#last thoughts on Shadows of the Empire

[depizan]

I do have two last thoughts on Shadows of the Empire. I realized I should address the…it’s not really big enough to call a plot…uh… the side plotlet Dash has, since I picked up the book to answer the question of what he was like when written by someone other than the guy who wrote Shadow Games. Also, I’m not quite done being irritated about Roofie Lizards.

Dash Rendar’s crisis of confidence.

During one of the assorted plots that fade out over the course of the book there’s a space dogfight in which several Bothan pilots are killed by a missile that Dash failed to destroy. That he failed for the first time ever and people died gives him a Heroc BSoD for a bit.

*massages forehead*

Okay, two thirds of that is fine, but the middle third just destroys the entire thing. No one gets to the age of…okay, I don’t know how old Dash is, but I’m pretty sure he’s older than, like ten…without failing. I don’t care how hot shit he’s supposed to be, this cannot be the first time in his life that he failed. Or missed a target. Also, given his line of work, this can’t be the first time people he’s working with have died. His plotlet would be more appropriate for someone Luke’s age. Or younger. Not for a seasoned criminal who routinely gets in space battles.

That said, characters are allowed to be upset by things. I’d absolutely have given an “I failed and people died!” BSoD a pass. Maybe it hasn’t happened that often. Maybe it just hits him hard every time. That could actually be a hint of him as an actual person not a random assortment of one liners and ludicrous skills. But it’s written like somewhere between 50% and 75% of his BSoD is because he never fails.

No one never fails. No one. That’s not how anything works!

(Also, his focus on “how could I, the man who never misses, miss!?” makes it all about him and not the people who died, which isn’t a good look. Nor is Luke kind of being glad he was taken down a peg, well, wanting to be glad he was taken down a peg, if not for the loss of life.

I swear to god, Dash has an asshole aura the way Taris has a bad idea aura and Joruus C'baoth has a wisdom and intellect drain aura.)

Anyway, the point is: it’s a plotlet for someone just starting out in life. “Oh no, I can fail.” is not something that an experienced adult should be struggling with. (Again, “oh no, my failure had bad consequences” is something anyone can struggle with. It’s the emphasis that’s fucking the plotlet up, not the events themselves.) Worse, Dash is a character whose brother died and family was destroyed because of bad luck. He shouldn’t be having this struggle with the concept of failure! Bad shit happens! He knows that.

It doesn’t help my irritation that later, after Dash is “dead”*, it turns out that it was a specially shielded missile, so he didn’t actually fail. Or at least, he didn’t actually miss. There was just nothing he could’ve done.

Look, Star Wars writers, the reason people like Han Solo is because he does fuck up. He’s not perfect. It makes him human and relatable and likable. He’s very good at what he does, but he’s not The Best™. Sometimes he encounters someone better than him. And sometimes he just messes up. Because people do.

Han Solo but cooler and edgier doesn’t make for an interesting character. It doesn’t even make for a character at all.

*I don’t know if he’s genuinely supposed to be dead in the book, but I do know from Wookieepedia that he faked his death.

Roofie Lizards

Roofie Lizards irritate me. Quite a lot, actually. They’re also a good example of how I can be a bit inconsistent in what violates my suspension of disbelief. Generally, I’m pretty willing to accept all manner of ludicrous things in the softer end of the fantasy and sci-fi spectrum. I don’t expect actual science in Star Wars. (Or Star Trek or Doctor Who or Stargate or…) I don’t object to people throwing in a bit of actual science, but I fully expect my soft sci-fi/space adventure to run on handwavium. Except when that handwavium only exists to fuel a plot that should be flushed down the galactic toilet.

See, Falleen annoy me. Zeltrons don’t. And that hinges entirely on why the two species exist.

Zeltrons are hot pink near-humans with potent pheromones and telepathic powers that fall on the empathy end of things. They can’t read minds, but they read and influence emotions. They were introduced in the now practically ancient Marvel comics run of Star Wars back in the 80s as, well, Space Hippie Party Kids. They’re big on free love and happiness and having a good time and dress a bit like they wandered out of a rave.

They’ve also been expanded on by a number of authors since then, and were even fleshed out beyond that introduction in the comics. You’ll find Zeltron heroes, rogues, and villains scattered through all manner of Star Wars works. I think they’ve even been recanonized by Disney.

I have never once thought to myself with irritation “I’m pretty sure pheromones are species specific” when reading about Zeltrons. Yes, it helps that humans and near-humans can be assumed to at least be the same class, taxonomically speaking, but it also helps that they never felt like they were designed to be walking Roofies. Or if they were it was a HELL of a lot more subtly.

Falleen are green roofie lizards with insanely potent pheromones who were invented so Xizor could try to “seduce” (consider those the largest quote marks ever) Princess Leia. Also so Xizor could be just that much more Most Special and go on about how his reptilian ancestry meant he was cool and not ruled by his emotions. (Even though he 100% was.)

Why do your pheromones even work on mammals you overgrown iguana!?

Hem.

As I was saying, my suspension of disbelief has a hell of a lot more trouble with Falleen. I mean, I’d find Xizor a Villain Sue and the whole plotline with him becoming enamored of Leia awful even if he’d been a Zeltron. But you created an entire fictional species just to make your character more special and to be a walking date rape drug? Really?

It just underlines Xizor’s Villain Sue-ness, or DMNPC-ness or That Guy’s character-ness. It doesn’t feel like a case of “oh, I had this fun idea for a new species” it feels like the species was designed because Xizor needed to be special.

Also, like…it’s unnecessary, in a sense. It’s just background set dressing. And a way to threaten a female character with rape that it isn’t clear the author realizes would be rape. It’s just so…weird. And requires jumping through more mental hoops than Zeltrons do.

Which feels more implausible? Magic pheromones that work across species barriers regardless of gender or magic pheromones that work across species barriers (larger species barriers even!) but only work on the opposite sex? It’s not just me, right? Adding in that Only Heterosexual bit just begs one to ask questions about how it’s working at all. (Also whether the author realizes that there’s a larger difference between species, much less classes, than between sexes.)

Also, Xizor is a really weird villain. He feels like he should be a buffoon. The kind of villain you’d class with Rich Biff from Back to the Future 2 or the guy in Making Money (Discworld) who wanted to become Vetenari. Granted, this could just be because real life has an over abundance of buffoon rich guy villains at present, but he’s over the top in a way that interferes with him being an impressive villain. Except I think we are supposed to find him an impressive villain. He’s rubbing elbows with the Emperor. He’s treated as an equal to Vader. He’s been wildly successful. (He didn’t just inherit daddy’s money.) I’m pretty sure he’s supposed to be a cool, sexy villain, not a green Biff Tannen.

I can’t tell if the fact that all I see is green Biff Tannen is a me problem or a writing problem.

[edenesth]

By Order of the Black Pirates

An 'Ice On My Teeth' Comeback Special Series

"N-No, please! Spare me! I was wrong! I swear I'll never do it again!" The man's voice cracked as he grovelled on the damp ground, tears carving paths through the grime on his face. His trembling hands offered up the tiny diamond he'd been foolish enough to steal—his last-ditch effort to appease the eight figures towering over him like shadows of death.

He'd heard the whispers, the warnings: Never cross the Black Pirates. Never touch what belongs to them. Never even think of betrayal. Yet greed had blinded him. Now, staring into their cold, merciless eyes, he knew his regret was far too late.

The leader of the gang stepped forward, a smirk tugging at his lips as he tilted his head, studying the pitiful man like a cat sizing up a doomed mouse. "Didn't I ask you to screen these rats better?" he drawled, casting a sideways glance at the eldest among them before shifting his focus back to their prey. "No time to waste. Finish him."

A low chuckle echoed through the tension-filled night as the gang's usual executioner, a broad-shouldered figure clad in his signature fur coat, stepped forward, his grin as sharp as the blade in his hand.

"Sorry, buddy," he mused, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "This will be the night you take your final breath—by order of the Black fuckin' Pirates."

ـــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

Watching the harrowing scene from a distance stood a figure with crossed arms, his voice low as he muttered to his right-hand, "Every man has a weakness. Find the Black Pirates', and we'll knock them off their high horses."

"And if they have none, sir?"

The figure's lips curled into a dark smile. "Then we'll make sure they do."

Pairing(s): gang members!ateez x fem!reader

AU: gang au

Summary: One by one, the Black Pirates uncover their greatest weakness. But when the cracks begin to show, will they stand firm or let their vulnerabilities bring their empire to its knees?

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Trigger Warnings: violence, torture, abuse, blood, murder, language, contains dark themes in general

A/N: Credits to the wonderful @sundaybossanova for giving me the idea of something Peaky Blinders inspired. Thank you so much and ily💖

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

Hongjoong

‣ The Captain [Coming soon]

The Captain of the Black Pirates—respected, feared, and unmatched in strategy—lives by his sharp mind and unshakable resolve. But his carefully constructed world begins to crumble when a grave mistake leads him to torture an innocent suspect nearly to death. Haunted by guilt, his quest for redemption takes an unexpected turn, awakening a part of him he never thought existed: a desire to protect and care for someone.

Seonghwa

‣ The Gentleman [Coming soon]

The Black Pirates' poised diplomat, celebrated for his refined demeanour, sharp wit, and unmatched negotiation skills, is always in control. But his composure falters when he encounters an unwilling captive trapped in the Red Room—a ruthless training ground for spies. Driven by an unexpected urge to save her, he finds his carefully maintained boundaries beginning to unravel.

Yunho

‣ The Enforcer [Coming soon]

The towering enforcer of the Black Pirates, both disarming and deadly—his easy charm capable of winning over enemies, while his legendary fury dominates the battlefield. But his unbreakable facade begins to crack when he meets a psychologist during a mission—someone who can see through his carefully crafted mask, just as he can see through hers. Beneath her confident exterior lies a frightened soul lost in a dark world, and for the first time, he finds himself compelled to protect someone in a way he never expected.

Yeosang

‣ The Phantom [Coming soon]

Mysterious and elusive, the Black Pirates' intelligence expert is known for his sharp instincts and unparalleled skill in espionage and reconnaissance. But when he crosses paths with a woman who surpasses him in both skill and wit for the first time, his confidence begins to waver. As she outsmarts him at every turn, he finds himself unexpectedly drawn to her, eagerly anticipating each challenge—because the thrill of being near her is something he never expected to crave.

San

‣ The Tempest [Coming soon]

The Black Pirates' most unpredictable force is a whirlwind of fiery passion and unbridled energy—always the first to leap into action when chaos erupts. But his world tilts when he stumbles upon a woman who, unlike his victims who always begged to live, is on the brink of ending her own life. Upon discovering she's terminally ill, he finds himself gripped by an unfamiliar and urgent desire to save her, igniting a battle within himself unlike anything he's ever faced.

Mingi

‣ The Firestarter [Coming soon]

The Black Pirates' wild card is notorious for his fiery temper and even more explosive schemes—a dangerous yet irresistibly charming presence. But his confidence takes a hit when one of his near-disastrous plans is salvaged by an unlikely passerby: a composed and resourceful former aristocrat, exiled and stripped of her wealth, now navigating the world's harsh realities. Her icy demeanour and unshakable poise captivate him, leaving the ever-impulsive man unexpectedly drawn to her.

Wooyoung

‣ The Charmer [Coming soon]

The Black Pirates' negotiator and master of distractions is renowned for his confidence and flirtatious charm, which can sway almost anyone. But his ego is severely wounded when he encounters the loyal bodyguard of a high-profile target, someone completely immune to his usual tricks, during a high-stakes mission. Frustrated by his failure yet captivated by her unwavering resolve, he finds himself unable to stay away, drawn to the challenge—and to her—in ways he never expected.

Jongho

‣ The Anchor [Coming soon]

The steadfast foundation of the Black Pirates is renowned for his unfaltering strength and calm under pressure. As the gang's moral compass and protector, he's always put duty above all else. But when a rival gang's attack threatens the life of their kind-hearted hired doctor, he begins to realise that his priorities extend beyond just his brothers. Torn between his loyalty to the gang and his growing feelings for her, he faces an agonising choice: protect his family or save her.

Voila, my loves! As promised, I finally managed to come up with a little something for this comeback teehee. I hope you're as excited about this as I am! Truthfully, I just returned from a 10-day trip in Shanghai and am back to work on Monday already - which means I might not be able to write much until the following weekend but I will do my best to get the parts out ASAP!

Super excited to hear your thoughts on the concept! Do let me know which member's summary enticed you the most!✨ and of course, just leave a comment if you'd like to be tagged for when the parts are released!

General ATEEZ Tag list:

@aurasblue @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01

@evidive @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr @cheolliehugs @ho3-for-yunho

@the-kpop-simp @itstheghostofmypast @vantediary @green-agent @skzline

@sharksandminhos @writingwieny @heyitsmetonid @tinyteezer @hollxe1

@pandabur666 @vampzity @tournesol155 @lilactangerine @oddracha

@haven-cove @idfkeddieishot @vic0921 @vnessalau @apriecotte

@bangtannie7 @vtyb23 @khjoongie98 @scuzmunkie @anxiousskylar

@bunny4yungi @zl-world @bethelighthalazia @tsunchani

All Rights Reserved © edenesth

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR OTHERWISE REPURPOSE ANY OF THE WORK HERE.

