear.

Camorra’s men.

Specifically those under Ares’ command.  

“Fuck.”

This time, you run. Cutting through the tighter, side tunnels, you try to get ahead to cut off any potential attackers.

You’re grateful that yesterday instead of going to your room to be miserable and pathetic, you pulled yourself together enough to study the layout plans.

Pushing through a small opening, you round the corner—

A barrel of a gun appears in your face, and you throw your arm in front of you too, your own pistol ready. It takes a split second for the face in front of you to register.

You tackle him to the side, a bullet sailing past his head as you both fall to the dirty ground with a painful thud.

John is calm as always though, steady, and reloads his weapon smoothly. That cold calculation behind this calm used to chill you once upon a time. But not anymore.

His head rises slightly over the crumbling pillar and your fingers sink into his shoulder, dragging him back down with a furious scowl.  

“Get down!” you snap, searching your pockets for the familiar coolness of your vials. “Go, now. I’ll handle this. Get to the Continental. Go, John!”

His eyes snap to you and the glimmer of anger you see there tells you that he understands what you’re doing.

That you know it’s Ares’ and her men attacking.

I’m your insurance policy.

You are.

But you will not let John slaughter the very men you know, either. Who might have helped you in the past, who you might have joked and talked with. Who you might know by name and face and life struggles.

You will certainly never let him lay a hand on Ares.

You’re his insurance but you are also a buffer. Between both sides.

John hesitates for a long moment and you know he considers refusing you in that instance, but perhaps whatever he sees on your face motivates him to nod his head and pass a spare pistol to you. You only shake your head, giving it back to him.

Few shots hit the pillar hiding you, and dense dust rains down onto your head and you frown in annoyance.

You roll the canister between your hands and gesture for him to go.

He hesitates again but ultimately listens, the entire exchange lasting no more than 30 seconds.

You wait till John rounds the corner before throwing two canisters over the side of the pillar, a stray bullet skimming over your arm but your suit holds, nothing but a faint tickle of pain following.

The vapour explodes with a hiss, the paralyser spreading through the cramped tunnels quickly.

Confusion follows, a few mentions of your name sounding before the paralyser robs them of their speech. You hear some fall back, an order clearly issued and you raise your gun, standing to your feet as you appear from behind the pillar.

You count at least six on the ground but they will be fine soon enough.

And there, on the other side of the tunnel, you just make out the familiar lithe frame of Ares. You can’t see her face with the darkness and the vapour but you know she is having the same issue. She raises her hand sharply—

An order to cease fire and retreat. But even though you cannot see her face, you can feel her hard stare digging into you.

She didn’t know you would be here. You didn’t tell anyone.

Not even Santino. Who no doubt still believes that you are safe behind the New York Continental walls, simply stewing in your anger.

The vapour crawls across the tunnel and Ares disappears from your line of sight, the rest of the men that are still unaffected following after her.

She knows how your paralysers work, she will come and collect the remaining immobile bodies later.

At least they’re alive.

Which they won’t be if you had allowed John to deal with them.

John.

Pivoting on your feet, you dash in the direction he disappeared in, racing after him.

He should be well on his way to the Continental now, if not there already.

You take longer than anticipated to get back. Your body is still recovering from the fight with Lucien despite your instance that you were fine. That deadly speed you’re so used to wielding as one of your most detrimental weapons has been dimmed.

You wonder how much of it is physical and how much of it is mental.

Racing up the stairs, you push past the doorman who opens the door for you and rush inside, looking around, trying to locate John.

As if that thought summons the Boogeyman, a crash sounds from the left, glass breaking as two figures crash into the foyer. They slide across the gleaming marble, struggling to get their hands around each other and you dash towards the two familiar men.

Cassian has an upper hand as he wrangles for control, trying to get a grip on the weapon between him and John.

John struggles for breath, his expression tight, focused, and you drag your gun up, pressing it against the side of Cassian’s head.

The man stills and relief shines in John’s eyes when he spots you from the corner of his eye, even if he clearly knows better than to look away from Cassian.  

“Don’t even think about it,” you warn harshly.

Cassian angles his head slowly, taking a peek at you, his expression furious. “Would you shoot me, little sister?”

You press the barrel deeper into his dark skin.

“Don’t make me.”

The tension between you is suffocating as the man glares at you.

“Gentlemen!” Julius’ loud voice cuts through the lobby and you ignore the security that surrounds the three of you. “Lady. Need I remind you that there will be no business conducted on the Continental grounds?”

The older man sounds more than a little displeased.

Your jaw clenches but you lower your arm, stepping back.

Cassian does the same, releasing his grip on John as he rises, still staring at you.

John is the last to stand but moves to your side at once, placing himself between you and Cassian. Normally, the gesture might have come off as protective but you don’t linger on it.

“No, signore,” Cassian says, his expression rigid, and the deep rumble of his voice bringing back months worth of memories.

Julius’ turns his attention towards you and John.

“No, sir.”

Your eyes lower and you simply shake your head.

Julius sighs, whether in relief or in chagrin, it’s difficult to say. “Bene. Now, may I suggest a visit to the bar, so you can calm yourselves?”  

His tone leaves no room for arguments.

Gin. Bourbon. Water.

They arrive in that order.

You sit slumped beside John as your drinks come. He sat down in the middle seat without a word, blocking Cassian from your sight. A part of you is grateful.

The look the other man gave you earlier—

The ugly realisation, the rage, the hurt—

“I had a Marker.”

Cassian doesn’t hesitate. “Whose?”

John lowers his glass, staring at the bar counter.

“Her brother’s.”

It’s so hard to breathe.

You feel like slumping down and not getting up again.

The air lightens somewhat with John’s confession though.  

“I see. You had no choice,” Cassian concludes, his voice husky and your shoulders coil when you feel him lean down to look at you over John’s body. “Doesn’t explain why you are here, helping him.”

John’s expression grows colder at the accusatory tone but he doesn’t get involved. He knows better than that.

Exhaling lightly, you give him the truth. “The Marker was made because of me,” your words sound mangled, scratchy, but Cassian looks unmoved by your struggle. You understand. You do. The agony of his loss is still too fresh. “For Tokyo. I didn’t know about it, and I was against this. I didn’t want this, Cassian.”

The other man scoffs; a cold, pitiless sound, his anger sparking anew.

“Didn’t you?” he demands, his tone stony. “Even after what happened with Gianna?”

You turn to face him, your grip on the glass between your hands weakening.

“She was my friend.”

A muscle in Cassian’s jaw flutters and he swallows, his stare finally leaving you.

“Why did he do it? Her seat?”

John is the one who responds. “Yeah.”

Cassian lifts the drink in his hand closer to his face, taking a small sip.

“He’ll get it now.”  

“Yeah.”

You don’t say anything.

Santino finally has the one thing he’s always desired above all else.

He is Camorra now. Once his coronation happens, he will take the second seat at the High Table, and very few will have the power to challenge him then. He’s carved himself into the perfect position of ultimate power.

Swear to me that you will not let my family name die. Swear to me that my line will continue after I’m gone.

A shiver crawls down your neck at the unbidden memory.

You have sworn to Gianna.

On your life.

Santino is all that’s left of the D’Antonio name now.

“So you’re free,” Cassian voices after a lull of uneasy silence, his words measured. “Both of you.”

John hesitates, staring at his drink before he turns towards the man beside him.

“Am I?”

Cassian’s reply is as flat as his expression. “No. Not at all,” he remarks easily. “You killed my ward. Someone I was close to and you stood by and watched.”

The accusation hurts when his dark eyes jump to you and your lips press together.  

“You know I couldn’t interfere—”

The man lowers his glass to the wooden surface, the gesture too harsh to be casual. “But you could have stopped him,” he says point-blank, and you know he means Santino this time. Cassian has always believed that you hold sway over the heir. That you give him “good sense” as he once told you. “Did you even try?”

Does he really think so little of you?

Does he really believe that you could be so cruel?

“Yes,” you force out, your throat burning. “Yes, I did.”

John turns to face Cassian fully, hiding you from the man’s sight and it gives you precious few seconds to compose yourself.

Cassian makes a small noise at the back of his throat at that.

“An eye for an eye, John. You know how it goes.”

But no matter how hard you try to focus on the rest of their exchange, it feels like your head is being forced underwater again, the sounds around you blurring into a muffled, dull mess.

Don’t be sad, my vicious viper. I’ll be seeing you again very soon.

You gasp under your breath, your water almost spilling over your fingers at the sound of Tarasov’s voice in your ear.

It’s just your mind, you remind yourself firmly, it’s not real.

Tarasov is dead.

Kishi is dead.

They’re all dead.

And you are not.

Even if most days—lately—you feel like a walking, breathing graveyard full of ghosts.  

“—consider it a professional courtesy.”

Cassian is standing, and he’s striding away—

You almost fall out of your chair in the haste to run after him. But a figure catches your eye first, and you halt in your step, staring.

Ares regards you with an impassive expression, her hands rising to sign, but you only glare at her.

There is nothing to say.

You know how Santino does business.

No loose ends.

Ignoring her, you hurry after the man who just disappeared through the doorway instead.  

“Cassian, wait!”

He doesn’t so much as slow down.  

“I have nothing to say to you.”

