#cassano shoes

[italianshoesco]

Buy Italian Shoes at the Best Price

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[mariadoval]

https://www.facebook.com/mariadovalballet

[sweetestlamb]

Try A Little Tenderness

Summary: Han Seo gets treated with kindness and affection and he doesn’t know how to process these foreign feelings. Also he gets a first eye contact of the mafia couple. 

Author's note: A few of you said you would like to read this so I popped it out real quick in between real life and all that mess, I did something like this for IOTNBO and really enjoyed that sometimes it’s fun to see a relationship from an outsider’s pov. I also saw a few people say that they ship our puppy with a certain someone so I threw in some crumbs because the visuals would be very pretty and good for my health. It has talks of past abuse (see psychopath brother) but I don’t think it’s any darker than the regular show. Happy reading! 

He keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, for them to realize that he's nowhere near good or smart enough to keep alive such less work so closely to them and listen to their plans. They trust him, he can tell by the way that conversations don't taper off if he comes into the room with another question about how to use the copy machine- there are so many buttons and it's confusing figuring it out by myself.

This first time he sheepishly asks for help after reading articles online and coming no closer to understanding the massive machine, he expects more fanfare; a slap on the cheek, a rap on the forehead or just a simple sigh and "idiot" that he would smile in the face of but the word would stick to his heart for days on end. His eyes were glued to the ground after his inquiry so he missed whatever look they originally gave him but surprisingly enough Ms. Hong stepped forward, he almost flinched as the hand approached his view but instead of pain he just felt warmth on his shoulder.

Guiding him with the hand on his shoulder, she led him back over to the machine and patiently explained all the buttons to him, even smiling gently when he pulled out a little notepad to write down the many directions.

"You really only need these three buttons this is the power button, but this thing is ancient so sometimes it may need a good kick." He jumped marginally at the loud bang of her foot against the side, quickly writing that down as well.

Really old. Needs kick.

"Then you press this button to choose the amount of copies, choose double or single sided and choose with staple and that's it." His eyes darted rapidly trying to keep up with her directions while taking his notes. It sounded simple enough but his brother had taught him that if there was a way to fuck something up, he would find it, naturally. So his nerves skyrocketed when she turned to him with a grin and said, "Are you ready for another test? Make 20 copies of these." She handed him a small stack of papers. 

His heart jerked in his chest and suddenly he was fifteen years old again staring at a test sheet and knowing none of the answers. It was hard to study with the fear of Han Seok barging into his room at any moment to do another sick experiment on him, once he had sliced his finger just to watch it bleed. He'd told his father that he accidentally cut himself while cooking and let the shame wash over him as he got a look that screamed that he was incompetent and pathetic.

"Han Seo? Are you okay? You seem like you're a million miles away." The pretty lawyer's concerned voice brought him back to reality and he could feel the stares of the other men in the room on his skin, Vincenzo being the heaviest. He really didn't want to look stupid on front of the man for some unexplored reason. He swallowed hard before facing the machine, feeling like he was going off to war.

He pressed the big power button, shaken when nothing happened but suddenly remembered his notes and with an almost unnoticeable glance he found his answer, swiftly kicking the beast of a copier he watched it roar to life and almost on autopilot he mimicked the motions that Ms. Hong had just demonstrated and watched in terror as the paper was swallowed and the copies were spit out from the compartment in the bottom.

I did it.

Everything seemed to be in order and the machine hadn't exploded. Yet. 

"Oh."

The triumphant smile that had graced his face slide off like rain on a windowpane.

"I messed up. I'm sorry. Please let me try-"

He was bowing before he could stop himself, shame a familiar friend at this point in his life. There were very little moments that he didn't feel a tsunami of shame crashing over him in a thick heavy sheet.

"You just forget to select stapled. But that's minor, we can just staple them by hand." She responded nonchalantly picking up the copies and bringing them over to the table, "Good job though. Next time you'll probably get it perfect right?"

It was pathetic. He was pathetic. There was no reason for pride to grow in his chest like a mustard seed, he had only completed a basic task. Something that even a monkey could, actually monkeys could do even more complicated tasks.  It was nothing to be proud of. He shouldn't have been smiling as largely as he was, they would think he was insane and kick him out.

But.

She'd said he did a good job. That wasn't a phrase he was used to hearing, he wasn't someone who did anything worth praising. He shuffled away back to the shelves that needed to be organized in alphabetical order, moving a large file to the front of the row unaware that there was an equally huge smile on his face. It stayed there for the rest of the day.

Working there was different from working with his brother. Astronomically. Nobody hit him there, even when he made mistakes. Instead he just got three heads over his shoulder helping him fix said mistake or Mr. Nam pushing his chair out of the way and taking over with only a gentle chide of, "Be careful next time." And it's clear that they all care for and respect each other. It's evident in the way that there's no clear hierarchy at the law firm, when they have meetings they alternate on who makes the coffee for the team, take turns buying meals and they are all allowed to speak and share their ideas without waiting for approval. It's nothing like he's used to and it makes him wonder if this is normal and what he's used to is...not.

It's enough to overwhelm him.

Then something catches his attention in the peripheral of his eye, Ms. Hong impatiently goes to take a sip of her coffee ignoring Vincenzo's firm warning against doing so and she flinches at the heat of the beverage, sticking out her tongue instantly after the first sip, blowing and huffing theatrically- something he's grown used to seeing from her. This isn't what shocks him though, it's Vincenzo's reaction. Immediately he walks over to the water cooler, filling a little paper cup before bringing it back over to her and thrusting the cool liquid into her outstretched hands.

"I told you to be careful." He says voices filled with exasperation as she gulps down the water, shooting him puppy dog eyes.

"I thouf it mould be cool enouf." She replies around her extended tongue and he watches the interaction with wide eyes, that only grow larger when the murderous Mafia member picks up the lawyers mug of steaming liquid and starts to blow on her coffee, his lips puckered into a perfect o. Ms. Hong watches absently as if this is expected behavior and after a few minutes, Vincenzo takes a sip of her coffee deeming it cool enough before handing it back to her. She takes a sip dangerously close to the spot his mouth had just occupied and hums at the temperature, shooting him a brilliant smile. To his utter surprise the usually stoic Mafia member smiles back fondly, before walking off to make a call. Ms. Hong watches him walk away before realizing that he's watching their interaction and a delicate blush blossoms in her cheeks before she stutters walking off to her table.

He glances between the two with his head tilted. Feeling curious.

Once he starts looking it's almost indecent how often the two touch each other, Vincenzo's hand never too far from Ms. Hong's back or arm and she never reacts to the sudden touches, no flinching or tensing up when a foreign hand is suddenly on her person. That's a new concept for him, he doesn't like surprise touches.

Then there's the fact that Mr. Cassano never allows Ms. Hong to hold anything, when she comes bustling through the doors with bags in her hand the smell of pasta permeating the room the older man is already making his way across the room tugging the bags from her hands wordlessly. He places them carefully on the table before smoothly dragging out her chair and guiding her into it with a hand on her waist.

"I brought your favorite. Authentic Italian food." She smirks up at him, opening the containers and he feels his mouth water at the tantalizing aroma that fills the room even more than before.

"It smells amazing! Where did you find authentic Italian food?" He asks inserting himself into their conversation and for a minute, he second guesses himself gearing up for a blow. But it never comes and Ms. Hong waves him closer, pushing a container of thick noodles in his direction.

"Are you hungry? Here have some!" She shoves chopsticks into his hand and watches him eagerly and he can do nothing but follow her orders, stuffing the tomato sauce drenched noodles into his mouth. When he looks up he sees that they are both watched him avidly, awaiting his review and he smiles around his bulging cheeks putting up two thumbs.

"It's delicious! Best Italian food I've ever had!" He stares excitedly and he's unprepared for Vincenzo's sudden glare, it's the first time the man has thrown such a look his way he gulps nervously at the unnerving sight.

"What- did I say something wrong?" He warily asks watching the Italian man angrily stomp off whilst muttering something indecipherable to him but that makes Ms. Hong smile mischievously, grabbing the container and chasing after the fleeing man.

"Stop being a snob! Have some, say ahhhh!" He can't comprehend the sight that he's watching, dumbfounded as the petite lawyer hangs on Mr. Cassano's arm and tries to feed him the Italian food.

"No! I don't want it, stop! Why do you keep bringing that here?" The Italian Mafia boss whines pushing her away but he notes that he never pushes her too hard, his shoves are very soft barely rocking her slight body. When she starts to chase him around the room, Han Seo can only watch in shock the behavior too childish for him to reconcile that these are the same people who have been thwarting all his brother's plans. Not even Mr. Nam entering the office is enough to stop their shenanigans and in the end it's Vincenzo who admits defeat, backed into a wall. Han Seo waits for her to give him the food and for this moment to come to an end. But neither one of them make a move, frozen against the wall staring at each other looking a million miles away.

It's then that it clicks for him.

They are more than just partners. 

When one of the various plaza tenants burst through the doors only then is the tense moment severed, Ms. Hong jumps back flustered thrusting her hand at his face and Mr. Cassano has to open his mouth lest he get smashed in the jaw. He watches amused as a grimace crosses the older man's face as he swallows the food as if it's poison.

Ms. Hong flies across to help the cute pianist that he's seen around a plaza a few times. He stares at her from under his bangs, looking away when she catches his eyes. Coughing loudly he walks away to do something important that doesn't involve losing his wits because of a pretty girl. Maybe he can talk to Mr. Cassano later just to ask about her, there's nothing wrong with being curious about your neighbors after all.

He doesn't know where else to go so he comes to Jipuragi, letting out a sigh of relief when he sees all the lights off. He pulls the key that Mr. Nam gave him from his pocket, still in disbelief that they trusted him enough to give him a key to the establishment. He had blinked away tears when the older man pushed the small metal object into his hands, it felt like a huge responsibility. Almost like he was being accepted into their makeshift family. It was far more than he deserved. 

Sitting down on his chair, he lets the agony wash over him. His cheek is throbbing, sore and swollen from the open handed slaps against the skin. Their stocks had dropped again from all the accusations and bad publicity, and his brother had once again taken it out on him berating him like a dog before kicking me out. It's nothing new, nothing he's never experienced before but it feels worst. Now that he's been around people who don't treat him like he's dirt, it hurts even more to go back to the old ways. He's so lost in thought he doesn't notice the door opening or the person creeping inside.

"What are you doing here?"

He jumps at the unexpected voice, twisting in his seat panicked. His heart rate settles once he sees the cool eyes of the man he's grown to respect. Vincenzo Cassano. He slumps in his seat, no excuses coming to mind and then it's too late and the other man is crossing the room and taking a seat across from him.

Those cold eyes narrow as they search his face, "What happened to your face?"

Images of his brother looming over him and slapping him on the ground flood his mind, along with his screams of pain as he pleads for him to stop. Then visions of a much smaller version of himself pleading similarly as his brother pulled his hair and laughed at his cries. He's crying before he ever realizes that the tear has condensed. 

Vincenzo tenses across the table, looking lost and uncomfortable.

It only makes him cry harder. It's so much better than getting hit.

Without a word the Mafia boss stands up pushing his chair away, stomping powerfully to the door. He watches alarmed before finding his voice and calling out, "Where are you going?"

The man looks at him darkly answering, "To kill your brother."

He gapes at the statement said so matter of fact and a bubble of laughter rises to the surface, making him chuckle through his tears. He rears back further at the other man's blatant confusion following his outburst, feeling freer than he's ever felt because this is the first time someone has tried to defend him.

It feels nice. Better than nice, unbelievable.

His heart thumps as he looks at the other man that he has every reason to be scared of but instead he feels safer than ever in his presence, it almost feels like what a brother should. A real brother not the one that he has who would kill him tomorrow without batting an eyelash.

"He's not done suffering yet. But thank you." Vincenzo shifts awkwardly at his show of gratitude never accepting of thanks something he has noticed while observing the enigmatic man, he vaguely wonders what this man has been through to make the complicated person he sees in front of him. Maybe one day he'll ask.

"Well if you're going to stay here, there's a bed up there."

Impulsively he replies, "Have you ever used it before? Is it really okay for me to use?"