[stylesispunk]

"Eternal whispers of you"

marcus acacius x f!reader

Summary: In a time of ancient empires, the forbidden love between a powerful general, Marcus Acacius, and the emperor's sister was met with tragedy. Their affair was discovered, and the emperor cursed his sister to live an eternal life, forced to witness Marcus die in every lifetime without the chance to love him fully again. After a thousand lives, would they meet again?

w.c: 13k (this was supposed to be 8k.)

warnings: angst, power imbalance, loss, separation, mentions of curse, some historical mistakes, the story also takes place in the modern day (I'm telling you) not proofreading. paragraphs in cursive indicate flashbacks.

a/n: This idea was better in my head, but the last Gladiator 2 trailer made me feel things and inspired me to write this. You will also notice inspiration from "The Age of Adeline" in this story. I hope you like it cuz it took me three days to write it. You will notice some inaccurate facts but it was for the sake of the story and my imagination, don't judge me, please. Happy reading and PLEASE share your thoughts with me. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. 💌

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

********"

You were cursed to a life without an ending. Lonely and loveless, every day of your life or any love you could find wouldn't reciprocate and you were going to be condemned to see them grow old and die, and you would continue to live a life in an endless cycle of tragedy.

You were condemned to just tell stories about the man of your life, the one who had been murdered and punished to die without honor for your brother's poisoned mouth.

You became a traitor for the empire. But not cries out of shame or the dirty words of people hurt as much as the day you hold Marcus’s hand for the last time as his eyes closed in a forever eternity that you were going to live without him.

Not even death could put you both together in the same path. You were cursed to remember his love, and you were cursed to never see him again and to live a never-ending life without the love who made your life a field of dreams.

The night after your love affair with Marcus was discovered. The emperor, your brother, furious with your betrayal, condemned both of you. You were summoned to the imperial court, where your brother delivered the punishment. His words sting like venom, cursing Marcus to die dishonorably in front of your eyes.

That night still haunted you.

The imperial court was dimly lit by the flickering flames of torches, casting shadows across the towering marble columns. You stood at the center, your heart pounding like war drums in your chest. Your brother, sat upon his gilded throne, his eyes dark with fury. You could barely hear the words that escaped his lips, but their venom poisoned the air between you.

“Traitor,” he spat, his voice echoing through the chamber. “You have betrayed not only your empire but your blood.”

Your eyes flicked to Marcus, kneeling beside you, bound and bruised. The strong, unyielding general was barely recognizable under the weight of chains and despair. His gaze, however, remained fixed on you, calm, resolute, and filled with love that no curse could shatter.

Your brother’s face twisted with rage as he stood, his robes sweeping the floor like the wings of a vulture. “You,” he snarled, his finger pointing at Marcus, “will die with dishonor, like a common criminal for taking advantage of my sister. And you,” he turned to you, his eyes burning with hatred, “You will be cursed to an eternal life, loveless and alone. You will remember this betrayal every waking moment for the rest of your existence, and you will never know peace again.”

Tears pricked your eyes, but you did not flinch. The emperor’s voice rose like a storm. “You will watch him die, over and over, in your memory. And with every death you witness, you will be reminded that this is your doing. You will live forever, but you will die inside every day.”

With a gesture of his hand, the guards dragged Marcus away. His eyes never left yours, filled with an unspoken promise of love that neither time nor curse could take from you. You reached for him, your fingers grazing his as they pulled him further from you, his touch slipping away like sand between your fingers.

You screamed his name, but your voice was swallowed by the cold, empty hall. The weight of your brother’s words crashed down on you like a wave, and you fell to your knees. The curse had already begun.

The day of Marcus’s execution came far too soon.

They paraded him through the streets like a criminal, his once-glorious armor stripped from him, replaced with the rags of the condemned. The crowd jeered and spat, but you saw none of it. All you saw was Marcus, broken, yet still impossibly strong.

You stood at the front of the crowd, the place of honor reserved for the emperor’s family, forced to witness the final blow. As they prepared to end his life, your heart pounded in your chest, each beat screaming for you to do something, to save him.

But you were powerless.

Marcus turned his head toward you one last time, his eyes soft, filled with a love that had transcended the horror of the moment. His lips moved, forming words meant only for you.

“I will find you again.”

With that, the sword fell.

The world shattered around you. You dropped to your knees as the crowd roared with approval, but the noise was drowned out by the sound of your heart breaking. You clutched your chest, feeling the jagged pieces of your soul tearing at you, but the pain wasn’t enough to free you from the curse. You couldn’t escape. The curse wouldn’t let you.

You watched as Marcus’s body was dragged away, knowing you would never hold him again.

++

After Marcus’ death, you begin to experience your immortality firsthand. You don’t age, but the world around you does. At first, the pain is too great, and you isolate yourself, haunted by the memory of his final moments. You visit his grave every day, talking to him as if he were still alive.

There’s a sense of numbness, a hollow ache where his presence used to be. You realize the gravity of your curse the first time you notice gray hairs on the friends and people around you, but none on yourself. While others grow old and die, you remain the same, a constant in a world of change.

You slowly started to see the empire fall, and with it the death caught your family, one by one. Geta was the first, the middle of a family you now considered cursed. The, your mother and father met the same fate, and finally, Caracalla met death too, murdered by a soldier. He died without honor and he would be remembered as the cruelest imperator, you would make sure of it.

You were the only left from the fallen family, you could have saved the empire from breaking into pieces, but you weren’t going to sacrifice any second from your eternal life on it, so you erased yourself from Rome and from the history of it.

You left Rome behind, watching the city fall to ruin, its power crumbling with each passing year. The empire you had once known, that had been ruled by your family, was now a memory, a fading echo in the vastness of time. You no longer belonged there, and you had no desire to preserve what had been lost. The weight of your curse consumed you, drowning out any loyalty you might have once felt.

Instead, you wandered, drifting across continents and centuries. At first, you tried to hide, retreating to the furthest corners of the earth, away from people, away from the pain of watching those around you wither and die. Each new connection, each fleeting friendship, was a reminder of the man you could never forget, of Marcus's warm touch and his promise to find you again, unfulfilled.

But the world was relentless, and no matter how much you tried to isolate yourself, it continued to grow, to change. Civilizations rose and fell, each one leaving its mark on history, yet you remained untouched by time. You began to realize the truth of your brother’s curse, not just the eternity of your life, but the eternal loneliness that accompanied it.

The worst part wasn’t just the loss of your family or Marcus’s death; it was the fact that no matter where you went or how much time passed, you could never escape the memory of him. The grief was always there, lingering just beneath the surface, a shadow following you wherever you went. You carried the weight of his death, not just as a memory, but as an unending, crushing reality that haunted your dreams and your waking moments.

In the centuries that followed, you watched as kingdoms rose from the ashes of the Roman Empire. You saw the birth of new religions, new governments, new ways of thinking, but you remained on the outside, forever watching, forever unchanged. While others lived their lives, you were a ghost, slipping through the cracks of history, unnoticed and unseen.

But you could never forget Marcus. No matter how hard you tried to distance yourself from the pain, he was always there in your thoughts. His memory became your only companion, the one thing that time could never take from you. You told stories of him, of his strength, his courage, his love, but never revealed the truth. They were just tales to those who listened, history that no one could verify, but for you, they were the only way to keep his memory alive.

You returned to his grave as often as you could, though as the centuries passed, even that became more difficult. The world changed around you, the landscapes shifted, cities were built and destroyed, and the places you had once known became unfamiliar. His grave, once a sacred place for you, was lost to time. It was one of the last connections you had to him, and when it was gone, it felt as though a piece of you had been taken too.

There were moments when you tried to end your existence, hoping to find Marcus in the afterlife. You throw yourself into battles, attempt poison, even seek out dark magic, but nothing works. The curse prevented any harm from lasting.

The curse ensures that you never forget Marcus, his face, his touch, the sound of his voice. You find yourself returning to places that remind you of him, like the old battlefield where you first met, or the quiet corners of the palace where you shared stolen moments.

You often found yourself returning to places that held memories of Marcus. The battlefield where you first met, where he had caught your eye in the midst of the chaos, remained sacred to you. You would stand there, recalling the way your heart raced when he first spoke to you. The palace too, though long gone, remained vivid in your mind. You could still hear the echo of your laughter as you shared secret moments in the quiet corners, moments stolen from the prying eyes of the court.

But none of these memories could fill the void that had been left behind. You were a shell of who you had once been, and your existence was now defined by the absence of Marcus.

You became a witness, watching people fall in love, create families, grow old, and die. It was a cycle you had been denied, and it filled you with both longing and bitterness. The worst part of your immortality wasn't the endless life itself, it was the endless isolation, the inability to ever truly connect with anyone again.

In the present day, the weight of centuries finally began to take its toll. You had lived through empires, witnessed the birth of new nations, and seen countless lives come and go. Yet, no matter where you went or how much time passed, you remained haunted by Marcus’s memory. He was always there, a specter in your mind, the only constant in your immortal existence.

After wandering aimlessly for decades, you found yourself drawn to history once again, not just as a passive observer, but with a deep desire to preserve the past.

You were in a quiet bookstore, surrounded by shelves of dusty books. Your hands ran over the spines of history texts as you stopped at a volume about Ancient Rome. The familiar symbols, the names, even the dates of battles were etched in your mind like scars. You paused on a chapter dedicated to General Marcus Acacius, your Marcus. He was remembered as a hero, a man of honor, but the truth of his death, the betrayal, has been lost to history. You smiled at the thought that even Caracalla’s venom words, didn’t tinted Marcus’s name on history.

The memories fled back in an instant, the first time you saw Marcus commanding his troops, his fierce yet kind eyes, the way he smiled when no one else was looking. It was a painful nostalgia, one that made your chest tighten. You’ve avoided facing the truth about the Roman Empire for so long, unable to face the weight of those memories. But you realized now that telling Marcus’ story was the only way to keep him alive.

You left the bookstore, a decision already made in your heart. You would become a history teacher, and through your lessons, you would keep Marcus alive in a way that no curse could take from you.

At the first day in the classroom. The desks were arranged neatly, sunlight streaming through the windows, and your students were filing in. You stood at the front of the room; your hands rested on the chalkboard. It was strange, being back on an important role where you were meant to pass on knowledge. But for you, this was more than just education, it was a form of remembrance.

You felt a mixture of nerves. This was a chance to talk about Marcus again, to give him the honor he was stripped of in life. You weren’t sure if you were becoming crazy through this endless circle, and you didn’t know if you still were twisting the knife of endless memories you had of him, but you know that this was the closest you had been to him. As you students settled in, you introduce yourself, with a new of the thousand names you had had during your long life. You dove into your lecture about the Roman Empire. When you mentioned Marcus, your voice faltered just slightly, but you pressed on, determined to honor him in the only way left to you.

As you stood before your students, your mind wandered back to the times when you were with Marcus, the memories flooding in, unbidden but unstoppable. The classroom around you faded, and the vivid images of the Roman Empire took over. You were no longer in the present, but back in the heart of ancient Rome, standing beside him, your love, your general.

It was a warm summer evening in Rome. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky awash in shades of deep orange and purple. You and Marcus were hidden away in a secluded corner of the palace, stealing a moment of peace amid the constant threat of discovery. His armor had been discarded, instead he was wearing his cloak as if it could erase the responsibility off his shoulders. In that moment, he was not a general, he was just Marcus, yours, the man you loved.

His hand brushed against yours, sending a shiver up your spine. You had to be careful, even here. The walls had ears, and the court was always watching. But with him, you found yourself willing to take the risk. The world outside your bubble of stolen moments didn't matter. Not the empire, not your brother, not the looming consequences. Just Marcus.

"You should go," he whispered, his voice low and rough. "It's too dangerous."

But you shook your head, stepping closer, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. "I don't care," you whispered back, your heart racing. "Let them find out. Let the whole world know. I love you, Marcus."

He looked down at you, his dark eyes softening as they always did when he gazed at you. He placed a gentle hand on your cheek, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I love you too," he said, his voice filled with the same intensity you had come to depend on, but laced with sorrow. "But your family will not be kind to us.”

You knew he was right. You both did. The affair was treason, a betrayal to the honor of your family, to your brother. But the pull between you was too strong, too undeniable. It had started innocently enough, during the long strategy meetings Marcus held with your brother. You had caught glimpses of him, and over time, those stolen glances had become longer, lingering. Before you knew it, you were sneaking away from the palace, meeting him in secret, hiding your love from the watchful eyes of Rome.

In that moment, though, none of it mattered. He leaned down and kissed you, softly at first, as if testing the boundaries of your defiance, then more passionately, as if the whole world could burn for all he cared. You melted into his embrace, letting yourself get lost in the heat of the moment, your mind clouded by desire and the need to be close to him.

You snapped back to the present, your heart still racing as if you had just been pulled from Marcus’s arms. The students stared at you, waiting. You realized you had paused in the middle of your lecture, lost in the memory. Quickly, you cleared your throat, steadying your voice before continuing.

"General Marcus Acacius was one of the finest commanders Rome ever produced. He led with strength and honor, but..." you hesitated, a lump forming in your throat. "But history doesn’t always remember those who deserve it most. He died in dishonor, stripped of his title and his legacy.”

Your students watched you, unaware of the deep, personal meaning those words held for you. They were listening to a lesson, but you were recounting the loss of your greatest love.

And that’s how week after week, your lectures became more detailed. The students were captivated by your knowledge of the Roman Empire, unaware that you were telling them stories of your own life. When you spoke of the campaigns Marcus led, your tone softened, and the students sense the reverence in your words. They asked questions about him, and you answer with more care than you do for any other figure in Roman history.

Speaking about Marcus became a bittersweet ritual. You felt the same pain as you did centuries ago, but there was a strange comfort in saying his name aloud. With every story you tell, you feel like you were giving him a second life, bringing him back into the world if only for a moment. The students didn’t know it, but they were learning about a man who shaped you in ways that any book could never explain.

After class, you often sat alone in your office, a single lamp casting a dim glow. Old books of the Roman Empire were spread out before you, but your mind drifted away. You thought about the moments you shared with Marcus, the way he used to hold you after long days of battle, the whispered promises of a future that was stolen from you both.