His emotionless declaration is like a slap to the face but you march after him anyway, quickening your pace as desperation pulls on your tongue.  

“Please.”

This time, he stops.

He whirls to face you, open fury twisting in his expression and you hate the fact that you are partially responsible for the pain he now carries.  

“You knew,” he says, his words bitter as he looms over you. “You knew what she was to me. What she meant. All this because Santino wants power.”

You’re shaking your head before he even finishes speaking.  

“We’re being hunted,” you tell him hurriedly, your words rolling off your tongue because he needs to know. “Chicago. Almost four years ago. That was us. We were responsible and someone out there knows. He did it to keep us alive. I’m sorry.”

Realisation. Just like with Gianna. He, too, is connecting the dots inside his head. Unlike Gianna though, there is no understanding, no softening of his features.

“Revenge, then,” he states flatly, his voice a rumble. “Others suspected but never had proof. But you.”

He takes a step closer and stares down at you.

For the first time since reuniting with him, you see your old friend back. Your stern sparring partner. Your teacher.  

“You, I considered as good as my own kin. A warrior spirit like my own,” he reveals, his words worse than angry, worse than hurtful. Cassian gazes down at you and looks disappointed. “I taught you, cared for you, protected you. And this is how you repay me, little sister? By taking someone I love away?”

The edge you are balancing on on crumbles further, your feet slipping and your expression falls apart.

“I never meant for this to happen, Cas. I—”

He doesn’t let you finish.

“I believe you,” he says mildly, his expression deceptively calm. “And it’s because of that belief and what you once meant to me that I will let you leave this city alive.”

You only peer at him, stung.

He reaches out, touching the side of your face and bends closer, pressing your foreheads together.

An old, familiar gesture of respect, of kinship, of care between two people.

“But if we ever meet again,” he whispers softly, his words razor sharp. “I will kill you myself. Goodbye, little sister.”

He leaves you standing alone in the hallway.

Something inside your chest—the warmth, the happiness, the hope, you have painstakingly built up over the years—cracks, cracks, cracks.

The journey back to your room is a blur.

Your fingers trail against the walls as you stumble along, steadying yourself, anchoring yourself.

The door closes with a click, and you gasp for breath, the back of your head hitting the door as you slide down onto the floor.

Your hands press over your face and you breathe.

In and out. Uno, due, tre.

You’re dead to the world.

I’m not. I’m not. I’m free.

“I’m free,” you whisper, your words muffled by your hands. Fragile. “I’m free.”

Because the Administration has confirmed it.

The High Table has marked you down as an independent member of the Organization now. Viggo Tarasov is dead and so is his heir. By the table’s own rules, you are now free of your debt.

And yet, the leash around your throat has never felt tighter or more suffocating.

Your phone rings inside your pocket and you drag your palms down your face, blinking. Everything feels fuzzy and unfocused and—

Santi.

Your grip on the phone constricts, your hand quaking as you hold it close.

Gathering yourself, you croak out a strained, “Hello, Santino.”

For a beat, it’s still, but then you hear him exhale. “Are you hurt, bella?”

You can tell that this isn’t how he expected this conversation to start. Your voice, undoubtedly, gave you away.

“I’m fine,” you reply, though you doubt you sound convincing. “Why are you calling?”

It’s not a kind question. But—

You want to rewind to a few weeks earlier. To when things were simpler between you. When despite how he often got onto your nerves, you always found yourself looking forward to your next encounter. Even if you never admitted it to yourself back then.

“You went with him.”

It’s a statement; guarded and low.

Ares must have informed him.

Of course, she did.

“Why would you go?” he adds after you don’t respond.

Pulling your knees to your chest, you press your forehead against your legs.

Your sleeves are still soggy.

You want to be angry.

You want to shout and rage at him.

But a part of you just wishes he were here instead. That he hadn’t created this situation and was here to help you now that you need him.

After all these years only Winston can read you as well as he can.

“Because you made this my business,” you remind him, and know you sound unhappy. “Because that Marker never should have existed, Santino. You have no one but yourself to blame for this. Congratulations by the way.”

It’s silent for a while after that. You listen to his muted breaths and count with them. You’ve done this before, a thousand times, listening to each other breathe. Safe in the knowledge that neither has to say anything for things to be comfortable.

“Does it make me so awful, hm?” he ponders gently, thoughtfully. “Wanting to live. Wanting you to live. Power is a dangerous thing. You have to be willing to lose everything in order to take it.”

That last part—

This time, you do feel anger, your momentary tranquillity fleeing.

“Well done,” you hiss lowly, pressing the phone harder against your ear till you can feel the skin begin to turn hot. “I’m sure Giovanni would be very proud.”

“Do you think I wanted this?” he shoots back hotly in reply.

A sob burns at the back of your throat but you don’t let him hear it.

You’re not sure if you’re more furious or just devastated.

“I held her as she died,” is your impossibly sad murmur. “I held her, Santino.”

You know the naked pain in your voice hits him hard. The way the line goes utterly silent is telling enough.

“I always knew you would be against this, cara mia. I knew.”

His retreat. The way he was bracing himself for the inevitable in the days after your failed ambush.

“She deserved better,” you breathe, choked, and bury your face further into your lap. “Better than to have a bullet put in her head by her former friend.”

“I couldn’t lose you—”

“I’m not yours to lose, Santino,” you bite out, enraged. “My life…it’s not worth this. You’re destroying everything and you don’t even realise it.”

Neither of you says anything for a long, long time.

Something about this silence makes you sit up, makes you almost uneasy with nerves.

Still, Santino says nothing.

And nothing.

And—

“I was a fool. A fool to think that you could ever love me,” he admits and chuckles, his words warped, distant. “You’re right, (Name). You’re not mine. It was foolish of me to expect you to care. To ever place that expectation on you in the first place. I believed that if I just waited long enough…”

Your heartbeat kicks up a notch as you listen, biting your lower lip repeatedly.

“Hm. I’m not him. I will never be him,” he muses but it no longer sounds bitter or sullen. He sounds hollow. Like your conversation in Chicago, like when he came to you at the Continental after finding out he’s been made a Spare. Gianna’s words ring at the back of your mind— “Oh, (Name). I only ever wanted you to choose me as I chose you, bella. You are the only one I…”

Another pause.

“With this, I can finally give you the freedom you always dreamt of. It was worth any price for me,” he confesses before adding a knowing, desolate, “Even your hatred.”

He’s always expected the worst from this situation. He’s had time to prepare himself for this outcome.  

“You can have it all now. You are free,” he intones lightly, forcefully so. “So hate me, abhor me, curse me but know that I did it because I wanted you to live happily.”

He breathes out; something like a chuckle, pained as it is haunted. “Even if that life no longer involves me. Addio, mia amata.”

You’re not sure how long you listen to the dead signal echoing in your ear.

“—and now what’s hers is mine. Pray, I don’t ask for more.”

He’s in a foul mood and biting, swift Italian falls from his lips moments later as he watches Mr Akoni’s assistant walk away with a pinched expression.

Order.

Power.

Camorra.

The power is in his hands now.

And yet he feels—

“You have been busy,” a familiar man voices by the way of greeting as he approaches the spot where Santino sits. Two guards are behind him and Santino tilts his head in consideration.

Winston.

He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised to see him. The manager is comfortable in his power, in the control he has over New York, and in the past, Santino has been happy to let the older man indulge.

For you.

Because you care for the sharp-witted old fool. Because you respect him and if it wasn’t for the fact that Santino knows the man is at least fond of you, too, he would be far less inclined to have this conversation right now.

For you, he tries.

Your soft, sorrowful voice scrapes inside his chest. I held her as she died. I held her, Santino.

He loved Gianna. She was his sister. But the devastation he might have felt at the news of her death…it doesn’t come.

A lifetime of scorn, betrayal, and mistrust lies between them.

Still, he wishes—

He doesn’t regret it. But he does wish there had been another way.

It’s true that he’s always intended to take the seat for himself. But he had no intention of it coming to such an extreme.  

Everything has a price though, and he has paid his.

Even if the steepest price is yet to be paid.

“It’s a start,” he notes calmly, trying for a smile as Winston comes to a stop in front of him. The club is a buzz of activity, cleaners and attendants mixing with his own guard. “My sister has grown derelict in her duties.”

He stands to his feet then, ignoring the borderline vexed look Winston tries to hide.

Truth be told, Santino has never cared much for what the man thinks of him. Now that he has set his sights on all of New York, he can’t help but think that their fundamental differences will become more apparent than ever.

“There was some...dust to blow away,” he adds lightly with a dismissive hum, stepping past the man with a wave of his hand.

He’s trying but right now he’s not in the mood to try that hard.

He will make it right. With time, he will make it right.

You desperate fool, she doesn’t love you. She will never love you, a voice that sounds too much like his father hisses at him, and he strangles it the moment it comes.

He knows that now.

He...knows.

You still love him. Helped him. Forgiven him.

It will always be John Wick.

Always.

And yet.

And yet, it’s kinder to pretend that you love him as well. That you could.

Maybe he’s truly never stood a chance. Maybe he fooled himself into thinking that what he’s felt for so long wasn’t so one-sided after all. That in these last few weeks something hasn’t fundamentally changed between you yet again. That finally—finally—what he feels is being returned. No matter how small in capacity.