He's met with a puzzled look, which he returns with a calculating one and then he spares a quick glance over to Ms. Hong's table and the gears click and Vincenzo is tomato faced and yelling, "Watch your mouth you brat! Do you want a beating?"

It shouldn't be funny with his face still throbbing from a beating just hours earlier, but he laughs so much his stomach hurts and that pain dulls the ache in his face.

"Oh my goodness what happened to your face?" He's barely able to get out an answer before Ms. Hong is jogging across the room, ever so gently catching his face in her small warm hands. Immediately he's reminded of his mother and he has to look away before he embarrasses himself.

He mumbles a lie about tripping but she's already sending a ferocious knowing look over to her partner and he watches their silent conversation with large eyes, until her voice breaks the pregnant pause.

"I can't wait until we kill that punk. How dare he put a hand on you? I'll go get some medicine, you-" she points to Vincenzo, "get him some ice before it starts to swell." The man automatically follows her instructions, looking like a dutiful husband.

And that's how Mr. Nam finds them, Vincenzo pressing ice wrapped in towels against his cheek as Ms. Hong squeezes creamy ointment onto her finger and smears it across his cheek. He blames his glossy eyes on the pain in his cheek and not the one in his chest.

It's his first time walking around the plaza and he tries to ignore the suspicious eyes that trail him, he knows that they know him as their enemy's brother and underling so he doesn't blame them for not trusting him, he would do the same. The clang of piano keys catches his attention and leads him to the source of the noise like a siren luring lost men, he watches transfixed through the glass as delicate fingers fly across the keys in a frenzy. It’s mesmerizing. 

He was forced to get piano lessons when he was younger, he was surprisingly good at it even better than Han Seok thus his brother became enraged and smashed his fingers putting a permanent end to his lessons.

The music lulls him into a sense of comfort so much so he doesn't realize when it ends and the small pianist notices that she has an audience.

When he finally looks up and catches her eye, he freaks out expecting her to look at him like all the others have today so he's unprepared for the door to slide open and for her to beckon him in with a crooked finger. He walks in almost as if in a trance, she's so pretty it's almost unnatural a supernatural glow surrounding her in her white flowing dress.

"How does it feel working at Jipuragi?" She asks suddenly catching him off guard, he sputters before taking a deep breath and looking away before replying, "I feel useful. It's....new."

That's all he can disclose and honestly it's more than he intended on saying but a knowing smile stretches across her pale face.

"Vincenzo, he's someone special who can make others feel special too." He smarts at the clear adoration in her voice, of course. She liked Vincenzo too. Every woman at this plaza probably did, the Italian was much more appealing than he would ever be- naturally charismatic and handsome, every woman's dream.

He smiles defeated stepping further into the space, running his fingers longingly across the piano keys. Something else that just wasn't meant for him.

"You like him too. It makes sense, he's really cool." He whispers, self deprecation swaddling him like a blanket. 

It's obvious who else he's referring to only Vincenzo and Ms. Hong seem to be in denial at this point everyone else assuming that they're already dating.

She doesn't deny his accusation. It's his own fault for having hope but that knowledge does nothing to tamper the hurt that rumbles in his chest. 

She hums before walking closer to him, fingers trailing across the black and white keys.

"I did. But they're good together."

He stills in shock, lightly pressing down on the key beneath his finger the sound vibrating through his skin. Then she presses another key that rings harmoniously with his and he can't not look over at her and he jolts breath stuck in his throat when he finds her already staring at him with a serene smile, "There are a lot of interesting people here though, someone else has caught my eye."

He plays the final note to fulfil the chord they started and their eyes never leave the other, music floating on the air between them.

Full. He’s never known what that felt like before but now he feels full of everything and he can't go back, can't ever go back to the way things once were.

There’s no looking back, only forward. 

[yasmini24]

Ok so we didn't get a Chayenzo kiss YET but we have other things

Hugs (3 of them as far I as remember)

Affectionate pats

BANTER

Longing gazes at each other

Chayoung’s chin on Vincenzo’s shoulder while cooking

Vincenzo driving Chayoung home

Vincenzo walking Chayoung home

Drunk talks

Staring at each other while the other is sleeping (IK IT SOUNDS WEIRD)

Vincenzo and Chayoung being roommates for a week or so

Eating together

Drinking together

Vincenzo holding her purse and coffee while she does her thing

Late night meaningful talks

That whole shopping for suits thing

THE PEN GIVING

Vincenzo putting her shoes/feet on the table while she talks

Chayoung feeding Vincenzo

FINGER FLICKING (more like half-assed flicks and hand smacking into glass)

Beating people up TOGETHER

Interrogating people TOGETHER

COURT CASES

Vincenzo putting his arm around Chayoung as a way to comfort her

THE CAR SCENE WITH ADRENALINE PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND

“Mr. Mafia Lawyer”- cue Vincenzo acting shocked and Chayoung’s head on his shoulder

“I think I got brain damaged”- he’s just mad they didn’t kiss

HIM TELLING HER ABOUT THE GOLD

THEIR WHOLE ENEMIES TO ALMOST LOVERS DYNAMIC

“Are you staying in Korea?”

Chayoung walking Drunk! Vincenzo home (drunk Vincenzo is a concept)

MANHANDLING BY BOTH OF THEM (chayoung yanks him by the collar/shirt and vincenzo drags her away when she does weird shit like “HE’S IN THE MAFIA”)

The tension they had in the first 3-4 episodes

“MR. MANSOUR CASSANO”

Cue tilted heads towards camera- “Looks like you need a good beating”

That look they give each other when they start scheming

OK I THINK THERE IS MORE SO FEEL FREE TO ADD ON

edit: wtf happened with the gifs??? this whole time it wasn't showing the creators

[jipuragi]

la nostra casetta (our little house)

Summary:

 “An Italian child can cook better than him.” Vincenzo cast a disapproving look in Chef Toto’s direction. 

“Does that mean you can cook too?” Chayoung playfully nudged his knee under the table. 

“You never asked,” he shrugged before taking a delicate bite of kimchi.

Ship: Hong Chayoung x Vincenzo Cassano (Gen)

Word Count: 2876, AO3 link

A/N: Written by @soulofevil and @the-marathon-continues-nip , beta’d by @sunalsolove​ , banner by @acerobbiereyes​

“I can’t believe we’re eating kimchi fried rice at an Italian restaurant,” Chayoung commented as she lifted her chopsticks to her mouth, laden with rice. “Mmm, it’s delicious.” She ate her bite then eagerly dug in again. “Chef Toto is an amazing cook.”

Vincenzo snorted as he carefully picked away the mushrooms and placed them to the side.

“He’s passable at Korean food. Terrible at that contrivance he calls Italian.” Vincenzo cast a disapproving look in Chef Toto’s direction. “An Italian child can cook better than him.”

“Does that mean you can cook too?” She playfully nudged his knee under the table. “And why hasn’t the great Vincenzo Cassano offered to make spaghetti for his dearest partner Hong Chayoung? Hmm?” She folded her arms in mock anger.

“You never asked,” he shrugged before taking a delicate bite of kimchi.

“It’s a date then. You cook, I’ll bring the wine,” Chayoung lifted her water glass in a salute. “Call me when you get home.”

“Hey, you can’t pick the wine,” Vincenzo said, sitting up straight. “You’d probably get something French.”

Chayoung’s heart skipped a beat when she realized he didn’t argue about it being a date. “What’s wrong with French wine?” she asked, eager to change the subject. She could feel her cheeks burning. “Don’t they make the best red wine?”

Vincenzo’s chopsticks clattered to the table, thankfully oblivious to her blushing.

“The French make the best red wine?” He raised his voice at the horror of it all. “Do they make the best pasta dishes too? Why would I want French wine with Italian food?”

Chayoung couldn’t help but lean forward, placing her elbows on the table to watch him fondly. Vincenzo was always so attractive when he was engrossed in a subject he loved, whether it was fighting or talking about food and wine.

After agreeing to cook for Cha-young, Vincenzo now had the dilemma of what to cook.

He took stock of the contents of his refrigerator, wanting to put his imported Italian goods to use but unfortunately, he didn’t have much.

Babel kept them busy and restocking his luxury items had been pushed to the wayside.

But didn’t his adopted mother always say that the best dishes were often the simplest?

Inspiration struck and he began moving around in his small kitchen, pulling out the flour, eggs, olive oil, and salt.

It was a simple recipe, one he’d been making since he was a Korean-only speaking youth, and needed to stand on a chair to reach the countertop.

His adopted family used cooking as a chance for them to bond and teach him those Italian words that had felt so foreign in his mouth. Soon, mixing and kneading the dough had grown into a simple but pleasant experience, one that had become a weekly habit in Italy.

Maybe that was part of the reason he was feeling at ease now?

He hadn’t bothered cooking anything that required more work than boiling water since coming to Korea but now, as he tossed flour onto the counter and worked his hands into the dough, he felt different. Until recently his apartment had been little more than a hotel room, a temporary place to sleep until he could obtain his gold while he and Ms. Hong fought Babel.

His kneading slowed as he thought about Chayoung, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. She frequently crossed his mind these days making him feel... lighter. It was a foreign feeling that he couldn’t name yet but found pleasant and refreshing.

He dropped the dough before he could overwork it and wrapped it in plastic so it could rest, and then moved on to start his prep work for the carbonara and the scene for dinner. With an eye on the clock, he sent a quick text to Chayoung telling her to arrive in an hour before he settled back into the kitchen.

Running on autopilot Vincenzo went to work mincing shallots and garlic while remembering his earlier conversation with Chayoung.  

She’d called this a date, maybe setting out a candle would be appropriate? It was also cliche as hell and she’d probably make fun of him, but he wanted to make her happy, to feel just a fraction of the warmth he did when he was in her presence. He smiled softly, glad to be in the privacy of his apartment so he could be alone with his thoughts and away from the rest of Geumga Plaza.

His smile disappeared, and his eyes widened in horror. Would Chayoung compare his table setting to Chef Toto’s garish setup?

A small sigh escaped him as he moved onto the next step of dinner. He didn’t question how Chayoung would react to their revenge plans against Babel which involved actual murder but something as simple as a candle for dinner made him… nervous?

It was such an unfamiliar feeling after being the Cassano consigliere for so long.

The alarm on his phone went off as a timer he didn’t even remember setting finished. He stared at it blankly before shaking his head, half an hour had already passed and he didn’t even notice.

He finished dicing up the pancetta and turned his eyes to the resting pasta. Asking ‘Chef’ Toto for his pasta machine would’ve saved him time but his pride demanded that he do it by hand, especially for Chayoung.

Besides, it was easy enough that he could go back to thinking about Chayoung, a soft smile returning to his face.

Chayoung loved alcohol and would drink soju, beer, and makgeolli, but she didn’t know much about wine.

It bothered her that Vincenzo didn’t think she was sophisticated enough to know what wine to choose, so she took it as a challenge.

She was going to surprise him with the best Italian wine.

Chayoung remembered Vincenzo saying that the wine store near her house was better stocked than the one near Jipuragi. Initially, she’d thought he was merely giving an excuse to walk her home but he did have a point.

The wine store in her neighborhood was a large one that stocked drinks from all over the globe.

“ Sforzato di Valtellina,” her tongue tripped over the Italian. According to the label, it was an intensely scented red wine that had an interesting origin of Nebbiolo grapes that had been left to wither.

Wasn’t that like her and Vincenzo? On the outskirts of society, left for dead as outsiders?

She bought the bottle of red wine, and white wine, just in case.

The knock at the door was right on time.

“The door’s open!” Vincenzo made sure he was loud enough to be heard, too engaged at the stove to leave it. He did take a look behind him, not wanting to miss Chayoung’s animated reaction to the amazing smells filling his apartment.

He wasn’t disappointed.

“Omo!” Chayoung sniffed the air dramatically as she entered Vincenzo’s apartment. She eagerly kicked off her shoes in the foyer and slipped into house slippers. “Am I at a Mafia’s house, or an Italian Chef? It smells delicious!”

“Don’t be silly,” he grumbled, stirring the pot, though his mouth curved upward in a smile.

“If Babel puts us out of business, we can always open up an Italian stall in the night market.” Chayoung stepped into the kitchen. “You can cook behind the scenes, and since I’m the pretty one, I’ll attract customers and sell.”