The loneliness that had followed you for centuries still lingered, but teaching about him helped ease it, if only slightly. It was as though every time you speak his name, you were defying the curse, keeping his memory alive despite the gods’ punishment. But there were nights when the pain was too much, and you felt the weight of eternity pressing down on you. You wonder if Marcus could hear you, if somewhere, in some distant place, he knows you were still fighting to keep his honor intact.

It was late, the room lit only by the flicker of a single oil lamp. You were lying beside Marcus, the cool night seeping through the cracks of the window shutters. The war outside had raged on for weeks, but in this quiet moment, there was only the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of each other's presence.

His arm was draped across your waist, his fingers tracing delicate patterns over the back of your hand. His touch was gentle, a contrast to the hardened general the world saw. Here, with you, he allowed himself to be vulnerable. You shifted slightly, laying your head on his chest, feeling the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath you.

"You know we can't keep this up forever," he whispered, his voice thick with weariness and something more. Fear, perhaps. Or resignation.

You didn’t reply right away. You knew the truth of his words there was always the looming threat of discovery, of punishment. But in this moment, you wanted to pretend, just for a little longer, that the world outside didn’t exist. That this wasn’t forbidden. That you weren’t living on borrowed time.

He caressed your hand, the roughness of his calloused fingers a stark reminder of the battles he fought, the sacrifices he made. "I would give it all up, you know," he continued, his voice soft, barely audible. "The empire, the glory, everything. Just to stay here with you."

Your heart twisted painfully at his words. You knew he meant them, and you wanted to believe in a future where such sacrifices could lead to a peaceful life together. But you both knew better. The weight of duty and the ever-watchful eyes of the emperor, your brother, were never far from your thoughts.

"You don't have to give up anything, Marcus," you whispered, bringing your hand to his cheek, guiding his gaze to yours. "I love you as you are. And for as long as we have, that will be enough for me."

But even as you said the words, a sinking feeling settled in your chest. You had always known that the empire was a ruthless machine, and it would not allow your love to exist without a price. Still, you closed your eyes, pressing your lips to his, letting the kiss linger as though you could keep time at bay, as though you could stop the inevitable.

When you pulled away, Marcus smiled faintly, his thumb brushing your lower lip. "If only we could stay like this forever," he murmured.

You leaned back in your chair, the weight of eternity pressing down once again. Could Marcus hear you now? Could he feel your longing across the vast time? You didn’t know. But you hoped, no, you believed that somehow, somewhere, he still held you in his heart, just as you held him in yours.

One day, a student stayed behind after class, intrigued by the depth of your knowledge about Marcus Acacius. “It’s like you knew him,” she said, half-joking. “How do you know so much about his life? There’s not much written about him in the sources we have.”

For a moment, you’re taken aback. You’ve been careful to keep your personal connection to Marcus hidden, but the student’s words strike a chord. You felt the urge to tell her the truth, that you did know him, that you loved him, that you were cursed to live on without him. But instead, you smile softly and say, “I’ve studied him for a very long time. Some stories just stay with you.”

The student nodded, satisfied with your answer, but as she left, you felt a pang of longing. You wished, just once, you could tell someone the truth. But you know the world wasn’t ready for your story. It’s a secret you’ll carry alone.

As the years passed, teaching became your refuge. You taught more than just facts and dates, you taught the human side of history, the emotions and relationships that shaped the past. Through your stories, Marcus lived on in the minds of your students, and that gave you a small sense of peace.

The curse still lingered, and the pain of losing Marcus never would fade completely. But through your lectures, you’ve found a way to keep his memory alive. You couldn’t bring him back, but you could ensure that he was remembered, not as the man who was unjustly killed, but as the honorable general who loved you. In that way, you fought against the curse, turning your suffering into something meaningful.

One afternoon, as your students filled out of the classroom, you noticed one student lingering behind, gathering his things slowly. You've been watching him for a few weeks now, and it hasn’t escaped your attention that he always sat alone, quiet and withdrawn. His name was David, and though he never caused any disruptions, he seemed distant from the rest of the class, lost in thought, barely engaging with the lessons.

You decide it was time to reach out.

After the classroom emptied, you approached David as he slanged his backpack over one shoulder. His eyes remained downcast, and you sensed a heaviness about him, something familiar in the way he seemed to carry the world on his shoulders.

“David,” you said gently, “can I speak to you for a moment?”

He glanced up, surprised, but nodded. You gestured toward the front of the room, and he hesitantly followed you. The two of you sat across from each other, the quietness of the empty classroom made the moment more intimate.

You saw something familiar on him, soft brown eyes

You looked at David and felt a strange sense of recognition. His soft brown eyes held a weight that was all too familiar, reminding you of someone you had long ago lost. The resemblance was subtle, but it struck a chord deep within you, like an echo from a past you had tried to forget.

"Is everything alright?" you asked gently, hoping to break through the wall he had built around himself.

David shrugged, staring down at the desk in front of him. “I’m fine,” he mumbled, but you could tell from his tone that he wasn’t.

You leaned forward, trying to catch his gaze. “It’s okay if you're not. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

He glanced up briefly, then away again, the silence between you heavy with unspoken thoughts. There was something more than just teenage angst weighing on him. Something deeper.

“Do you live with your parents?” you asked, thinking you could reach out to them, perhaps offer a meeting to better understand what was troubling him.

David shook his head slowly. “No, it’s just me and my dad.”

His words were like a key, unlocking a door that had remained sealed for centuries. The moment he mentioned his father, a strange chill ran down your spine. You couldn’t explain it, but something inside you shifted, as if the ground beneath your feet had suddenly become unstable.

Before you could ask another question, David continued. “He…he works a lot, doesn’t talk much about stuff. But he cares. I know he does.”

You nodded, sensing a familiar loneliness in his words, one that mirrored your own. “I’d like to meet him,” you said, though the idea stirred something unsettling within you. “Maybe we could have a talk, see if we can help you feel more connected here.”

David shrugged again but didn’t resist. “I guess. I’ll let him know.”

A few days later, you arranged for a meeting with David’s father. As the time approached, you couldn’t shake the unease that had settled into your bones since the conversation with David. There was something about him, about his eyes, his manners, that reminded you of Marcus in a way that felt impossible. But centuries had taught you that the impossible often had a way of finding you.

The classroom door creaked open, and you looked up from your desk. David walked in first, looking a bit anxious, followed by his father. The moment you saw him, your breath caught in your throat.

It was Marcus.

He stood there, lingering by the door, his eyes locking with yours. Though time had passed, and he appeared as someone entirely new, the essence of him, his presence, his soul, was unmistakable. He looked at you with a furrowed brow, as if trying to place you, the same soft brown eyes that had haunted your dreams staring back at you in the flesh.

He stepped in slowly, a tall man with broad shoulders, dark eyes, and a calm yet commanding presence. He looked almost exactly the same as he did all those centuries ago, his hair was streaked with gray, and there was a tiredness around his eyes, but the face, the face was unmistakable.

It was Marcus.

Your heart pounded violently in your chest, and for a split second, you felt dizzy, as if the ground had shifted beneath your feet. Memories fled back, so overwhelming it was as if you were living them all over again: his voice, his touch, the way he smiled at you in those quiet moments when no one else was around. Your throat tightened, your hands trembled, and you could barely breathe. You waited for centuries, living in the shadow of his absence, knowing he would never return to you. And yet, here he is.

You’re stared at a man who didn’t remember the life you shared. A man who looked like Marcus but had no idea of the love, the pain, the eternity you’ve endured without him.

He didn’t recognize you, of course. How could he? You’ve lived for centuries, unchanged, while he, he’d been given a new life, one free from the curse that bound you. He cleared his throat, clearly waiting for you to speak, and it was only then that you realize you’d been standing there, staring.

“Uh… I’m David’s father,” he says, extending a hand. His voice was deeper now, worn by time, but the tone. It was Marcus. It was him.

You forced yourself to take his hand, and the moment your fingers touched, the air in the room seemed to thin. The connection was immediate, electric, and your mind spun with the impossibility of what’s happening. You shook his hand, trying to steady yourself, trying to keep from falling apart.

“I’m… I’m David’s teacher,” you managed to say, your voice shaky. You gave him your name, though you were almost certain the sound of it, the familiarity of it, would spark something in him. But nothing. He was just a man, living an ordinary life, unaware of the past you shared.

He sat down across from you, unaware that this is the most surreal moment of your long, cursed life.

“David’s mentioned he’s been struggling,” he began, looking down at his son, and there was concern in his voice. “I’ve been worried about him. I thought maybe it had to do with his schoolwork.”

You forced yourself to focus, trying to push down the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you. How could Marcus be here, sitting in front of you, unchanged yet completely different? He didn’t recognize you, he couldn’t. He had lived and died, while you had remained frozen in time. This man, David’s father, had no knowledge of the centuries of pain you had carried or the love you had lost.

“Yes, David has been a little distant,” you managed to say, your voice barely steady. You glanced at David, who sat quietly next to his father, unaware of the storm brewing inside you. “He’s a bright student, but I’ve noticed he’s been… struggling to engage.”

Marcus—no, not Marcus, David’s father—nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, we’ve had a rough few months,” he admitted, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “I’ve been working a lot, and it’s been just the two of us since his mother left. I think it’s been harder on him than I realized.”

The way he spoke, the cadence of his words, the soft concern in his voice, it was Marcus. Your heart ached with the familiarity of it, but the reality crashed down on you just as quickly. He didn’t know who you were. He didn’t remember anything about the life you had shared, about the love you had lost. To him, you were just another teacher, another stranger.

“I understand,” you replied, trying to keep your voice level. “Maybe we can work together to help him feel more connected. Sometimes, just having a consistent presence can make all the difference.”

As you spoke, your eyes couldn’t help but drift back to him, trying to reconcile the man sitting in front of you with the one who had held you centuries ago. He was so close and yet so impossibly far away. He had no memory of you, no recollection of the love that had once bound you together. It was both a blessing and a curse—he was free from the torment that had plagued you for centuries, but you were left alone in your knowledge of what you had once shared.

“I’ll do whatever I can,” he said, glancing at David with a softness that made your chest tighten. “I want to make sure he’s okay. It’s been tough on both of us.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on you. This was your Marcus, but not your Marcus. He was a father now, concerned about his son, living a life you had never been a part of.

The meeting wrapped up quickly after that. You offered some advice, discussed possible ways to help David, but all the while, your thoughts were consumed by the impossibility of the situation. As they both left the room, Marcus lingered for a moment by the door, his eyes meeting yours once again.

“I appreciate you taking the time,” he said quietly. “I know it’s not easy, but… it means a lot.”

You nodded, unable to trust your voice. “Of course.”

He gave you a small, almost hesitant smile before he turned and left, his footsteps echoing in the hallway. And then you were alone, the weight of your endless existence pressing down on you once more.

As you sat there, staring at the door through which he had just walked, you realized the cruel twist of fate you now faced. Marcus had been given another chance at life—a chance to live without the burden of the past, without the curse that had chained you to eternity. But you, you remained the same, trapped in an endless cycle of love and loss.

As you sat there in the quiet, the memories of Marcus flooded your mind—his voice, his touch, the way he looked at you all those centuries ago. You were lost in the whirlwind of it when you suddenly heard footsteps approaching. Your heart quickened, and before you could even turn, you knew who it was.

David’s father-Marcus- stood in the doorway again, hesitating for a moment. His brow furrowed in thought, as though something was tugging at the edges of his consciousness, something familiar that he couldn’t quite place. He cleared his throat, and when you finally met his eyes, your heart nearly stopped.

“I know this might sound strange,” he begins, his voice softer now, uncertain. “But… have we met before?”

The question hit you like a punch to the gut. For centuries, you had dreamed of hearing those words, of him somehow remembering you, but now that it was happening, you didn’t know how to respond. How could you explain what was beyond comprehension? That you had loved him deeply, that you had lived lifetimes while he had been reborn, oblivious to the pain you still carried?

You forced a smile, trying to hide the turmoil inside you. “I… I don’t think so,” you said, though your voice wavered slightly.

He looked at you closely, his eyes searching your face, as if trying to pull a long-forgotten memory to the surface. For a fleeting moment, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—the curse wasn’t as strong as you thought. Maybe some part of him did remember.

“There’s just something familiar about you,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, a gesture you remembered all too well. “It’s strange… like I’ve seen you before. Or… I don’t know.” He gave a sheepish laugh. “Maybe I’m just overthinking it.”

You felt your breath catch. It would be so easy to tell him the truth, to give in to the temptation of finally revealing who you really were. But what good would that do? He was living a new life, and you had no place in it.

“Maybe we’ve crossed paths somewhere before,” you replied, your voice steadying even as your heart ached. “The world can be small like that.”

He nodded, but you could see the doubt lingering in his eyes. “Yeah, maybe.” He looked down at the ground for a moment, then back up at you. “Thanks again for everything. I really appreciate it.”

You nodded, offering him a smile that felt like a lie. “Of course. Take care.”

With that, he gave you one last look—one that made your chest tighten—and turned to leave. As his footsteps echoed down the hallway, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had made the right choice in keeping the truth hidden.

For the first time in centuries, you weren’t sure what your future held. All you knew was that Marcus was out there again, living a life you could never be a part of. And once again, you were left with the memories, the only thing that time and the curse had not been able to take from you.

Alone in your office, the weight of eternity pressed down on you more heavily than ever before.

A few days passed, but the encounter with David’s father lingered in your mind like a ghost. You went through your routine, teaching classes, grading papers, keeping up the mask you had worn for centuries. But beneath the surface, the storm raged on. You could still feel the weight of his gaze, the unspoken recognition that had passed between you. He didn’t know the truth, but something inside him remembered.

Meanwhile, across the city, Marcus found himself wrestling with a strange, unshakable feeling. It had been there ever since he met you at the school, a persistent pull that gnawed at him in quiet moments. He tried to push it aside, rationalize it as nothing more than stress, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

At first, it was just small flashes—your face as you had looked at him, the way your voice had trembled ever so slightly when you spoke. There was something familiar about you, something that stirred a sense of déjà vu he couldn’t explain. And then, the dreams began.

