Atlas Apartment
Winter woke with her arms wrapped around Dennis; their bodies still clothed but comfortably close. She could feel the slow rhythm of his breathing, the subtle rise and fall of his chest beneath her hands. He was already awake, staring at the ceiling in thought.
"You're getting a suit today. No complaints," she stated firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Dennis sighed, but he didn't resist. Winter smirked, satisfied, and finally loosened her hold on him. As he rolled out of bed, she stretched lazily before watching him disappear into his own room.
Dennis rummaged through his drawers, pulling out a pair of loose blue jeans, a grey T-shirt, and his favorite patchwork jacket. Before heading to the shower, he stepped into the hallway—only to freeze.
Winter was walking toward the bathroom, wrapped in nothing but a towel.
His brain short-circuited. His gaze flickered for just a second—before his survival instincts kicked in, and he spun on his heel, darting back into his room like a soldier retreating from enemy fire.
Lying back on his bed, he tried to will away the heat creeping up his face. He had seen something he definitely wasn't supposed to, and his mind was now betraying him by replaying it on a loop.
Minutes later, the sound of running water stopped, and the door creaked open.
Dennis sat up just as Winter emerged, still toweling off her damp hair. She was clad in a fresh towel, her skin glistening slightly from the steam.
He glanced. Just a little.
"I saw that," Winter teased, smirking. "My eyes are up here, Dennis."
He stammered something incomprehensible before all but sprinting into the bathroom, turning the shower to its coldest setting.
As he stood under the freezing water, he sighed. I'm doomed.
After his shower, Dennis glanced at his reflection, running a hand through his damp afro. He didn't have time to twist it again, so he quickly banded it into a bun before stepping out, towel around his waist.
Winter was already dressed, buttoning up a crisp white blouse. She paired it with dark blue jeans that hugged her form and a long brown overcoat. As Dennis passed her, he caught her watching him.
She didn't say anything. Neither did he.
Instead, he quickly changed into his clothes and met her by the door.
"Our car is here," Winter announced, gesturing for him to follow.
Outside, a sleek luxury car with the Schnee Dust Company logo waited. The driver opened the door for them, and Dennis settled in, feeling slightly out of place as they were driven to a high-end tailor.
Upon stepping inside, Dennis immediately felt out of his element. The shop was filled with suits that were undoubtedly worth more than his entire wardrobe. Every fabric, every stitch screamed Schnee wealth, the kind of money that felt distant from his world.
A well-dressed man approached them with practiced grace.
"Good morning, Miss Winter," he greeted. Then his sharp eyes flicked to Dennis. "And who might your companion be?"
"This is Dennis," Winter introduced. "He's a Specialist I'm mentoring. He'll be accompanying me to my father's event. I'd like him fitted for a suit."
The tailor nodded. "Of course. Follow me."
Dennis was led to a private room. The man turned to him with an expectant look.
"I'll need to take your measurements. Please remove your jacket and shirt for accuracy."
Dennis hesitated briefly before sliding off his patchwork jacket and pulling his shirt over his head. As expected, Winter's gaze lingered on his torso, and when he met her eyes, she offered him a reassuring smile.
The tailor worked efficiently, measuring his shoulders, chest, and torso with precision.
"All done. Winter will assist you in selecting a suit," he said before stepping out, leaving Dennis alone with his thoughts.
Dennis glanced down at his scars. Some were faint, others deep. The one from Adam Taurus—the one that nearly bisected him—stood out the most. He traced the jagged line across his torso, considering something he'd been contemplating for a while.
Maybe a tattoo would help.
Before he could think too much about it, Winter returned with the tailor, holding a suit draped over her arm.
The blazer was a pristine white, the lapel decorated with an intricate snowflake design. When she opened it, the lining shimmered with dozens of embroidered snowflakes. The pants matched, and a pale blue shirt completed the ensemble.
"Put it on," Winter instructed.
Dennis took the suit from her, not particularly bothered by her presence as he changed. He left the top button of the shirt undone, only for Winter to pull a white tie from behind her back.
Stepping closer, she reached up and fastened the tie around his neck, her fingers deftly working the fabric. Her hands lingered briefly as she did his top button for him.
"You look dashing," she teased, a playful smirk tugging at her lips.
Dennis scoffed lightly but muttered, "Thanks."
After changing back into his own clothes, he instinctively walked to the counter to pay—only to feel Winter's curious gaze on him.
"Why are you trying to pay?" she asked, confused.
He paused, suddenly realizing his mistake.
Winter rolled her eyes, amused. "Dennis, I still get SDC perks. This is covered."
He felt heat creep up his face as he awkwardly shuffled away from the counter.
As they left the store, he hesitated before speaking.
"Winter… what's your opinion on tattoos?"
She raised an eyebrow. "I don't see anything wrong with them. Why?"
"I want to get one," he admitted, rubbing the back of his head.
Winter's expression softened. "Why are you embarrassed? I'm not going to judge you. If you want one, go for it—just don't put it on your face. You do have a reputation to uphold."
Dennis chuckled. "It's to cover my scars. Adam nearly cut me in half the first time I fought him, so I figured… I might as well turn it into something meaningful."
Winter's eyes flickered with understanding. "Then let's go," she said, already calling for a car.
The tattoo parlor was run by a massive man—bigger than both Dennis and even General Ironwood. He was covered in tattoos and had piercings that made him look even more intimidating.
"Welcome. Name's Brevin. You looking to get some work done?" he asked, his deep voice reverberating through the shop.
"Yeah, just me," Dennis replied.
Brevin eyed him up and down. "You got a design in mind?"
"Only for my left arm. But I also want to cover a scar."
Brevin nodded. "Let's head to a workroom. Your girlfriend can come too."