“Are you finished with your wishful thinking?” Vincenzo asked, rolling his eyes, though he agreed with her assessment that she was the pretty one.

“Never.” She poked his side and eagerly peered at the pot on the stove. “Can I taste?”

“No, it’s not finished.” Vincenzo batted her hand away though it was more playful than anything. “What’s that?” He gestured to the bags she’d left on the table.

“I hope you like it.” Chayoung blushed, uncharacteristically shy. “I wasn’t sure what to get,” she mumbled, tucking her hair behind her ear, feeling self-conscious. “I don’t usually drink wine and-”

“Don’t worry. I’ll like it,”  Vincenzo said softly.  His heart skipped a beat, as it always did when Chayoung seemed vulnerable. He wanted to hold her, to reassure her that everything was okay, and he’d never make her feel inadequate.

He helped her unpack the bags. “You bought Italian wine and not French?” His slight smile turned into a grin. “And two bottles?”

“And soju. And makgeolli. Just in case.” Chayoung’s cheeks were flaming now because she felt silly.

“It’s perfect,” Vincenzo said, not taking his eyes off her. “Thank you.”

She dipped her head in acknowledgment, then changed the subject.

“So, if times get tough, can we cook Inzhagi, or is he a family member now?”

Vincenzo couldn’t move two steps without Chayoung being behind him. She wanted to see what he was doing, taste the sauce along the way, whilst commenting on the process.

Normally, he was able to adapt to her being around, but this time, he was getting nervous.

Suppose he didn’t cook it correctly?

Suppose he did it right, but it wasn't to her taste?

Suppose-

“Ooh, Mr. Cassano, are these candles?” Chayoung interrupted his thoughts.

Vincenzo turned around. Chayoung was at the dining table, holding the tea light candles he’d fished out from a drawer, probably left there by the previous tenant.

“Are you planning to seduce me?” she smirked. “How naughty!”

“Ms .Hong -”

“They’re scented,” she made a show of holding the candles and sniffing them. There were about half a dozen of them, in an opened package, smelling faintly of vanilla. “How romantic!” She scrunched her nose at him playfully.

Vincenzo didn’t even hide his smile as she meandered off. He was happy and enjoying it. Just then, the timer for the pasta began beeping, and attention diverted, he left her to her own devices.

While he was distracted with marking dinner, Chayoung slipped into his bedroom, looking for a lighter.

His room was dark, smelling faintly of Vincenzo’s cologne and her breath caught, wondering if he’d thought of her in his bedroom if he ever thought of her as he showered and dressed. Her gaze moved to his bed, tucked in the corner, plain and neat as a pin, and begging to be messed up.

Unbidden, an image formed in her mind.

One of her leading Vincenzo to the bed and making him sit quietly, hands to his side so he could watch her slowly disrobe.

Would he like to be teased? Or would he prefer to take the lead, pushing her on the bed and pinning her arms above her head, kissing her deep and rough, like he wanted to-

“Lighters are on my dresser. If that’s what you’re looking for.”

Chayoung yelped, almost dropping the candle. Vincenzo was right beside her, watching her intently.

“Of course that’s what I’m looking for,” she gathered her wits. “Why else would I be in your bedroom?”

“Why else indeed,” he smirked, as he gestured to his dresser, on the other side of the room. “Make yourself at home.” He abruptly turned and left.

Chayoung’s face flushed.  He couldn’t have guessed her thoughts, could he?

But she forgot about her embarrassment when she came across his lighter collection.

“How beautiful,” she breathed.

There were six golden lighters set upon a navy blue cloth with different sheens from bright lusters, to worn patinas.  She gravitated towards the one that looked like a pocket watch, as it was the only round one, but then she noticed the plain lighter with no engraving. It wasn’t as eye-catching as the rest.

It made her think.

When did Vincenzo start collecting lighters? What made him choose one above the other? Did they have to be gold? If she gifted him with a lighter, would he accept it?

She chose the plain one, then returned to the kitchen where the pasta was already drained, the sauce finished, and Vincenzo was now setting the table.

Chayoung’s chest tightened as she clutched his lighter and blinked back tears.

She remembered life before her mother passed away, and the mundane things that made them a family. Cooking her father’s favorite food, and buying her mother’s favorite dessert, and spending time together in their kitchen.

How did it all go wrong, where she was now an orphan and alone?

Just then Vincenzo looked up, his eyes widening in alarm as he saw her face, before softening.

“Light the candles, Ms. Hong?” he asked, gently. “While I pour the wine?”

She nodded, choked up.

With the food done, wine poured, and Chayoung lighting the candles, the atmosphere was almost set for their evening.

The silence between them was a comfortable one, however, Vincenzo wanted more to fill his apartment.

His music library was limited to the soundtracks of his favorite operas, one of the few comforts he’d allowed himself when he was homesick for Italy.  Some Wagner, a Mozart, but it was Pucci’s Tosca that his fingers settled on.

It was hard to pick a favorite opera but Tosca was easily his favorite soundtrack.

He put it on, turning down the volume so it would fill the background with the pleasant soprano of the titular Tosca before taking his seat across from Chayoung.

She smiled warmly, her eyes sparkling, and his breath caught. This was life and joy, and he wanted to experience every moment.

He picked slowly at his food, twirling his fork in the pasta, eating at a leisurely pace.

“This is so good,” Chayoung moaned, closing her eyes. “You’re such a good cook.” She opened her eyes, grinning mischievously. “What else are you good at, Mr. Cassano?”

Vincenzo took a sip of wine as his heart thudded.

“I made this for you , so I’m glad you like it.” He avoided her flirtatious question, raising his glass in a toast, though his face grew warm. “I want you to be happy.”

Her smile faltered as her gaze drifted to his lips, and then his hands which were clutching his wine glass.

“I love it,” she said, dipping her head before she attacked her pasta again.

The tea lights had burned down and the first bottle of wine had been finished off along with the carbonara when Vincenzo and Chayoung moved to the couch bringing the second bottle of wine.

Music played softly in the background, filling the comfortable silence that stretched out between them. He was at ease, not just physically but mentally and emotionally as well. It had been a long time since he had felt this level of peace with another person and Cha-young…

She was something special.

He didn’t know the words to describe how she made him feel or the way she affected him. But Vincenzo knew he wasn’t ready for her to leave just yet, even as their drinking slowed and Cha-young’s head rested on the back of the couch with her eyes closed.

It was foolish to sit there, savoring the way she looked like he savored the Sforzato in his glass but he had no choice.

She looked peaceful in that half-asleep state with only a small frown resting on her lips and not all the tension and worry of the Babel case etched on her features.

“What are we listening to?”

He tried not to jump when she spoke up, masking his surprise with a hum. Cha-young didn’t seem to notice as she continued on.

“It sounds terribly depressing and sad. I can’t imagine how bleak the words must be.”

Vincenzo chuckled softly, she wasn’t wrong.

“It’s Pucci’s Tosca ,” he said. “We’ve been listening to it since dinner started.”

“No wonder I’m sleepy now,” Chayoung snorted, snuggling close to Vincenzo, her head laying on his shoulder.

“I can turn it off,” Vincenzo offered. He settled into the couch, making room for Chayoung, and following her lead, he wrapped his hand around her waist so she could cuddle closer to his side.

“No. I can like it ‘cause you do.” Chayoung melted into his side, closing her eyes. “Stay.”

Vincenzo exhaled as he looked down, her silky hair fanned across his chest, and her long eyelashes dark against her cheeks. He gave in to the feelings of tenderness that had been creeping up all evening and letting it wash over him.

“I’ll stay as long as you want me to,” he murmured.  It was hard for him, letting his guard down, and being vulnerable. But he would do it for her.

“I think I could fall in love with you, Mr. Cassano,” Chayoung whispered, burrowing even more into him. She was now laying on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, her legs tucked under her as she fell into a deep sleep.

And just like that, Vincenzo knew that his plans had to change, that he couldn’t leave Korea without considering this woman who’d been at his side, showing him light and love, and a better way to live.

He stroked her arm, waiting for her breathing to even out, and when she started lightly snoring, he smiled, closing his eyes and resting his head on hers.

“I’m already in love with you,” he confessed, deliberately speaking in Italian.

Curling up into the couch, and around Chayoung, he fell asleep as well.

[itsthestutterforme]

The Affair (Mr. Cho)

Summary: Y/N sets aside the past she had with Mr. Cho when she realizes he's in trouble. //SMUT Warning, photo is not mine.

Yelling yourself awake, your sweat trickles down your chest and back to be absorbed by your already drenched shirt. Standing up from the couch, you glance at the clock and it read 8:21 pm. You didn't even realize you fell asleep.

You pull off the shirt as you walk into you bedro and toss it across the room. You reach into the drawer to grab another shirt.

You freeze when you see Cho's shirt and slowly reach for it. You had a nightmare about Cho being ambushed and kidnapped. It felt too real to be a dream.

You hated yourself for calling off your relationship with Cho. There was something about how could make you feel like you were the queen of everything by blessing everything you touched. The two of you were meant for each other. You could even go as far as being soulmates in another lifetime.

But in this lifetime, he had a wife and an entire family. You couldn't bring yourself to take time away from them just so he could be with you. You loved him for being able to make that decision, but you loved him enough to make the ultimate decision that be cannot make.

You pull Cho's shirt over head and take your phone into your hands to call Vincenzo. After the fourth ring, he whispers a soft hello when he answers. "What's wrong, why are you whispering?" You say. "It's Mr. Cho." Your heart sinks in your chest. "What about him?"

"He's been held captive. I-" "Where are you right now," "No, Y/N. I will not let you get hurt," "Tell me now, Vinenzo." There was a moment of silence before you hear a deep sigh. "The Geumga Plaza," he says before hanging up.

Rushing to the drawer to grab black jeans, shirt and shoes. You change your clothes as fast as you could and pulled your hair into a high bun. You grabbed your keys and were out the door.

Gi-seok met me into the parking garage and led me to the rest of the group. When you guys rounded the corner, Vincenzo was on his knees as he bled from his head. A man stood over him and raised his leg to kick him.

"Enough!" You say, making everyone stop their motions. The rest of the group mimicked what you said and you rolled your eyes annoyingly. The next thing you knew they were rushing towards you. You duck under the blow the first man threw and thrust kicked him against the wall.

Hitting one man in the throat, you grab his arm and pop it out of place. He yells and you roundhouse kick his face, knocking him out cold. You block another blow and punch him once in the throat and again in his solar plexus before tossing him to the ground.

You felt a hand on your shoulder and when you turned around, it was one of those goons. By the time you had a time to react, an older woman with boxing gloves punches him in the face. You thank her with a soft nod before seeing a man run towards you.

You run towards him and hop on his shoulder to clamp onto his neck when you both rolled on the ground. Using all of your strength and momentum, you throw clear across the plaza, knocking down his people like bowling pins.

Looking around the remaining goons are fighting with the other members of the Cassano family, leaving you wugb the two guys that held Cho.

You were in the process of walking towards him when he broke free and punch one across the face before kicking the other in the chest. He looks at you warmly and you could feel your heart flutter in your chest.

Without thinking, you touched his face tenderly. His right cheek was swollen and covered with bruises. He had a cut above his left eye and his lip was bleeding.

"It isn't as bad as it looks," he says softly. You shake you head and bit your lip angrily. None of this would have happened if he was with you.

"I know what you're thinking, and it's not true." He adds. Pulling away from his face, you move your attention to the bruises peeking out from his shirt.

"You need to go to the hospital," "Why?" "You could have some internal bleeding. We have to make sure." You explain. "I don't t-" you grab his hand and drag him across the plaza to your car.

**

Turns out he did have some internal bleeding from how many blows he took to the chest and stomach. The doctors say that if he didn't come in as soon as he did, he could have died choking on his own blood.

The doctors called Cho's wife that you haven't officially met yet, but she thanked you for saving his life anyway.

You decided to leave soon after, not want to take time away from him and him family. It's been a week since you've seen him last. He hasn't texted or called you, which is both heartbreaking and good at the same time. It means that he's been taking advantage of his new time.