They started out hazy at first, fragments of images that disappeared as soon as he woke. A battlefield, the clash of swords, and always…you. Standing there in the distance, watching him. He couldn’t make sense of it, and every morning he woke with the same unsettled feeling gnawing at him.

It got worse with each passing day. He found himself driving by the school on his way to work, glancing at the building as if he might see you standing there. He caught himself wondering what you were doing, if you remembered him in some strange way too. It didn’t make sense, but the pull was real, undeniable.

One night, after tossing and turning in bed, Marcus sat up, running a hand through his hair in frustration. The dreams had returned again, this time more vivid than ever. In them, you had been lying beside him, your fingers intertwined with his as he whispered something he couldn’t quite remember. The sensation was so real, so intense, that he had woken with his heart racing, the image of your face burned into his mind.

He couldn’t keep ignoring it.

The next day, after dropping David off at school, Marcus found himself walking back to the classroom where he had first met you. He didn’t have a clear plan, only a need to see you again, to understand why this strange connection existed between the two of you.

When he arrived, he stood outside the door, hesitating for a moment. What would he even say? He didn’t know if he was ready for whatever this was, or if you would even feel the same pull. But the need to know, to see you, overpowered the doubts.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked softly on the door and waited.

Inside the classroom, you had been in the middle of organizing papers when the knock startled you. You weren’t expecting anyone, and your heart leapt in your chest at the possibility that it could be him. You took a deep breath before opening the door, bracing yourself for whatever was to come.

When you saw Marcus standing there, his familiar brown eyes looking at you with that same confusion and intensity, you knew this moment had been coming. His presence was overwhelming, and for a brief moment, it was as if centuries fell away and you were back in that palace with him, before the curse, before the loss.

“I’m sorry for dropping by like this,” he said, his voice softer than you remembered, though the same cadence was there. “I just… I’ve been thinking about our meeting the other day. I can’t shake this feeling that there’s something—”

He trailed off, searching for the right words, clearly struggling to articulate the pull he was feeling.

You stood there, your heart pounding, knowing that this conversation was teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something you couldn’t fully control.

“Something familiar?” you finished for him, your voice almost a whisper.

His eyes widened slightly, and he nodded. “Yeah. Exactly that.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking almost embarrassed. “I know it sounds crazy, but since I met you, it’s like I can’t stop thinking about it. About you. I keep having these…dreams, and it doesn’t make any sense, but it feels like I’ve known you before.”

Your heart pounded at his words, the weight of centuries crashing down on you all at once. His admission felt like a thread connecting the past to the present, something fragile and dangerous. You had never expected this—Marcus remembering, even if only in fragmented dreams. You could see the struggle in his eyes, the confusion he was trying so hard to make sense of.

You tried to steady your breath, knowing you couldn’t tell him the truth, not yet. It would unravel everything. But his presence, the way he looked at you as if he had known you for lifetimes, made it impossible to keep your emotions in check.

“I’m sure it’s just… coincidence,” you said softly, your voice betraying the turmoil inside you. “People get those feelings sometimes, don’t they? Like they’ve met someone before.”

He studied you for a moment, his brow furrowing. “Maybe.” But he didn’t sound convinced. He took a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “It’s not just that. It’s something more. And I don’t understand why, but I feel like… I should know you. Like I’m supposed to know you.”

Your pulse quickened. It was dangerous, this line you were walking. If he kept pushing, if he kept searching for answers, the curse could be exposed. Yet, the way his eyes searched yours made your resolve falter. It was Marcus standing before you, but not the Marcus you had known. This was a man who had been granted a new life, free from the past that had chained you both.

“I’m just a teacher,” you said, forcing a small smile. “We only met a few days ago.”

He nodded, but the crease between his brows deepened, as if he was debating with himself, wrestling with whether to leave things be or push further. He took another breath, as though on the verge of saying something else, but then stopped himself, shaking his head slightly.

“I don’t usually do this,” he said, almost to himself, his voice low, hesitant. “But… would you like to get coffee sometime? I mean, not as David’s teacher, but just as… us.”

The question hung in the air between you, and you felt the ground shift beneath your feet. You had lived through countless lives, avoided countless connections, and yet here was Marcus, in this new form, asking you to start something again. It was as if fate was daring you to test the boundaries of the curse.

You hesitated, your heart torn between the longing you had carried for centuries and the knowledge that this was a path filled with danger. If he remembered more, if the past began to bleed into the present, what would that mean for him—for both of you?

“I…” You swallowed, unsure of what to say. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

His face fell slightly, disappointment flickering in his eyes. But then he smiled, trying to mask it. “I get it. I just—there’s something about you…”

Your chest tightened at his words. He was offering you an out, a way to walk away from this, to keep the curse at bay. But deep down, the thought of letting him go again, of walking away from the man you had loved for centuries, felt unbearable.

“I’ll think about it,” you whispered, almost afraid of your own answer.

He nodded, offering you a small, understanding smile. “Take your time.” His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, searching for something he couldn’t quite find. “I’ll see you around.”

And then, he turned to leave, the weight of his unspoken questions hanging in the air like a ghost. You watched him go, your heart aching with the knowledge that fate was once again drawing you both into its web.

The door closed behind him, and you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. This was only the beginning, and you knew it. The past had a way of finding you, no matter how much time had passed.

A few days later, the school hosted a parent-teacher meeting. The hallways buzzed with the low hum of voices, the shuffle of papers, and the occasional sound of children darting between classrooms. You had prepared for a busy evening, but the thought of seeing Marcus again lingered in the back of your mind, an undercurrent to everything else.

You were speaking with another parent when, out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of him. He was standing near the entrance, casually scanning the room. For a moment, he looked lost in thought, his brow furrowed in that familiar way that tugged at your heart. And then, as if sensing your gaze, his eyes met yours.

The world seemed to pause.

The warmth of his smile was immediate, softening his features in a way that was both disarming and comforting. It was as though, in that brief moment, everything else in the room faded away. The connection between you, the pull that had been simmering beneath the surface since that first meeting, was undeniable. His eyes lingered on you, full of recognition that he couldn’t quite place, yet something deep inside of him understood.

As the conversation with the other parent wrapped up, you felt Marcus slowly making his way toward you, weaving through the crowded room. Your heart raced, knowing that whatever happened next, you wouldn’t be able to pretend that the past didn’t exist—not for much longer.

“Hi,” he greeted you, his voice warm and easy as he stopped in front of you.

“Hi,” you replied, your voice barely steady as you met his gaze.

He glanced around briefly before looking back at you. “Busy night?”

You nodded, the weight of the moment making it hard to find words. “Yeah. A lot of parents to talk to.”

Marcus gave a small chuckle. “I guess I’m one of them.” But the tone of his voice suggested he had more in mind than just the usual parent-teacher talk. His eyes searched yours again, that same sense of familiarity clouding his expression.

“You’ve been on my mind,” he admitted softly, leaning in just enough so that his words wouldn’t be overheard by anyone else. “I know it’s probably crazy, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the other day. And… about you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your chest tightening at his words. He was so close now, and you could feel the intensity radiating off him, the same intensity that had bound you together in another life.

“I…” You hesitated, knowing the danger in getting too close, in letting yourself fall into the old patterns. But something in the way he looked at you, the softness in his expression, made it impossible to resist. “I’ve been thinking about it too.”

His smile grew, a flicker of relief crossing his face. “I’m glad it’s not just me.”

You could see the uncertainty in his eyes, the same battle he was fighting inside himself—the inexplicable connection, the way the past seemed to bleed into the present even though he couldn’t understand why.

“I know we’re at a parent-teacher meeting,” he said, his voice a bit lower now, “but maybe after this, we could grab that coffee? Well, we could make it, a dinner. I’m still trying to make sense of this, of what I’m feeling, and I’d really like to talk to you… if you’re open to it.”

Your heart ached at the question, knowing that whatever happened, this was Marcus reaching out to you again, even if he didn’t remember the lives you had shared. You felt the weight of the curse pressing down on you, but for the first time in centuries, the idea of keeping your distance felt unbearable.

“I’d like that,” you said, surprising yourself with how easily the words came out.

His eyes lit up at your response, and he smiled again, this time a bit more confidently. “Great. I’ll wait for you after the meeting.”

And with that, he gave you a nod before moving off to join the other parents, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding with anticipation, fear, and hope all at once. You knew this meeting would be the beginning of something far more complicated than either of you could imagine.

++

The rest of the parent-teacher meeting passed in a blur. You were aware of the conversations happening around you, but your mind was somewhere else—focused on what was to come. Marcus had invited you for dinner, a simple gesture that felt monumental in the context of your tangled past. Every minute felt heavier with anticipation, knowing that after so many lifetimes of loss, this was your chance to be near him again, even if he didn’t remember.

When the meeting finally ended, you gathered your things and made your way toward the entrance. You spotted Marcus waiting by the doors, hands in his pockets, eyes searching the crowd. As soon as he saw you, that familiar warmth spread across his face, and for a moment, it was like stepping back in time.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice casual but with an undercurrent of something deeper.

You nodded, offering him a soft smile. “Yeah, ready.”

Together, you made your way out to the parking lot. David was waiting by their car, playing with a small toy in his hands. When he saw you walking with his father, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Dad?” David asked, looking between the two of you. “Why’s my teacher coming with us?”

Marcus glanced down at his son, his smile never wavering as he reached over and tousled David’s hair. “She’s joining us for dinner tonight,” he explained lightly. “I wanted to say thank you for helping out with everything.”

David’s eyes widened, and he looked at you with a mix of curiosity and surprise. “Oh… okay,” he said slowly, clearly trying to process this new development. “So, like, you’re friends with my dad?”

You exchanged a quick glance with Marcus, both of you sharing a silent understanding of how complicated the truth really was.

“Something like that,” you answered with a gentle smile. “We’re just going to have dinner and talk about how to help you in school.”

David seemed to accept this explanation for now, though his gaze lingered on you a little longer before he climbed into the car. As you slid into the passenger seat, your thoughts were swirling. You were entering Marcus’s home, a place that was both familiar and foreign to him—a life he had built without any memory of you.

The drive to their house was quiet, but the tension between you and Marcus was palpable. Every now and then, you caught him glancing at you, as if he were trying to piece something together, to understand why he felt this pull toward you.

When you arrived at their home, Marcus led you inside. It was cozy, filled with the warmth of a lived-in space—family photos, toys scattered across the living room floor, the faint smell of something cooking. It was so different from the life you had known with him centuries ago, yet the sense of care and love was the same.

“Make yourself at home,” Marcus said, gesturing to the living room. “I’ll get dinner started. David, why don’t you help me set the table?”

David nodded and followed his father into the kitchen, but not before giving you one more curious glance. You settled onto the couch, feeling out of place and yet strangely at ease. This was Marcus’s life now, a life you had never been a part of, but somehow it still felt like home.

As they busied themselves in the kitchen, you couldn’t help but think about the enormity of what was happening. You were here, in his home, sharing a moment that felt so normal and yet carried the weight of centuries. It was a bittersweet reminder of everything you had lost and everything you still longed for.

After a few minutes, Marcus emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. “Dinner’s almost ready,” he said, his voice soft. “Thanks for… well, for coming. I know it’s kind of last minute.”

You shook your head, offering him a small smile. “It’s fine. I’m happy to be here.”

He sat down across from you, leaning forward slightly, his expression thoughtful. “I meant what I said earlier. There’s something about you… something I can’t explain.” His voice was quieter now, as though he was sharing a secret. “It’s like I’ve known you forever, but I don’t know how or why.”

Your heart ached at his words, the familiar pain of your curse tugging at you. He was so close, yet so far from remembering the life you had shared. But in this moment, it was enough just to be here, to feel his presence again.

Dinner passed in a warm haze, filled with laughter and the comforting sounds of family. You enjoyed every bite, trying to savor the moment as Marcus shared stories about David's antics at school, his love for art, and the curious questions he had been asking lately. You felt a genuine connection growing, like the threads of your past weaving together with the present.

Once dinner was finished, David excused himself, yawning as he dragged his feet toward the living room. "I'm too tired to finish my project," he declared, and Marcus smiled, understanding that he was ready for bed.

“Okay, buddy, let’s get you settled,” Marcus said, ruffling his son’s hair as David headed up the stairs. After a few moments, you heard the soft sound of David’s door closing, followed by the gentle hum of a lullaby drifting down the hall.

With David tucked in, Marcus returned to the living room, a comfortable silence settling between you. He sank into the armchair across from you, and you both took a moment to collect your thoughts.

“Thanks for tonight,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours. “I didn’t expect to enjoy it so much.”

“I’m glad you did,” you replied, feeling your heart race under his gaze. “I had a great time.”

Marcus leaned back in his chair, a contemplative look crossing his face. “David has been talking about your lessons a lot lately. He’s become really obsessed with the Roman Empire.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that. “Really? That’s amazing to hear! What does he say?”

“Well,” Marcus chuckled softly, “he keeps mentioning this General Acacius as his hero. Apparently, he thinks it’s so cool that he’s a general and a fighter at the same time. I think he thinks he’s going to become a gladiator or something,” he said, rolling his eyes playfully.

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of the name. “Marcus Acacius? He’s a fascinating figure in history. He had a complex life—fighting for honor and trying to navigate the politics of his time.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “You really know your stuff, don’t you? It sounds like you’ve done quite a bit of research for your lessons.”

“I’ve always been passionate about history,” you admitted, feeling a warmth spread in your chest as you talked about your favorite subject. “Especially the stories of strong figures like him. I believe there’s so much we can learn from the past.”

“Do you think David sees himself in Acacius?” Marcus asked, leaning forward slightly, genuinely interested in your opinion.

“Perhaps,” you replied thoughtfully. “Or maybe he sees a bit of him in you” you said.