Winter chuckled while Dennis sputtered, "She's not my—"
"Yeah, yeah, sure," Brevin said, clearly unconvinced.
Inside the workroom, Brevin gestured. "Show me the scar."
Dennis removed his jacket and shirt again, revealing the deep wound stretching from his left shoulder to his right hip.
Brevin let out a low whistle. "Damn. Huntsman?"
"Trying to be," Dennis admitted.
"Well, this is gonna take a while," Brevin grinned. "But I've got an idea."
Hours later, Dennis finally sat up. His left arm was now covered in intricate Vacuan tribal markings, stopping just above his wrist. His torso bore various symbols, mantras, and small artistic designs.
Brevin patted his shoulder. "Since you're a hunter, here's a trick—focus your aura on the tattooed areas. It'll heal faster."
Dennis followed his advice, and the pain slowly dulled.
"Don't worry about paying," Brevin added with a smirk. "Your girlfriend took care of it."
"She's not—"
"Yeah, yeah."
Winter just smirked as they left.
Dennis sighed. This is going to be a thing, isn't it?
After getting his hair redone into twists, Dennis and Winter stepped outside just as a sleek SDC car pulled up beside them. Without a word, they climbed in, the quiet hum of the vehicle filling the space between them as they were driven back to the apartment.
Winter let out a soft sigh as she leaned back in her seat, finally letting her guard down. "That was a good day, wasn't it?" she murmured, reaching up to undo her ponytail.
Dennis glanced at her, watching as strands of silver hair fell freely around her face. It softened her usually sharp features, making her look... relaxed.
"Yeah," he admitted. "It was fun." He rolled his shoulders, feeling the slight pull of his fresh tattoos. "But I could use some sleep. It's late."
Winter chuckled. "Me too."
Back at the apartment, Dennis shrugged off his coat while Winter grabbed a bag of sweets from the kitchen. She tossed him a pack and then, instead of heading to her own room, motioned for him to follow.
Dennis hesitated. "Uh…"
Winter raised an eyebrow. "We've shared a bed before, Dennis."
He couldn't exactly argue with that. With a sigh, he followed her inside.
Winter kicked off her shoes and started unbuttoning her blouse. Dennis immediately turned away, his face heating up.
She laughed. "You're too modest for a soldier. I used to share barracks all the time during training."
"I'm not used to this," Dennis muttered, trying very hard not to peek as she changed into pyjamas.
A moment later, she tugged him onto the bed, wrapping her arms around him like it was the most natural thing in the world. She rested her chin on his shoulder and started feeding him pieces of candy between small, casual conversations.
"You excited for the event?" she asked as she popped a gummy into his mouth.
Dennis chewed then exhaled slowly. "I'm nervous, if I'm being honest. Part of my training covered infiltration, but I've never had to blend in at an event like this before."
Winter smiled, placing another gummy between his lips. "I'll be with you the whole time. I'll have to socialize a bit, but I won't be far. This is good practice for you."
Dennis chewed thoughtfully, his eyes drifting to his arm. The intricate tribal designs stood out against his dark skin, a stark contrast to the scars that had once been the only thing he saw.
Winter followed his gaze. She reached out, running her fingers over the ink, tracing the patterns lightly.
"I like it," she murmured.
Dennis swallowed, suddenly feeling warm for an entirely different reason.
Winter placed the last gummy in his mouth before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "Sleep well, okay?" she whispered.
He barely had time to process the gesture before she tucked herself against him, her arms tightening around his torso.
Dennis smiled to himself; grateful she couldn't see his face.
As he felt himself drifting off, he realized something—he felt safe.
And, if the way Winter held onto him was any indication, so did she.
Winter's eyes flutter open, greeted by the soft morning light slipping through the curtains. The room is still, save for the quiet rhythm of Dennis' breathing, steady and calm as his back faces her. Her arm is draped around him, fingers gently tracing the edges of his skin, the warmth of his body a welcome comfort. She watches him for a moment, her gaze softening at the peaceful rise and fall of his chest. It's a sight she could lose herself in.
Her finger moves slowly, tracing delicate circles against his back, light and deliberate to avoid waking him. The touch is almost instinctual, a quiet way of connecting with him, of keeping the serenity between them from breaking. Today was the day of the event. She couldn't help the small knot that formed in her stomach, knowing how much pressure was on both of them, how much it meant. But she had a simple goal for today: to keep Dennis calm. If he was less anxious, less wound up, maybe everything would go smoothly. Maybe it would keep the inevitable accidents at bay.
A smile spreads across her face as she leans in, her lips brushing the base of his neck, a soft, lingering kiss that speaks of something unspoken between them. She tightens her hold, pulling him closer, just as his body stirs. The quiet murmur of his voice breaks the silence. His eyes, dark and full of warmth, meet hers, and she feels something shift in the space between them.
"Good morning," she whispers, her voice still thick with sleep, but tender nonetheless.
Dennis turns his head, his eyes searching hers, the depths of brown locking onto the cool blue of hers. He blinks a few times, clearly still in the haze of sleep, but his lips curl upward into a sleepy smile.
"Good morning. How'd you sleep?" he asks, his voice rough with the remnants of sleep, but gentle, like he's still adjusting to the world around him.
"Great," Winter says, her voice a little lighter now, her smile widening as she gazes at him. "I had something to hold onto," she adds, her tone teasing as she gently brushes her finger across his side again, reminding him of her presence.
Dennis chuckles, his eyes lighting up with a quiet amusement. "I'll take that as a compliment," he replies, though there's a flicker of nervousness behind his words, an echo of the tension that always comes before something big.
Winter brushes a stray lock of hair away from his face, her fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary, tracing the curve of his jaw. She could see the unease in his eyes, the uncertainty. He had been anxious about the event for weeks, and while she knew it was important, she couldn't bear the thought of him carrying all that weight on his shoulders.