Throwing your gym bag over your shoulder, you reach for the door knob until you heard a knock on your door. You look through the peep hole to see Cho with a large basket in his hands. "What the.." you say to yourself.

Opening the door, your eyes glance over the basket before meeting his gaze. "What's all this?" "See for yourself," he says, giving me the basket. You look at him and he gives you the okay to open it. Setting the basket down on the table, you could hear him door close behind you.

Your eyes widen when you open the basket to see a new iPhone 11 box with an Apple watch sitting right there beside it. Laying there on the bottom was a cotton penguin sweatshirt with a matching fleece shorts bottoms and socks. At the side was your favorite candy, Y/F/C. All of this together could easily be $1000.

"Cho, what are you." You trail off when you notice how close he was to you. "Why are you doing this?" You ask. He smooths over your hair with his hand and cups the back of your head. "I told her everything." He says. "What?!" You say as you pull away from him.

"Why would you do that? You have a family of your own, why would you put that in jeopardy for someone like me?" "Because you are my family, and I love you." "No, Cho, I will never forgive myself if I am the reason why you get divorced from your wife."

Every step he takes towards you, you take a step back until he walks you into the wall near the door. "You saved my life," he whispers as he cups your cheeks.

His eyes drift from your eyes to your lips but doesn't move from his spot as he searches your eyes for approval. He closes the gap between you by pressing his lips to yours.

His abs brushed against your stomach as he pulled you closer to him. Your hands trailed along his jawline as his tongue invades your mouth. He pulls away to kiss down you neck, your skin igniting under his touch. He takes both of your hands into his and pin them against the wall.

He turns you around and pulls your back into his chest. He caresses the back of your arms and sucks on the sensitive skin along the base of your neck. He pulls off your shirt and left warm kiss down your spine. You loved how he took his time with you. He wasn't in any rush.

Series of moans left your lips when he snakes into to your pants and cups your pussy, rubbing soft circles on your clit. Your legs fall open to give him more access, but you were starting to get impatient.

"Please," you beg as he pulls away from you and licks your justice off his fingers with a hum. "I've missed you," he says, lifting you up and throwing you on his shoulder without warning. He flips the light on and sets you on the bed gently before pulling off your tights.

Maintaining eye contact, he slides two fingers into you bundle of nerves and curled at different angles until he hit one of your gspot. Your legs started to tense as a familiar knot forms in your stomach.

He isolates his fingers so his middle finger strokes the upper wall of your pussy while his ring finger and index finger rub circles on the sides. His eyebrows were pressed together as if he was really focused on something.

That was when it hit me you yell out in shock when he hits three separate gspots. "There we go, sweetheart." He rubs your clit with his opposite thumb and your body was thrashing, unable to deal with the increasingly huge wave that was crashing over you.

He continued to move his talented fingers and your stomach grew sore from tensing your abs so much. You were on the brink of your second orgasm when he slowed down his fingers, making you whine.

He took off his glasses and kissed down your stomach. Curling his finger slowly, he moves down you body until his face was settled in between your thighs. He picks up the face with his fingers as kitten licked your sensitive bud. "Oh!" One hand gripped the sheets while the other gripped his hair.

Even after your second orgasm whipped through you, your legs were involuntarily trembling. He cups your cheeks and presses a burningly slow kiss on your lips, taking the air right out of your lungs. "You are... you're amazing." You say, making him chuckle.

"I'm nowhere near done with you yet,"

[ritzbernal]

Regrets and Realizations

So I need to do work but I have to let this out my system so I can focus (ehem let's see). It's been on my mind for a whole week already! I, uhm, am not really a writer but Vincenzo forced me to be one. Read at your own risk 🤣

Takes places after episode 16 after threatening Jang Han Seok and Choi Myung Hee. Vincenzo coming face to face with regrets of losing his mom and realizing how he doesn't want to lose Cha Young.

Read in ao3

----------

"Regret is the most painful thing in life."

These words echo in Vincenzo's head as he was driving back to the hospital after his encounter with the Babel quartet. He says it so often to people as advice yet with himself, he doesn't know how it applies. Maybe because the life he led in Italy allows him not to have regrets.

Anger. That's all he felt for his mother before he learned the truth. The truth that she left him in the orphanage not because she didn't love him, but because she had cancer. She was afraid to leave his son dying so she chose to send him away.

I'm sorry I couldn't keep my promise that I'd come for you soon.

He learned that she looked for him for several years and that after everything that has happened, she still loves him.

There hasn't been a single day that I haven't thought about you.

And now all he felt was regret. Yes he killed the man who killed his mother in front of Jang Han Seok and Choi Myung Hee, but it is not enough. They have crossed Vincenzo and there's no other way for them but down.

He recalled the days when he visits his mom and during those days, Cha Young was with him. Hong Cha Young. She is the reason why he chose to forgive his mother. Because of her, he got to spend a few intimate hours with her - taking selca together, buying her bunggeopang, buying her a bag, taking a stroll with her. If it weren't this strong-willed lawyer who was always by his side, he wouldn't get to spend those precious moments with her. She has slowly become his rock, his foundation, his reason to fight. She supported him even when she knew his deeds.

This made him think of what could have Cha Young felt when her father was intentionally killed by Wusang and Babel. He wasn't even there for her when it happened. He even told her that she should have been a good daughter sooner. It must have been hard for her then. He gripped the steering wheel while he thought of Cha Young in his shoes months ago. If there's anyone who can understand him now, it's Cha Young. And if there's someone who can understand Cha Young, it's him. Funny how their circumstances parallel each other.

-----------

Vincenzo arrives at the hospital with blood on his hands and neck. His white shirt stained with the blood of his mother's murderer. As he went out of his car to get inside the hospital, he took his phone from his coat and called Cha Young. She picked up at the first ring.

"Where are you? Are you okay?" Her voice is filled with worry, fear, and relief. Fear that something might have happened to him without her saying how much he means to her and relief that he finally called, that somehow he's not in danger.

"Byeonhosa-nim." Vincenzo said with the hint of tiredness and loneliness. His tone was cold and void of emotion.

"Yes. Where are you? Did you make him pay? I convinced the staff to wait a little while before proceeding with cremation. Mr. Nam and I will take care of the papers, don't worry. Where are you?" Cha Young said in a single breath. She shuffled outside the morgue to see if Vincenzo has arrived at the hospital.

"Byeonhosa-nim. I have something to tell you."

"What is it?"

"I'm sorry."

"For what? What's wrong? Where are you right now?" He can sense the worry in her voice. He knows she's acting strong but inside she's crumbling for Oh Gyeong Ja's unfair death. Vincenzo now taking the stairs to where Cha Young is. It's good that there were few people in that part of the building at that time. He would have caused a commotion with how he looks right now.

"Make sure you catch him. No, make him pay." Cha Young's words assured him that she trusts him, that she will stay with him no matter how many crimes he commit. Her words were the catalyst for him to make pay whoever did that to his mom. Then he remembered his thoughts during the car ride. He wasn't there for her. But Cha Young chose to be the bigger person and reminded him that regret is the most painful thing in life.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when Mr. Hong passed away. I even amplified that you were not a good daughter to your dad. And yet here you are with me. I really don't deserve you." His tone became soft as he apologize to Cha Young.

"Yah. This is not the time to be saying such things," she said gritting her teeth. "Byeonhosa-nim, please, I just need to know where you are right now and that you are safe," her voice cracking.

The last time he heard her almost crying was when the victim's family was unrightfully murdered. How he wants to hug then, to comfort her, yet he chose not to. He was afraid to overstep the boundaries. But right now, all he wants to do is hug her and not let her go.

Vincenzo spots Cha Young half crying outside the morgue, speaking to him on the phone. He should be the one emotional right now, but Cha Young looked like she was the one who lost a mother. With light steps he walked towards her. She was too preoccupied with their conversation that she didn't notice Vincenzo was already behind her.

"Vincenzo Cassano, where-" Vincenzo ended the call and placed his phone inside his coat.

"Yah!" Cha Young half cried half shouted on the phone. Tears were already welling in her eyes. Then without a word, he swiftly went and hugged her from behind, engulfing her in his embrace. His bloodied hand on her waist; his face buried in her neck. He took the phone from her right hand, tucked it inside her the pocket of her pants and then gently moved his hand back to her waist.

"Byeonhosa-nim. What are you doing?" She wants to turn around but Vincenzo's arms is tight around her.

"Back to byeonhosa-nim again? I'm sorry. This must have been how you felt before. I feel terrible."

"Yah. Don't make me cry anymore. Listen, it's not your fault. Please don't blame yourself. Let's not talk about that. Are you hurt somewhere?" Then Vincenzo loosen his arms from her and Cha Young was able to free herself from Vincenzo. She turned around to look at him. Gone is the cold gaze before he left earlier. With shaking hands he searched his arms, his torso and his chest to see if he has any injury. Aside from a few bruises on his fingers, thankfully he's not hurt anywhere else. Finally she settled her right hand on his face with an attempt to wipe away the blood stains.

Vincenzo was looking at her intently the entire time she was searching his body for any injury. This is the closest physically they have been after their charade as a couple. His left hand went to caress that Cha Young's hand and leaned his head. Her hands are warm on his cold cheeks. He closed his eyes and he spoke, "I'm fine."

"I was so worried. Why would you end the call without saying something?" She removed her hands from his cheeks to hit him in the shoulders just as she did before when she's irritated or excited. But he was quicker and took her hand back to his cheeks.

"I'm sorry. I'm here now."

"Will you please stop saying sorry?" Now they are looking at each other's eyes. The tension between them building up.

"Thank you for staying with my mom."

"I'm returning the favor. You stayed with my dad when I was busy fighting against him. Let's go in." She said changing the topic and dragging Vincenzo by the hand enter the morgue and say his final goodbye to his mom.

"Byeonhosa-nim," he said keeping her from walking, "today I have declared war with Babel. We still have a long war to fight and I don't want to lose you in the process. After mom's funeral, we have to arrange things so I can keep an eye on you. Either I stay in your house or you stay in my apartment." There was a pause and sigh before he uttered, "I can't lose you, too."

"Why?" she asked not looking at him. I can't lose you too. His words echo in her head. Something in her anticipate that he will confess his feelings for her. He's been very subtle about his words and actions towards her but this hug means something else. She wants him to acknowledge his feelings and accept that he deserves love.

"Just agree please and don't ask anymore questions." Because I love you, Hong Cha Young, in his mind he said. But these are the words she was not expecting. Maybe he needs more time. He just lost his mom. I need to stay with him. She sighed and said, "Okay. We'll stay at my house."

---------

So I finished it at last! It's my first fic in long time (oh the power that Vincenzo has). I figured Vinnie will save the confession a little later because what will we viewers look forward to? I hope you enjoyed this short fic!

Edit: I refined it a bit? LOL I might be writing the continuation of this. Chayenzo in Cha Young's house.

Here is Part 2!

[twilightofthejedi]

fic: lost in your current like a priceless wine

written for @ahenix !!

thank you sm @trynatalktou for the beta work!

read on ao3: here

summary:

“Or we could just share the bed,” she ventures. his gaze snaps to hers, incredulous. She barrels on hurriedly. “It’s big enough for the both of us, anyways.”

in ep 17, what if chayenzo decided to spend the night in the hotel room after they plotted? and then there was only one bed??

set during episode 17

Cha-young closes the laptop with finality, heading to the table where the tray of food had been set out. She pours a drink into two glasses, and hands one over to Vincenzo where he stands by the large glass window. He smiles, taking the drink from her hand. She leans against the wall, and lifts her brows at him.

“What now?”

“Now we try to get some rest.” He pushes off the wall, and she follows suit. “It’s already late, and we need to be up early tomorrow to see the fruits of our labors.” He grins at her at this, boyish with his enthusiasm.

“All right. If you hand me my room key, I’ll leave first, Mr. Cassano.”

He blinks at her. She frowns at him.

“You didn’t get another room?”

“No. Should I go and get it? I’ll be right back.” He makes to move for the door.

She thinks fast.

“No it’s fine. There are so many couches here anyways. I’ll just make myself comfortable on one of them.”

He looks pained. “No, no it’s fine. I’ll go down and book another room.”