Marcus raised an eyebrow, surprise etched across his face. “In me?”

“Absolutely,” you continued, feeling the words flow more easily now. “You’re a dedicated father, and you fight for what’s best for your son, just like Acacius fought for his people. The way you support David, always encouraging his interests and nurturing his passions—that's heroic in its own right.”

He chuckled softly, a hint of embarrassment creeping into his features. “I’ve never thought of it that way. I just try to do my best for him.”

“Exactly,” you said, leaning in a little closer. “Being a hero isn’t just about great battles or glory; it’s also about the everyday moments—the sacrifices we make for the ones we love. That’s what really matters.”

Marcus’s gaze softened as he listened, and you could see him processing your words. “I guess I can see that. I want David to grow up feeling strong and capable, like he can achieve anything he sets his mind to.”

“And you’re doing just that,” you replied, your heart swelling with admiration for him. “He looks up to you, Marcus. Your presence in his life is already making a huge difference.”

The weight of his vulnerability hung in the air, and for a moment, it felt as if the world outside faded away. “You know, I never realized how much I needed this conversation until now,” he said, a genuine smile gracing his lips. “It’s refreshing to talk to someone who understands what it means to teach and inspire.”

“I’m glad,” you replied, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest.

Marcus nodded; his expression thoughtful. “Speaking of which, I actually bought a book for David the other day. It’s about Marcus Acacius—the general. I thought he might enjoy reading about a real-life hero.”

Your heart raced at the mention of the name, the connection striking a chord deep within you. “Really? I’d love to see it,” you said, your curiosity piqued.

With a spark of excitement, Marcus stood and walked toward a nearby bookshelf, scanning the titles. He pulled out a well-worn book, its cover faded but the spine intact. As he handed it to you, he said, “I thought it would be a great way to inspire him. The stories of bravery and leadership are so important, especially now.”

You opened the book and began flipping through the pages, the illustrations of ancient battles and heroic deeds instantly drawing you in. “This is wonderful, Marcus,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “David will love this.”

“I hope so,” he replied, his gaze fixed on you, watching your reaction with a mix of anticipation and pride.

As you admired the illustrations, Marcus leaned closer to look at the page you were on, his shoulder brushing against yours. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, and for a brief moment, it felt like you were back in another life, lost in a world where everything was simpler.

“This page really captures the spirit of what it means to be a hero,” you began, your voice soft yet earnest. “You know, once upon a time, a hero like Marcus Acacius fought not just for glory but for the love of those he held dear. It reminds me of the bond they shared—how love can be as powerful as any sword or shield.”

Your words hung in the air, the weight of history resonating in the silence between you. You continued, feeling emboldened by the moment. “In many ways, that love is what drove him, just as it drove someone else in a different time—someone who used to call her, mi dulce Cara’”

You glanced over at Marcus, watching as his expression shifted from curiosity to surprise. His eyes widened slightly, and he turned to face you fully. “What? How do you know that?”

The question echoed in the quiet room, and your heart raced at the realization of what you had just revealed. It was a nickname that only he had used, a term of endearment from a time long past, one that had been buried under centuries of memories and pain.

“I—” you hesitated, your mind racing as you tried to find the right words. “I guess I’ve always felt a connection to that name. It… it just came to me.”

Marcus studied you intensely, searching your eyes for answers. “But that have never been mentioned that to anyone. How could you know?”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you realized how the truth was slipping through your fingers, how deeply you yearned for him to remember. “Sometimes, memories linger in the air, even when we think they’re lost,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “It’s like a whisper from the past.”

He looked at you, a mixture of confusion and intrigue swirling in his gaze. “A whisper?”

“Something like that,” you replied softly, feeling the weight of the moment settle between you. “Maybe it’s just… a feeling, or a part of a dream I once had. I can’t explain it, Marcus.”

The two of you sat there in silence, the air thick with unspoken words and lingering emotions. You could sense the gravity of the moment, the delicate thread that connected your past with the present, and you couldn’t help but hope that perhaps, just perhaps, this was the beginning of something that could bridge the gap between who you had been and who you were now.

Marcus leaned closer, his gaze intense and searching. “Dulce cara mia,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I spent years looking out for you.”

Your heart skipped a beat as the familiar phrase hung in the air, a sweet reminder of the bond you once shared. It felt as if the walls between your past and present were beginning to crumble, allowing the sunlight of long-buried emotions to seep through.

“Wait… you remember that?” you asked, your voice barely a breath.

His words were a balm to your soul, igniting a flame of hope that you had thought long extinguished. “How could I forget about you, my love?” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I've lived a thousand lives trying to find you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as the weight of his confession settled over you like a comforting blanket. “You really mean that?” you asked, unable to hide the tremor in your voice.

“Every word,” he replied, his thumb gently brushing against your knuckles. “Even in this life, it felt as if something was missing. A part of me always knew you were out there, waiting for me.”

You felt a rush of warmth at his admission, the love that had been lost in the ages flooding back to you. “I thought I would never find you again,” you whispered, your heart aching with the bittersweet pain of your shared history. “I thought the curse would keep us apart forever.”

Marcus shook his head, his expression fierce. “No curse can hold us back. It may take a thousand lifetimes, but we always find each other. Always.”

His gaze bore into yours, filled with a fierce intensity that made your heart race. The air around you felt charged with emotion, and you could feel the weight of the moment pressing down like the world had paused just for you two.

“Every word,” he reiterated softly, nodding as he leaned in closer. The distance between you evaporated, and your breath caught in your throat as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips lingering against your skin. “I’ve missed you, cara,” he murmured, using that endearing name that sent shivers down your spine.

As he inched closer, the warmth radiating from him enveloped you like a comforting embrace. “I’ve spent so long searching for you,” he whispered, his lips hovering just inches from yours. “And now that I’ve found you again… I never want to let you go.”

Your heart swelled with emotion, and the tension in the air seemed to pulse with life. It felt as though everything around you faded into the background—the world, the past, the curse—all that mattered was this moment, this connection.

“Marcus,” you breathed, your voice barely audible as you leaned in, craving the touch of his lips against yours.

But then, just before your lips met, he pulled back slightly, searching your eyes with a mixture of longing and caution. “I won’t rush this. I want to savor every moment we have, to make it count.”

You nodded, your heart pounding as you took a deep breath, grounding yourself in the reality of this second chance. “I want that too,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you.

++++++

You were standing in the dimly lit corridors of the palace; the cold stone walls a stark contrast to the warmth you felt whenever Marcus was nearby. The sounds of soldiers and servants echoed faintly in the distance, but here, in this hidden alcove, the world felt small and intimate. Marcus had pulled you into the shadows, his hand firm but gentle on your arm, his eyes filled with the same intensity they held now.

“We must be careful,” you had whispered, your breath catching as he leaned in close, the smell of leather and sandalwood surrounding you. “If anyone sees us…”

But Marcus had silenced your worries with a soft kiss, his lips pressing against yours in a way that made your heart skip. “I would fight the whole empire if it meant being with you.” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous.

His words had sent a thrill through you, but you both knew the risks. You were not just any woman; you were the emperor’s sister, and Marcus was the empire’s fiercest general. Your love, while passionate and real, was forbidden—an act of treason in the eyes of those who held power over you.

Yet, none of that mattered when you were in his arms.

“I can’t stay away from you,” Marcus had whispered against your skin, his lips brushing the curve of your neck as he held you close. “Every moment I’m not with you feels like torture.”

You had smiled then, your hands tangling in his dark curls, pulling him closer, as if you could keep him with you forever. “We will find a way,” you had promised, though neither of you knew how. “We’ll be together, one day.”

For now, stolen kisses and secret embraces were all you had, and in those moments, it felt like enough. The weight of your circumstances melted away, leaving only the raw, unshakable truth of your love.

As Marcus kissed you again, more urgently this time, the world outside your alcove seemed to disappear. His hands traced the familiar lines of your body, and you clung to him, desperate to make the moment last, knowing it would be hours—maybe days—before you could find each other again.

“I love you,” he had breathed into your ear, his voice filled with the kind of vulnerability only you ever saw. “In this life and every life to come, Cara Mia.”

++++++

As the memory faded, you were pulled back into the present, Marcus still inches away, his intense gaze fixed on you. The warmth of that ancient kiss lingered between you, and the weight of the moment felt just as powerful now as it had back then.

His hand, still gently resting on your cheek, was real, solid, warm, and the centuries that had separated you seemed to dissolve in the space between your shared breath. The flicker of recognition deepened in his eyes, and you saw it, the understanding, the knowing.

“Cara,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve been searching for you in every life. And now, here you are, right in front of me.”

You could hardly breathe, the intensity of his presence overwhelming. “Marcus,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “All this time… it’s been you. I knew it, I felt it.”

He nodded, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “I never forgot. Even when the memories were blurry, even when I didn’t understand… something inside me always knew.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I met many women during my life, but it was always you. I was always looking for you.”

the years of searching, of waiting, finally melting away. You could feel his love, not just from this life, but from the countless lifetimes before. He leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours, his breath mingling with your own.

“I won’t lose you again,” he whispered, his voice filled with the determination of a man who had lived a thousand lives in search of one thing, one person.

You closed your eyes, a rush of emotion flooding through you, knowing that, this time, neither of you would have to live without the other.

the reality of your curse loomed at the back of your mind, like a shadow waiting to resurface. You opened your eyes slowly, pulling back just enough to look into Marcus’s eyes. The intensity was still there, but now, mixed with something else—worry, doubt.

“But what about the curse?” you asked softly, your voice trembling with the weight of the question. “We’ve found each other again, but… what if it’s not enough? What if we’re torn apart, just like all the other times?”

“I Will break it” he said, sealing a promise.

Marcus’s words hung in the air, a declaration so filled with determination that it made your heart ache with both hope and fear. His hand tightened around yours, grounding you in the moment as he repeated, “I will break it.”

You stared at him, searching his eyes for any hint of uncertainty, but all you saw was a fierce resolve—a promise he intended to keep, no matter the cost. The weight of his vow pressed down on you, the enormity of the task, the centuries of separation, all coming to the forefront of your mind. “How?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “How can you break something that has kept us apart for so long?”

“I don’t know,” Marcus admitted, his voice unwavering. “But I do know that I’m not the same man I was before. None of those lifetimes matter without you by my side, and I will tear down the heavens if I have to, to keep you with me.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the intensity of his love for you overwhelming. You could feel the fear still lurking beneath the surface, the fear that no matter how much you wanted this, how hard you fought, the curse would come between you once again. But something in the way Marcus looked at you, the absolute certainty in his gaze, made you want to believe him.

“And if we fail?” you asked, your voice barely more than a breath, the question slipping out despite yourself. “What if we can’t break it?”

Marcus shook his head, gently cupping your face in his hands. “We won’t fail,” he said softly, his thumb brushing your cheek. “Because this time, I’m not letting you go. I’m not letting anything stand between us. I’ll break the curse or die trying.”

Tears welled in your eyes as his words sank in, the promise of his love wrapping around you like a shield. For the first time in centuries, you allowed yourself to hope. Maybe, just maybe, this time could be different.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, breaking the heavy tension that had settled between you. “People will talk again,” you said, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “That hasn’t changed.”

Marcus’s eyes lit up, a playful glint dancing behind the intensity of his gaze. “Let them talk,” he said with a shrug, his voice full of warmth and mischief. “They’ve been talking about us for centuries. Let them have something real to talk about this time.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound breaking through the lingering shadows of fear and doubt. It was a familiar feeling, this lightness that always seemed to come when you were with him, no matter how dire the circumstances. In a world that constantly threatened to tear you apart, these moments of shared joy felt like a rebellion, a testament to the strength of your bond.

“They’re going to say I’ve bewitched you,” you teased, leaning in a little closer, savoring the warmth of his presence. “Or that you’ve gone mad.”

Marcus grinned, his thumb still gently caressing your cheek. “Maybe I have,” he said, his voice low and full of affection. “Mad with love for you.”

You rested your forehead against his once more, your breath mingling with his as you whispered, “Let them talk, then. As long as we have this, as long as we have each other, none of it matters.”

Marcus’s arms tightened around you, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. “Forever,” he whispered back, sealing the promise between you with a tender kiss.

You kissed him as though every single one of the lifetimes you had lived without him was pouring into this one moment. The touch of his lips against yours ignited something deep within you—a longing, a love, that had spanned centuries. All the heartache, all the searching, all the endless years of waiting melted away as you gave yourself fully to the kiss.

Marcus held you like he had done a thousand times before, but this time, it was different. This time, the kiss was filled with the knowledge that you had found each other again, that no matter what came next, you were together now. His hands traced the curve of your back, pulling you closer as if he were afraid you might disappear again.

You could feel the weight of all those years, all the love that had been lost and found again, in every movement, in every breath. His kiss was not just a promise but a reminder—a reminder of all the times he had loved you, all the moments you had shared in different lives, and all the moments you had missed. And now, here, you were living them all again.

When you finally pulled back, your breath coming in shallow gasps, you stared into his eyes, searching for the same fire you knew was burning inside you. It was there—strong, unwavering, eternal. “I’ve waited lifetimes for you,” you whispered, your forehead resting against his. “And I’d wait a thousand more if it meant I could be with you like this.”

Marcus’s gaze softened, and his fingers brushed tenderly against your jawline. “You won’t have to wait anymore,” he said, his voice steady and filled with love.

After the kiss, you found yourself in front of a mirror, your fingers lightly brushing over your lips, still tingling from the touch of his. The room was quiet now, the world beyond the two of you seemed distant, as though the very air had stilled to give you space for this moment. As you gazed at your reflection, a glimmer caught your eye.