"Until the event, I want you to be relaxed, okay?" Winter says softly, her voice steady and reassuring. "Don't stress about anything. It'll be fine."
Dennis nods, though the edge of worry still lingers in his gaze. "Yeah, sure," he says, his voice quiet but willing, as if he's trying to believe her.
Winter smiles at him, brushing a final loose twist of hair from his face. "Good. Now," she says, her tone shifting slightly as she sits up, stretching her arms above her head. "What do you want to do today?"
Dennis blinks up at her, his mind clearly still a bit foggy from sleep. He doesn't respond right away, his thoughts momentarily scattered, but Winter can see the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he processes the question.
"Relax," she tells him, her voice soft but firm, like a gentle command that only he would understand. "I say we do some baking today. What do you think?"
Dennis grins, a genuine, relieved smile. "I'm okay with that," he says, his voice warmer now, his nerves loosening under the calm of her presence.
Winter stands up, stretching her back as she moves toward the kitchen, her body lithe and graceful. "I think we should make apple crumble," she announces, a glint of excitement in her voice.
"That's a good idea," Dennis agrees, slowly rolling out of bed, cracking his neck with a satisfying pop. He follows her into the kitchen, the familiar scents of flour and sugar already filling the space as Winter begins gathering bowls and ingredients.
"Do you know how to cook?" Winter asks, turning to glance at Dennis with a playful smirk as she arranges the items on the counter.
"I can cook," he admits with a shrug, "just can't bake."
"Well," Winter says, tying her hair up into its usual neat bun, "I'll take the lead here." She directs him to measure out the ingredients while she begins preparing the filling, her voice steady and confident as she takes charge of the process. Dennis follows her instructions with a smile, the two of them working in a comfortable silence, occasionally exchanging playful glances or light teasing remarks.
The crumble goes into the oven, and Winter, satisfied with their progress, turns to Dennis. "Now that's done, I need a shower. Can you watch the crumble?" she asks, slipping off her apron and walking toward the bathroom.
"Sure," Dennis replies, settling onto the couch as he pulls out his scroll, setting a timer for the crumble. He leans back, watching a show as he waits for the minutes to tick by. The timer goes off, but Winter is still in the shower. He checks it frequently, glancing between the screen of his scroll and the kitchen, a slight nervousness creeping back into his thoughts.
When Winter finally emerges from the bathroom, fully dressed, her hair still damp, she flashes him a smile. "How's the crumble going?" she asks, walking into the kitchen with that familiar calm grace.
"I haven't actually checked it," Dennis replies, his voice slightly sheepish. "But it's only been like, 40 minutes."
Winter rolls her eyes affectionately, then heads to the kitchen to check. The crumble is perfectly golden, the edges crisped just right. She pulls it from the oven, a small smile tugging at her lips as she admires the snowflake pattern she'd drawn on top. "At least this is done," she says, setting it aside to cool.
She moves to the freezer, pulling out a tub of ice cream, and serves generous portions onto two plates. "Is that enough for you?" she asks, handing Dennis a plate with three scoops of ice cream.
Dennis stares at the mound of ice cream, then glances at Winter's much smaller portion. "Is that enough for you?" he repeats, raising an eyebrow.
Winter waves him off. "Don't worry about me. Benny said you need to eat more, which is why I gave you so much," she says with a grin, carrying her plate to the couch.
They settle in next to each other, dessert in hand, the room filled with the soft hum of their show as they eat in comfortable silence.
"What time are we leaving?" Dennis asks, breaking the quiet as he finishes his crumble.
"In around two hours," Winter replies. "It'll take me about half an hour to get ready."
Dennis nods and sighs, trying to relax, but Winter's presence beside him keeps him at ease. She's so steady, so calm. He feels like he can breathe easier with her.
Winter finishes her dessert, placing her plate carefully on the coffee table beside Dennis' empty one. She turns to him, smiling with a touch of mischief as she leans back into the couch, stretching her legs out. Dennis hesitates for a moment, unsure whether to follow suit, but Winter's gentle gaze encourages him, and he finally places his plate down and leans back against her. She opens her arms wide, a silent invitation for him to settle against her, and Dennis, without thinking, drapes himself over her smaller frame.
Winter chuckles softly, her arms wrapping around him, pulling him close with a tenderness that makes his heart race in an entirely different way. Despite her smaller stature, there's a sense of strength in the way she holds him, a quiet, unspoken confidence that makes him feel grounded.
"I find this quite comfortable," Winter murmurs, rubbing his torso lightly with her hand, her fingers warm against his skin.
Dennis laughs softly, his breath warming her neck as he shifts slightly, resting more comfortably in her embrace. "Yeah, I like this too," he admits, feeling a sense of peace settle over him. "It's... nice to just relax."
Time seems to stretch in those moments—just the two of them, nestled into the quiet comfort of each other's company, with nothing but the distant hum of the television and the occasional clink of ice in their empty glasses. Dennis' mind drifts, a calming stillness that makes it easy to forget about the event, about the nerves that had plagued him earlier.
Winter emerges from her room, wearing a stunning pale blue halter neck dress. The back of the dress is open, revealing the pale skin of her back, and the white heels she wears make her seem even taller, her presence commanding yet graceful.
Dennis stands frozen for a moment, his breath catching in his throat. He's seen her dressed up before, but something about her today—about the way she carries herself takes his breath away. He can't stop staring, the simple beauty of her stealing his focus entirely.
Winter raises an eyebrow as she notices his gaze. "Well?" she says, her voice soft but teasing. "What do you think?"
"Stunning," Dennis says simply, a hint of awe in his tone.