She tries to play it off nonchalantly. “Yah, does money grow on trees for you? I said it’s fine, right? Typical mafia, flaunting how rich you are…”

“All right, all right. Just don’t put your feet up on the coffee table with your shoes on,” he says hurriedly.

Just to be contrary, she sashays over to the couch, not missing how his breath hitches. She flounces on the couch ungracefully, and kicks up her heels-clad feet on the low coffee table, groaning at the relief it brings to be off her feet. Smirking, she looks over at Vincenzo, who looks like he isn’t breathing.

Good.

“What was it that you said?” she asks loudly. He tears his hand through his elegantly styled hair, and she is suddenly seized by the desire to do it herself. To know exactly how the strands of his hair would feel through her fingers.

Focus, Cha-young. You’re supposed to be making him lose his mind, not yours.

He doesn’t seem to notice her racing heartbeat, however. Marching over to her, he takes a hold of her feet and removes her heels, his hands impossibly gentle. Then, he stands abruptly.

“I’m going to wash up. I’ll be done soon,” he says, and she thinks that if all it took to unsettle Vincenzo Cassano was to put her feet up on a coffee table, she would have done it a long time ago.

When he finally emerges, his hair is wet and plastered to his forehead, and all she can think is oh shit.

“You can go ahead, Ms. Hong. I’ll get some blankets for you out of the closet,” he says, and oh, his voice should not be that smooth. She nods, and hopes it doesn’t look like she’s fleeing when she hightails it to the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, she steps out, clouds of steam at her feet. He is running a towel through his hair, and she has to look away, because the simple act of him drying his own hair should not be this attractive to her. She finds a water bottle and takes a long drink from it, her throat suddenly dry.

He seems to realize that she has come out of the bathroom.

“Ms. Hong, I can take the couch, don’t worry - you can have the bed.” She looks towards the couch, and sure enough, his shoes are neatly arranged in front of it. This is patently unfair, of course. He’s paying for the extravagant hotel room; he should be allowed to at least sleep on the bed.

From middle school, to law school, to her internship and partnership at a firm, Cha-young has been known for her ability to think fast on her feet. It is, after all, what allowed her to win trial after trial, to the point in which she had secured a position at Wusang, a prestigious firm, at such a young age. She prides herself on this ability.

It comes especially in handy now.

“Or we could just share the bed,” she ventures. his gaze snaps to hers, incredulous. She barrels on hurriedly. “It’s big enough for the both of us, anyways.”

He nods slowly.

“Yes, you’re right. I’ll take this side.” He moves to the side closer to him, and she stares at him, unable to believe her own luck. She unwinds her hair from the twist on the top of her head, and catches him watching her. He quickly looks away, cheeks reddening.

She smiles to herself. Still got it, Hong.

He climbs gingerly underneath the covers, and she follows suit, but with considerably less grace.

They lay there in silence for a few minutes, the only light originating from the Seoul night outside. She is acutely aware of every particle of her body, and every centimeter of distance between them.

Much to her relief, Vincenzo speaks first.

“I never thanked you.”

“For what?” For once, her customary brashness has abandoned her. Maybe it’s something about the unfamiliar environment, or the lambent light gilding his face in soft light. Or maybe it’s the quiet vulnerability in his voice, as he stares up at the smooth plaster of the ceiling, determinedly not looking at her. She props herself up on one elbow, and turns towards him.

“For staying with my mother that day. And then staying with me afterwards. I never thanked you.”

She is taken back momentarily.

“Why would you need to thank me?”

“You didn’t need to do that. That went beyond the professional limits of our partnership.” She suppresses the urge to roll her eyes, but suspects that if she did that, he would take it as some sort of rejection, which she has no desire to do. She decides to be delicate, for once in her life. Her father is probably gaping in heaven. Cha-young being considerate of someone’s feelings? I never thought I would see the day!

“I think, Mr. Cassano, that we’ve gone well beyond the limits of a professional partnership,” she begins carefully. He goes rigid, and turns to face her, mirroring her position.

“Either way, I greatly appreciated your support. I don’t think I could have gotten through it without you.” Despite his words, his tone is stiff, formal.

Cha-young has known Vincenzo long enough to know when he is holding something back. Still, she won’t push him.

“Of course. I wouldn’t have dreamed of leaving you to face it alone.” Light, unweighted words. Cha-young still remembers the hushed hours of the funeral, how he had stood, head bowed, in his suit with the three stripes on the arm. She hadn’t known what to say, what to do, so she had simply stood there with him, a silent vigil to the maelstrom of his grief.

He inhales a shuddering breath, his eyes fluttering closed. “How did you do it, Cha-young-ah?” She is so (pleasantly) shocked at him dropping the honorific that she is rendered completely speechless.

“Do what?”

“How did you go on? I’ve tried to shut out my mind and keep moving, and I’ve tried to keep busy, but then my mind gets quiet and I don’t know what to do. So how did you do it?”

Outside, rain gently hits the glass of the window, and she looks at him, really looks at him for the first time since she had settled under the covers. He always looks handsome, but now he looks almost liquid in the moonlight slanting in through the hastily drawn curtains. His eyes look like storms, shadows whirling around themselves in the dark expanses of his irises, his pupils blown out.

She thinks, rather foolishly, that she wants to kiss him.

“I gave myself a purpose, remember? I vowed revenge, and I didn’t allow myself to stop.” She flops back on her back. “So as far as dealing with grief, I don’t think I can give you good advice. I’m barely dealing with it as it is.” The rain outside picks up, and she huffs a laugh. They’re really two broken people aren’t they? She can’t even offer him any advice, because she is exactly the same as him in that regard.

“So I guess don’t let yourself stop. We’ll figure out what comes next after we’re done doing everything that needs to be done.” She feels bold, all of a sudden. “And we’ll figure it out together. Because I don’t know, either.”

His hand suddenly reaches out, and takes hers. Her entire body feels like it's running through hot water, and she squeezes his hand back.

“That sounds like a good idea. Excellent plan, Ms. Hong. You truly do belong in the mafia,” he says, but his voice is thick.

She laughs, and he smiles, pleased, looking down at their entwined hands. And suddenly, just like that, Cha-young can not wait anymore. The world that they both live in is far too dangerous for her to deny her own feelings any longer. She has enough regrets in her life that she doesn’t want to add to them. She will never be able to live with herself if she doesn’t act now, so she does.

As simple as that.

She leans down, moving her free hand to curl around his neck, and kisses him. He doesn’t hesitate like he did in the gallery, and pulls her into him, and she sinks into the warmth of his chest. He kisses her back and it’s everything that she has ever wanted. If she thought that the kiss in the gallery was amazing, this is simply heady. She thinks that she could get drunk on the feeling, the feeling of his mouth moving against hers, and the sure, steady warmth of him underneath her body.

When she pulls away, his face is soft, and he reaches up to run his thumb over her lips. She runs her fingers through the outrageously soft strands of his hair, and smooths it away from his face.

The rain has slowed down to a gentle backdrop at this moment - this moment that seems to be frozen in time. She leans down to press a kiss to his jaw.

“Go to sleep, jagiya,” she says, daring to call him the word that she has wanted to call him since he lost the bet about the bungeoppang. He smiles at her, slow and luminous, and turns around, his back to her.

She settles behind him, and reaches forward to wrap her arms around him, and press her lips to the nape of his neck. He sighs contentedly, and she can feel it in his chest.

The rain patters on, and Cha-young can not think of a better way to go to sleep.

[literaryfic]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: 빈센조 | Vincenzo Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Hong Cha-Young/Vincenzo Cassano, Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joohyeong/Hong Cha-young Characters: Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joohyeong, Vincenzo Cassano, Hong Cha-young, Hong Cha Young Additional Tags: basically cha-young realises she's dating vincenzo, soft!vincenzo, oblivious!cy, also i don't know how to write dialogue lol, no beta we die like men Summary:

“Are we dating?”, Cha-young barges into his apartment, visibly out of breath. And for once, Vincenzo is at loss for words.

Cha-young had decided to stay at the office longer that night and Vincenzo had gone home first. She needed to finish her paperwork, which was clearly the worst part of being a lawyer. She had not excepted Ms. Seo, the piano teacher from Geumga Plaza, to knock on her door.

She’d ask for help regarding her piano's insurance, and although it wasn’t Cha-young’s field, she had guided her through the procedure. Then, Ms. Seo offered to have a drink and there was simply no reason not to.

There were a few drinks in already when the piano teacher leaned across the bar table, “Tell me, Ms. Hong, how is it being with Mr. Cassano?”.Cha-young could tell by the amused expression on her face that she was teasing her. “Mr. Cassano is a great partner, we’re lucky to have him in our firm.” She tried to stay neutral, professional. Shit, did she know they were sleeping together?

“C’mon, you know that’s not what I mean! Is he a good boyfriend?”, she laughed, clearly tipsy. “Boyfriend? What?”, Cha-young had all but screamed, which cost her a few glares from the people sitting next to them.

“Don’t try to deny it, Ms. Hong, everyone can tell!”, Miri-ssi insisted. “Miri-ssi, Mr. Cassano and I are not in a relationship, I swear. What makes even you think that?” The question was supposed to be a rhetorical one but clearly Ms. Seo didn’t catch that.

“Don’t you guys live together?”, she asked. “And you go on dates all the time during lunch. We saw you the other day going into the new wine bar that opened down the street, and that time you were drinking coffee. Oh, and when you both...”

“I got your point... We do live together but it’s because we have a lot of ennemies and I feel safer knowing that someone who can fight sleeps next to me.”

“So, you sleep next to him?”

“That’s beside the point.”

“That’s the ENTIRE point!”

“We might... sleep together but we’re not a couple. We don’t go on dates, it’s all work related!”.

Ms. Seo didn’t speak for a few seconds. “Is he good in bed?”, she said, snickering.

“Miri-ssi!” Cha-young slapped her arm lightly, but it didn’t stop her from laughing.

Deciding that they were clearly drunk and needed to go home, Cha-young dragged her companion out of the bar. After ordering an Uber, she saw that Vincenzo had sent her a text. He was simply asking if everything was okay and if she would be home soon, nothing extravagant, yet she felt something swell in her. He was waiting for her at home. Home. They shared a home together.

The ride to Geumga Plaza was short, but Cha-young was lost in her thoughts. It’s not that she’d never questioned her relationship with Vincenzo. She had lost a lot of sleep over her feelings for him and how they’ll never be enough for him to stay. The arrangement they had found had worked for the both of them, he could continue to deny his feelings while the intimacy satisfied hers. Or so she had thought. But tonight’s conversation with Miri-ssi kept replaying in her head.

After dropping her off, she sprinted home. She ran up the stairs as fast as was humanly possible with heels and unlocked the door at a record speed. She was panting when she stepped in.

“You’re home? There’s some ramen left if you want.”, Vincenzo said, sitting on the couch watching the news. He was in his ridiculously expensive pyjamas, looking ridiculously handsome with his hair down.

“Are we dating?”, she blurts out. Until an hour ago she would’ve laughed in someone’s face if they said that to her (and she did!) yet the more she thought about it, the more sense it made.

He kissed her good morning and good night, and throughout the day whenever Mr. Nam wasn’t looking. Her phone’s background was a picture of the two of them she’d taken on their way to their daily coffee break. He paid for most of their outings, before she could even offer to take the bill. He waited till she got home before going to sleep. They sometimes held hands in public, when there was a dense crowd and they didn’t want to get separated. He usually had his arms around her shoulders when they walked and they both complimented each other everyday. They did their grocery shopping together every week, and that one time when an old lady said they looked beautiful together, Vincenzo had just bowed his head and smiled. It felt unreal. How could she have missed it?

Vincenzo looked like a deer caught in headlights, his eyes wide and his mouth open. It was a rare sight, to catch Vincenzo off-guard was no easy task, one she would regret not savouring more, but she needed to know. “I said, are we dating?”

They looked at each other without saying anything for a few seconds. Vincenzo went up to her, helping her out of her coat and hanging it on the hook in the entry while she took off her shoes. Taking her hand in his carefully, he guided her to the couch. He sat her down on his laps, embracing her. Overwhelmed by his familiar scent, she nestled her head against his shoulder. He was looking at her with a small smile, the one he reserved for her, and she felt herself relax.