There, among the strands of your hair, was a single grey hair. You reached up, gently twisting it between your fingers, a realization dawning on you with a surge of emotion. The curse. All those lifetimes, the endless cycle of living and dying, never aging, never truly being free… It was broken.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you had changed. The grey hair was proof—proof that time, real time, had touched you. Proof that you were no longer trapped in the endless loop of waiting, searching, and losing Marcus again and again.

Your heart swelled with emotion as you stared at the grey hair, a smile tugging at your lips. It wasn’t a sign of loss or fear, but of life—of the future you could now build together. The weight of your immortality, the curse that had kept you apart, had lifted.

Marcus’s reflection appeared behind you in the mirror, his eyes soft but filled with a quiet intensity. He gently placed his hands on your shoulders, his warmth grounding you in this new reality. “You see it too, don’t you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, unable to stop the tears from welling up. “It’s broken, Marcus. We’re free.”

His arms slid around you, pulling you close to his chest. You could feel the steady beat of his heart, the sound of it a reminder that you were no longer bound by the past. “I told you,” he whispered against your hair. “No curse can keep us apart.”

[andshesaidwhat]

Cherry - Clay Beresford

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six |

Summary: Clay Beresford was one of Manhattan’s most notorious playboys. His name, and the money that came with it, garnered him a big reputation. Bored of the spotlight and in need of a distraction, Clay ventures to a hole-in-the-wall strip club in the Lower East Side. When he sees you walk out on that stage, he knows at once that you could be the one to rewrite his story.

Warnings: stripper!reader, playboy!Clay, reader works at a strip club and a lot of the story takes place there, descriptions of sex work, reader has a tragic backstory, mentions of abuse, mentions of homelessness, alcohol consumption, Clay doesn’t have heart problems, eventual smut, pining, angst, Clay has a savior complex, reader doesn’t know how to have non-transactional relationships.

Playlist / Masterlist

Clay Beresford nursed a glass of whiskey as he tried to tune out the droning of yet another young entrepreneur giving him a business pitch.

He went through the motions — nodding and humming, asking the occasional question, taking the knock-off business card — in hopes that they would be satisfied and leave him to his night.

All he wanted was to have a drink and relax, but everywhere he went he was bombarded by people who saw him as an opportunity instead of a person.

He supposed it came with the territory of carrying the Beresford name. He’d inherited an empire from his father, vile as he was, and essentially walked around with dollar signs flashing above his head.

He wasn’t ungrateful for his life, nor did he stray away from the benefits it gave him, he was just…frustrated. He never knew if the people in his life were there because they wanted to know him or because they wanted to know his money. More often than not, it was the latter.

He needed a distraction — something that made him feel a sense of normalcy for once. He finished the last of his whiskey, setting the empty glass down on the marble bar top. He offered a polite goodbye to the bartender and the scrambling businessman before grabbing his coat and walking out of the building.

His driver was already waiting for him outside and he climbed into the backseat of the black SUV, mumbling vague directions as he rubbed at his temples. The driver gave him an odd look in the rear view mirror, but didn’t question it as he drove off toward the Lower East Side.

Clay didn’t venture to this area of Manhattan often — hardly ever, actually — but, when he did, nobody ever noticed him. They had their own lives to deal with and didn’t need to be obsessed with his.

Maybe that was what was drawing him here this time. He wanted to be able to slink into the shadows, just for a little while.

As they drove, Clay watched the city pass from the car window. He cocked his head in interest as they passed a joint with a bright red sign flashing above it.

The Silk Rose.

A gentleman’s club. He snorted, doubting there were any gentlemen in there at all. Still, his interest was piqued. Maybe a night in a sleazy club watching girls dance around in lingerie was exactly what he needed.

He told his driver to park up the street a bit, careful not to draw too much attention to himself. With his hands in his pockets, he kept his head down as he made his way over to the entrance.

The windows and doors were blacked out, preventing any prying eyes from peeking in.

Perfect, he thought. This was just the kind of privacy he was looking for.

He grabbed the door handle, glancing up at the tagline written above his head.

Come on in and see Sal’s Dancing Girls!

The night had been slower for you than usual.

There were the regulars, sitting in their normal spots, but you’d barely broken $250 and hadn’t gotten a single private room booking. Granted, private dances certainly weren’t your favorite part of the job, but they were what made the big bucks. You could handle a creep or two if it meant your bills were paid.

You sat in the dressing room backstage, touching up your makeup and rubbing at your feet that were from the tall heels you wore as you waited for your next set. The area was bustling with the other dancers, all in different states of undress and disarray.

You didn’t mind what you did. You liked dancing — although you’d thought you’d be pursuing dance in a different direction than where you’d ended up. You weren’t forced into this life, like some of the others. You were here by choice. It just maybe wasn’t your first choice.

You were confident in it, though. You knew how to work a room. You knew how to manipulate sleazy men into emptying their wallets. You were always in control.

You certainly didn’t need anyone to save you.

You heard the last song of the previous dancer’s set end and took one more look in the mirror. You removed your robe and adjusted the skimpy costume before taking a deep breath and walking toward the back of the stage.

Showtime.

Clay sat at the bar, prying his glass up from the sticky table and taking a sip as one of the dancers exited the stage. He watched as the workers swept up the money that had been thrown, gathering it into a bag before bringing it to the back.

She’d been fine. Her set was pretty par for the course as far as Clay could expect. He’d still found himself zoning out or focusing more on his drink than her dancing.

After the stage was fully cleared off, the lights dimmed to a deep red as a new song started. It was like the energy in the room shifted. Suddenly, everyone was waiting with bated breath as the next dancer took the stage.

Clay sat up straighter in his seat, setting his glass down as the spotlight hit the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. He was captivated, mesmerized. Even the way you walked was enticing. He leaned forward, hanging on to every move you made.

He wasn’t the only one, either. You had the entire room wrapped around your finger.

Clay watched as you worked the stage, feeling the energy from the crowd. Then, you began to dance.

He felt breathless. His heart was pounding beneath his chest. The way you moved was like a song in and of itself. You were the music. Your movements told a story and he was very, very curious to unravel it.

You fell into the rhythmic routine, working the stage like you owned it — and, in that moment, you did. The lights warmed your skin as you moved your body to the sensual beat of the music, putting on a tantalizing show of removing bits of your costume until you were left in lingerie.

You scanned the audience, as you normally did, looking for anyone who seemed easy to reel in. People would be surprised at how many extra tips you get when the lonely people in the crowd think you’ve noticed them. However, this time, your eyes landed on one man in particular.

You hadn’t seen him at this club before, but he looked vaguely familiar — and devilishly handsome. He seemed to be transfixed on you, so you let your eyes stay locked with his.

The crystalline blue pulled you in, but there was something else about the way he was looking at you. You were used to stares of lust, envy, even ownership — but he was gazing at you with pure interest. The kind of interest that went beyond physical attraction. He wasn’t just watching you take your clothes off. He was watching you dance.

As the music of your last song faded out you gave the crowd a grin and a wave, winking at the handsome stranger before exiting the stage.

You walked back to your vanity, plopping down in the chair with a tired huff. One of the staff members brought you the bag with your tips and you sorted through it, counting the bills. It wasn’t bad, but it could’ve been better.

You groaned, tired of the slow night, and glanced at the clock. There was only a little over an hour left in your shift.

“What’s wrong, babycakes?”

You turned your head to face the dancer whose vanity was next to yours. She had her chin propped on her hand as she looked at you, her bright pink hair pinned to the top of her head.

Frenchie was the name she went by. She was the only dancer that ever had actual conversations with you. She was nice, if a bit eccentric, and you were grateful for the friendly face.

“Just a slow night, French,” you sighed, shrugging your shoulders.

She scoffed, taking a drag of a cigarette as she said, “Shit, doll. If it’s a slow night for you then it’s a wasteland for the rest of us.”

Your eyebrows scrunched in confusion as you asked, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, please,” Frenchie sigh, playfully rolling her eyes. “You’re the fan favorite, babes. Everyone here knows it. That’s why I’m the only one who talks to you.”

You swatted your hand at her with a laugh, shaking your head as you smiled. You spotted your boss, Sal, walking up behind you in your mirror and you tilted your head back to look at him.

“Someone’s requesting you,” he said, gruff as always.

“See?” Frenchie said, sticking her tongue out at you.

You stuck your tongue out back at her before turning back to Sal. “Who is it?”

“Does it matter? He’s paying,” he grunted, shrugging as he rolled his eyes. “It’s room four.”

Sal walked out of the dressing room as you touched up your hair and makeup, glancing over at Frenchie as she prepared to go do her set on stage.

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” she said, smacking your ass as she walked past you.

“Knock ‘em dead, French,” you called out after her, laughing softly.

You took a deep, steadying breath as you walked down the long hallway, readying yourself to face whatever greaseball would be waiting for you. This was where you made the most money, it just also happened to be the part you hated the most.

You stopped outside of the door labeled with the big number 4 and gave a silent plea to whatever was out there that this would go by smoothly.

To your delight, you didn’t see any of the sleazy regulars when you opened the door. Instead, you saw the handsome stranger who had been watching you so intently during your set.

A sultry smile pulled at your lips as you locked eyes with him. You weren’t supposed to enjoy these sessions — this was work, after all, and you were doing a job — but it didn’t hurt when the clients looked this pretty.

“I was hoping it was you that requested me,” you said, walking into the room with a sway of your hips.

It was true, but you would’ve said it regardless. That was the job. Make them feel seen and important so that they handed over more money.

The handsome stranger’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at you, seeming to relax into the moment.

“I’m happy not to let you down, then,” he said, his voice low and husky. “Please, join me.”

He gestured over to a bottle of champagne resting in a bucket of ice by the plush leather couch. His gaze lingered on you as you walked into the room, his eyes drinking in the sight of you. He felt a sense of excitement building within him — an anticipation that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Your eyes almost widened. Champagne? You were lucky to get so much as a polite introduction when you worked these rooms. You hadn’t ever had a customer provide refreshments. By the looks of the bottle, it wasn’t the cheap kind either.

Who was this man and why did he feel so familiar?

“So, tell me,” he said, pouring some of the champagne into a glass and offering it to you, “what’s your name?”

You kept up your performance facade, taking the glass from him and batting your lashes.

“It’s in poor form to ask personal details of the dancers,” you tutted, a teasing smile adorning your lips. “You can call me Cherry.”

All of the dancers had names that you went by. Yours just so happened to be Cherry. The name held a certain significance to you and you were grateful for the protection of identity — in more ways than one.

“Ah, Cherry,” he smiled, the name sitting nicely on his tongue. “I like that. I’m Clay.”

He paused for a moment, studying you as if he was waiting for some kind of reaction. When he didn’t get one, he nodded with a small smile and relaxed into the couch.

“I hope you enjoy the champagne,” he said, bringing his own glass to his lips. “I thought it might make you more comfortable while we…talk.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, taking a sip of the delicious bubbles. People who rented these rooms didn’t usually want to talk. They wanted you to dance and wanted to see how far they could bend the rules.

There were certain rules that you and the customers had to follow. Neither the dancers nor the customers could be fully nude, the customers and the dancers could not touch each other, and under no circumstances could the dancers maintain personal or intimate relationships with the customers.

Clay seemed…different. He was tempting in all of the wrong ways. You knew you had to tread carefully.

“So, Cherry,” Clay began, throwing an arm across the back of the couch, “what do you like to do for fun?”

A playful smirk pulled at your lips as you asked, “Is this not fun?”

Clay’s eyes lit up at your question and he laughed — a deep, rich sound.

“Oh, it’s definitely fun,” he said, smiling, “but I was thinking more along the lines of getting to know you. I’d love to learn more about you.” He paused, his eyes searching yours. “If you’re willing to share, of course.”

Getting to know you? This guy books a stripper to get to know her?

“Respectable,” you nodded. “Most people just book me to see how close they can get to touching me. You can’t, by the way. Touch me, that is. It’s strictly against the rules.”

You set your champagne glass down on the table and walked over to the stereo to turn on some slow, sensual music.

“You paid for an hour long dance, so I’d be doing a poor job if I didn’t comply,” you said, sauntering back over to him.

You should’ve just started dancing and stuck to your job, but his pretty eyes were so intrigued that you couldn’t say no to him.

“How about this,” you offered, “you ask questions while I dance. Deal?”

Clay’s eyes gleamed with delight as he nodded, clearly pleased with himself.

“Deal,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “Oh, and Cherry?”

He set his glass down before leaning back into the couch with a grin.

“I have to warn you, I’m not very good at following rules.”

You placed your hands on the cushion behind his head, leaning over him as you swayed your hips.

“If you want to keep the session going, you’d better be,” you whispered, warning in your tone. “Otherwise, the fun would be over. So keep your hands by your sides, pretty boy.”

His eyes flashed with amusement as he raised an eyebrow, but he obediently placed his hands at his sides.

“Oh, I’ll be good,” he promised. “I wouldn’t want the fun to stop.”

He trailed his gaze over your figure, watching as you danced.

“Back to my original question, Cherry,” he said, flicking his eyes back up to yours. “What do you like to do when you aren’t…dancing?”

You stood up again, seductively twirling and swaying to the beat as you thought about the question.

You weren’t sure how much you wanted to reveal to him. He was still just a pretty face — a very tempting pretty face. He wasn’t the first person to come in here with delusions of grandeur. You didn’t want him to reel you in.

“I like to read,” you said, rolling your hips. “I like to watch cheesy romance movies, and I’m a damn good cook.”

His eyes sparkled with interest as you answered, his gaze never leaving yours.

“A woman of many talents,” he murmured, a soft smile on his face. He leaned forward slightly as he asked, “What kind of romance movies do you like to watch?”

“The ones with every cliche in the book,” you grinned, swirling around to the music. “I want the sappy love confessions, the angsty miscommunication, and the big fight that leads to the romantic kiss in the rain.”

You leaned over him again, rotating your hips as you bent down to whisper in his ear, “and it’s gotta have a good sex scene.”