She smiles, smoothing her dress down before grabbing a white snowflake necklace from the dresser. "I think we match now," she says, fastening it around her neck, the delicate pendant catching the light.
With a soft chuckle, she holds out her arm for him. "Shall we?" she asks, her voice light but confident. Dennis hesitates for a moment, then takes her hand, allowing her to lead him outside, where a sleek limousine waits for them.
The driver opens the door, and they step inside. Winter grabs a chilled bottle of champagne, setting it on the foldable table between them. The glasses are filled, and their eyes meet as they clink their glasses together.
"To today," Winter says, her voice soft but warm. "To keeping things together."
"To keeping things together," Dennis repeats, the weight of the moment not lost on him.
As the limousine rolls along, Winter keeps the conversation light, offering words of encouragement, trying to ease the nervous energy Dennis can't quite shake. They finish the bottle of champagne before they arrive at the event.
When they step out of the car, Winter takes his hand again, her fingers threading through his as they approach the massive hall. Music spills from one corner, and the chatter of voices fills the air. The place is bustling, filled with people in elegant attire, but it's clear that the moment Winter enters, all eyes are on her. People approach her constantly, speaking with her, asking for her attention.
Dennis feels the weight of the world on him in those moments, but Winter stays close, always guiding him through, answering questions as politely as she can while keeping an arm wrapped around his.
It's only when Winter's father, Jacques Schnee, approaches that the full weight of the event hits. Jacques stands tall, his white hair impeccably styled, his suit looking as though it was made for someone of his power and prestige. He greets Winter with a smile and a kiss on the cheek, then turns his attention to Dennis.
"Good evening, Winter," he says. "I trust everything is going well?"
"It's a nice event, Father," Winter responds, smiling back.
The conversation turns to Dennis, with Jacques offering a handshake. "I'm Jacques Schnee, CEO of the SDC," he introduces himself. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dennis."
Dennis shakes his hand, his nerves intensifying. "It's an honor to meet you, sir," he says, trying to keep his voice steady.
As Winter and Jacques talk, Dennis can't help but feel like an outsider in this world of power and influence. The night stretches on, and the alcohol flows freely, people moving from one conversation to the next, the atmosphere growing more relaxed as the evening wears on.
When the time comes to leave, Dennis and Winter share a few quiet moments together, their arms linked, their fingers entwined. They return to the limousine, their bodies close, their heads filled with the remnants of the night's indulgence.
As they arrive at the apartment, the cool night air gives way to the warmth of the space inside. Winter steps in first, holding the bottle of red wine in hand, and Dennis follows, his thoughts still slightly clouded from the event they'd just attended. He takes in the cozy atmosphere of the apartment, the soft glow from the lamps casting gentle shadows across the room. It feels like an escape from the night's high tension—a place where they can just be themselves.
Winter places the bottle of wine on the coffee table, and they both settle onto the couch, the quiet between them comfortable at first. They pour themselves glasses, the deep red liquid swirling as it fills the glass. They take small sips, each lost in their own thoughts, yet the silence is not uncomfortable. It's a moment of peace, of understanding. Winter's presence next to him, her steady gaze, gives Dennis a sense of calm he didn't realize he needed.
But then Winter breaks the silence, her voice hesitant, pulling him from his thoughts.
"Dennis," she says, her voice softer than usual, carrying a note of vulnerability he isn't used to hearing from her.
He looks over at her, noticing the subtle shift in her demeanor. It's as if a wall she's carefully built is beginning to crumble, revealing something beneath that she hasn't said aloud. "Yes?" he responds, his tone gentle, sensing her uncertainty.
"I never was good with words when it comes to this," she admits, her voice low but steady, the truth of her words hanging in the air. "I don't really know how to—" she pauses, taking a slow breath, "—to make sense of everything, but I feel like I need to tell you."
Dennis doesn't say anything at first, letting her continue in her own time. He watches her, noticing how her eyes flicker with something raw, something she doesn't often show. He wonders what it is she's holding back, what she's struggling to express.
Before he can say a word, Winter makes the decision for both of them. Her movements are fluid and graceful, as if this is the natural next step, the only thing that makes sense. She shifts on the couch, straddling his lap, her knees pressing gently into the cushions as she closes the space between them. Her hands reach up, cupping his face with a softness that contrasts with the intensity of the moment.
Their eyes meet, locking in a gaze that feels more intimate than any words could convey. There's no more hesitation between them now, no more barriers. Winter leans in slowly, her lips brushing against his with a tenderness that quickly deepens into something more urgent. The kiss is filled with longing, a heat neither of them could deny any longer.
Dennis's response is immediate, his hands finding their place on her back, pulling her closer as the kiss deepens. It's a blur of sensations—her warmth against him, the taste of wine still lingering on their lips, the electric charge in the air that seems to heighten everything. Outside of the apartment, the world feels like it's miles away. There's no event, no expectations, just the two of them—caught in the moment, lost in each other.
Winter's hands begin to explore, sliding over the fabric of his shirt, her fingers deftly unbuttoning it with an ease that comes from familiarity. She moves with confidence, her touch both reassuring and electrifying. Dennis's chest rises and falls with each breath, and in that moment, it's as though they both let go of everything that had been holding them back. It's raw, unfiltered—a release that neither of them expected, but neither could resist.
The night stretches on in a blur of passion and connection, the weight of the evening dissolving into something deeper between them. Words are forgotten, replaced by the language of touch, of shared breaths and stolen moments. It's a night of exploration, not just of each other's bodies, but of the emotions they've kept buried for so long.
The first rays of morning light creep through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. Winter stirs in the quiet, the familiar ache of a headache setting in as the reality of the night before crashes down on her. Her body feels heavy, the aftereffects of alcohol and adrenaline mixing in her veins. But there's something more—something far more complicated than the physical sensations.
