I had two ending in mind, so this is Y/Nâs endingÂ
Everything had happened very quickly.
One day Vaas was the king of Rook Island, or at least the part that Hoyt let him control. The next day Carlos was leading Y/N quickly away from camp because Snow White was attacking and it was too dangerous to stay here.
Vaasâ order.
Vaas, whose death was announced a few hours later throughout the island.
This news came as a shock to Y/N. She had imagined that people felt something when their soulmate died. A vibe. The breaking heart. Anything. But no, a pirate had given the news, which had echoed in the cave where the small group was hiding, and panic had gripped everyone.
Always calm and loyal, Carlos stayed close to her, awkwardly patting her on the back. Then, when the others had been too busy wondering what they were going to do, not paying attention to them, he had led her to the square, asking Benny to follow him.
Of all the pirates, Carlos and Benny respected their boss the most. Even dead, they werenât going to stop.
They went to a small port that the Rakyats had not taken yet, where a boat was waiting for them.
   "Well, you go in with her and take her to the embassy of her nearest country. Then, you do what you want.â Carlos announced with a straight face.
   "But⌠And you ?!â
   "Relax, princessa. Iâm staying here, trying to kill Snow White and regain control of the camps. Youâre leaving. Youâre going to live your life somewhere else, safe. Thatâs what the boss would have wanted. Benny, you donât leave her until youâre sure sheâs safe.â
   "Of course not. I remember the time she met a tiger. The boss broke my nose and three ribs. Iâll follow her like her shadow.â
   "Good. Go, now !â
This was the last time Y/N saw Carlos, and Rook Island.
As promised, Benny stayed with her until she found herself in front of an office surrounded by soldiers, bureaucrats and doctors, who asked her many questions, checked on her and called her relatives to tell them that she was alive.
That was the last time she saw Benny. Before letting her into the embassy, he had wished her good luck, telling her that he was going back to Rook. He couldnât leave his hermanos like a coward.
Her family and friends were all very happy to find her. They took her in their arms, kissed her and repeated to her that they had missed her very much, crying.
Y/N cried too, realizing that she hadnât thought of them at all during the time she had spent on Rook, focused on Vaas, her soulmate, who was dead. She hadnât had time to mourn him before, in shock.
She didnât tell anyone about him. For ten years, everyone around her thought that she had been captured by pirates who had treated her well, that she had managed to escape, and that she could now resume a normal life, with the hope of meet her soulmate one day.
It was torture.
Every night she dreamed of the times they had spent together. Of the last time she had seen him.
   "Fucking Jason is coming, nena. Heâs crazy, worse than me. I donât want⌠As soon as the alarm goes off, you go with Carlos, okay ? You go with Carlos and you stay with him until let me come to get you.â
   "Why donât you come with me ?â she asked, as if at that moment she knew very well that he wouldnât come back.
   "I have to face him. Itâs crazy, I must be as crazy as him, Iâve killed him four times and heâs still here. We wonât be safe until heâs completely dead. I have no choice, mi corazon. But donât be afraid, I wonât let anyone hurt you.â
He had kissed her forehead and he had hurt her forever by losing his stupid fight. He could have just come with her, they would have left this cursed island and they would have been happy.
Unable to lead a normal life after what she had been through, Y/N traveled extensively. She didnât go back to Rook, there was nothing for her there, and besides she avoided most of the islands, but she couldnât stay in one place for too long.
That was how she found herself near the border of Yara.
It was out of the question to go to Yara of course, too dangerous. It was totally a coincidence that Y/N happened to be in this bar near the beach.
 A coincidence, if it was a place frequented by the smugglers. A coincidence, if that day, two of them were right next to her at the counter, speaking Spanish.
Coincidence, or fate.
The voice of one of the men sounded familiar. Turning her head, she saw his back, but she could see his Mohawk, his scars, and the tennis ball with a face sticking out of his pocket.
His colleague noticed her watching them, waving at the man, who turned his green eyes in her direction. They stared at each other for an eternity.
He had aged. Normal, after ten years. He looked tired, even more tired than when she had met him. Maybe darker too, less crazy, even if the tennis ball showed he wasnât in his right mind.
   "⌠Vaas ?â she managed to say, not trusting her voice, nor her eyes.