He thought he meant it when he said that he would be fine with you hating him.

But he doesn’t want you to.

He hopes you won’t.

He’s so used to taking, demanding, claiming that the concept of letting go is completely foreign to him.

It’s a lot harder than he ever could have anticipated.  

So although he doesn’t particularly care as to why Winston is here, he starts leading the man into a more private spot to give them privacy to talk regardless.

He strolls down the stairs slowly, knowing that Winston will follow as his hands slip into his pockets. Whatever the issue is, he would prefer it to be dealt with quickly.

“You can’t change everything at once,” the older man states from behind him. “There is a such thing as rules.”

Santino almost laughs, then.

Rules.

There are a great many things Santino wants to tell the man he can do with his rules. What have rules ever done for him other than gag him and make him miserable? Rules have taken his mother, rules have taken his father’s love, rules have taken the loving sister he remembers in hazy childhood memories, rules have kept you leashed to Tarasov for years; broken-hearted and alone.

He fucking loathes rules. If he could he would set the whole rule book up in smoke and delight in the destruction of it all.

He hums, soft and mocking, and glances towards the man once before looking away. “Rules are meant to be broken, Winston,” he tells him dispassionately.

“Not to those who live by them.”

He knows Winston means you to an extent. Though a part of Santino can’t help but wonder how the old man would take the news of how spectacularly you shredded the rule book in Chicago yourself.  

But more importantly, Winston means him.

Darling Johnathan.

For a brief second, Santino sees red.  

The hard-boiling feeling in the pit of his stomach spikes and the taste in his mouth sours.

The assassin’s refusal to honour the Marker, his unfounded rage at the gallery when they both knew that Santino had every right to his actions.

John Wick might be a man of honour and conviction and rules, but he broke one of the most important ones with startling ease. Broke it even after Santino told him that it could help to keep you safe.

“We are not in your hotel anymore,” he states flatly, glancing towards the manager, and there is an obvious hint of ice buried deep in his words. “Do not speak to me like a child. I set the rules now. If I need room service or a martini, I’ll let you know.”

Winston leans back slightly at those words, a hint of surprise there but it disappears quickly, and the following understanding only makes Santino angrier.

He doesn’t have the capacity for civility right now.

He turns away from the older man, continuing his trek down the stairs.

“You have a problem with tradition.”

It’s not a question and Santino just barely holds back a scoff.

“Tradition,” he bites out softly. “Is the enemy of progress.”

But he will reforge Camorra into something better, stronger.

He will wield the power he now has to create something that will survive long after he’s gone.

“And here’s me thinking it’s the opposite,” Winston notes quietly but Santino ignores him.

He leads them into a private VIP lounge, sitting himself down on the sofa at once. The seat is plush and comfortable as he stretches his arms and folds his legs. He tries to relax his taut muscles, projecting an air of indifference because he abhors how knowing Winston looks whenever he glances his way.

The man in question strolls towards the giant Shiva statue, gazing at it thoughtfully.

One of Winston’s guards stalks forward, placing a familiar leather-bound book on the table before respectfully stepping back.

Santino stares.

“What’s this?” he questions coolly.

“He completed the task,” Winston says, his voice bland as he turns to face him again. “The Marker is over. Mark it.”

Ah, yes.

Sometimes it’s easy to forget that Winston considers John his friend as well, though Santino is aware that the relation has…cooled somewhat after John’s retirement. After what the infamous assassin did to you.

“If Mr Wick isn’t dead already,” he replies, his words clipped, but feels little joy at the thought. “He soon will be.”

Winston takes a step down the stairs, then another, and his expression is oddly familiar. That exasperation is one Santino has seen directed his way many times before even though this is far more refined. Professional.

“Will you mark it, sir?” Winston asks with a slight, mocking bow and a gesture of his arm.

Santino briefly considers taking the damn ledger and throwing it into the fountain just to see those pretty pages become thick and soggy with water. Decades of immaculately kept records disintegrating in a blink of an eye.

But he wants this done quickly, wants Winston out of his hair even more.

He has two psychopaths to hunt down, and a city to bend to his will.

He stretches out, grabbing the Marker and opens the device, staring at the bloody imprint there.

So easy.

It all could have been so easy if John had just honoured the damn oath.

Santino may not be one for rules but what weighty reason did John have to refuse? None.

One job and then Santino would have never approached him after that. Would have preferred to never see him again, in fact.

Now though.

Now it’s as simple as repaying for the hurt he caused and the disrespect.

You’re destroying everything and you don’t even realise it.

Santino licks his lower lip and presses his thumb against the tiny metal needle, feeling the sharp sting. He hesitates for a second, letting the ruby liquid gather before he presses his finger into the Marker and then the ledger a moment later.

Marker completed.

“Whatever did V make of your little stunt?” Winston wonders suddenly, moving closer. His question is airy but the older man seems already amused by the possibilities. “I don’t imagine she was much impressed by your actions.”

Santino stills, and that slight hesitation costs him because Winston notes it at once and makes a sound at the back of his throat. Disbelieving, almost derisive.

“My, my,” he begins mildly and Santino lifts his head to look at him. His own expression is strained and Winston’s amusement mounts. “You have no idea what’s coming, do you? Do you think she will let you do this? They may have had their issues in the past but don’t underestimate just how much she still cares for Johnathan.”

Santino’s mouth twists but it’s not a smile. “I am not,” he professes icily, and Winston’s eyes narrow at that, considering him. “But I have everyone in New York looking for him. I doubt we will see him again. So even if she hates me. It is done now. The Lovers will be dead soon enough as well and then…”

And then you are free.

Truly free.

Even if you never see him again. Even if you will spend the rest of your days hating him—

It will be worth it.

He has to convince himself he will be able to live with that. With letting you go. With you hating him.  

Perhaps it’s for the better.      

“Do you now?” Winston muses with a raised eyebrow. “You stabbed the devil in the back and forced him into the life he has just left. Incinerated the priest’s temple. Burned it to the ground. Now that he’s free of the Marker, what do you think he’ll do?”

Santino doesn’t reply but the fury he feels churns in his stomach. As if John Wick needs someone else to stand in defence of him. Poor, old Johnathan.

“He had a glimpse of the other side, and he embraced it,” Winston continues smoothly. “But you signor D’Antonio took it away from him.”

“He was already back.”

Winston releases a short breath. “Oh, he came back for love, not for you.”

Love?

What right does John Wick have to destroy in the name of his so-called love?

If that’s what love is, then he should set this world on fire for you.  

“He owed me. I had every right,” he hisses lowly, rising from his seat abruptly and feels the rage like liquid fire scorching through his veins. “Or have you forgotten what he has done? How he has dragged her into his messes over and over again? Have you forgotten what his actions have wrought, hm? ‘If she continues on like this, she will die.’ Those were your words when you called me before the Chicago job. If it weren’t for what we did, she would be gone and it would have been his fault.”

“And what about (Name)?”

Santino exhales sharply at the quiet question, confused.

“What?”

Winston’s eyebrows arch and he stares at Santino for a few seconds. But there, carefully hidden behind that calm facade lays a question and a warning laced with piercing sort of ice.

“Should I be expecting a contract in her name as well?” Winston questions lightly with a slight curl of his lips. “You know full well that once she learns about this, she might turn against you. Grow to resent you for it. She will certainly not just stand by and let it happen. And if she turns away, betrays you, what then? Will you put a price on her head as well? If you can’t have her, no one can, is that it?”

Every word is merciless as it is piercing. Ruthlessly straightforward. Yet every single syllable rips at something inside him expertly, almost like finely measured knives sinking deep.

He’s been so focused on all the best case scenarios he has never taken a moment to consider the worst case ones.

Vengeance.

When John dies…

I think that if we met first, it would have been very easy to fall in love with you.

He wishes more than anything that had been the case.

He wishes he was back in that awful, smelly diner with you and half-melted, too sweet ice cream between you. He wishes he had said more than I believe it is because you adore me, no?

He wishes he could pause that moment and stay in it forever because your lack of denial, the slight grin on your face, the soft crinkling around your eyes—all those details have created one of the happiest moments in his life.

Second only to his last birthday.

No father, no titles, no Tarasov, no John.

Just you, his home, and no expectations.

“I would never harm her,” he says and doesn’t recognise the thick timber of his own voice. “Never.”

The memory of you being dragged unconscious from the rubble of those destroyed tunnels, bloodied and still, haunts every single one of his nightmares now. Haunts his every thought, too.

I’m not yours to lose, Santino.

He knows that too.

Winston is silent for a long moment, his judging stare drilling into him with such intensity it almost reminds him of his father.

The older man makes a small sound at the back of his throat as if weighting Santino’s words before reaching down and slamming the ledger closed, taking it into his arms.

“I’ll admit Mr D’Antonio,” he begins conversationally, glancing up and meeting his stare as he straightens. “When I first learned of your interest in V, I warned her against you. Repeatedly. I saw nothing more than another powerful, conceited man who believes that the world is his playground. Your track record tells a rather colourful tale of use and disregard, and she doesn’t need more pain in her life. I believed for a long time that your care has been nothing more than a well-crafted manipulation. A game. That you are in it for the long con. But now, I confess, you have even me wondering.”