She's tangled in the warmth of Dennis' body, their limbs intertwined in a way that feels too intimate, too close for comfort. Her heart races in both fear and something else—something she can't quite name, something she's not ready to confront just yet. She tries to push the thoughts aside, but they linger in the back of her mind, the weight of what they've just shared and the consequences that come with it pressing down on her.
Her eyes flicker to the door as a knock interrupts her spiralling thoughts. The sound is sharp, intrusive in the stillness of the morning. Winter's chest tightens as she pushes herself up from the bed, the knot in her stomach growing with each passing second.
She slips into a nightdress, the fabric cools against her skin as she walks toward the door. Her mind races, the memories of the night mixing with the anxiety creeping up her spine. What now? she thinks, trying to steady her breath. She can feel the weight of the moment pressing on her, and she knows—deep down—that the consequences of last night are about to catch up with her.
When she opens the door, standing there is none other than General Ironwood. The sight of him sends a jolt through her system, and her heart skips a beat. He stands there, tall and imposing, his expression unreadable. The moment stretches on, the reality of what she's just done and the role her father plays in her life threatening to unravel everything.
Winter's pulse quickens. Shit—she thinks, her stomach sinking.
"Good morning, Winter. I hope you're okay?" James Ironwood greeted as he stood at the door.
"I'm okay, sir. What brings you here so early?" Winter asked, a trace of nervousness in her voice.
"Remember when I told you I would retrieve you for the Maiden transfer? Today is the day," Ironwood informed her.
Winter nodded, her expression unreadable. "I see. Let me write a note for Dennis, and I'll be right with you."
She quickly dressed and scribbled a note for Dennis, placing it under a cup of water before following Ironwood out.
Upon their arrival at Atlas Academy, Winter was led through a series of doors until they reached Fria's room. Just as Ironwood had described, the elderly woman looked frail, her life nearing its end. Ironwood couldn't risk the Maiden's powers falling into the wrong hands.
"Hello, Fria. How have you been?" Ironwood asked.
Fria sat up slightly, offering a tired but amused smile. "As well as I can be at this age."
Ironwood chuckled lightly before stepping aside. "This is the candidate to inherit your powers."
Fria's eyes studied Winter carefully. "Come here, girl." As Winter approached, Fria asked, "What's your name?"
"Winter Schnee."
"Well, if it wasn't obvious, I'm Fria. Now, do you understand the power you're about to inherit?"
"Yes."
Fria's expression grew somber. "Beware. You will be a target—not just for the Grimm, but for people far more dangerous. Do you understand what this responsibility means?"
"I do," Winter answered firmly.
Fria nodded in approval. "Then I see no reason to deny you my power." She smiled faintly. "Place your hand on mine."
Winter hesitated for only a second before resting her hand on Fria's frail one. A glow surrounded them both, and she felt something powerful flow into her. Flames flickered around her eyes, growing brighter as the transfer completed. A blinding flash filled the room, and when it cleared, Winter stood taller, stronger—changed.
She turned her gaze downward, watching as Fria lay motionless. The steady beep of the heart monitor turned into a flatline, and Winter's stomach twisted with guilt. Had she stolen what little time Fria had left? The flames in her eyes flickered before vanishing.
"How do you feel?" Ironwood asked.
Winter clenched her fists, testing her newfound strength. "Stronger than I've ever felt."
Ironwood gave a curt nod. "Good. You'll need that strength now. I've received intelligence—Haven Academy is under attack. We need to ensure the Relic of Knowledge doesn't fall into enemy hands. You and Dennis will be deployed immediately. Transport is arranged. Get ready."
"Understood, sir." Winter saluted before turning back toward the apartment.
Dennis awoke to a pounding headache and an odd sense of cold creeping into his bones. His body ached, but it wasn't the familiar soreness of battle—it was something else entirely. He turned over in bed, reaching out instinctively, only to be met with empty space.
Winter was gone.
His heart clenched. A strange sense of unease settled in his stomach as his mind slowly caught up to reality. His clothes were scattered across the room—a silent reminder of last night. He sat up abruptly, scanning the dimly lit room.
His gaze landed on the glass of water left neatly on the bedside table, a small folded note tucked underneath it.
Dennis grabbed the paper, his fingers still sluggish with sleep, and downed the water in one gulp before unfolding the note.
Good morning, I apologise for leaving without telling you, but I'm off to do the transfer. I shall be back soon, hopefully.
A sigh of relief escaped him.
She wasn't gone-gone.
She was just handling business.
Dennis let the note rest in his palm as he leaned back against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling. Last night replayed in his head—the touches, the warmth, the intensity. Every second of it was seared into his mind.
And now, she was gone, acting as if nothing had happened.
He let out a breath and ran a hand through his hair, his thoughts racing.
Then the door swung open.
Dennis barely had time to react before Winter stepped inside, her usual composed self. Her uniform was crisp, her expression neutral. Unfazed.
His stomach flipped.
Everything hit him all over again.
The kiss. The way she held him. The way she whispered his name.
Dennis gulped.
"Hi," he said, his voice far too nervous for someone who had faced Grimm and terrorists without hesitation.
Winter arched a brow, shutting the door behind her with a soft click. "Hello. Sorry for leaving without saying anything."
Dennis let out a breath, forcing himself to act normal. "Yeah, it's fine."
Winter studied him for a moment before giving a small nod. "Good. We have a mission today. We need to get to Mistral—fast. The Relic of Knowledge is at risk."
The shift in tone was sharp, snapping him out of his thoughts.
Dennis blinked, processing. "I see."
The nerves melted away, replaced by instinct.
Without another word, he rushed to his gear, donning his combat loadout with practiced efficiency. Kunai, pistol, knives—everything was in place. Armed to the teeth, he followed Winter out the door toward the awaiting Bullhead.