As on the island, everything happened very quickly. One moment her soulmate was dead, the other Vaas lifted her off the ground, spinning her around the bar, not listening to her cries of panic, before kissing her again and again.
   "Nena ! Y/N, mi Y/N ! Youâre alive ? Are you really here ?! Pedro, sheâs really here ?!â
   "I donât know whoâs this girl, but yes, sheâs here.â sighed his colleague. âWe shouldnât attract attention, remember ?â
   "Shit, shut the fuck up, thatâs my mate and I thought she was dead. Fucking Carlos, he wasnât in the cave anymore when I managed to drag myself in. No trace of you left ! Then I found his body. That asshole got killed by the Rakyats. I was sure⌠Oh, mi amor ! Youâre alive ! The world was so bland without you ! I feel like to be reborn !â
   "You really canât do this anywhere else ?â the other smuggler begged, as everyone in the bar looked at them.
They walked to the beach, Vaas refusing to let go of her hand, as if she would disappear if he didnât touch her. He had often had visions of her, he wasnât sure it wasnât a dream.
   "Carlos and Benny sent me away from the island when they found out⌠Everyone thought you were dead.â Y/N whispered, letting him rub his head against her neck like a big cat.
   "I thought I was dead too, but Brodyâs not good with a knife. I almost died, but it wasnât the first time I got stabbed. Did they really make you leave ? Shit, I should have buried Carlos instead of spitting on him. I was pissed. He could have left a note to tell me !â
   "You were dead.â
   "Still !â Vaas said indignantly, finally calming down a bit, resting his head on her shoulder. âIt was hard, nena. I lost everything that day. My island, my men, and you. I wanted to kill Jason, but my sister was faster. It was over. I thought about jumping off a cliff, but it wasnât a nice ending. I thought you wouldnât be happy. So I left. I wanted to visit your hometown, but I couldnât. Hurt too much. Shit, hermosa, youâre here ! Youâre really here ! Hey⌠No, donât cry, querida, donât cry.â
Y/N didnât listen to him, hugging him while sobbing. It was hard to know if it was joy, stress, or a bit of both.
Like when they were on the island, the first few nights when she cried a lot, Vaas massaged her back, kissing her neck and repeating reassuring words, singing a lullaby in Spanish, until she calmed down.Â
   "Are you⌠Are you staying with me this time ?â she asked shyly.
   "Of course. Youâre coming to Yara ? I have a small house near a lake. I built it myself. Itâs quiet, not far from the village and the sea. Little Vaas and I go there often.â
   "Little Vaas ?â
   "Yes, Iâll introduce him to you. Iâve told him a lot about you, heâll be happy to meet you. And Iâm Vaas the nice smuggler, I help people. Well, I still sell drugs and drugs. weapons, and I transport humans, but because they ask me to, I donât sell them ! No more piracy, Iâm clean. Almost.â
   "⌠And if I donât want to go to Yara ?â
They had this discussion about Rook Island. Vaas refused to leave, he loved his kingdom too much. Now they were very far away, they had changed. He looked at her intensely, before nodding, cupping her face in his hands with a very serious expression.
   âWeâll go where you want, mi reina.â
   "Well⌠I want to see your house. And meet little Vaas.â
   "Nena, if this is a dream, please donât let me wake up.â
He then pressed his forehead against hers, before kissing her and pressing his head against his chest again, to listen to her heart, with the sound of the waves in the background, and Y/N also hoped that she was not not dreaming.
She imagined them in Vaasâ cabin, which was probably not very well built, with little Vaas, who must have been a dog or a tiger. Heaven.
   "Well, thatâs cute, but weâre going to be late !â shouted the other smuggler who was standing near the bar, to give them some privacy.
   "Pedro is boring.â said a small voice. âHeâs not as cool as Carlos.â
   "Thatâs right, little Vaas.â replied Vaas, resuming his normal voice. "Too bad he died, he was nice and he protected my nena. Itâs not fair.â
   "⌠The tennis ball in your pocket is little Vaas, right ? You donât have a tiger.â
"You want a tiger, nena ?â
   "No. I want to go home.â she whispered, even though she had already been there since he had jumped on her in front of everyone.