Santino swallows, shifting under the man’s shrewd stare.

“For your sake,” he goes on coldly, tucking the leather book under his arm. “I hope that whatever you do have with her is genuine. Because right now she might be your only hope. If you have any to begin with,” he intones with an aloof expression and salutes him. “Adios, Santino.”

The man turns to go, and Santino remains standing in the same spot for a long time after he’s gone. 

Hope is a foreign emotion to him.

He has grown up ruthlessly wringing it out of his heart.

Lessons about what it is to be Camorra, what it is to be an heir to an empire of bloodshed and death, were taught to him early. Ingrained into him when he should have been free to be a child. The very first came when he was still just a boy.

His mother’s screams—

“Why the long face?”

Santino blinks slowly, coming back to the present, and his head turns.

The smirking figure approaching him is at the bottom of the list of people he would like to see right now. Or ever.

“What are you doing here?” he demands harshly, not in the mood for pleasantries. “You haven’t been summoned.”

Hector’s smirk stretches, the familiar bright blue of his eyes practically glowing in the candlelight as the man takes another long drag of his cigarette. He moves past the spot where Santino has been sitting since Winston’s earlier departure, and throws the remains of the cigarette into the fountain before turning to face him again.

“Summoned?” the man echoes, amused. “That’s cute. I’m here on orders.”

“Whose?”

Hector strolls closer, undoing his jacket button before he drops on the seat opposite to him, stretching till his legs come to rest on the table separating them.

Santino doesn’t bite though. The disrespect scrapes against his already worn temper but he leashes it. He will not give Hector the satisfaction.

“Your sister’s and the council’s,” the man responds and blinks innocently, his amusement barely contained. “Oh. My condolences by the way. Or whatever.”

Santino sits up unhurriedly, a mass of simmering rage. “Use that tone one more time and I’ll strip you of your title.”

Hector might have been his father’s beloved little pet, his right hand, but he has Ares. He could never imagine trusting anyone but her to be on his side. Even with the brunette’s displeasure with the unfolding situation.

Hector, despite his many talents, is not necessary to him personally.

“Oh dear, someone’s in a bad mood,” Hector drawls lazily, his lips stretching in delight. “But leave the threat making to V, yeah? The wildcat at least sounds convincing. Though the fact you didn’t know I’m in town is telling. Had a little spat, did you? Not a lovers’ spat because, well, you’re not really lovers, are you?”

Santino keeps his expression steely, unmoved, but Hector digs deeper, not that he expected the leader of the Elite’s to do any less.

“Wow, how long has it been now?” he muses loudly, even though they both know exactly how long it’s been. “Six years, was it? No wonder you’re such an uptight little bastard. Biggest blue balls of the century.”

Santino’s mouth curves into something unfriendly, biting. “That’s the second time,” he notes mildly. “There won’t be a third. Don’t forget who you answer to now, hm?”

“Not you. Not yet.”

Not yet indeed. But soon.

“What were your orders?” Santino questions instead.

The man before him fiddles with the lighter between his large fingers, his Camorra rings clicking dully against the metal. “To make sure you don’t do anything stupid but…my bad, I guess, huh?”

The council no doubt.

He faced quite the uproar after the news of his vow to you reached the family.

Gianna’s reaction had been simpler, more surprising.

I’ve been expecting it, little brother.  

“You have new orders now.”

The strong curve of Hector’s eyebrows quirks.  

“Do tell.”

Santino wastes no time. “The Lovers. I want you to bring me their heads.”

Remove those deranged puppets from the game.

As for the Dragon. Oh, he has plans for them. Once he takes his seat, he’s going to tear the Dragon to pieces. He will find out who knows about Chicago and bury them all. One by one.

“What’s wrong with her?” Hector speaks up suddenly, still focusing on his lighter. When Santino doesn’t reply, the man lifts his gaze back to him and sighs, irritated. “Fine, let me rephrase: your pretty viper is better than those two French shitheads with loose marbles knocking around their heads. So what’s the issue? Why didn’t she just turn them into drooling goo?”

Because these last few weeks have been hitting you hard. Because he’s been trying to help you but that damned wall keeps him at bay.

Because there is a separation between you now.  

“There were…complications,” he phrases cautiously, his voice thin, guarded. “Things are, ah, difficult for her right now.”

Hector stares at him, considering his words before he snorts and sits up too, dragging his feet down from the table. He rolls the lighter between his fingers as he peers at Santino for a charged moment.

“Difficult, huh?” he repeats, his gravelly voice twisting his words into something meaner. “Well fuck me. You would think her life being threatened would inspire her to stop her pity party.”

Oh, Santino can take insults just fine.

He’s been hearing them directed his way all his life.

But you—

“Careful,” he warns, his tone icy, as something volatile churns in his stomach. “You speak about her like that again, and I’ll do more than strip your title.”

Hector falls quiet at that. For some time, the two of them simply gaze at each other, sizing the other up.  

“Tell me, Santi,” the man before him begins breezily, curious. “When exactly did you realise that you loved her? Hm? I mean, do you really think this story is going to have a happy ending? Your father adored your mother. Sun rose and set with her but their story still ended in blood and death.”

He’s had enough.

Santino rises to his feet, his hands slipping into his pockets as he stares down at the man before him with a stony expression.

“You have your orders. And you will obey.”

Hector’s head tilts to the side and he rises to his feet too, stretching to his full height.

He’s taller, and stronger, and could likely kill him with his bare hands, too.

But Santino finds that he doesn’t care.

Right now, with everything going on, he feels like he could crush this world in his bare fist and delight in the savagery of it all.

“Why?” the other man asks, his voice bored.

Santino smiles.

That calm that he’s seen you use so many times—the mask, the construct of control—he grasps onto it now.

He lets it guide him, cooling the volcano of raging fury inside of him.

“Because I am Camorra now,” he states calmly, pleasantly, still smiling and something flickers across Hector’s expression. Surprise, perhaps. “Because I do not care if you like me or respect me as your new boss. You will obey because you are sworn to do so, yes? Because if you think even for a second that I will tolerate your disobedience, then you are wrong. You may believe yourself to be above command, Hector, but I am the command now and I say that you aren’t. È chiaro, hm?”

Hector straightens, his wide shoulders rotating back.

Then the Devil of Camorra bares his teeth at him.

“You do like to hear yourself talk, don’t you?” he says idly, his smile disappearing in a blink, leaving something more barren and brutal behind. “Well if you insist. Boss.”

The man brushes off invisible dust off the sleeve of his jacket and with another deride little smile turns to go.

You have no idea what’s coming, do you?

Right now she might be your only hope. If you have any to begin with.

“Hector.”

The man pauses with an exaggerated sigh of impatience, turning to look at him over his shoulder.

Santino meets his expectant stare.

“One more thing.”

“Are you okay?”

“No, John. I’m very far from okay.”

There isn’t enough strength in you to pretend that you are.

Yesterday was a nightmare that you want to wipe from your mind. So much so, that the usual joy you feel at being back in New York doesn’t come. Not even a whisper of it.

You’ve barely spoken more than few words to John on the flight back, and despite his silent worry, he’s been giving you room to sort through your thoughts.

You’re not sure what rests on your mind more heavily.

Gianna, Cassian or Santino.

It feels like a mix of all of them.

I swear.

But if we ever meet again, I will kill you myself.

I was a fool, a fool to think that you could ever love me.

Your head is pounding and no thought seems to linger for longer than an inconsequential second at the time.

This morning you asked after Cassian but Julius has told you that the man has departed already. Ares, too, was absent.

“If you need a place to stay—”

Your phone pings, cutting John’s words off and you frown. You’ve just switched it on minutes prior before pushing it deep into your pocket to give it time to turn on and catch the signal properly.

You pull it out, opening the message, a slight frown contorts your features when you spot the number on your screen.

Then, horror locks every single muscle in your body, making you stagger to a stop with a horrified exhale.

-

OPEN CONTRACT: JOHN WICK

7 MILLION USD

BY: SANTINO D’ANTONIO

-

“No. No, no, no,” you mutter, your mouth dry, and a roar in your head. “What did you do, Santino? What did you do? Why—”

John steps close, his hand coming to rest on your trembling one.

His wedding ring fills your vision and you flinch away from his touch.

“What’s wrong?”

You can’t look at him, clenching your phone tighter in your fist as you breathe harshly.

“Santino opened a contract. For your head.”

He’s quiet for several moments.

“How much?”

His voice is gruff and when you meet his stare that familiar grimness on his face chills you.

No—

No—you can’t—

You force your tongue to move. “I need to talk with him.”

“(Name),” John addresses you flatly, his dark eyes firm.

But you’re not listening because you know—

You know—

He will—

Why Santino? Why?

I can finally give you the freedom you always dreamt of. It was worth any price for me, even your hatred.

“Get somewhere safe,” your words are a croak, frayed and hurried. “Lay low. I can—I can get him to take it back.”

John reaches for you again, his fingers settling against your forearm as he peers at you. He almost looks regretful.

“You can’t. You know you can’t,” he tells you but you only shake your head. “He didn’t listen before and he won’t listen now. There is only one way to get him to take it back now.”

You wrench yourself away from him, stepping back.