Inside the transport, Dennis took the seat beside her.
The silence between them was heavy.
His mind screamed at him. He had to ask.
"Winter."
She turned, meeting his gaze. "Yes, Dennis?"
"What happened yesterday?"
Winter tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "We had sex."
Dennis
"Y-Yeah, I could tell. But… what did it mean?"
Winter's face softened just a fraction.
"Dennis, how do you feel about me? Be honest."
Dennis hesitated—but only for a second.
"I do like you. I really do. But it's hard to explain. I've never been in love before, but with you, it feels like what love is supposed to be."
Winter's gaze dropped slightly, a flicker of something in her eyes.
She exhaled. "I see. But, Dennis… if it wasn't already obvious, I am much older than you. Over a decade, in fact."
Dennis remained silent, sensing the weight in her words.
She sighed. "I felt like I took advantage of you last night. You're not even eighteen yet, and yet… I flirted with you. I engaged with you. By Atlas law, I technically committed a crime, Dennis."
Dennis frowned. "If you're worried about that, I can assure you—you didn't take advantage of me. Furthermore, if I was uncomfortable or didn't like what you were doing, I would've said something."
Winter exhaled slowly, her fingers tightening against her lap.
Dennis leaned slightly closer. "So… what happens next? Are we dating?"
Winter gave him a look. A smirk curved onto her lips.
"I think we're well past that, Dennis," she murmured, reaching up to cup his face.
Dennis felt his breath hitch. "Yeah, b—"
Winter didn't let him finish.
She kissed him, hard and deep.
Her lips moved against his, slow but deliberate. The warmth of her mouth sent shivers down his spine. She pulled back for a brief second—just long enough to let him breathe—before diving back in.
This time, her tongue teased at his lips, slipping past them, exploring.
Dennis groaned slightly, gripping her waist as he melted into the kiss.
When she finally pulled away, her lips were smugly curved.
"You were saying?" she whispered.
Dennis barely had time to process before the intercom crackled to life.
"We're at the drop zone. The doors are opening now."
Dennis, still lightheaded from the kiss, rushed forward and jumped.
Winter's eyes widened. "Oh for—"
She leaped out after him, summoning a Nevermore mid-air.
She swooped down, catching Dennis mid-fall before landing gracefully on the courtyard of Haven Academy.
"What were you thinking?!" she snapped, yanking his ear.
Dennis winced. "I'm sorry!"
"You owe me dinner," Winter said with a smirk, finally letting go.
Dennis pouted but didn't argue.
The two moved forward, making their way inside.
What greeted them was pure chaos.
A massive standoff.
Cinder and her companions. The Branwen Tribe. Team RWBY and JNR, along with Qrow and Weiss. And, somehow, the White Fang.
Jaune's rage boiled over.
He lunged at Cinder.
Her sword intercepted his, and hell broke loose.
Gunfire erupted. Emerald and Mercury struck fast.
Dennis dodged, scanning the battlefield.
Then he saw him.
Mercury Black.
Dennis froze. His eyes widened.
"Holy shit, Winter. That's Marcus Black's son."
Winter's expression darkened. "This isn't good."
Dennis grit his teeth. "Let's deal with the White Fang first. They'll just get in the way otherwise."
"Agreed."
Dennis charged in.
His kunai, Kage, flickered in the air as he weaved between the White Fang ranks, cutting through them with brutal efficiency. Explosions tore through their formation as his grenades turned bodies into chunks.
"Hold on, it's him—The Butcher!" one of them gasped.
Dennis didn't let him finish.
A kunai silenced him, embedding deep into his throat.
He turned—just in time to block a kick from Mercury.
"Oh, look, it's you," Dennis sneered.
Mercury cocked his head. "How do you know me?"
"I don't know you. I know your dad."
Mercury's expression darkened. "Well, he's dead."
Dennis smirked. "Perfect. One less of you."
They clashed.
The battlefield erupted in fire, blood, and steel.
And Dennis was right in the middle of it all.
Mercury lunged.
His metallic leg shot forward in a vicious kick aimed directly at Dennis' ribs.
Dennis barely had time to react—he twisted at the last second, parrying the strike with Kage, the kunai sparking against the reinforced metal of Mercury's limb. Another kick came immediately after, and Dennis ducked, feeling the wind from the attack just barely brush against his hair.
Mercury smirked, dropping low for a sweeping kick, but Dennis saw it coming.
He jumped, flipping midair, and let loose a knife wired to his gauntlet. It shot toward Mercury, but the assassin spun away, dodging by a hair's breadth.
"Fast," Dennis admitted, landing smoothly.
Mercury clicked his tongue. "You're not too bad yourself."
Dennis didn't waste time talking—he rushed forward, closing the gap in an instant, swinging Kage in a tight arc toward Mercury's throat. Mercury jerked back, only to be forced into a side roll as Dennis fired Tempest, his pistol, sending a storm of bullets at him.
But then—
A faint whisper curled into Dennis' ears. A distortion of the world, subtle but undeniable.
Emerald.
Dennis gritted his teeth, immediately switching his focus. He barely caught a glimpse of green hair out of the corner of his eye before the illusion tried to take hold.
Not today.
Dennis raised Tempest and fired twice in her direction.
Emerald yelped, rolling away. The haze lifted.
That was all he needed.
Dennis ducked under a kick from Mercury and punished him immediately with a shot that struck his shoulder, tearing away at his aura. Mercury stumbled back, wincing.
Dennis didn't stop.
He surged forward, ignoring Mercury entirely—Emerald was the real problem.
Her semblance was deadly. It made fighters second-guess everything. And in a battle like this? One mistake meant death.