Clay’s gaze darkened at your words, his breathing quickening. He felt a surge of desire course through his veins and he had to force himself to remain still, to not reach out and touch you.

He paused for a moment, then asked, “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

You laughed softly in his ear, leaning back up as you continued dancing.

“That kind of thing only exists in fiction, pretty boy,” you said, trying not to sound bitter.

He smiled, cocking his head to the side with a small laugh.

“Maybe,” he replied, his voice dripping with skepticism, “but I think there’s something to be said for the idea that two people can just click, you know?”

He leaned toward, his eyes locked onto yours as he said, “I think maybe we click, Cherry.”

You scoffed, an amused smile etched into your features as you rolled your eyes.

“Do you know how many people come here and claim they fell in love with me? People pay me to give them a show, and I deliver. It’s all transactional. I’m in the business of temporarily filling the vacant holes in people’s lives.”

Clay’s eyes never left yours, his expression tense with something that bordered understanding.

“Yes, I do,” he said, his voice serious. “I’m not naive enough to think that we’re anything more than what we are here tonight…but sometimes, Cherry, I think people need a little bit of fantasy. Just for tonight, let’s forget about life and reality outside of these walls. Let’s just enjoy each other’s company, okay?”

A pretty face that spoke pretty words.

Damn him.

“Fine,” you obliged, smiling despite yourself. “Still, no touching, but you can carry on with your questions.”

“Excellent,” he said, his eyes sparkling with triumph as his mouth curled into a satisfied grin. “What’s the most memorable performance you’ve ever given?”

You smiled, playfully, and responded, “Seventh grade ballet recital, hands down. Not a dry eye in the house.”

“Seventh grade, huh?” Clay chuckled. “I never would’ve guessed. What made it so memorable?”

A fond smile graced your lips as you let your mind reminisce on a memory you didn’t usually let yourself wander to.

“I used to have really terrible stage fright. I’d get under the lights and I’d just freeze. I had been working really hard all year on this solo and I got selected to perform in the recital. Right as I went on stage, I forgot every piece of choreography. I was so panicked, I wanted to run off the stage and hide. Then, I heard the music start and I just…danced. I let the music move me. To this day, it’s still the freest I’ve ever felt.”

You shook your head, instantly regretting the vulnerability.

“Never mind that, though,” you laughed. “You think everything is world changing when you’re that age.”

Clay’s eyes softened, his expression becoming more contemplative. “I think that’s beautiful,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “The fact that you were able to find freedom in that moment, despite your fears and doubts…it’s truly inspiring.” He paused, his gaze lingering on yours. “I think that’s what makes human connection so powerful. We can be ourselves, without apology, and find freedom in that vulnerability.” The skin by his eyes crinkled as he smiled again. “Speaking of which, Cherry…do you believe everyone has a story worth telling?”

“I think there are stories to be found everywhere, if you look hard enough,” you shrugged, refilling his champagne glass.

“Ah, a philosopher, too,” he smirked, his voice ripe with amusement. “I think you might be the most fascinating person I’ve met in a very long time.”

He thought for a moment as he took the champagne glass, then said, “Would you like to hear a story, Cherry?”

“A dance for a story,” you pondered. “I think that’s a fair transaction.”

Clay’s eyes lit up with excitement as he sipped his drink. “Excellent,” he grinned, settling back into the couch. “I’ve always loved the story of Romeo and Juliet. The passion, the tragedy, the love that consumed them both. Imagine if Romeo and Juliet lived in modern times, Cherry. Would they still fall in love? Would they still meet the same fate?”

“I think Romeo and Juliet were two horny teenagers, too naive for their own good,” you smirked, swaying to the music.

Your movements absentmindedly transitioned from sensual to holding the essence of his storytelling as he spoke.

“Ah, but that’s what makes their story so tragic,” he countered, shaking his head. “Their naivety is what drives them to take such reckless risks, to chase after a love that seems impossible. Yet, despite the danger, despite the obstacles, despite the fact that they come from different worlds…they still manage to find each other, to connect on a deeper level. Don’t you think that’s what makes love so intoxicating?”

He paused, his gaze searching yours before he laughed softly and said, “Or am I just a hopeless romantic?”

“You’re hopeless, alright,” you joked, despite the fact that his words managed to pang your heart.

You did not fall in love. You didn’t even think about love. One stranger’s pretty words weren’t going to change that. This was transactional.

His stories were so compelling, though…

You leaned over him again, bringing your face as close to his as you could without making contact.

“You know what I think?” You whispered, glancing down at his lips. “I think our time is up.”

The clock rang, signaling that the hour was over. You straightened up and stepped back, giving him one last wink.

“Thanks for the story, pretty boy.”

Clay’s face seemed to fall with disappointment as you pulled away from him, but his voice remained smooth and charming.

“Until next time, Cherry.”

As you left the room and returned to your vanity, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed. His words lingered with you, throwing you off balance.

You gathered your things and changed into your regular clothing, clocking out at the back door. As you were about to leave, Sal stopped you and handed you a wad of cash.

“Here,” he said, “for the private room.”

You’d been so caught up in the moment with Clay that you hadn’t even stopped to think about the fact that you didn’t get a single dollar from him.

You thumbed through the cash, expecting to see the usual earnings of maybe $50 or so. Your eyes widened as you counted out $1,000.

He’d tipped you that much? What kind of man was he?

Normally, you didn’t any of the customers a second thought once you were away from work, but this one wouldn’t worm his way out of your head.

Damn these men and their pretty words and ideas of love and fate. That was a life you had left behind.

Once you’d returned home to your apartment, you showered the day off of your skin and changed into more comfortable clothing. You made yourself a quick dinner before settling into your couch and flicking the television on.

The screen lit up in the middle of some story on a celebrity gossip channel. You were only half listening as you ate your food, your mind still reeling from the events that had occurred with the handsome stranger. You couldn’t shake that something still felt so familiar about him.

Your ears perked up at the sound of a name that struck a chord deep within you. Your jaw dropped as you glanced up at the screen, seeing those dazzling blue eyes and his crinkled smile.

The reporters voice rang out about the youngest CEO Manhattan had ever seen as your heart sank to your feet.

Holy shit.

The handsome stranger was Clay fucking Beresford.

[katakaluptastrophy]

You know how it goes: through some incredible circumstances, God and a young woman living under the shadow of an oppressive empire have a metaphysically unusual baby who grows up to be a general nuisance, won't stay dead, and sports a few additional holes...

It's the third Sunday of Advent and I'm a little concerned Bible studies for weird goth kids might be turning into a series... Let's talk about the Blessed Virgin Mary and Commander Awake Remembrance of These Valiant Dead Kia Hua Ko Te Pai Snap Back to Reality Oops There Goes Gravity.

Wake was probably never described as "gentle", "meek", or "mild", but there are a few similarities: distinctive outfits, snazzy shrines, commitment to putting down the mighty from their seats, and of course babies with great and terrible destinies niftily conceived without sex.

On the topic of conception, let's clear up a common, uh, misconception: the term "immaculate conception" does not refer to Mary becoming pregnant with Jesus. It's Mary's own conception.

Why are we talking about how Mary was conceived and what does this have to do with lesbian necromancers?

To answer that question, we have to go back further still, way before Mary's conception. Back to these guys and their unfortunate snack cravings:

Remember how last time we talked about the concept of being in a state of grace? Well, the Christian read on Adam and Eve is that a state of grace was, as it were, the factory setting for humanity. They were fully in tune with God, there was no sickness or death, there was no sin. Until, that is, the whole unfortunate business with the apple. The first sin. The world is fundamentally altered. Humanity is expelled from paradise, burdened with sin, death, disease, patriarchy, and work. Worse, this sinful human nature turns out to be sexually transmissible: every human being is born tainted by this "original sin" of Adam and Eve.

This is why Catholicism is so big on baptising babies: even if they're many years off being able to commit any sins themselves (a sin has to be something consciously chosen and understood), they're still contaminated by that original sin of Adam and Eve. Baptism is understood to erase original sin, wiping the slate clean.

Bear with me, we'll be back to necromancers soon I promise. Have a picture of Mary beating up the devil while an angel holds baby Jesus:

OK, but what does Adam and Eve's danger snack have to do with Mary's conception?

The "immaculate conception" refers to the idea that unlike every human being between Adam and Jesus, Mary was conceived without the contamination of original sin. The rationale for this is complex, but essentially boils down to something like the saving power of Jesus not being bound by piffling things like time and space and thus saving his mother before her own conception and allowing himself to also be conceived and born sinless.

But the important bit is that something specific about Mary means that she is uniquely able to be pregnant with Jesus.

You may be starting to guess where this is going...

Because while unconventional pregnancy seems to have been the plan from the get-go for Jesus, it was not with the artist formerly known as The Bomb:

“I had the baby,” said Wake. “The baby I’d had to incubate myself for nine long fucking months, when the foetal dummies these two gave me died.”

“Oh, God, it was yours,” said Augustine, in horror. “I thought you’d used in vitro on one of Mercy’s—”

“I said they all died,” said Wake. “The dummies died. The ova died. Only the sample was still active, no idea how considering it was twelve weeks after the fact, but I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“So you used it on yourself,” said Augustine. “Anything for the revolution, eh, Wake?”

We have to assume the foetal dummies plan was hatched by Mercymorn, a brilliant scientist with a myriad of experience. If the problem encountered by Wake were as simple as Lyctoral infertility, I suspect Mercy would have spotted that long before.

But what do Wake and John have in common that Mercymorn or any of the other ova-having residents of the Mithraeum did not? They are both (to some extent at least) factory setting humans: unlike everyone else in the Dominicus system, they never died and were resurrected, nor are they the descendants people who were. John's abilities, while macabre, are not straightforwardly the necromancy otherwise practiced in the Houses. That necromancy is a direct result of one specific act of taking that resulted in the very nature of the world changing: a thanergetic system, inhabited by human beings who, necromancer or not, are fundamentally tainted by thanergy and by the after effects of that action of John's. You might call it a sin. An indelible sin. He does.

It's not an exact parallel, but necromancy certainly occupies a space not dissimilar to original sin: the result of a single action, tainting every descendant of its progenitors regardless of their actions of abilities.

And then enter Gideon, born in space away from the thanergetic energy of the Dominicus system to a mother lacking the 10,000 year intergenerational burden of the resurrection and necromancy. The child of Jod, born to die.

[teriri-sayes]

Reactions to The Worst's Chapter 359

Brief summary: Cale tries to smile like Alberu. Cale scams the users and the 6th Evil. Cale gives his first main quest.

===========

As if imitating Alberu's appearance was not enough, Cale even tried to copy Alberu's smile. But the kids had other thoughts... 😂

Cale: looks at himself in the mirror Cale: (Blonde and blue eyes look nice too, huh?) Cale: smiles like Alberu Raon: Human, who are you trying to scam? Cale: stops smiling Hong: You look like the crown prince! On: Whatever that smile is, yours is better. The crown prince's smile is hard to imitate. Raon: That's right, human! That fake friendly smile of yours! The crown prince's brightness does not suit you! Human, you… you… what should I call it?! On: I thought you were a bad person, but it turns out you're a good person? - That kind of smile suits you. Raon: That's right. That's it! My human, you can look so stiff when you're expressionless, but if you give us a nice smile once in a while, that's enough to let our guard down! Cale: …Sigh.

I never expected we would get an analysis on Cale's smile. 🤣🤣🤣 And from the kids, no less! 😂😂😂

We also had a cute part where Raon slept while hugging egg form Eden. Because of that, Eden had dried up drool on his eggshell. 😂

Cale went down his room and sat in the restaurant in order to began his quest-giving NPC act. The evil spirit from the 6th Evil seemed to be curious of Cale, so I guess they bit Cale's bait?

Cale then began dropping information in his conversation with the inn girl who served as his guide yesterday. Thus, the users grew curious about him.

One such user was called Kang Mok. The chapter did not state if Kang Mok was male or female, but Kang Mok's constant description of that tamer NPC being incredibly handsome was suspicious. 😂

For now, I'll use "he" pronouns for Kang Meok.

He's a weirdo with cats and an egg! A weird NPC with an egg wrapped in a floral-patterned blanket that he used as a baby carrier! But look at his face! I'm sure he'll play an important role in the story! Blonde and blue eyes. He's a wanderer, but he's more handsome than the Grand Duke, the most handsome man in the Breeze Empire! He's also-' 'He's badly handsome!' His blonde hair gave off a light similar to the soft morning sunlight, but it was overshadowed by his facial features, giving the feeling as if there was a gold nugget shining in a dangerous place. A languid, yet relaxed atmosphere. And a sly smile, like that of an experienced adventurer. 'But he seems like a nice guy!' The New World also had a wide variety of NPCs. One could divide their dispositions into three: good, neutral, and evil. But regardless of their dispositions, there were bad people among the good ones, and there were good people among the evil ones. There were some cases where the disposition of a group and the disposition of an individual tended to be different. 'And-' Usually, such handsome wanderers- 'They may seem bad because they're playful and mischievous, but once you get to know them, they're actually good and often sacrifice themselves for the greater good!'

So Blonde Cale is handsome? But that last line about Cale though... How did you completely hit the mark, Kang Meok? 🤣🤣🤣

Kang Meok talked to Cale, so Cale tested out if he could give quests. Cale came up with this scenario:

In the underworld, a secret group called Arm appeared.

The attackers of the Sun God Temple wore the same outfits as Arm.

This Arm group worshipped the God of Chaos.

There was a legend that if some force threatened to take over the underworld, the guardian of the underworld would appear.

This guardian was called the Dark Kingdom who protected those in the shadows and punished the evil ones in the shadows.

Arm and the Dark Kingdom were in a fierce power struggle to control the underworld.

Cale was a "wandering shadow" who did not side with those two.