“No. He will. He will listen to me,” you whisper, a touch frantic, trying to force yourself to believe it. “He has to—he—he will listen to me. Just give me time. Please, John. I need to talk with him. Go. I’ll find you when it’s done. Go!”

You stumble backwards with every step and ignore John calling for you as you turn in the opposite direction, heading towards the penthouse instead.

Your phone feels slippery between your fingers as you try to dial Santino’s number, half-jogging through the streets.

The line rings, rings, ring—

“Shit!”

Dread flows through your veins as you hurry to text Ares number instead.

Your shoulder knocks against someone and you move to push past them—

Heat erupts around you, the shock wave of the thunderous explosion ripping you right off your feet.

Your body flies to the side, and the impact of your body hitting the nearby car rattling through every bone in your body.

White burns behind your eyes—

Then everything goes dark.  

Humming drags you back from the depths of inky darkness.

You suppress a groan, your body growing taut when you realise that you can’t move your hands or legs.

They’re bound.

A shallow, barely controlled breath escapes you at the vicious stab of a too familiar memory.

You’ve been in this type of situation before. None of those times ended well.

The feeling of disorientation persists but you try to drag it away slowly; little by little, to get a better grasp of what your situation currently is.

Inside your head you count obsessively like a mantra, trying to keep yourself steady, grounded.

The humming continues; a gentle, melodic sound that would be soothing under different circumstances.

The bones in your neck creak when you slant your head upwards, blinking your eyes open. The left side of your temple is pounding from the impact with the car and you suppress an agonised groan.

The humming ceases at your shifting.

“And the sleeping beauty awakens.”

Gritting your teeth, you slant your head forward, and glare.

“Hello, Lucien.”

. . .

an: I love me a good “everything goes to shit” chapter :D

leave it to john to say more in this one chapter than he likely did in this entire fic combined lmao. but the J/V scene has been long in the making (and one of the biggest reasons for the block with this chapter because I knew it had to live up to the expectation so I hope it did ahhhhh). I also hope it didn’t seem too OOC for him to speak this much but he certainly is a man who speaks only when necessary and I still tried to carry his blunt manner across. Keep his story to facts only. 

as for santi, well, I dragged john’s character flaws through the mud and it’s only fair I do the same with him, too. santino’s actions are certainly justified but it doesn’t make them right. 

and finally v. oh man, this has been building up for a while now but this is the chapter where you can really see the cracks starting to appear. she is in the worst possible position right now because she is directly in the middle of the conflict and has an emotional investment in all sides. she is quite literally being torn apart. please give her a hug. damn :/

wow, if you are still reading. thank you. thank you. thank you. these chapters are, as always, as much for me as they are for you. love you all lots and thank you for your support <33 

[project-rosewood-476]

Chapter 2 part 1 Of Every Rose Has Its Thorns is out now! the AU and some of the ideas and characters belong to @creepypasta-shtick and Maplehood Creek, Rosewood, and Tabby Anderson belong to me.

TW: character death, mentions of blood and gore

Tabby was always an early bird due to her stepdad getting her up at 5 in the morning. Also with Rosewood starting at 7:45 am. But she slept through until 7-8 in the morning. Tabby woke up and stretched and winced at her bruises. She slowly sat up and rubbed her eyes confused. This wasn't her house. This wasn't her room...then last nights events came rushing back to her

"So it wasn't a dream after all... and I'm alive...I survived my first night in this strange new world. One day down and another one to go" she said in thought. she grinned as the new reality set in.

"I'm free...of my stepdad, Rosewood, and Horacio!" She said in thought also she let out a quiet giggle to herself.

She got out of the bed and put her knives on the nightstand for now. She took a good look at herself in the mirror. Her red-brown hair turned into a messy low ponytail with a couple of wavy strands that were out. That was due to the tossing and turning in her sleep. She still had dark circles under her eyes and they still appeared to be sunken back slightly. But they had that spark of life back in them again. But you can never catch up on lost sleep. She fell asleep in her clothes from yesterday but she'll change today. She really had no use for PJs she only used them on occasion. Her older bruises were almost completely faded away and her new ones started the healing process. Pretty soon all there would be was the scars from her old life and new bruises and cuts from training and missions and stuff. Hopefully less than what she has now.

She quickly got dressed in a long-sleeved white shirt and blue jeans to cover up the scars and bruises. She was more clear-minded than she was last night. No one else needed to see her bruises and scars and think that she's weak and sickly. She put on her shoes and went out of her bedroom and into the kitchen.

Toby has done a lot for her in one night. It was only fair to return the favor. The least she could do is cook him breakfast. She looked in the fridge and saw some eggs. She took out the carton and put it on the counter. She saw some bread laying about too and saw a toaster.

"Perfect!" She thought to herself.

She looked around for a frying pan, plates, and utensils. It took her a while to find the stuff in the kitchen but she made her way around and made very little noise as possible. And was humming a song that she knew to herself. She put the two pieces of bread in the toaster and started making the eggs for herself first.

Toby was still kind of groggy but he pulled himself up and yawned. It took him a little while to get used to being awake so he waited for a bit before turning off his radio. He went up to go to the bathroom. He had several wounds he needed to make sure stayed clean after all. After cleaning himself up, he figured he should go out and get the newspaper or something. He knew that after a couple of weeks he would have a huge mission that would involve putting on a fake identity and infiltrating a school, which he was not looking forward to. He was incredibly anxious about it. From the bathroom, he could hear a knock on the front door. Oh right. He had locked it. It was probably Jane and she had probably finished Tabby's mask that night.

Tabby put her eggs and toast on a plate and went to answer the front door. She unlocked it and opened the door a little bit. warily and cautiously.

Jane had left the box on the front door. It was a nice-looking box. It could be easily opened. She had stayed up all night doing the mask.

Tabby opened the door wider and cautiously picked up the box. She eyed it suspiciously. She decided to leave it on the table and decided to wait for Toby to come out so she wouldn't be alone while opening it just in case it could be a trap.

Tabby began to eat her breakfast. She kept eyeing the box in a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. She wanted to open it badly but decided that she knew better than to open it by herself as Jane's words echoed through her head from last night.

'Don't trust gifts that are given to you even if they're given by people you know, there are a lot of backstabbers here'.

She continued to wait patiently.

Toby came outside the bathroom and headed towards the kitchen. He saw Tabby and the box.

"Oh. That looks like the box Jane uses to deliver masks." He stared plainly.

He went to the fridge and began rifling through it. Jane's boxes always looked distinct to show that they carried masks that she had made her own.

"Oh you don't have to rummage through the fridge," she said in between bites "I was going to make you some eggs as a sort of a thank you. But then I realized that I don't know how you like your eggs...or even if you like eggs...I also didn't know if you were like me in needing to watch your food being made to make sure it's not poisoned. So I waited before I did anything."

"But if you do like eggs how do you like them? I could make you some..." she said a little shyly as she looked down and went to open the box.

She opened the box slowly and warily. She took out the mask and inspected it. It was a pretty teal with golden spirals branching out from one another and at some angles, the gold glittered in the light. She checked the inside of the mask and smiled to herself when she saw the names of the people she lost engraved inside. She put it on and looked at Toby.

"Oh, it's okay. I'm the type of person who likes taking care of myself." Toby explained.

He had needed to make his own breakfast since he was 8, and a change from routine would just feel somewhat alien. He thanked her for her offer though. He turned when he felt the air somewhat shift and saw that she had put on her mask.

"Oh, that looks great. Does it feel okay? Natural?" He asked. He got out some leftover breakfast from the day before and went to heat it up.

"Fair enough," she said.

She understood not wanting to rely on others since she has been neglected since she was 4 so she had to learn how to do the basics of taking care of herself.

"It feels weird at first but I'll get used to it" she put the mask in her box and went to pick up the eggs and put them back in the fridge.

She finished up the last bit of her egg sandwich that she made and went to do up her little bit of dishes. She unwrapped her left hand so the bandages can stay clean and dry. You could see the surgical incisions that were made to get the glass out. The scars were in that in-between stage of old and fresh. Her hand was healed but you can tell that the doctors didn't set it right as it looked out of place.

Toby nodded.

"It will feel weird at first but soon you'll freak out seeing yourself without it."

He wanted to make the transition into this new life as painless as possible. He remembered being incredibly freaked out at the beginning. He noticed her hand. Oh, man. EJ would lose his shit 'seeing' the work done on that hand. Toby thanked her for doing her dishes.

"By the way, you said you wanted to go to the library today?" Toby said. "While we're out, I could sort of show you around if you want. A lot of your first missions will be fetch and deliver, so it's nice to know where to go." He was finishing up his breakfast.

"Yeah I did say that and it would be nice to know my way around. I mean I'm going to be on my own at some point so yeah"

She dried off her hands and notice that he was looking at her damaged hand.

"Yeah I know it's not a pretty picture. Reason number 1025 of why I hate and don't trust doctors. They can't do their damn jobs right" she gave him a bitter smile.

"So your mission was fairly riskless huh?" She raised an eyebrow as she nodded towards his injuries "I do hope you took care of them properly" she gently re-wrapped her hand in the bandages.

Toby nodded.

"Yeah, you will be. Once you finish training, the boss will give you a new place." He said. "I'll show you around, introduce you to a few people." He said.