Emerald's eyes widened as Dennis closed the distance, aiming a brutal kick toward her stomach.
She barely dodged, twisting to the side, but Dennis anticipated it.
He didn't let her breathe—he kept up the pressure, throwing wild yet precise strikes that forced her to defend rather than attack.
A pistol-whip to the face sent her flying backward into Mercury.
Dennis took the opportunity to reload Tempest.
He turned—just in time to see the Beacon group chasing after Cinder and Raven.
He cursed.
"Winter's with them," he muttered under his breath.
A sudden movement caught his attention—a White Fang soldier lunging at him.
Dennis barely dodged, stepping back as the blade swung past his face.
More were coming.
"Tch."
Dennis pulled a 9-Bang flash grenade from his belt and hurled it over his shoulder toward Mercury and Emerald.
He didn't even wait for it to detonate.
Nine flashes. Nine deafening bangs.
Dennis was already moving before the sound finished echoing.
Emerald was staggering, disoriented, her arms weakly raised to shield her face. Dennis wasted no time—he rushed her, flipping Kage into a reverse grip and slashing toward her midsection.
Emerald managed to twist away—but not fast enough.
The blade cut deep into her side, drawing a sharp cry from her lips.
Dennis followed up instantly, grabbing the chain of her sickles and using her own weapon against her.
In one smooth motion, he wrapped the chain around her throat and yanked.
Emerald's breath hitched as she was suddenly lifted off the ground, choking.
Dennis threw his kunai upward, embedding it into a broken pillar. The chain followed, suspending her as she struggled, her feet barely touching the floor.
"Emerald!" Mercury shouted, finally recovering.
Dennis turned his attention back to him.
Mercury's expression twisted in rage.
Dennis exhaled through his nose. "Alright, let's finish thi—"
"Hey, Dennis! What are you doing here?"
Dennis' entire body locked up.
Ruby.
The sudden interruption made him shift his focus.
Mercury's eyes flickered with an opening.
Dennis barely had time to react before a blast from Mercury's leg slammed into his chest.
The impact sent him stumbling to a knee, knocking the wind out of him.
By the time he recovered, Mercury was gone.
Dennis' head snapped toward Ruby, his gaze burning with fury.
"FUCK, RUBY! WHAT THE HELL?!"
Ruby blinked, taken aback. "H-Hey! What do you—"
"Do you have any idea what you just did?!" Dennis cut her off, his voice razor-sharp. "I had him! I fucking had him, and you just let him escape!"
Ruby looked down, guilt creeping into her expression.
Yang, however, stepped forward, her red eyes flaring. Flames licked her form, indicating her semblance had activated.
Dennis immediately raised Tempest, pointing it directly at her head.
The room tensed.
"Kid, relax," Qrow said, stepping between them, his hands raised slightly. "Firstly, you got one of them, so that's fine. Now drop the gun, and let's not let her die of asphyxiation."
Dennis barely spared him a glance.
Instead, he raised Tempest slightly—aiming at the chain suspending Emerald.
One precise shot broke the link, sending her crashing to the floor.
She gasped, clutching at her throat, but before she could even think about retaliating—
Dennis pressed the barrel of his pistol to her forehead.
"I don't suggest trying to use your semblance."
His voice was calm. Cold.
"I'm not required to bring you in alive. And last I checked—terrorists don't need kneecaps."
Emerald froze.
Before anyone could speak, a massive explosion shook the academy.
Dennis' eyes widened.
Winter.
He turned on his heel, stepping off Emerald's body.
From the shadows of the battlefield, two figures emerged—Winter and Raven.
Their blades were drawn.
Dennis acted on instinct—he stepped forward, placed his boot on Emerald's face to keep her down, and pointed Tempest at Raven.
"Raven," Qrow called out, his voice hard. "Can you give us the relic?"
Raven's crimson gaze met his. "Why should I?"
"Because we can't let it fall into the wrong hands," he said.
"You're a coward, Mom."
Yang's voice was sharp—cutting through the tension like a knife.
"If you're not going to fight against Salem, then you have no reason to keep it," she continued.
Raven stared at her daughter.
Then, after a long silence, she sighed. She cut open the vault.
Yang stepped inside.
When she came back out, the Relic of Knowledge was in her hands.
She walked over to Qrow and handed it to him.
Without another word, Raven cut open a portal and vanished.
The dust settled.
Dennis exhaled slowly. His grip on Tempest relaxed.
"So… what are you doing here, exactly?" Ruby asked.
Dennis let out a bitter chuckle. "Winter and I were sent to support you idiots."
Qrow raised an eyebrow, looking between him and Winter.
"…Is Ice Queen now a cradle robber?" he joked.
The temperature dropped several degrees.
Winter slowly turned toward him, her glare sharp enough to kill.
Qrow instantly regretted speaking.
Dennis smirked, finally lowering his weapon.
"Let's go," Winter muttered, grabbing Dennis' hand and leading him away.
Qrow let out a breath of relief.
At least he wasn't dead.
Outside, the air was crisp as the battlefield settled into an eerie silence.
Winter led Dennis toward the awaiting Bullhead, their pace steady but unhurried.
"You handled yourself well," Winter said as they boarded.
Dennis let out a breath, finally allowing himself to relax as he took a seat. "I try."
Winter sat beside him, her usual composed expression softening ever so slightly. "This war isn't over," she murmured.
Dennis nodded. "I know."
For now, though, they had won.
Upon returning to Atlas, Winter and Dennis walked through the pristine, metallic corridors of the Atlas Military Headquarters, their boots echoing in unison. The air was cold, sterile, and humming with quiet tension. Soldiers moved with disciplined precision, analysts poured over glowing terminals, and officers whispered in corners, all preparing for the storm that was fast approaching.