PAIRING: benjamin poindexter x fem!reader
PLAYLIST: here
WORD COUNT: 3.2k
NOTE: the first song in the playlist is sooo them
GENRE: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort
WARNINGS: kidnapping (not by dex), torture/interrogation, violence, injury detail, obsessive/protective dynamics. reader is rescued but heavily injured. intentional lowercase, no use of y/n
PARTS: one | two
NAVIGATION | REQUEST | BENJAMIN POINDEXTER MASTERLIST
you werenât sure how anyone had found out.
youâd been careful. heâd been careful. and yeah, he had come back quite a few times after that first night, slipping in and out of your apartment, trusting you to keep your mouth shut. and you did, every time. so you donât know how it could have possibly led to this.
tied to a chair in what was, objectively, a very nice basement. clean, spacious, almost comfortable, if not for the fact that your wrists are bound tight behind you, a strip of tape sealing your mouth shut, and the lingering sting of whatever they pressed over your face to knock you out.
you shift slightly, testing the restraints again. zero give. this is what you get for being selfless.Â
at first, you werenât even sure if you should be worried. i mean, sure, you got grabbed, knocked out and tied up. not particularly ideal, but your brain hadnât quite caught up yet, still trying to convince you there was some kind of explanation for all of this.Â
a mistake. maybe wrong place, wrong person. yeah⌠that thought dies quickly as you hear footsteps echo from somewhere above you. your head snaps up, body going rigid as the sound gets closer, coming down to your level. it doesn't take long for your breathing to pick up , the panic settling in fast now. itâs harder to breathe with the tape over your mouth, each inhale uneven as your chest tightens.
you donât recognise them at first. just silhouettes, moving with purpose as they step into the light. your stomach drops, you squirm instinctively, the chair creaking faintly beneath you, muffled sounds forcing their way past the tape as you try to say something.
theyâre talking. low voices, awfully calm for a situation like this. you should listen in. you know you should force yourself to focus, pick up anything useful, anything that might matter later if you somehow make it out of this alive, but your thoughts are too loud. panic drowns everything else out.
they get closer. and then you see him properly, of course, why wouldnât it be anyone other than wilson fisk? you never trusted him. there was always something off about him, including the fact that he was an ex-con turned mayor. even before everything that came out about him, before daredevil exposed him, you had a bad feeling.Â
you just didnât think youâd end up here because of it. your eyes flick to the man beside him. you donât know his name, but you recognise his face. always just behind fisk in the background of campaigns. not just a bodyguard, higher in the chain of command, you dread he was here for something worse.
you squirm harder as they approach, the ropes biting into your wrists, your protests muffled and desperate behind the tape. fisk stops directly in front of you, you freeze. your chest heaves, breath coming fast as you try to steady it, trying to read him, anticipate what heâs going to do. hit you, talk to you?Â
your eyes dart to the other man as he steps closer. instinct kicks in, you lean back as far as the chair allows, spine pressing against the wood, like distance will do anything at all. his hand reaches for your face.
your eyes widen, panic flaring and then he rips the tape off. the sting is brutal. you flinch hard, a sharp inhale catching in your throat as the skin burns where it was pulled away. âmm- fuck you,â you bite out as you wince through it.
they give you a moment. not out of kindness, just long enough for you to catch your breath, for the sting on your skin to settle. your chest still rises too fast, your pulse loud in your ears, but you force yourself to focus.
they start talking again, this time to you. âwhat do you know about benjamin poindexter?â fisk asks, impatience already bleeding into his tone. you do know, of course you do, but they donât need to know that.
you donât let it show, not in your face, not in the way your shoulders hold, not in the way your eyes stay steady on him. you swallow it down, forcing confusion where recognition wants to surface. âwhat the fuck are you talking about?â you shoot back, jaw tight, expression blank as you throw the question right back at him.
thereâs a pause, not long after a shift. âoh, right,â he says almost casually, adjusting his approach. âyou might know him as dex. bullseye even.â the name lands heavier the second time. they even hold up a picture, itâs older. it's also not hard for you to recognise even with the differences. no scar, less hardened, not as half as broad as he is now.
it was still him though. you force your eyes to linger on it just long enough, as if youâre trying to place it, and then you shrug. âi donât know who that is,â you deny, shaking your head slightly. âiâm sorry. also, was it really necessary to knock me out and bring me here?â
the words barely leave your mouth before fiskâs patience snaps, the slap comes fast. it knocks your head to the side, the impact harsh enough to make your vision blur, ears ringing as the sting blooms across your cheek. for a second, everything tilts, your body lagging behind the force of it.
right. being a woman doesnât matter, not to him. if youâre a threat, youâre a threat, so you adjust. you try and scramble for some sort of defense, so you turn on the waterworks, you let it hit you. let your expression crack.