"I understand the sentiment about doctors though, but for me it's therapists. My therapist knew I was abused and, as a mandated reporter, didn't call CPS for me." He said.

He knew there were competent doctors and therapists, but that didn't change his experiences.

At her comment, he nodded. "They're just small cuts and bruises. Come from running through the woods." He said.

"Same. I hated therapists too. I've been through 7 psychiatrists. My parents believed that I was delusional and paranoid because they didn't believe me about my horror stories at Rosewood. My therapists didn't believe anything I said about Rosewood or about how my stepdad abused me but left the rest of my family out of it" she gave him the finger guns and another bitter smile but she looked like she just wanted to die.

Toby nodded. "I got a therapist after my sister died. I still remember her. She was this older woman, about the same age as my mom and she always had this fake, vacant smile. It used to piss me off." He said.

He understood.

"They used my mental illness to totally discredit what I saw and what I said happened to me. She tried to have me involuntarily committed."

Toby shrugged a bit while clearing his dishes.

"I've thought about killing her, honestly, but I figured it wasn't really worth it." He said, starting the water

"But they did manage to diagnose me correctly on OCD, Anxiety, PTSD, and Paranoia which all had to do with Rosewood and my stepdad but not for the reasons that they thought. We're probably missing a few others since they can't diagnose me fully correctly", stated Tabby.

"I understand," Toby said.

He finished cleaning up his dishes. He already was dressed for the day and was still wearing his mouth guard and goggles. He put on his gloves.

"You ready to go in a bit?" He asked.

"Honestly they're just doing it to get paid and not caring how they do it" "I've thought about killing my stepdad and I would have if it was just my mom and not...someone else involved...", she trailed off and looked away.

"Well, I killed my dad," Toby said with a shrug.

"And I let my mom find the body." He put his dishes away.

"I feel like my life would be so much different if I had actually had a decent therapist. I know they're out there and I'm just so pissed that I got a shitty one. If I had one that actually cared, I probably would still be human."

"Lucky you. I would have done the same but I never had the luxury to be selfish. This is the first time I actually put myself first"

She knew that wasn't entirely true either. She would have gladly let masky and hoodie kill her. She wouldn't even have had to put up a fight. But toby was the one who spared her life and he did it for a reason. She promised herself that she would stay alive for him so his efforts wouldn't go in vain. It wouldn't be fair to him if she died. On top of her promises to kill Horacio and avenge her friends. But he doesn't need to know that.

"Yeah I'll be ready to go in a few minutes I just need to brush my hair and teeth real quick." She said not ignoring his previous statement.

Tabby went to her room to get her things and went into the bathroom to do her thing. She came out with a neater-looking ponytail. She grabbed the box and headed back to her room to put her things away. She then came back out wearing her thick red plaid jacket that she always wore with her gray hood up and put her new mask on.

"I'm ready to go"

Toby nodded. "Alright. Let's go." He said. He was in his usual attire. It was worn, but clean.

"Do you want to go to the library first, or would you like me to show you around first?"

"I would like to go to the library first please if that's okay. Afterward, it will give us time for you to show me around and meet a few people", said Tabby.

"Okay, that works. There are some things that you'll want to know about the library through." Toby explained.

Tabby paused for a minute "Which are?" She trailed off.

"Well, the librarians are all disgraced proxies and monsters as well as retired proxies," Toby said.

"And usually you're not supposed to talk to the librarians unless it's for something strictly about the library. However, the librarians are very smart and have very large comprehensive knowledge over things."

Tabby nodded slowly in understanding "okay I got it. I don't usually talk to anyone in general"

"If you get on their good side, they'll defend you though," Toby said. "A lot of stuff can go down at the library."

She snorted "doesn't surprise me"

She had a mini flashback to the library at Rosewood. She was a bookworm and the library was the least sinister place in the school. Even though it too carried its own dark secrets of Rosewood. Libraries were considered sacred and neutral ground at Rosewood.

Toby knew of a proxy who had gotten beaten to death in the library. The library was usually quiet but sometimes could get very messy. He held the door for her. It was good practice to say goodbye to the desk lady before they left.

"Is that all?" She asked.

"Yeah, pretty much. Would you like me to stay there with you?", he asked.

"Yes, please. Two is better than one right?"

She mentally cursed herself for saying yes. She had to prove to him at some point that she could take care of herself and hold her own. But she didn't want to be left in this strange new world that was day 2 for her. Especially around strangers who wouldn't hesitate to kill her if given the chance. If she had someone with her the chances of that happening would be slim to none. And she was taught from a young age that you never go anywhere alone. Especially in Maplehood unless you had to.

"Survival reasons", she told him to justify herself, "I'm fresh meat as it is and curiosity about the new girl is inevitable. I'm crippled and small and I would be alone which means it would be easy for someone to kill me without a second thought. I'm young, not stupid so it's better to go with someone and only go alone if I absolutely have to".

She babbled on her reasoning to him and she was getting defensive about it because she didn't want him to think that she was a little bitch that can't take care of herself.

Toby understood. She didn't need to justify herself to him, he understood.

"Hey, it really is okay. I'll just sit nearby and maybe chat to a few people." Toby was decently popular.

"Okay… can we go now?" She asked.

"Yeah," Toby said. He moved to let her out of the apartment.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Forget Me Not (Part 2)

Summary: One day Dean seems to remember the reader which gives her hope about maybe getting him back home. But something isn’t sitting right with the reader when she looks into his medication...

Part 1

Pairing: AU!Dean x reader

Word Count: 2,900ish

Warnings: mentions of past abuse, mentions of death

______

“Hi Dean,” you said, taking a seat across from him at lunch. He glanced at you, staring at your visitors badge.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said. You froze in place, Dean going back to shoveling some ravioli in his mouth. 

“You know my name?” you asked.

“I remember my girlfriend’s name,” he said with a smile. “Although I suppose we aren’t dating anymore.”

“Dean, what-“

“I sort of unsnapped this morning. I was watching freaking Lassie with the goldfish guy and the chick with that wears the pink bucket on her head and I was just like what the fuck am I doing in here? Sammy didn’t want this for me. I got issues but shit, you come see me every single day and...I remember those conversations now. I’m tired of being scared and I want to be attached to people. Being alone sucks,” he said.

“Let’s talk to the doctor after lunch and see if we can work on getting you out of here.”

“So he’s an involuntary patient now is what you’re saying,” you said, crossing your arms in the doctor’s office.

“He had a mental snap. That’s not something to be taken lightly,” he said.

“I have been coming here every single day for months. I was stuck here for two months if you remember, Dr. Devon. I know what crazy is. Dean is not crazy. He was scared and now he’s decided he’s not going to be so what’s the problem with taking him home?” you said.

“Sane people don’t have mental snaps,” he said. 

“Can I take him out for an hour or two at least?” you asked.

“No. It’s too much for him and I don’t want him to have a reliance on you,” he said.

“Reliance? Sorry I’m not like all these other poor people’s families and don’t come visit them. I’m quite literally the only person he’s got left and I’m not leaving him behind.”

“Are you sure you don’t have an unhealthy obsession with-“

“I’m in love with him. You should try it sometime. Might fill that pit in your chest,” you shot back, slamming the door on the way out.

“Hi,” said Dean the next day. You forced a smile on your face, Dean shaking his head. “Don’t pretend to be happy just for me.”

“They won’t let you leave on account of what happened,” you said.

“I figured. I may have snuck back and took a look at my chart.”

“Always the troublemaker,” you said, rubbing your hand through his hair.

“Apparently I’m nuts. I do have a favor to ask though,” he said.

“Sure.”

“Sam’s birthday was last week. Can you get some flowers or something and put them by wherever he wound up?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I can do that. You got your days all settled again?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Y/N...I don’t think they’re ever going to be letting me out of this place. I don’t want you to be stuck to me. You don’t...you don’t have to stay.”

“Wow. That might just be the craziest thing you have ever said to me,” you said, Dean rolling his eyes. “Uh uh. Sorry but you’re stuck with me.”

“But why? I’m like the world’s worst boyfriend,” he said.

“I had the world’s worst boyfriend. The abusive one I killed, remember? You got scared Dean. Sam was...he didn’t look like Sam after he died and you had to see that from what they said and were trapped in that car with him for close to an hour. That was your worst nightmare and you were forced to live through it. I’m so sorry you had to see that baby and that you lost Sam that night. I am. But you’re allowed to get scared over it.”

“I didn’t get scared, Y/N. I had a mental breakdown,” he said.

“Well I had one too when I shot that asshole that used to hurt me,” you said. “I’m not abandoning you Dean. You saved me from this place and I’m gonna save you from it too.”

“Pill time Mr. Winchester,” said a nurse, setting down two paper cups in front of Dean.

“We’re having a conversation,” you said.

“Just forget it. I don’t want to get in trouble with nurse Rachet,” said Dean, tossing them back.

“Funny. I’ve never heard that one before,” she said, rolling her eyes as she walked away.

“Do you even know what those pills are for?” you asked.

“They make me sleepy and zone out I suppose,” said Dean, scratching his head. “They always gave them to me here.”

“Even when you were voluntary?” you asked. He nodded, licking his lips.

“Always makes me thirsty,” he said.

“They didn’t give me anything when I came here and I was definitely involuntary,” you said.