Inside General Ironwood's office, the atmosphere was even heavier. The dim lighting from his monitors cast deep shadows over his face, emphasizing the exhaustion beneath his unwavering steel-blue gaze. He sat behind his desk, fingers interlocked, as he regarded them both.
"Well done, both of you," he said at last, his voice even but edged with fatigue. "The mission was a success. With the relic secured, Team RWBY, Qrow, and JNR are en route. That gives us a significant advantage in the coming days."
Winter stood at attention. "Thank you, sir. What is our next move?"
Ironwood tapped a key on his desk, and a holographic projection flickered to life—a detailed 3D rendering of Amity Colosseum, its once-majestic form stripped down and modified for its new purpose.
"We're going to restore global communications," he stated. "If we can get Amity high enough into the atmosphere, we can reestablish contact between all four kingdoms. It would allow us to coordinate our defenses, warn civilians, and prepare a united front against Salem."
Dennis crossed his arms, analyzing the projection. "That sounds solid, but I'm guessing there's a catch."
Ironwood exhaled, his fingers drumming against the desk. "Several. The biggest issues are resources and funding. Diverting them to Amity means pulling them away from Mantle's reconstruction, and people like Robyn Hill won't be pleased." He paused. "Then there's the launch site. The most viable location is an abandoned Schnee Dust Company mine outside of Mantle." His eyes flicked to Winter. "Your father still owns it. If we can secure his approval, we remove one of our biggest roadblocks."
Winter's expression remained composed, though Dennis caught the slight tightening of her jaw. "Understood, sir. I will arrange a meeting with him and attempt to secure access."
Ironwood nodded. As Winter and Dennis turned to leave, he lingered for a moment, then turned to his screen, pulling up a drafted Huntsman license—Dennis' application. It lacked a last name.
Ironwood stared at it, then muttered under his breath, "…Who exactly are you?"
As soon as they stepped into their apartment, Dennis let out a deep sigh and made a beeline for the couch.
Before he could collapse onto it, Winter's sharp voice cut through the room. "Stop right there."
Dennis groaned. "Winter, I just fought for my life. Let me sleep."
"And I just fought beside you," she countered, crossing her arms. "You are not touching that couch until you've showered."
Dennis ran a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath before trudging toward the bathroom.
When the door clicked shut, he leaned against the sink, exhaling slowly. He peeled off his battle-worn clothes, wincing slightly as he caught sight of fresh bruises forming along his arms and torso. His tattoos—dark, intricate patterns woven across his chest and back—stood in contrast against his skin. He traced them absentmindedly before stepping into the shower.
The hot water hit him like a wave, soothing aching muscles and washing away the grime of the day. He let his forehead rest against the cool tile, allowing himself a rare moment of quiet.
By the time he stepped out, he felt at least half-human again. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he exited the bathroom, rubbing his damp twists with another towel.
Winter was standing by the kitchen counter, tying up her hair into a loose bun. She turned slightly at his approach, her sharp blue eyes scanning over him—noticing how the water still clung to his skin, how the steam still radiated off him.
Dennis smirked. "You're staring."
"I'm evaluating," she corrected smoothly. She stepped closer, her fingers trailing lightly over one of the fresh bruises on his ribs. "You should be more careful."
He chuckled, eyes flicking down to where her hand lingered. "You worried about me, Schnee?"
Winter tilted her head slightly, the ghost of a smirk on her lips. "Of course." Then, before he could respond, she stood on her toes and pressed a lingering kiss against his lips.
Dennis froze for a fraction of a second, caught off guard, before instinctively pulling her closer. Her body was cool against his warm skin, and she kissed him with a quiet confidence—controlled, precise, but undeniably intense.
And then, just as suddenly, she pulled back. "I need a shower now."
Dennis let out a breathless laugh. "Yeah, you do that."
Winter smirked before disappearing into the bathroom, leaving Dennis standing there, his heart still racing.
Shaking his head, he threw on a pair of grey sleep trousers and an Atlas-branded tank top before dropping onto the couch. Moments later, he heard the water running.
When Winter finally emerged from the bathroom, her hair was still damp, cascading in loose strands over her shoulders. She had changed into a pale blue nightgown, the fabric clinging to her in places where the moisture lingered.
Dennis watched her cross the room, unable to look away.
She walked to the kitchen, grabbing a bag of chocolates and a bag of gummies before turning to him. "Chocolate or gummies?"
Dennis raised a brow. "Neither."
Winter narrowed her eyes. "You will eat."
He sighed. "Chocolate."
She moved to the couch and—without hesitation—climbed onto his lap.
Dennis blinked. "Uh—"
Winter tilted her head. "You're acting like we haven't done much more than this."
Dennis chuckled, his hands instinctively resting at her waist. "Fair point."
She fed him a chocolate, watching as he chewed, then ran her fingers along his jawline. "You didn't eat much today," she murmured, concern flickering in her voice.
"I wasn't really thinking about it," Dennis admitted.
Winter exhaled softly before leaning in to press another kiss against his lips. This time, it was deeper, her fingers slipping beneath his tank top as she ran her hands across his chest.
Dennis groaned softly, shifting beneath her. His hands gripped her thighs, thumbs tracing slow circles against her skin. Winter let out a quiet breath as she pressed closer, her body fitting against his like a puzzle piece.
She pulled back just enough to murmur, "You're getting bolder."
Dennis smirked. "Only because you're letting me."
Winter exhaled softly, brushing her nose against his. "Perhaps."
Their breathing slowed, the moment stretching between them. Then, with careful ease, Winter pressed her forehead against his, her fingers still resting over his heartbeat.
"…Goodnight, Dennis."
Dennis exhaled, tightening his hold on her. "Goodnight, Winter."
And as they finally sank into sleep, wrapped in each other, the world outside could wait.