âi- i really donât know what you want from me,â you manage, voice shaking now, âpleaseâŚâ fisk doesnât even look convinced, if anything, he looks bored. you hear him exhale disappointedly, before turning to address the man beside him.
âbuck,â he called, âget on with it.â and just like that, he walks away, back up the stairs. leaves you there with him. you look up at him, vision still a little unfocused from the tears that line your eyes. heâs closer than before.
and thereâs something different about him. not exactly nice. his expression is still stern, but his eyes⌠they almost looked sad, hesitant maybe. like he doesnât want to be doing this. for a split second, you think maybe he wonât.
that was until his fist connects with your other cheek, a clean punch straight across your face. whatever you thought you saw in him, dies.
you donât think youâve ever felt this much pain in your entire life.
buck had left not too long ago, still not having managed to get anything useful out of you. just silence, besides your wheezed breathing and pained groans as he struck you. stubborn refusal even as everything in your body screamed at you to give them what they wanted.
your head hangs low, blood drips steadily from your mouth, warm and metallic, you can feel it trickling down your chin from a split somewhere on your face you canât even properly register anymore. thereâs another cut on your forehead too. still bleeding, dragging warmth down the side of your face and into your vision.
you moan faintly as you scrunch up your face before relaxing. trying to breathe, each inhale shallow. your ribs scream every time your chest moves, every attempt at air scraping through you felt like glass.
and suddenly you understand. why people give in, why they talk, just to make it stop. you want to, god, you want to. but you donât, because if you do, if you break, you lose him. you lose whatever unspoken trust had started to form between you both. and if you lose that, then thereâs nothing left anyway.
so if youâre going to die⌠you decide youâll do it quietly. deep down you think that death must feel easier than this. your thoughts drift, slipping in and out of focus.
youâre not too sure why, but heâs the only thing you can think of. not the god awful pain youâre feeling, not the blood, not the very real possibility that this room might be the last thing you ever see. just him.
the way he used to look at you when he first started letting himself know you. suspicious at first, then softer in those rare moments he forgot to guard himself. the way heâd started showing up even when he wasnât injured, slipping into your apartment with no excuse left except that he wanted to be there. wanted you.
the way heâd sit in your kitchen, watching you move around like your presence alone settled something in him. how heâd started missing you. how, somewhere along the line, you started missing him too. so you decide thatâs what keeps you from speaking. thatâs what keeps your mouth shut when every nerve in your body begs you to make this stop.Â
you think youâre losing your mind when you hear it. the shouting, then gunfire. muffled, distorted by the thick door above you, your breathing stutters, chest jerking as hope and terror collide so violently you canât tell which one is winning.Â
there had been so much noise before. footsteps and the sound of shouts in pain. so when it all drops away, when everything cuts to sudden silence, your stomach sinks. this is it you think.
this is where it ends. the door slams open so hard it rattles through the room. you flinch, pain tearing through your ribs as footsteps rush in not long after. fast, coming straight for you.
you squint through swollen eyes, trying to make sense of the shape in front of you. blood drips into your lashes, shadows smearing everything at the edges. someoneâs definitely there and getting closer. seeing a flash of dark blue and black. you exhale deeply without meaning to, relief and disbelief slipping out of you as your body sags against the chair.
you try to smile. it hurts so badly it steals the attempt right off your face. you cough instead, heâs here. in front of you, crouched. his mask still on. dex. his name echoes in your mind as he reaches up, one hand comes to your chin. firm enough to steady you as he tilts your face so you have no choice but to look at him.Â
âk-knew youâd⌠find me," you manage weakly, your eyes meeting his. thereâs something in the way he's looking at you that you canât fully read. anger, fear, maybe worse, but that last one doesnât feel like it was aimed at you.
âsweetheartâŚâ his voice drops lower, âwhatâd they do to you?â you try to shake your head, even that tiny movement sends pain splintering through you.