“Maybe they always knew I was nuts,” he said.

“Did Sam know they gave you pills?” you asked.

“No...what are you thinking while I’m still coherent enough for this conversation,” he said.

“I don’t know...I...honestly I always thought it was strange how you reacted after the accident. I mean, you did so well after you left and moved in with Sam. I know you were scared at first but a week later you were perfectly okay,” you said.

“What are you saying?” he asked.

“What meds are they giving you?” you asked. 

“Uh, I’m not gonna be able to pronounce it,” he said. 

“Take my phone and go snap a picture of your file,” you said, handing it over under the table. “I’m gonna get the nurse to leave the station.”

“How?” he said.

“By acting like a dumbass,” you said, knocking Dean’s cup off the table. You stood up and stood in the liquid, making a show of slipping and falling to the ground. You shut your eyes, some feet moving around and you played dumb, peeling open your eyes to catch Dean pop out of the nurses station. “Sorry. I’m a klutz.”

You gave Dean a hug goodbye after you got to your feet, your phone getting slid back in your pocket.

“Be safe in here, Dean,” you said.

“Be safe out there,” he said quietly. 

“Do me a favor and throw up that medicine if you get the chance,” you said.

“No complaints from me.”

“Those motherfuckers,” you said that night, running your hands over your face as you looked at your computer. The medicine Dean was on was great for people with severe mental problems like psychosis or those that couldn’t differentiate reality from fantasy or hallucinations. When given to a perfectly normal person though, it fucked them up pretty good.

Dean hit every single one of the side effects. Memory loss, mood changes, depression, anxiety, exaggerated fears. In small doses like he’d gotten during his first stay, it probably fed into his anxiety which turned into fear which probably kept him there. In a larger dose though, it would have caused him to forget about you, the accident, Sam.

“Why are they drugging you, baby,” you said to yourself, tucking your knees into your chest. “Why would they want to keep you there…”

You sighed and pursed your lips, trying to think of why Dean went in the first place. He’d always said it’d been voluntary but maybe he’d been drugged before hand and…

“That’s crazy,” you groaned. You stood and went back to your kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of water. There was a knock on your back slider door and you jumped. Grabbing a knife you looked over at it, your hand immediately dropping it. Quickly you went over and opened it, shutting it after a moment while your glass of water was gulped down.

By Sam fucking Winchester.

“Thanks,” breathed Sam, filling it up again before he slid down the cabinets and started to drink.

“Are you a zombie,” you said, looking him up and down. He stared at you and rolled his eyes. “You don’t look like a zombie.”

“I’m not dead, Y/N. I never was,” said Sam, closing his eyes. “I got fucking kidnapped.”

“What?”

“I’m a lawyer. I apparently won a case I shouldn’t have and now my life is a living hell,” said Sam, crawling over to your fridge. He opened it up and looked around, stealing a sandwich from the shelf.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

“Oh, I’ve had a hell of a time the past few months,” he said. “Listen, about Dean-”

“He’s being drugged to make him a bit on edge or occasionally crazy. Yeah, figured that one out today,” you said. Sam nodded and took a bite of his food.

“The car accident wasn’t an accident. Someone hit us and they shoved a big ass needle in his arm and then I think when he woke up, he got fed a story that he believed because of whatever they gave him. We, and by we I mean you, need to get him out of there,” said Sam.

“He’s involuntary. I’ve tried,” you said.

“Is it that bastard Devon? I’m pretty sure he works for these people,” said Sam.

“Okay but why would someone drug Dean before they kidnapped you?” you asked.

“Dean has never been the most emotionally healthy person. I won’t pretend that but he’s never been nuts a day in his life. He went out with this guy’s daughter. The next day, he admits himself to that hospital. She drugged him. She drugged him and got him in there where Devon could keep feeding him meds. Then you encouraged him to leave and he did. He couldn’t force Dean to stay since he wasn’t any danger. It was all part of a long con I found out. This way, once they kidnapped me again, Dean would go back in and I was told very clearly that they can get in but he can’t get out.”

“They were holding him captive without anyone besides Devon even realizing,” you said, putting your hands on your head. “Shit Sam.”

“I know. The drugs probably help keep up the illusion. But Dean’s starting to get used to the meds which is why they finally let me out,” he said. “Now that I am properly incentivized, I’ll do what they say.”

“What exactly are you going to do? This guy’s already in jail, isn’t he?”

“I’m going to take the fall and say I planted evidence and I did it. I didn’t die, I ran to protect myself. If I don’t, Dean gets a big dose tomorrow morning, one that will either kill him or...turn him to mush. I don’t know but it is my fault he is trapped in there and it’s my fault he’s felt like shit for so long and he didn’t deserve any of it. I need your help, Y/N. Please.”

“It’s not your fault Sam and you’re not going to do what they said. We’re going to get Dean out and get these guys,” you said.

“Y/N, there’s no way. I just...I need you to look after Dean for me after I’m gone. Please,” he said.

“Do it yourself. We’re getting him out. Tonight.”

“How? It’s-”

“Sam. You seem to have forgotten that the last guy that hurt me, I killed him. Whoever these people are, they hurt me and my boys. I am sure you’re a whole lotta jacked up and hiding it right now which is fine but we’ll deal with it later. These people got a weak spot. You just aren’t seeing it.”

“What’s that?”

“He has a daughter, Sam.”

“Hello, Helena,” you said with a smile a few hours later. She narrowed her eyes at you from where Sam held her back in the middle of her bedroom. 

“Do you have any idea who my father-”

“Crime boss. Yes, we know who your father is,” you said. “Yes, I’m sure he’s going to kill us and blah blah. I am more interested in knowing if you care about what you’ve done on behalf of your father.”

“What wouldn’t a daughter do for her father?” she smirked.

“Don’t make it creepy. I’m talking about Dean Winchester. You drugged him last year, got him to admit himself to the institute down the road,” you said.

“So?”

“Well, your family has been feeding him drugs that aren’t too friendly with those not suffering from certain conditions. I was simply wondering if you’d like to experience what Dean’s been dealing with,” you said. You reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out a small case, unzipping it to reveal a capped syringe.

“You’re nuts,” she said, squirming against Sam.

“No, but you’re about to be,” you said, taking off the top. “Which arm? I’ll let you pick.”

“I didn’t drug him!”

“Yeah you did,” you said, flicking the syringe.

“Okay, I did at the bar but dad just said the guy owed money. He didn’t say…” she said, staring at you. “That’s saline, isn’t it.”

“Yes, it is,” you said, putting it back in the case. “I did not figure you for an asshole Helena and the torturing type. But that’s what your father did. He hurt my boyfriend. He hurt my friend right there behind you. They weren’t bad people. My friend did his job as a lawyer and that is all.”

Sam released her and she shrugged him off, taking a deep breath.

“I’m not asking you to turn on your father or your family,” you said, her gaze wandering over to yours. “I’m not even going to threaten you. I just want you to tell me how to get your dad to back off.”

“If he’s a lawyer I’m guessing you put away one of dad’s guys,” she said, looking at Sam. “That must make you Mr. Winchester. You put away Burt, dad’s second in command.”

“Yes, I did. He killed a young woman,” said Sam.

“I know. She was my friend. Who do you think the anonymous tip came from,” she said. 

“Then help us, Helena,” you said. “Help your friend. Don’t let him get out.”

“...What do you need me to do.”

Two Days Later

“Hey, Dean,” you said, popping into his hospital room to find him fast asleep in his bed, his detox bag going through him still. Sam was in the other bed, a few injuries wrapped up as he took a nap. 

“Y/N,” said Dr. Martin, waving you out to the hall. 

“The boys doing better today? I wanted to see if I could bring them lunch by,” you said.

“Sam’s injuries are healing. Dean’s system is nearly flushed of any traces of the drugs. Physically, they’re both doing well. Mentally, I’m going to recommend some individual and family therapy for everyone,” he said.

“Probably not a bad idea,” you said, smiling as you glanced in the room. “How are they really?”

“Sam is experiencing what we’d expect him to. Dean, I don’t suspect there will be any long lasting effects but the next week is going to be rough for him, the both of them,” he said. “I would just be gentle with them both for now and encourage them to talk but don’t push.”

“Thank you,” you said. You ducked into their room and took a seat in a chair, kicking up your feet with a sigh. “You’ll be alright boys.”

“I’m home,” you said a few days later, carrying a mountain of groceries under your arms. “Boys!”

You heard nothing and carried the bags into the kitchen, smirking when you looked out the back window and saw them each laying on one of your patio chairs.

“How are you two doing?” you asked, ruffling Dean’s head. 

“Enjoying freedom,” said Sam, stretching out in his seat. “I’ll grab the rest of the groceries. You’ve been going like crazy the past few days, Y/N.”

“Thanks, Sam. I picked up some stuff for burgers later, figured maybe we could grill,” you said. “I got ground turkey for you.”

“Sounds great,” said Sam. He popped inside and you ran your fingers through Dean’s hair.

“Feeling more with it today?” you asked.

“Yeah. More of those gaps are filling in. Thanks for getting me out of there,” he said.

“You never needed to be there,” you said. He reached up and grabbed your hand, smiling as he looked up at you. 

“Please don’t ever do anything like that again though. You could have wound up hurt or worse,” he said.