“Tell me, darling, what did you think we were doing all this time?”, he raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. And just like that, her world was turned upside down.

[sxfik]

stay.

read on ao3 • masterlist

summary: But before she could move another step, he grabbed her hand, tugging her towards him.

And then said the word that she always meant to declare to him.

a/n: okay im back with a much longer fic!! tbh this really just slipped out of me, it was meant to be a small blurb but i just kept writing and it turned into this so, ta-da!

i hope you enjoy this and let me know what you think/anything else you'd like to see from me!

The apartment door clicks open as Vincenzo shuffles in. Cha-young follows close behind him, but the silence that stretches between them makes her feel miles away from him. She glances over Vincenzo's figure as he removes his shoes, her eyes tracing up from his black slacks to his black coat that made his figure even more imposing, and finally down to his hand. His hand dried with the blood of the man he killed.

She bit her lip as she removed her shoes, Vincenzo moving ahead of her wordlessly, as if she wasn’t in the room. As she moves past the curtains shrouding the living room, he unexpectedly freezes and she almost runs into him. Cha-young holds her breath as he spun to face her, the sudden reminder of his proximity throwing her senses for a scramble.

“Ms. Hong I- uh,” he struggles, as he screws his eyes shut and the silence between them stretches for a beat longer. Cha-young searches his face as his eyebrows scrunch and the familiar wrinkles appear on his forehead. His hand rises up to the nape of his neck in a familiar gesture, before it froze. “I’m going to clean up,” he finally mumbles out, dropping his hand, and opening his eyes but refusing to meet her eyes.

A pang echoes through her heart and she opens her mouth, ever so slightly, her mind and heart flooding with everything she wants to say to him. Stay with me. Stay for me, here in Korea. I don’t care what you did, what you are. I’ll have all of it, I want all of you. And yet, nothing comes out. So she presses her lips tight and nods, afraid that her voice will give away everything bubbling over from her heart.

His eyes fall to the floor and he turns his back towards her, making his path towards his bedroom and his bathroom. Cha-young stands in his living room, her eyes following him until she hears the click of his door shutting. Her eyes linger at the door and her shoulders sag as she lets out a breath. She shuffles toward the sink in his kitchenette, her body moving on autopilot as she washes her hands. As she pulls apart his kitchen cabinets to find ramyeon and cooking something of sustenance, her mind drifts off to what she witnessed.

Cha-young knows she witnessed a side of him that he didn’t mean for her to see; she could see it in the way he refuses to meet her eyes and the slight crease between his eyebrows as he drove them home. Her mind flashes back to the moment she saw him, crouching over the body in the tunnel and running towards him without a moment's hesitation. Even though he was covered in someone else’s blood. Even though she knew what he had just done.

It terrified her. The worry and panic that filled her when she realized at the cafe what he set out to do  was one thing, but the relief  when she had her arms around him, the reassurance that he was actually in front of her, alive, was too much. And she knew, when he placed his trembling hand, the hand that killed, on her back and the edges of her hair, that she was past the point of return. Whether she wanted to or not, Vincenzo had carved his place into her heart, and ripping it out is too painful to contemplate.

And Joon-woo. Her bumbling intern. The boy who followed her around. Her father’s killer. His betrayal punched through her gut, the pain almost clutching at her throat. After her and her father’s estrangement, he was the one holding her up with his dramatics. Trusting someone, in the world she was clawing her way through, was hard. She knew that she wasn’t a righteous and pious figure and it drove a wedge through every relationship she built. She knows that she had a hand in her father’s death and so did Joon-Woo. But learning how far he went to secure Babel’s status and the pain he caused her was incomprehensible.

But, Vincenzo was there to catch her as she stumbled back into him. He became the strength she needed to face the reality of what Joon-woo is. Who Joon-woo is. And as she steeled herself, she truly understood that Vincenzo was more than her partner in revenge.

Shaking her thoughts away, she focused back on the task at hand and finished her cooking. She brought the pot of ramyeon to the table in front of the couch, the warmth and smell making her stomach grumble. As she was setting the table, the bathroom door creaked open, startling her. She turned to find Vincenzo, in his grey sweatshirt that hugged his body in a sinful way, staring hungrily past her and at the warm pot of food.

“Hungry?” she asked out to him, hiding her smile and failing. He nodded and shot her a small, boyish smile, making his way to sit by her at the table. They sat in the same positions as the night before, as they served themselves and slurped up the noodles, starving after the eventful night. The strained silence earlier stretched into a comfortable silence between them, as they focused on sustenance. Cha-young noted his quick glances at her as they ate, making her hyper aware of herself, and she stole her fair share of glances at him, examining his arms and the planes of his face.

Quietly and efficiently, they cleaned up their space, working in tandem with each other as if they’ve done this together their whole lives. As they finished up, Cha-young approached him in the living room, her gaze lingering on the floor for a moment before she plastered her signature smile on her face.

“I’ll leave for my house, now that you’re settled in. For tonight, you won’t have my presence here to pester you,” she teased him, even though she craved to have him by her tonight. He deserves a day of reprieve, she thought.

“Ah- Ms. Hong, uh, isn’t your window still not fixed?” questioned Vincenzo.

Cha-young scrunched her face at him. “Weren’t you the one that was sure my windows were fixed?”

“Yea-”

“Then, I’ll be out of your hair, Mr. Cassano, just like you wanted,” she quipped back, mocking the way he referred to her, as she spun away from him and started towards the door.

But before she could move another step, he grabbed her hand, tugging her towards him. And then said the word that she always meant to declare.

“Stay.” his voice pleaded ever so slightly, his eyes shining with emotion she never noticed before. “For tonight, stay here.” With me. She could feel the unspoken words pierce her heart as she paused. And then, she nodded.

“Okay,” she shakily replied back to him, and tilted her head up to fully gaze at him, for the first time that night. Vincenzo’s hand, the one that killed, reached up to her face, shaking ever so slightly as he caressed her jaw and his thumb brushed against her cheek, cradling her head in his hand. Cha-young closed her eyes, savoring his touch with the final promise toward herself. Just for tonight. I’ll indulge myself just for tonight.

As she broke away from him, from the warmth of his hand and presence towards the couch to make room for herself, he tugged her towards him. Towards his bedroom.

The hour passed as she laid in his bed, the moonlight filtering through his window and onto his face. She laid a small distance away on his bed and she spent the hour memorizing him, the look of peace across his face as he relaxed and fell into a deep sleep. She wanted to keep this exact image of him in her head forever, even after he eventually leaves her. Throughout all the chaos they had endured together, the pain and the loss they shared, she wanted to keep this version of Vincenzo, her version, with her forever.

“Villains don’t deserve to love” he had once said to her. But looking at him like this, she was sure that he was wrong. Vincenzo wasn’t the villain in her story. He was her hero.

[sunsoothed]

bingo

another fic for the chayenzo community fanfiction challenge! i asked for this prompt today and wrote it in [checks watch] two hours? i was inspired. anyway! we now have vincenzo attending his mother’s funeral and having feelings about it. oh and my prompt was “i’ll still be here when you’re ready.”

thank you to @the-chayenzo-community for organising this!

word count: 1164

read on ao3

(sorry for any errors!)

enjoy :]

-

The day rains cold and rains relentless. Service takes less time than necessary, and with Geumga Plaza at his back, Vincenzo sees his mother for the last time. Unfilial son that he is, he has no tears to shed as they lower her casket six feet under, no tears to shed as the mud is filled in and she is gone from the world.

When the priest sums up all that has to be said to honour Oh Gyeongja, mother of one, Vincenzo is only left with the strangest loneliness. Only left with more space between him and the world, between him and the world, only a stretch of quiet.

The tenants of Geumga Plaza leave, one by one, unloading their condolences. Vincenzo nods, bows, receives. And then he follows Chayoung wherever she takes him by the hand, one step behind, lifeless in his steps and his grip.

Riverside. Cold, too. But the rain has let up, and the rocks are only slightly damp.

“They buried a man alive once,” He says. “I saw Father do it. It wasn’t even a big enough coffin for him to fit.”

Chayoung tugs him by the hand to sit, to watch the waves. “What happened of him?”

Vincenzo shrugs. “Never found out. I was only fifteen.”

“Thrilling for a fifteen-year-old to see,” She comments lowly. No vigour in her words. “How are we doing?”

Vincenzo’s eyes dart to her. She’s looking right back.

“I need time.”

She nods. “I’ll still be here when you’re ready.”

Vincenzo looks at the waves.

Chayoung sighs and picks up a stick. “Do you want to make a bingo or something?”

“Bingo?”

“Orphans, lawyers, attractive, incredibly smart, like seriously, too awesome for this world…”

It draws a laugh out of him. A pathetic, dead excuse of a laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

“I’m glad you laughed,” Chayoung says. She aimlessly throws the stick. “Took a real gamble with that one.”

“What, did you think I would throw you into the river?”

“Wouldn’t put it past you, Mr. Consigliere.”

“Cruel.”

She pets his shoulder in consolation. “If it makes you feel better, I know how to swim.”

“You’re horrible.”

Chayoung takes it, shifting closer to lean on his shoulder. “She’s proud of you, you know.”

Vincenzo looks at the sky. “She would be, wouldn’t she? To have a murderer of a son.”

Chayoung glares at him. “Don’t underestimate a parent’s love. It’s unconditional.”

Vincenzo meets her glare, huffs out a scoff. They’re close enough for his breath to reflect on her nose.

“Trust me,” Chayoung insists. “I have experience in this department.”

He blinks at her, then nods, acquiescing. “Sorry.”

“No need.”

Chayoung exhales in the silence, leans in further, wraps a tentative arm around Vincenzo. The river runs and the wind flows. There are birds singing somewhere.

“Unfilial,” Vincenzo says. “Liars. Living with the most painful thing in life.”

Chayoung moves forward, almost directly in front of him, her hand placed on his back. “What are you harping on about.”

“The bingo,” Vincenzo mutters, looking into her eyes.

She sighs, sliding out of the half-hug and setting her hands on Vincenzo’s shoulders. “I think you should shut up.”

“I don’t think I should shut up,” He replies, defensive.

“Byeonhosa-nim,” Chayoung chastises. “You won’t achieve anything by beating yourself up.”

“But —”

“But then again,” Chayoung cuts in, “I was no different. Alright. You have three minutes to curse yourself out as much as you want.”

“There is a lot I should be getting angry with you about.”

“We’re partners, byeonhosa-nim.” Chayoung says, all matter-of-fact-ly. “And we’re very much the same. Getting angry at me would be getting angry at yourself, no?”

Vincenzo’s face morphs into one of those rare expressions of extreme disgust. Chayoung knows she’s seen right through him. Before he can reply, she stands.

“I’m getting out of your sight, I’m going,” She hurries to say. “Three minutes. I’m timing you.”

Vincenzo watches her walk away from the river with a scowl.

-

Chayoung buys him coffee on the way back. Espresso, in that annoyingly tiny cup, and Vincenzo Cassano. A scene that has become as familiar as her reflection in the mirror. He sips diligently.

“Did it feel good?”

Vincenzo shakes his head with resolution.

“It doesn’t,” Chayoung sighs. “I know.”

Vincenzo downs his espresso in one go.

“Wanna go home?” Chayoung asks. At his nod, she chugs down the rest of her drink.

“Let’s go, then.”

She’s standing, picking her coat off the back of her chair, when Vincenzo speaks in the smallest voice.

“Byeonhosa-nim.”

Chayoung looks at him. He’s looking back, up at her, with the slightest of red in his eyes.

Chayoung plucks his coat off the back of his chair and drapes it over her forearm, then hauls him up by the hand.

“Let’s go,” She repeats. “Let’s take you home, you’ve had a long day.”

-

The only real challenge is parking the car, for the rain had caused a power cut, and the lights in the parking lot were all out. Vincenzo’s hands only shake slightly when he unlocks the door, and he has to lean on the wall a moment before he can regain himself to take off his shoes and discard his coat and fall back-first on the sofa.

Chayoung follows less quietly, banging pots and pans even when she does not mean to. When she has water boiling, she pads to the sofa as well.