âi... didnât say anything,â each word thick and slurred now, your tongue heavy, the room starting to tilt around you. âi swearâŚâ your vision darkens at the corners, the edges of him blur. the floor starts to feel farther away, exhaustion and blood loss drag at you.
but even through it, you hear him clearly. everything else fades, because thatâs what matters to him. not the answers, you. âthatâs not-â he starts, swallowing hard, trying again when his voice fails him. then it turns sterner, âhey. hey- stay with m-â
but you donât hear the rest, because your eyes are already rolling into the back of your head, passing out.
the first thing you notice when you start to wake is that youâre lying down.
panic was the first thing that you felt. your eyes hadnât even adjusted yet, the room nothing but shapes and shadows, your body reacts before your mind can catch up. a broken cry tears from your throat as you try to force yourself upright, every instinct shrieking at you to move, to know where you are.
pain bites back, dragging through your ribs hard enough to steal the breath from your lungs. âwoah, woah, slow down.â his voice reaches you before his hands do. being careful where they hold as he guides you back down before you can hurt yourself worse.Â
the moment you recognise itâs him, everything inside you loosens all at once. fear drains so fast it nearly leaves you dizzy. you let yourself sink back against the cushions beneath you, trembling with the effort of it, the ache in your side spreads again.
this time, when you blink up at him, you really see him. no mask or suit. just normal clothes, the sleeves rolled up, seated in a chair beside the futon youâre sprawled across. it doesn't look like heâs moved far from you since he got you here.
you glance around through the haziness. a small room, bare white walls. it almost looked sterile, not much furniture surrounding you either. definitely not at home.
âdexâŚâ your voice scrapes raw from your throat. âwhere are we?â your hand lifts without thinking, reaching for him.
he catches it, fingers wrapping around yours. his thumb brushes lightly across your knuckles, somehow already knowing exactly what you need.
âyouâre okay,â he tells you, âweâre at my place.â
âcouldnât risk them knowing where you were,â he adds, jaw tightening. âespecially after they took you from yours.â
you hum faintly, squeezing his hand back. the reassurance helps more than you'd thought it would. a heavy thud sounds from the apartment above. your whole body jerks on instinct. pain rips viciously through you and you gasp, face twisting as a soft moan slips free before you can stop it.
dex is already leaning in, eyes sweeping over you. hands hovering wishing he could take the hurt away, âthey messed you up real good.â his voice drops thick with regret, you knew heâd feel guilty, âiâm sorry i didnât get there sooner.â
his eyes fell to the floor. shoulders tense, there was so much shame. your chest aches for a completely different reason now. âhey⌠none of that.â
he doesnât look up. âdexâŚâ you shift toward the edge of the futon despite how you felt, âcan you please come closer to me?â
he moves before the sentence is even finished. one second heâs in the chair, the next heâs kneeling beside you, close enough for you to reach for him properly. enough that you can feel the heat of him.
your hand rises slowly, trembling with the effort, until your palm rests against his cheek. he goes perfectly still. a smile stretches over your lips, but more specifically at how gentle he gets with you, knowing nobody else ever gets this version of him.
your thumb strokes lightly along his cheekbone. he leans fully into your touch, eyes lowering for a moment, his breath warm against your wrist. âiâm okay,â you whisper, âwell⌠maybe not right this second. but i will be.â
he exhales through his nose, but the guilt doesnât leave him. you can see it clinging to him. âi shouldâve never gotten you involved.â his words come bitter. âshouldâve left you alone after that night.â
you shake your head at once, heart twisting painfully. âno.â weak voice or not, thereâs nothing uncertain in it. âyou donât get to do that.âÂ
his eyes finally lift to yours. you hold his focus, fingers still resting against his face. ââŚi wanted you to come back.â the confession lodges in your throat before it leaves.
âi told you to.â you swallow hard. âi⌠needed you to.â
the room falls silent around those words. he goes completely still beneath your hand. you start to get worried that youâve gone too far, he only stares at you. âyou donât mean that,â he mutters at last and you feel like youâre able to breathe again.
âi do.â your thumb brushes over his cheek again, slower this time. âi wouldnât have kept your secret if i didnât.â his jaw flexes.
âthat was stupid.â
âit was trust.â
âit got you hurt.â
âit got me you.â
you watch the way it made him feel in real time. he looks away at first, eyes dropping to where your hands are still tangled together. his thumb drags across your knuckles again.
youâre not sure if heâs trying to distract himself, but the contact helps him relax a little. âyou shouldnât need me,â he shakes his head. face twisting into hurt, or something close to disgust.