“I can hold my own,” you said. “I love you, De.”

“I love you,” he said, reaching up and pulling your face down to his. “Thanks for not giving up on me, sweetheart.”

“Never, Dean.”

______

[bnha-dumpster]

Chapter 1

Map My Heart: A KiriBaku x Male Reader fic Words: 1.8k

a/n: haha there’s angst at the beginning of this be prepared

Normally, the waves crashing against the side of the ship calms you, against the side of your ship. This isn’t your ship. This isn’t your cabin. This isn’t the place you’ve called home for the past two years. Your home has settled on the ocean shore by now, along with the people you’ve considered your family.

They caught you off guard. This ship looks like a fishing boat- small and not threatening at all. You were boarded, ransacked and sunk. 

“Captain!” Your captain lays in a pool of his own blood on the deck. The white, blue accented uniform he wears is dyed crimson. Iida Tensei, your trusted captain of two years, is dying before your eyes. Even as his life drains from his face, he gives you the same reassuring smile he gave you when you were first assigned as his ship’s scribe. This time though, you won’t be able to wake up the next day with him treating you like his family.

“Enigma! Onemu! Bigshot!” Their bodies are limp, just as bloody as their captain. 

Compared to your fellow crew members, you’re virtually untouched- well, you’re not dying. You’re certainly injured, but nowhere near to the point of everyone else. The most serious injury is a cruel severing of your achilles tendons via a knife. A few pirates pinned you to the floor and one hacked into the tendons until it broke with a sickening snap. Your cries were muffled from having your face shoved against the floor.  ‘So you can’t run away,’ they said. It’s an effective method, seeing as you can barely walk. You’re really just stumbling hopelessly as two pirates hold you up. 

The rattling of crates holding your cartography and scribing supplies remind you of the only reason you’re alive.  You’re a scribe- a luxury for people other than naval ships. 

At least, that’s what you thought. As it turns out, you’re being held for ransom. Choosing you seems quite silly in your mind. Your captain would be a far better choice- he’s not high ranking, but somehow well liked by people that usually despise the navy. That’s fairly rare. You however, are just a scribe. There’s plenty of scribes being taught in the navy, just like you were. 

Your captors are called the Eight Bullets. They’re a group of individuals known to do the dirty work for their boss, the real captain. The group is known for its brutality and lack of remorse. A group of terrible, seemingly bloodthirsty pirates who do whatever their captain tells them.

The door to the brig slams open and you’re forced out of your thoughts. Tengai, the kindest of the eight people aboard this ship in your opinion, has brought you your food for the day. Your hands are tied behind your back. The fact that they keep you tied up despite your inability to really stand up and run seems ridiculous to you. Thankfully, Tengai is kind enough to feed you the bread you’re given. He sits in front of you and holds the bread in front of your face. It’s the only act of kindness you’re given on this ship. 

“We’ll be heading back to port soon. If the navy cares about you, then you might get to see land again.” Tengai is calm, a civil person and it keeps you from exploding,

“I’m a scribe. You would’ve done much better if you kept Captain Iida alive for ransom instead of me.” You sigh and take a bit of your bread. There’s silence. When you’re finished with your bite, you continue. “The navy has plenty of eager new scribes ready to go on a ship.”

Tengai is quiet. He takes in your words and is about to speak before the ship shakes. There’s an explosion and wood splinters by you. A cannonball, now resting within a pile of broken wood, has created a hole in the side of the ship. Waves threaten to enter the hull. You watch as Tengai leaves you, dropping the bread on the floor. He needs to go up and see what’s going on, but it’s quite obvious. They’re being attacked.

Echoes of battle are quick to fill the hull and brig. Shouts, the clank of metal against metal and an occasional gun shot. You close your eyes and lean against the wall of the brig. Part of you hopes that whoever’s fighting the Eight Bullets is the navy, but you really doubt it. It’s most likely another pirate ship, just aiming to grab whatever they can. 

“Check the hull!” 

You manage to hear someone yell through the floor of the deck. The hatch slams open unceremoniously and heavy footsteps signal a person entering the hull. The door to where the brig is still open. Red hair is the first thing you see- bright red hair. You shift and the floor creaks, red eyes suddenly locking with yours. They’re hostile until they see the ropes binding you and your bloody clothing- along with the naval uniform attached to this part of the ocean. 

This person- a young man, slowly approaches you. Whatever might be in the hull is forgotten in favor of you. If you could properly move, you’d shuffle further away from him. 

Now, Kirishima is curious. He rarely expects to find someone below deck. But you’re there, a naval officer bound and injured. Unlike most of the naval officers he’s come across, you’re quiet and somewhat scared. It’s the opposite of what he expects. You’re like a scared animal. He can’t help the way he slowly approaches you and leans against the rusty bars keeping you caged. 

“Hey there! Looks like you’re in a bit of trouble!”

“... Thanks for pointing out the obvious.” You roll your eyes and turn away. Kirishima’s choice of words obviously weren’t the best.

“No, not like that! I’ve never seen a guy from the navy captured by a pirate before, that’s all.” Kirishima smiles at you nervously. 

“Scribes aren’t the best at fighting…” 

“A scribe? You’re a scribe?” The way Kirishima’s face lights up is frightening. He bolts out of the brig and hull without hesitation. You can hear his excited voice through the wood. The voice responding is the one who told him to go into the hull in the first place. Both voices go quiet and two sets of footsteps enter the hull. 

The redhead is eager to pop back into the brig. 

“Hey! I brought the captain!” His happiness is completely lost on you. 

“So this is the scribe?” 

The first thing you notice about the captain is his harsh glare. Red eyes that stab into you as he stares down at you. It’s a little intimidating. The lack of clothing is the next thing you focus on. He’s barely wearing any sort of shirt, having settled for a large red cape embellished with fur and intricate designs. The garments he wears are similar to that of the so-called “savage tribes” across the sea. His red haired companion wears the same sort of clothing. With less skin covered and tattoos that aren’t often seen, you come to the conclusion that these two aren’t the pirates your navy normally encounters. 

“... Unfortunately.” You shift in your spot, trying to ignore his gaze. “I would really like to be anything but a scribe right now.” 

“You should be grateful we took this ship.” 

“Why would I be? I’ve already had my fill of pirates for a century.” When the words come out of your mouth, you immediately regret them.

“Then I guess we should leave.” Something in the blond’s voice makes you think he actually will. The redhead is quick to reassure you he won’t, only angering him in the process.

“You see, we need a scribe to help us out! Why don’t you come with us and be our scribe?” 

It’s not a bad deal. If you don’t take the offer, you’ll probably end up sinking with this ship. Then again, taking the offer guarantees you to be stuck on a ship with a bunch of pirates that might actually kill you if you’re not careful. And why would they even want someone from the navy? Any kingdom’s navy is an enemy to pirates. You’re navy- you should be seen as the enemy, not a possible employee. Well, employee isn’t the right word. 

“Fuck- fine.”

“Great!” The moment you hear the redhead’s voice, you watch the rusted metal separating you from them snap in half. Your breath stops in your throat and you stare at the man. He looks at you and only grins sheepishly. “Sorry, should’ve warned you.”

“It’s fine…” Muttering, you let him cut your restraints away. When he holds his hand out for you though, you have to stop. It’s an injury, but it’s still embarrassing to admit that you can’t walk on your own. It should be obvious by how blood is pooled around your feet, the bottoms of your pants covered in it. He doesn’t seem to notice. He seems like a more aloof person the more you look at him anyways.

“You can’t walk, can you?” And before you can respond, the blond hoists you over his shoulder, a hand holding onto your waist firmly. “Say anything and I’ll fuckin’ drop you, got it?” 

You go silent and let yourself go limp in his hold. 

“I’m Kirishima, and the guy holding you is Bakugou. Call him captain though, okay?” Nodding, you look at Kirishima and let him ramble to you. The happy aura he gives you is reassuring, enough to help you forget for a moment that you’re being carried like a sack of produce. You can make out a few people as you pass them by. 

With the way you’re dangling and moving, blood has begun to flow from your wounds again. You’re already light-headed from the initial injury. Thankfully, with such a watchful redhead staring at you, the slight change in your demeanor doesn’t go unnoticed. As things go a little hazy and your attention wavers, he’s right there to do something about it.

“Hey, hey, scribe? You with us?” 

Bakugou stops and only then does he notice the new trickle of blood now coating him. Kirishima waves his hand in front of your face and when you let out a weak groan, he grabs your face. 

“Hang in there, okay?” Even in your hazy state, you’re surprised when he slides you out of the blond’s grip and into his own. Instead of being hoisted on his shoulder, he’s carrying you as if you’re a delicate princess. It’d be embarrassing if you could muster the energy to be embarrassed.

“Don’t get blood on the bed, shitty hair!” 

There’s a weight on your stomach when consciousness reaches you. Blinking, there’s a mass of spiky red hair laying there. Kirishima seems to be resting on your stomach.

“You’re heavy.” You smack the side of his head weakly. He groans and lifts his head, blinking a moment before grinning at you. 

“You lost a lot of blood back there. We were worried that you might die.”

“Thanks.” 

“By the way, you’ll be staying in this cabin with me and Bakugou! He doesn’t want you out of his sight since you’re navy.”

“Great.”