Vincenzo stares straight up at the ceiling. His lighter is in one hand, closed and held closed, and his exhales are timed.

“You’re home,” Chayoung says. “You don’t need to hold back at home.”

Vincenzo moves his gaze to hers, blankly. He takes another measured breath.

Then, brokenly: “Will you sit with me?”

Chayoung nods in less than a heartbeat, making herself comfortable the moment Vincenzo sits up. She opens her arms, and at Vincenzo’s mouth open equally as much, she just scoffs and pulls him close.

He lets out a sound of surprise, but settles against her wordlessly.

“It’s okay to need comfort.”

Vincenzo gulps, blinks up at the ceiling. Chayoung can feel the way his throat moves from where his neck is perched on her shoulder. Slowly, he reciprocates the embrace, his arms tight across her back.

Chayoung soothes him with a hand stroking his hair.

“You do trust me, don’t you?” She questions, when the heaviness builds in her throat as well. “I trust you.”

“I trust you,” Vincenzo murmurs, breath hot against her neck.

Chayoung shifts back for a moment, puts a little distance between them without breaking the embrace. The hand she had in his hair traces its way to cup his cheek. She leans forward and kisses his forehead.

“I’ll still be here when you’re ready,” She repeats.

Vincenzo bites his lip, nodding, and blinks hard. When his tears fall, they have a sure shoulder to fall on, and when he crumbles, unquiet, he has a sure embrace to fall into.

[vampiresuns]

Look After Your Dead

✴︎ LOOK AFTER YOUR DEAD ✴︎

In which Anatole is very bad at staying dead, and Amparo and Valerian Cassano look for him. 1.9k words. Art is ‘Fruit of Life’ by Megan Rieker. For Anatole’s Apprentice timeline, pre-game, compliant with all routes. Content warning(s): Death.

You can read the rest of Anatole’s apprentice timeline series here. 

First came the silence. Both of them had promised themselves in their own way they would not check on Anatole while he was dead; or perhaps they would only to know if he was safe where the dead are supposed to be. He wasn’t, not for long. He had the energy of a wandering dead; a soul, or cumulus of former living energy, which was traversing through the realms still, albeit not because he didn’t know he was dead. On the contrary, like always, their Anatole felt like he was looking for answers — like he was waiting for something to begin, or something to click.

Second came the turning. Anatole was a restless yet restful dead. He didn’t come back to deliver any messages, he didn’t come to sit in anyone’s dreams. Both of them could tell it wasn’t because he didn’t want to do it, it wasn’t because he didn’t want to turn and tell them something they could only imagine. Anatole was still searching for something, and they both knew him enough (one saw him grow, the other grew up with him) to know Anatole would keep going, even if he turned his head to look back, until he found what he was looking for. Giving up was not in his vocabulary: if it were, he wouldn’t be dead. 

Third came the jump. It would take both of them a while to realise what had truly happened. Valerian had never witnessed it before like this, Amparo had never witnessed it at all, used to the energy of those who were gone and came back as ghosts, or sometimes, never left, changing into something which shouldn’t walk their world. Those were the kind of changes in the dead that she was used to. This was different. It felt as if Anatole’s presence had jumped and relocated somewhere to never be found, somewhere which wasn’t the realm of the Dead. 

In the magical realms, the person known as Aelius Anatole Radošević De Silva had climbed to the highest peak of the Fool’s realm. There he could see a dragon fly above his head, getting lost in the horizon while he stood alone in the overgrown island. The words had been clear: We will look after you, and then the Fool’s: When you’re ready, all you have to do is jump, I will be waiting.

Waiting for what? For whom?

For him, of course, he knew that. But where? And most importantly why?

He stared at the horizon as darkness faded, and the greyish first tints of sunrise left way to an explosion of colour, and as if the shoe he was waiting to drop finally hit him on the head, he laughed. The conclusion came to him like a realisation, and on top of a building that was once shaped like the Lazaret he cried. He only hoped his mother would forgive him for making her weep for however long. He would walk the clouds again, he would see the faces of the people he loved again, he would step on the cobblestones of Vesuvia and breathe again. 

Giving up had never been in his vocabulary. All he had to do was jump.

“Am I dead?” He had asked, a year ago.

“Yes,” he had been answered. “But I do not think you’ll stay dead for long.”

He recalled that conversation as he drew a breath and, like a lover running to the arms of the subject of their affections, he ran to the edge of the precipice and jumped. 

It took Amparo and Valerian about eight months to piece together what had happened and to dare say it to each other. The first clue came in the shape of energy, picked up by Amparo before Valerian could; energy which reassembled Anatole’s, was Anatole’s, but faded like a fire which stubbornly fights against its nature to be lit. Or perhaps, like a fire which does not have the right conditions to do so. Amparo had promised herself she would leave the dead alone, but she guessed that if the energy of the dead felt so alive, then she was allowed to look. 

She didn’t do it immediately, too hurt, too scared for all of it to be wishful thinking. But what if it was him? What if it was him and he needed someone who knew how to transverse energy and life and death? Amparo felt she was justified enough to ‘create a tether’ between that energy and herself, a way of keeping tabs on her dead cousin. 

That energy disappeared suddenly after three months, and reappeared two weeks after that just like it had gone: with no warnings. This was when Valerian picked it up too — the distinct energy of someone who had died and come back to life, someone who, against all odds had come back as themselves but didn’t know who they were yet. Valerian had never witnessed such a thing face to face, instead he had seen the results of it once when he was in his twenties. Most of the time necromancers did not interfere with the natural order of things, and when they did, it usually was for their own selfish reasons: a necromancer who did not understand that everyone eventually had to die was either a very incompetent necromancer, or a very dangerous necromancer. 

It took both of them some time to raise the topic with each other. When they did, they felt like they could breathe again, like there was someone else to bear this weight with; Valerian was old, older than most, and while he had no intention of dying yet, he didn’t know if he could bear something like this alone again. 

Their plan was to track the energy so they could come to the bottom of it, with Amparo doing the tracking and neither of them doing the talking, too aware of the negative consequences this could have. If they were wrong, they’d break their families hearts for nothing and they couldn’t do that to them, especially to Anatole’s parents, Valerius, Amparo’s own mother, Milenko or his friends. However, if they were right, Valerian had advised Amparo to tread with caution. 

“Death is not a pause, but often a reset. How people come back, or how they remember who they are — if they remember at all — is a very delicate matter, my dear.”

Amparo now was one of the few living people who knew Valerian Cassano, former darling of Vesuvian theatre and window of Iovanus, former Consul, was a necromancer, but it seemed like a light secret to keep in comparison to the possibility of Anatole being alive. Without saying it, they both knew the secret would be their responsibility to keep, theirs to carry until they knew more of the situation. How had he come back, had there been side effects, was it really, truly him? Valerian explained to Amparo that there was a possibility the person who came back would look like Anatole without being Anatole: his entire personality and everything that made him himself misplaced, lost, as something new and alien took its stead. A new personality, for a new person. 

Amparo hated to admit it made sense, even though she insisted this had to be Anatole, it felt too much like him. Even if it felt like he was coming from behind a veil, or from underwater. With a determination not even Valerian’s well-meaning advice could temper (though she accepted it, as she knew he cared deeply about Anatole) Amparo swore she would find her cousin. She owed it up to him. 

“Valerian?” She said one day, after much thinking, finding the old man in the winter garden. “I think I know how to find him without being seen. I think we have to wake up Antu.”

“I’m afraid you’re right, Lele, darling.”

Valerian stood up with the help of his walking cane, moving towards the closest bed of flowers; Amparo rushed to help him kneel down, but he shook his head telling her to save it for when he had to stand back up. He ungloved one of his hands, handing the garment to Amparo as it revealed a perfectly youthful hand in its absence, the skin looking more like it belonged to a 20 year-old than a centenary, and counting, old man. When Valerian had stopped practising necromancy for his own reasons, all that pent up magic began working its way through the magician himself, or affecting his immediate surroundings. 

One of those side-effects had been his abnormally young hands. The magic regenerated them on its own accord, the instrument it had been one casted with. 

He cut a handful of flowers, and in their place new ones began to grow in a blink. “Here,” Valerian said after Amparo helped him up, “if I cut them, they will last a little longer.” 

It was three o’clock, the Palazzo moving to the rhythm of its afternoon shift. Amparo would have to go through most of it in order to reach the small external garden it had, and from there she’d have to descend to the family’s mausoleum. Of course, Anatole’s actual body was missing. Or rather, it was nothing but charred bone so there had been no body to bury. As she made her way, no one from the staff stopped her, nor asked if she needed anything, the flowers on her hand were telling enough. She prayed to the Sun in high-heaven and the Moon looking after her that no one would.

Amparo also prayed she didn’t run into Anatole’s parents. Nothing would ruin her tries more than running into Louisa, or even worse, Vlad. Valerius was a different matter entirely, she was angry at him over some argument he had had with her mother in the Council, so while she had no desire to cross paths with him, he was relatively easier to get rid of. One would think Louisa would be the hardest, but Anatole’s mother grieved her son in different ways which luckily involved staying as far away from the mausoleum as possible. 

Dr. De Silva, as a former war doctor, was no stranger to Death, nor she was unevered by it or the rituals the living had to reminisce on those they have lost; however, Louisa De Silva would not cry tears to an empty coffin. She said her son was in other places, not there, so she didn’t need to go as often as her husband did, even if she still went down to leave him flowers once a week. 

Vlad, on the other hand, had practically become as part of the family’s mausoleum as the dead themselves. 

Like Anatole’s father, his familiar had also become a permanent fixture in it. After Anatole died, Antu kept going back to the East Docks on his own, waiting for him to come back, trying to throw himself into the sea to swim all the way to the Lazaret. He was too smart of a creature to stay doing that forever, so sooner rather than later it sunk in that his magician, his companion, his saviour and protector was well and truly dead. Amparo wasn’t sure what sounds Racoons made when they were sad, strangely, she had said they must’ve sounded a lot like dogs, or perhaps, howling foxes. 

She had never expected Antu’s outward noise (a sad little series of chirps) to be nothing in comparison to the wailing cacophony that would echo in the mind of whomever could communicate with the raccoon. Would’ve she been able to drink enough alcohol, drink whatever potion, undergo whatever spell to not hear it, Amparo would’ve done it.

But if anyone could track Anatole it would be Antupillán. Luckily for Amparo, he was the only thing in the mausoleum, except of course, for the Dead, but the Dead were always everywhere.

Antu came back two days later. 

He is alive, my Anatole, he is alive! 

[gltwrites]

Vincenzo-ing and (already) obsessed: First impressions on the new tvN drama

Legal jargons, attractive suits, polished shoes, and sleek wheels are just a few of the things that will usher you in the newly-aired legal-slash-mafia-themed K-drama, “Vincenzo”. Headlined by the superstar Song Joong Ki, “Be Melodramatic” actress Jeon Yeo Bin, and 2PM member and “Save Me” star Taecyeon, it’s safe to say that the tvN/Netflix show is off to a good start. As of March 2, “Vincenzo” reached a total of 10.2% in viewership ratings for its 4th episode, a 2% increase from its 3rd.

I’m not going to deny, though, that Song Joong Ki as the main lead was a slab of a reason why I decided to plunge back into K-dramaland despite my busy schedule. Its genres were a paramount enticement, given that I really am into legal dramas filled with cracking mysteries, and its mafia trope excited me to great extent. The synopsis intrigued me, and I probably would’ve seen it even if Song Joong Ki wasn’t the one to play Vincenzo Cassano.

The show keeps getting better and better and I can’t wait for more things to unfold before my eyes!

EPISODES 5 & 6 SPOILERS

Vincenzo Cassano is a mafia legal adviser who decided to return to his homeland, South Korea, after his boss’ death. He then ended up in a rundown building where he met the righteous lawyer Hong Yu Chan (Yoo Jae Myung) and his daughter, the tenacious attorney Hong Cha Young (Jeon Yeo Bin) from a big-shot law firm Wusang, where the clients are mostly the rich, powerful, and nefarious. Taecyeon portrays Jang Jun-woo who poses as a simpleton intern at Hong Cha Young’s office but is actually the secret boss of the Babel Group.