âwhy not?â you scoff in disbelief. âbecause people who need me end up bleeding.â his mouth tightens. âyou witnessed that firsthand.â
âthat's not fair.â you think as more silence settles. you hate it. i hate how itâs so quiet between you that you can hear the pipes knock somewhere in the walls, footsteps above, the bustle of the city outside.
you tighten your hold on his hand. âwell⌠i guess itâs a good thing iâm stubborn then.â his head lifts, you offer the biggest smile you can manage. âiâm still here.â
he stands suddenly, startling as well as worrying you, thinking heâs pulling away. instead, he lowers himself onto the edge of the futon beside your hips, careful of every injury, close enough that his thigh presses lightly against the blanket that heâd placed over you.
âyou scared me.â the words are so quiet you nearly miss them. you blink a couple of times. âwhat?â
âwhen i found you.â his stare fixes somewhere ahead, trying to force out every single word. âyou were so still.â
your chest constricts. âdexâŚâ you call out to him, he just shakes his head, blinking rapidly, âi thought i-i was too late.â
you shift with a wince and reach for him again. your fingers catch in the sleeve of his shirt, then slide down until they curl around his wrist, pulling it to you. âi knew youâd come for me,â you whisper. he turns his focus on you, looking down at where youâre holding him. âi shouldnât have had to.â
âmaybe not.â you tug gently on his wrist. âbut you did.â
he lets you pull him closer. every instinct in him is yelling to fight against it, he leans down until his forehead rests lightly against yours. he braces his weight away from your body, one hand planted beside your shoulder, the other still holding yours.
the contact is so gentle it nearly undoes you. his breath mingles with yours. âyou keep doing that,â he murmurs. âdoing what?â
âmaking things sound so simple.â a tired laugh slips out of you and immediately turns into another wince. âoccupational hazard.â
âyouâre a baker.â
âhey! i make complicated things look easy.â for the first time since you woke, the corner of his mouth twitches. it's tiny and brief, but very much still there. you feel absurdly proud of earning it.
his expression changes again, as he leans back a bit, looking at you, eyes dropping to the bruises on your face, what they did to you. something colder moves through him. âthey touched what was mine.âÂ
âdexâŚâ unsure of what to say in return, âi know how it sounds.â
âdo you though?â his eyes meet yours again. you see him think about it, âprobably not.â
you squeeze his hand. âiâm not a thing, ya know.â
âi know.â a slight pause as he brings the hand holding yours to caress your cheek. âbut youâre mine anyway.â
you should argue, you should probably be alarmed. instead, warmth unfurls low in your stomach at the way he means it. you brush your nose lightly against his as you bring him back closer.
âthen you better take good care of me.â
âi will.â his thumb brushes along your bottom lip. âfor as long as i breathe.â
2026 IALREADYMADEYOUAPROMISE ALL RIGHTS RESERVED !
Summary: You and King Baldwin share an evening with your two daughters, as you tell the story of how you met.
It was late, but not too late, your chamber was warm with candlelight dancing on the walls.
Your daughters curl close to you, small bodies tucked under embroidered blankets, their hair still smelling faintly of rosewater.
Their father sits nearby, King Baldwin, your husband, your love, wrapped as always in his layers of linen and cloth. The mask rests on his face, pale and unmoving, yet his eyes find you as easily as it always has.
You know he wants to sit with you three. You can see the longing in his eyes. But you know why he refuses to join you.
It is your eldest who talks first.
âTell it again,â she whispers, tugging gently at your sleeve. âHow you met Father.â
You smile, looking toward Baldwin. His head tilts ever so slightly, approval, and interest. As if he also wished to hear the story.
âAgain?â you tease.
âYes,â your youngest insists, already crawling into your lap. âItâs my favourite.â
You press a kiss to her temple and begin with the story.
âYou must remember, I was not meant to meet your father at all. I was sent to the court for entirely different reasons. I thought him distant. Cold, even.â
A noise of amusement leaves Baldwin. You choose to ignore him and continue.
âHe said very little. Watched everything. It was quite unsettling.â
âI was observing,â he replies calmly.
âYou were judging,â you counter.
âI was deciding,â he corrects.
The girls giggle.
âAnd what did you decide?â your eldest asks.
âThat your mother was the most stubborn woman I had ever met.â
You gasp softly in mock offence.
âI was not.â
âYou refused to bow properly,â he continues.
âI tripped,â you argue.
âYou glared at me.â
âI was embarrassed!â
The girls dissolve into laughter, clinging to you.
âAnd then?â the youngest prompts, eyes wide.
âAnd then I realised,â you say, glancing at Baldwin, âthat your father was not cold at all. Only careful. Kind, in ways that were quiet and easily missed.â
Baldwin stares at you. Even behind the mask, you feel it as clearly as if his face were bare.
âAnd I realised that your mother saw me as I was. Not as others feared.â
Silence falls, soft and full.
The youngest shifts slightly, her small fingers fidgeting.
âFather?â she asks hesitantly.
âYes, little one?â
âWill we ever see your face? Or your hands?â
The question hangs in the air.
Almost knocks all of it out.
Your heart tightens, but Baldwin does not flinch. Instead, he leans forward slightly in his chair.
âMy sweet girl, my body is⌠different. It is something I must protect, and something that could make others afraid if they do not understand.â
She frowns.
âBut we wouldnât be afraid.â
âI know, I know you would not. But part of loving someone is also keeping them safe. And this,â he gestures faintly to himself, âis how I do that.â
The eldest considers this carefully.
âSo itâs like armour?â she asks.
âYes,â he says with a nod. âSomething like that.â
The youngest leans into you, still thinking.
âBut we know what you look like,â she says suddenly.
Baldwin tilts his head. âOh?â
She nods, very certain.
âYou have the prettiest eyes, Mama says so.â
Your breath catches, and you smile, brushing her hair back.
âItâs true. The most beautiful eyes I have ever seen.â
Baldwin is still for a moment, but you speak up before him.
âAnd you both have them,â you continue, looking between your daughters. âHis eyes. Bright and strong.â
The eldest beams. The youngest gasps in delight.
âWe do?â
âYou do. Both of you.â Your husband confirms.
They look at him now, completely unbothered by cloth or crown or anything else the world might whisper.
âThen we look like you,â the eldest says proudly.
âYou do,â he repeats.
You shift slightly, gathering both girls closer.
The four of you, tucked into a small world of warmth and love.
âTell us another story,â the youngest mumbles sleepily.
âTomorrow,â you whisper, pressing a kiss to her hair before helping them both to lie down in their beds.
And as your daughters drift to sleep, you meet his eyes once more.
a/n: I was going to let this rot and die in the drafts but I didnât want to let the mini story go to waste soooo eat up <3
â˘Late-night ramen and lingering glances
You start hanging out at the garage more often. You donât really belong to the racing scene, but Han never makes you feel out of place. One night, he asks if you want food â and instead of bringing you back takeout, he picks you up in his RX-7 and drives you through neon-lit Tokyo just for a tiny, hole-in-the-wall ramen spot.
He doesnât say much. But when he watches you slurp your noodles, hiding a grin behind his hand?
Thatâs the first time you feel like maybe heâs not just being nice.
⢠Teaching you how to drift... sort of
Youâre not a racerânot really, but one night Han catches you watching him a little too long during a tune-up session. Without a word, he tosses you the keys to one of the older cars in the garage.
âLetâs see what you got.â
âWhat?â You said, too slow to understand the implication.
âGarage car. Sheâs got bite. But sheâll be nice if you treat her right.â
âWait. You want me to drive?â
âNo,â he deadpans. âI want you to try. Letâs see if youâre more than just pretty looks and long stares.â
âI can drive,â you insist.
âGood,â Han replies, leaning back on the hood, arms folded. âShow me.â
You slide into the driverâs seat, heart pounding. The interior smells like dust and old vinyl. You adjust everything like youâve seen in the movies.
Then stall the engine.
Once.
Twice.
Five times.
Okay, maybe I canât drive,â you mutter to yourself. Watching how Han looked at you in amusement
Han strolls over and taps the window.
âMind if I join?â he asks.
âTo mock me properly?â
âI mock better up close.â
He slides into the passenger seat, one arm casually resting across the back of yours, and gestures toward the wheel.
âAlright, letâs fix whatever that was.â
âYou mean my confidence?â
âThat too.â
He reaches for the gearshift, brushing your hand. His fingers are rough, warm, steady.