Right off the bat, the drama gifted me with a good amount of comedy as each character was being introduced. I also love the cinematography and aesthetic of the show.

Vincenzo and Hong Yu Chan, having the same desire to keep the building in spite of dissimilar reasons, joined forces to fight the Babel Group that has been trying to acquire the property via dirty means. Hong Cha Young, on the other hand, works to defend the organization despite obvious knowledge of its illicit operations.

The initial episodes delivered a lighter plot, until mood darkened and got serious when Hong Yu Chan was killed on the 3rd episode. As if a bomb was dropped, I didn’t expect his character to be killed off that soon. But I must say that Hong Yu Chan played a significant part in Vincenzo’s viewpoint and in bringing him and Hong Cha Young together.

Bereaved and believing that there was more to her father’s death, Hong Cha Young resigned from Wusang and teamed up with Vincenzo to seek justice. This is where Jeon Yeo Bin’s role began to frequently enter the picture, showing her brazenness and determination to restore her father’s honor. Jeon Yeo Bin is a fresh face, and her character slightly put me off at the beginning. But I soon enough got accustomed to Hong Cha Young’s quirks and found her charming, not gonna lie.

Hong Cha Young and Vincenzo eventually discovered that Choi Myung Hee (Kim Yeo Jin), the villainous prosecutor for 20 years and newly-recruited senior attorney at Wusang, was the mastermind of the murder of Hong Yu Chan. Although, I must say that I found it weird and unrealistic when Hong Cha Young faced her again as if the murder didn’t happen. (Like??????)

Nevertheless, the duo’s chemistry comes about as they fight against the Babel Group and set its sprawling lab of RDU-90, a lethal drug, in flames.

As the inferno went on, Jang Jun-woo emerged as the real, wicked boss of Babel Group. While the revelation was indeed a bolt from the blue, I had an inkling that there was more to Taecyeon’s character from the get-go, because I was somehow unconvinced that he was just going to be a dumbo intern from abroad throughout the series. He likes to cling to Hong Cha Young while masking his real identity, which suggests that he’s infatuated to her. The way he looks at Hong Cha Young and Vincenzo together also solidifies the hypothesis he has a crush on the feisty lady attorney.

Meanwhile, the 5th episode also had a moment of fluff and suggested the love line between Hong Cha Young and Vincenzo when the latter won in their bet, and smiled warmly as he stared at Hong Cha Young while her eyes were shut.

Surely, there are more of these moments to come, probably mushy or straightforward, who knows? But right now, the epic duo is busy as the plaintiff’s legal team, set to meet Kim Yeo Jin at the court, and now with full support from the previously skeptical tenants of the rundown building.

The episode ended with Vincenzo and Hong Cha Young making a grand entrance with their stylish outfits and sleek sports car, and the courthouse steps their fashion runway.

[jipuragi]

17. “Is that my shirt you’re wearing?” (cuz I'm a predictable hoe who loves that clothes sharing! )

Word Count: 300 

Ship: Vincenzo Cassano/Hong Cha-young

Vincenzo Cassano exhaled heavily as he unlocked his apartment door. His workday had been exhausting and he was relieved to finally be home. Cha-young had been out of the office and though he’d never admit it out loud, he’d missed her. 

She was his daily dose of sunshine, thawing his icy heart and keeping him warm with her steady attention and smiles. The days always went by faster and never felt laborious when they worked on cases together, as he was always amused with her constant antics. 

Maybe he should call her to see how her day off went?

He immediately brightened at that thought, and placing his briefcase down, he slipped off his work shoes and slid into his house slippers. He made a beeline for the kitchen where he had a brand new bottle of Pinot Noir. 

He would have a glass and then call her.

A loud squawk interrupted his planning.

“Come here, you bastard,” Cha-young materialized screeching, skidding across the floor, a broom in hand and her long hair frazzled.

“What the hell?” he exclaimed, jumping back. His normally neat apartment was in disarray with a mess of bird feathers all over the floor and there seemed to be an intense standoff between Inghazi and Cha-young.

“Out!” she waved the broom at the bird who retaliated by flapping its wings and cawing. “This damn bird thinks it owns the place, coming in here as it pleases!”

Vincenzo’s blood rushed to his ears as he finally realized what she was wearing.

“Ms. Hong?” he asked hesitantly, his cheeks burning as her long exposed legs. “Is that my shirt you’re wearing?”

“Yes.” She shot him a mischievous smile. “Is that a problem?”

He gulped. She was wearing one of his dress shirts, a white button-up. 

And nothing else.

[valhallanrose]

Cherry Bomb

In which a makeover leads to something more. Otherwise known as I wanted to write something gay as shit and my friends indulge me. 

Zelda/Amparo. The lovely Amparo belongs to @sunrisenfool. 

Title: Cherry Bomb by The Runaways

1.5k words. No CWs apply. 

When Zelda had invited Amparo over to her place to spend the afternoon together, she hadn’t necessarily had a plan, but she wasn’t expecting things to turn into a makeover. Not that she was complaining, she was having an absolute blast, but Amparo’s brand of makeover was certainly unique. It came with a trunk full of clothes and shoes to match, and Amparo was already digging in Zelda’s closet to see what else could be added to the pile for their escapade. 

“What in the world is this?” Zelda laughed, lifting what appeared to be a massive fur coat with a pair of protruding eyes and even a beak on the front out of the pile - marveling at the pastel pink and blue intermixed on the garment before letting it drop out of her hands. 

“An ideal costume for a show I’m yet to be in.” Amparo’s head popped out, body still otherwise hidden behind Zelda’s closet door. “Your wardrobe is cute, but it’s not what I was looking for. No matter, I brought plenty. Where’s your makeup?”

Zelda snickered, stepping over to the vanity and pulling out every bit of makeup she could find - some of it still unopened for how rarely she broke from routine - and when she looked in the mirror, Amparo’s glee was contagious as she surveyed the haul that had emerged from Zelda’s drawers. Zelda let her have at it, watching with amusement as she sifted through and pulled whatever products she wanted for the looks she had planned. 

This was all Amparo’s game - Zelda had said she could have fun with it, and she certainly wasn’t going to get in her way. 

So when Amparo told her to pull her hair back and sit down in the vanity chair, Zelda obliged, though she’d been lying if she said her heart didn’t do an interesting little jump into her throat when Amparo knocked Zelda’s knees apart to stand between her thighs. 

“Look at all these freckles.” Amparo murmured, a light smile on her face as she lifted Zelda’s chin up with the tips of her fingers. “Like fawn spots.”

And Zelda, in a moment of brilliancy: “Fawn spots are white, I think.”

Thankfully, Amparo laughed, Zelda’s chin held in one of her hands while the other sifted through products to see where she wanted to begin. “That’d be a sight, wouldn’t it? White freckles. Yours are lovely, though, please tell me you don’t cover them up.”

Zelda shook her head slightly, feeling her cheeks warm when Amparo tutted softly and gently squeezed her chin to keep her still even though she wasn’t looking directly at her. 

“No, I don’t cover them up. Too much work, honestly, and it looks strange since I’ve got them everywhere else.” She cracked a smile, one Amparo matched as she smoothed a few pieces of hair out of her face and raised a brush to her face. 

Obediently, Zelda closed her eyes, relaxing as the fluffy brush dusted ever so lightly over her eyelids with a color she hadn’t thought to look at before Amparo put it on her. She thought for a moment she’d look when Amparo was done, but as if she’d read her mind, Amparo paused and pulled the brush away enough for Zelda to open her eyes. 

“You look in the mirror and I’ll fight you.” Amparo tapped the end of the brush on Zelda’s nose, grinning when she went cross eyed to try and look at the powder left behind. 

“Can I ask what look you’re going for, at least?”

Amparo shrugged, leaning in again and gesturing for Zelda to close her eyes again. “You can ask, but that doesn’t mean I’ll tell you.”

With a playful grumble, Zelda closed her eyes, listening to the sound of containers moving around on the vanity and the brief pause where Amparo dipped into what she assumed was another color before the brush came back to her eyes again. 

Getting to know Amparo since that first letter to her shop had been a bit of a whirlwind. Zelda had attempted multiple shows of hers by then, making a point to bring flowers or small gifts when she popped backstage to congratulate Amparo on her performance. The action always seemed to earn her a kiss on the cheek, marked with whatever lovely shade of lipstick Amparo had worn for the night, but Zelda always had to fight temptation to turn her head and steal a kiss for herself whenever Amparo leaned in. And every time they spent time together, there seemed to always be something hanging in the air between them, making Zelda consider the idea of making a move herself before the moment seemed lost and the cycle would repeat the next time the opportunity came. 

But now...Zelda could feel Amparo’s hand on her chin, the warmth of her breath on her face, smell her perfume. And Zelda had a keen nose. She could pick out vanilla, sandalwood, hints of rose, perhaps even a little patchouli when Amparo reached over Zelda’s shoulder to dip into something else. 

A broader brush swept across her cheekbones a few times, and Zelda couldn’t stifle a giggle, which made Amparo chuckle above her as Zelda cracked her eyes open. 

Mistake. Absolute mistake. Amparo was less than eight inches from her face, dark eyes boring into Zelda’s face as she turned her head from side to side to examine her work. Zelda felt her face heat, and Amparo tutted, pouting a little as she examined Zelda’s cheeks. 

“I feel like there’s something else we could add here…I didn’t think that blush would look so red on you when I put it on.”

“I could make suggestions if I could look -”

Amparo hushed her, giving Zelda a look that just screamed ‘no’ before laughing and reaching over her shoulder again. “Let me try and blend it out, and then we’ll do your lips. Close them.”

With a dramatic sigh, Zelda closed her eyes again, giggling a little more as Amparo passed that fluffy brush over her cheeks a few more times and chucked it somewhere into the mess that was her vanity before she heard a tube pop open. 

Zelda paused when the doe foot applicator passed over her lips, the cherry scent rising up from the bottle and filling her nose with the sweet scent even after Amparo put it away. 

“I know this one. It’s got a little bit of a tint, doesn’t it?”

“A little bit of red. How could you tell?”

Zelda opened her eyes, popping her lips together a few times before she answered with some amusement. “It’s cherry flavored. Tam bought me a set for my birthday. There’s a whole bunch of fruity ones somewhere, though my favorite is the blueberry. Makes me look a little frostbitten though.”

Amparo rolled the tube in her fingers, reading the etched glass container and mouthing the name of the brand as she did. She popped the tube open again, sniffed it...and suddenly, Zelda realized that this was another one of those moments.

Her throat tightened, and with a somewhat husky tone in her voice, Zelda looked up at Amparo and gently plucked the tube from her hand/ 

“Do you want to try it?”

Amparo’s brow furrowed for a moment as Zelda set the tube aside, then reached out and set her hands loosely on Amparo’s waist to bring her a step closer. The tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife as Amparo’s eyes darted down to Zelda’s rosy-glossed lips and the offer seemed to click for both of them.

They fell together in mere moments, Amparo’s hands cupping Zelda’s jaw and tilting her head up to meet her in a chaste kiss as Zelda squeezed her waist lightly with both hands. They broke apart once, meeting each other’s gazes through half-lidded eyes…

And then Amparo’s hand wove into Zelda’s hair and pulled her into another kiss, the careful wall they’d been working around collapsing between them as Zelda clutched her close and gave as much of the eager attention she got from Amparo back in that kiss as she could. 

She could have died right then and there, living and breathing Amparo Cassano and her stupid sexy vanilla perfume, but Zelda was suddenly very glad she was not in fact dead when Amparo pulled back and swept her thumb beneath Zelda’s lip to wipe away some of the smeared gloss. 

“How many of those lip glosses do you have?”

Zelda’s brow furrowed, and she glanced to the vanity, counting them and looking back up to Amparo with flushed cheeks. “Eight, counting the cherry. Why?”

The look Amparo gave her made her flush further as Amparo swept a small cloth across her lips, then reached for the next bottle of gloss that was closest to them without looking at the flavor on the bottle. 

“Because I’m now determined to find out what my favorite of these is. Suppose you’d be interested in helping?”

And Zelda, who knew that bottle was her favored blueberry just by the color of the cap, couldn’t find herself doing anything but think of how wonderful of an idea that was.