âClutch, gas. Itâs like dancing,â he says. âYou donât step on your partnerâs feet, you listen to the rhythm.â
âIâm more of a freestyle girl.â
âClearly.â
You try again. The car jerks forward, protesting, but doesnât stall.
âHey!â you exclaim, triumphant.
âDonât celebrate yet. That was beginnerâs luck.â
âNo faith?â
âIâve got faith,â Han says, turning toward you with a teasing glint. âBut also really good reflexes in case you crash.â
Han teaches you the way he drives â calm, fluid, like heâs got nowhere to be but enjoys getting there. You, on the other hand, learn the hard way. Curbs are hit. Cones are sacrificed.
âYou trying to drift or parallel park a tank?â
âIs that tire smoke or your ego burning out?â
âYouâre still terrible,â he says one night after a particularly wild turn. âBut damn, you make it look fun.â
One night, you finally nail it â a clean, sharp drift that slices through the dockside corner like a knife. You hit the throttle just right, countersteer without overthinking. The tires screech, smoke curls, and when you stop, heart racing, you look over at him.
Heâs quiet. For once.
âSpeechless?â you ask, breathless, grinning.
âShocked,â he admits, mouth twitching up. âThought weâd be in the bay by now.â
âTold you I could drive.â
âMmm. Iâm starting to think you just like me close.â
âYou wish.â
He leans in, that lazy grin softening just a touch. There's a pause â full of heat, the hum of the idling engine, the slow rise of something more.
âYâknow,â he says, voice low, âwhen I gave you those keys⌠I wasnât just testing your driving.â
âOh yeah?â you reply, arching a brow. âThen what were you testing?â
âWhether or not Iâd have to keep pretending I wasnât into you.â
Your breath hitches. Heâs so close you can see the gold flecks in his eyes, the smallest curve of his lip.
You smile â smug, playful, yours.
âSo howâd I do?â
He grins back, nodding toward the wheel.
âYou passed. Now drive.â
⢠Sleeping in the car â together, unspoken
One night you stay late at the garage. Hanâs reclined in the RX-7, and you're too tired to go home. He opens the passenger side, pats the seat like itâs always been yours.
Neither of you talk much â just sit in the silence while Tokyo hums outside. You fall asleep before you realize it. When you wake up, his jacket is over your legs, and heâs still awake, watching the stars through the windshield.
⢠Han shares his snacks, always
You never ask. He never offers. But his bag of chips? His Pocky? His peach gummies from the vending machine?
He always hands them to you first, wordlessly, like itâs automatic. Like youâre already a part of his rhythm.
Even when youâre arguing. Especially when youâre arguing.
⢠Tangled legs and parking garage conversations
Youâve started crashing in the RX-7 after late nights â both of you curled up together in the back seat or lying across the hood, legs tangled, listening to music
You talk about nothing. Everything. The quiet in the city. What you'd do if you left Tokyo. Whether drifting is freedom or just a distraction.
He never says "I love you." But he looks at you like the words are too small to fit what he feels.
⢠Protectiveness that doesnât look like anger
Han doesnât raise his voice. Ever. But the one time a drunk bystander gets too close to you, says something slick that lands wrong?
Hanâs already in front of you, one hand lightly guiding you back, the other gripping his arm just a little too hard.
He doesn't say much â just leans in and murmurs something to the guy.
Later, when you ask what he said, Han just shrugs and says, âTold him not to get comfortable.â
⢠You patch him up
He comes back one night, knuckles bruised, a small cut on his cheekbone.
He brushes it off, of course. "Wasnât a big deal." But he doesnât stop you when you pull him into the bathroom and clean him up with cotton pads and ointment.
He watches you in the mirror. Quiet. Still.
âYou always take care of people like this?â he asks softly.
You donât answer â you just kiss the corner of his mouth and say, âJust you.â
⢠Shared routine
Han starts making you part of his rhythm without ever asking.
You start showing up around the same time. He plays the same playlist you two created while you help tidy up the garage. You hand him tools without needing to be asked. He knows your go-to snack and starts stocking it without saying anything.
One night, you ask, âYou do this with everyone?â
Busy next week? Because I know a cutie who's interested in spending some time with you đ
That's right, Francesco's second chapter is releasing on Valentine's Day! We'll see you all on February 14th for a lighthearted chapter of hijinks and sweetness and absolutely nothing going wrong đ
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