Of course, all of this was nonsense because Arm and the Dark Kingdom were all Cale's creations. 🤣🤣🤣 But Cale did succeed in giving Kang Meok a quest, and a main quest at that.

Ending Remarks Cale was a complete scammer today. 😂 Next chapter would be a continuation of his NPC act. Or it might be Cale attending Bishop Selissa's lecture in the academy to fulfill his handshake quest.

[togenabi]

the language of flowers

gojo satoru x reader (royalty au)

♡—All your life, you have been training for the role of Empress... But nothing could have prepared you to be Satoru's wife.

word count♡— 4.7k (I came back swinging y'all)

genre♡— fluff, royalty au

aged up characters♡— 18+

content notes♡— arranged marriage, romance, crown prince (maybe ooc) gojo, flowers, no use of y/n, afab!reader, ur a princess we're all princesses, minor chara oc's, mentions of my other au's, reader's father is a jerk, reader is tough but falls hard, not fully proofread

author's note♡— this took a while! september was ridiculously busy for me but I did my best with this to compensate! this is also very self indulgent, but I hope you enjoy it! xoxo, belle

As a child, you found out of your engagement to the Crown Prince by accident.

On a chilly winter's evening, you had been chasing the Royal Secretary's cat around the palace. Your father, the King, would frown upon you playing games at this hour. You should be writing essays, learning dance or banquet etiquette.

But all that can wait, you think. You've just spotted the end of a fluffy tail dart around the next corner.

When you catch up to it, the orange tabby is curiously peering into a room—whose grand double doors are slightly ajar. Eyes widening, you quicken your steps but make sure to minimize any sound. The last thing you needed was to be spotted skirting your duties right in front of the King's study.

You let out a huff of relief once you've gently picked up the cat, your arms hugging it to your chest.

Just as you're about to sneak away, however, you hear your name.

From the gap in the door, streams of golden light pour out; contrasting with the darkness of the hallway. The silhouettes of your father and his Secretary leave shadowed patterns on the floor.

You listen, as these silhouettes plan your future without you.

“Ha!” The King bellows. “My daughter. Empress. I never thought I'd see the day.”

Your heart stutters. What?

“When will you inform her, Your Majesty?”

The shadow on the painted tiles waves a hand dismissively as your father does.

“I'll leave that to you, Montgomery. Tell her that she should be honored.”

Heavy footsteps sound as he paces. “It was concerning to have a daughter as a firstborn. I knew she couldn't be made to rule what I've built, but I'll finally have a steady pawn in The Empire once she's sent away.”

Pain shoots into you. Your eyes begin to sting. You had always known your brother was the favorite despite all the hard work you've put in, but to be spoken of as a pawn... Could it be that you have not worked hard enough?

You suddenly remember where you are. Remember how slacking off brought you here. Heartbroken, you hug the cat tighter.

The words your father speak as you walk away deepens the dagger in your chest.

“Do not settle for anything less than perfect for her coursework. She's to be Empress, after all.”

On that chilly winter's evening, your heart froze over like the snow-covered branches looming outside.

...

Several years later.

The carriage goes over a bump in the road, but you do not show discomfort or act without grace. Your expression is controlled and your posture is correct as you balance yourself.

Across from you, Secretary Mont holds a newspaper up, the front page faces you as he reads. Large bold letters take up the entire upper half of the paper:

‘CITIZENS QUESTION IF EMPRESS-TO-BE IS WORTHY OF THE CROWN PRINCE’

You scoff. It makes Mont meet your gaze over the paper before flipping it; he frowns disapprovingly at the front-most article.

“Do not mind them, Your Highness.” He folds the paper and sets it aside—as if it would help prove his point. “The people are not used to your presence yet, but they will be. They will see how you are the perfect choice for Empress.”

The Princess is power hungry, someone who was interviewed had said. You wanted the Empire for yourself, apparently.

Jealous. Vain. Possessive. Dramatic.

Shifting your gaze to the window, you contemplate what you had done to garner such a negative image. Could you have done anything differently?

Your father's face appears in your mind's eye. That same ever-present scowl on his face as he says you should do better. You should be grateful. You should be nothing less than what you've been preparing all these years for. Everything must be perfect.

The Imperial Palace comes into view. It stands high and grand, shining under the bright midday sun. The cloudless blue sky above it makes the scene picturesque.

After the wedding in four months, it is to be your new home.

The Imperial Princess, your betrothed's younger sister, greets you when you arrive. You curtsy to each other, and she surprises you by reaching out to take your hands in hers. She gives them a firm yet friendly squeeze.

“I'm pleased to welcome you, my sister-to-be.” She beams, and you return the look with your own small, composed smile.

“I am honored to be here. Thank you for taking the time to receive me personally.” You gently lower your hands, letting her go.

She leads you inside, passing lines of palace staff as you enter.

“Congratulations on your own engagement, by the way.” You say honestly. After assessing her for a moment, you carefully remark, “I hear you and Prince Toge are quite happy.”

“We are.” She nods, smile glowing even more at the mention of her beloved. “Please allow me to say that I hope you and my brother find your own happiness, despite the ‘political arrangement’ of it all.”

“I thank you for your well-wishes.”

“Would you like an escort to your chambers?” The Princess offers once you reach a grand curving staircase.

“If you have other duties, I will not keep you.” You give her a bow, the ends of your dress brushing the polished marble flooring.

“Very well.” She nods. “A servant will inform you when dinner is ready.”

Gathering your skirt, you make your way up the steps to the east wing, where the guest chambers are.

Your eyes find the path to the west wing, where the royal families' rooms can be found. Soon enough, you would be heading there instead of east. Hopefully, the Prince will be amicable to live with.

The chambers reserved for you are exactly how you remember them. It's spotless and feels homey despite you only visiting a few times a year.

This is the only place you can be truly alone. Your father, try as he might, has no power here.

You step towards the balcony, opening the glass doors that lead outside. The wind caresses your skin like a soft kiss to your cheek, and you take a deep breath to savor it.

Four months.

That's all you have left. Four months of freedom here.

Another breeze passes. It carries with it a tiny dandelion wisp. Catching it almost feels like holding onto air, and yet it is there between your fingers. Small and weighing nothing, but there nonetheless.

For such a small thing, it strengthens your resolve.

You're not here for freedom. You're here to be Empress. And that's all that matters. You will not let anything get under your skin and interfere with your responsibilities.

...

So you said, only to find yourself in a very unexpected situation.

Dinner was uneventful, your only gripe was that your betrothed was not present. You had hoped to show everyone that you got along well... Even if you've only really spoken a handful of times.

However, once you returned to your chambers, you spot the balcony door open once more. Beyond it, looking out at the view of the city, was the Crown Prince himself.

You try not to let your unpreparedness get to you. Bowing respectfully, you greet him. “Good evening, Your Highness. May I ask what brings you here?”

The Prince turns to you, crossing one ankle over the other as he casually leans on the balcony.

“There you are.” Satoru says, his head tilting as he observes you.

You eye him warily, trying to decipher his intentions. If he wanted to see you, he could have simply shown up to dinner. “What are you doing?”

He steps forward. You step back. “Is it a crime to want time alone with my—”

Sighing, you should have expected him to want more time with the future—

“—wife?”

The word knocks the wind out of you.

Of all the names you have been called, ‘wife’ is a new addition to the list.

You are your parents' daughter, your country's princess, and are to be the Empire's most powerful woman.

And yet, to one person... to Satoru, you are to be his wife.

It's almost strange to think about. Your earliest memory of your betrothed is back when he was small and scrawny. It was difficult to take him seriously back then.

Now, something has changed in him. Or it could also be that he's always been like this, and this is a side to him he doesn't show to others that often.

Satoru watches you process the word, seeming to have something to say, but decides against it. You half expected him to tease you for being flabbergasted, but he patiently waits for you to speak first.

“Why are you here at this hour?”

He grins, eyes bringing shame to those distant stars hanging in the sky behind him.

“I didn't want our first meeting in ages to have so many spectators." Satoru explains. “If I had shown up earlier, the scribes would have taken note of how many times I blinked or how fast I chewed."

His jesting does not put you at ease at all. “I have a feeling you have something to say that should not be recorded or overheard.”

“That's true. However,” Satoru says pointedly, “The hour is far too late for all that I wish to say, so I will simply bid you goodnight with this...”

Out of nowhere, he pulls out a red flower with curling petals.

You keep your eyes on his as you reach for the flower's stem. Satoru watches you back, smiling softly. He's backing away before you can thank him, but he doesn't look like he minds. He seems to be happy you didn't reject it.

“Goodnight, my dear.” He bows, and makes his exit.

...Through the balcony. Again.

You step out and try to find where he disappeared to, but he's gone.

The moonlight out here allows you to get a better look at the flower. How curious. Usually, people in the Empire give roses, don't they?

The red carnation twirls between your fingers, and you think of how much more grand and tangible it is compared to the dandelion wisp that found you before dinner.

...

Carnations mean many different things, according to this book on the language of flowers you picked up. It all depends on the color.

Pink carnations symbolize fondness and remembrance. Some also consider it to mean not being able to forget someone.

White carnations mean purity, good luck, and new beginnings. It's a common way of wishing someone safe travels.

Yellow carnations have varying meanings. Sometimes, they are used for apologies. But most often they are given to express disdain, symbolizing a hopeless state of mind. You stare at the illustration next to the passage. The yellow watercolor is so bright and vibrant, it makes you wonder what it did to deserve such sad connotations.

Setting the book down for a moment, you rest your eyes by scanning the library. Countless shelves with even more countless books. A golden candlestick here. A priceless painting there. A stack of yesterday's newspaper lying a few tables away.

Something unpleasant settles in your chest. You ignore it and resume reading.

Naturally, as is the case for most red flowers, the red carnation means love. True, passionate love and affection.

You shut the book softly, tracing the embossed petals on the cover while thinking of the red carnation sitting on your bedside table.

Things could have gone worse, you suppose. At least Satoru didn't give you a striped carnation, which has no other meaning than rejection.

Secretary Mont enters the library before you could dwell more on that thought. He's arrived with several palace staff for additional wedding plans.

“Your Highness,” Only Mont greets you, but they all bow in unison.

You nod, and gesture to the table. “Be seated. Let's begin with the urgent concerns first.”

Apparently, the most urgent problem was that Satoru had not approved any of the table dressing color schemes. When you review the options, you think you can assume why. There can only be so many shades of white and cream and pearl.

“What shall we do, Your Highness?” One of the butlers ask.

“Give me a few samples, I'll talk to the Crown Prince myself.”

You almost regret saying that, because once you did, several staff began tripping over themselves, requesting you bring up other preparations with Satoru.

Secretary Mont asks if he should schedule an appointment with your betrothed, but you decline. Something tells you that he will show up again tonight.

And so, here you were after dinner in your chambers. A box of wedding planning materials rests next to you on the bed. You left the balcony doors open this time, and he shows up just as you predicted.

“Aw, were you expecting me?” He's smiling at you as he approaches, but it falters once he sees the box.

He lets out a loud breath before settling on your bed too, the box sits between you. “Alright, let's do this.”

“Start with these.” You hand him some fabric swatches, he looks at them in disdain.

“Pearl, then.” He says, barely even looking through all the options.

“Don't decide hastily.” You can't help but reprimand. “It's not just the color you have to consider, but the material as well.”

Satoru blinks, but presses his fingers to feel the texture of the fabric at your suggestion. “Is pearl not good then?”

“It's pretty, but it's too shiny.” You explain. “The sheen doesn't make it soft or comfortable to use.”

“Ah.” He breathes out, understanding what you mean.

You tell yourself your heart doesn't beat louder when he picks the one you had your eye on. Satoru holds the sample fabric up, the label attached reads ‘Snow’.

A clean, classic sort of white. Soft to the touch, almost fluffy. You don't have to tell him that you agree, he can already guess from the way you glance at him.

He doesn't need to know that your eyes strayed to his hair. Soft. Fluffy.

Clearing your throat, you change the subject by bringing out some tableware samples. “Shall we discuss these, next?”

An hour and thirty kinds of invitation cards later, a short break is due. You're writing down your decisions when Satoru calls your name.

You've moved to your desk by now, since your bed has become some sort of wedding moodboard. Something clinking together reaches your ears, and you turn to find that Satoru had tea brought up. He pours you a cup and carefully hands it to you.

“Thank you.” You respond gratefully, taking a sip before turning back to the lists in front of you.

“Aren't you tired?” Satoru asks, reading your writing over your shoulder.

“This is actually quite easy for me.” You admit. “Wedding planning is unexpectedly... Pleasant.”

Satoru laughs softly. “You're probably the only one in this palace who thinks it's pleasant to work with me.”

After a moment, he continues. “I suppose... That's a good thing, if we're to be wed.”

His words make you pause writing. You suddenly feel shy, warmth spreading on your cheeks. The kind you're sure isn't from the flame crackling in the fireplace.

How silly that you're becoming bashful after being engaged to him since you were children. The thundering of your heart can wait.

“I agree.” You respond, not turning to face him. You will not allow him to see you uncomposed like you did the previous night. “I wasn't sure what to expect from our marriage, but I would appreciate it if we were companionable.”

The rest of the evening proceeds smoothly, though you do notice Satoru becoming more silent as the night goes on.

The next day, you spot Satoru speaking to foreign delegates. Something is different in the way he carries himself in front of them. His posture is that of a proper Emperor, not a cheeky prince that sneaks into your room at night.

... It's probably best that no one finds out about that, lest a scandal breaks before you even get married.

When the delegates leave, you're about to approach and greet Satoru when he, unmistakably meets your eyes, then walks in the opposite direction.

You're left there, confused and perhaps even a little hurt. But you stone your expression and carry on as if nothing has happened. Your lessons taught you to be graceful, even in times you feel anything but.

By late afternoon, it's painfully obvious that Satoru is ignoring you. When he rushes through his lunch and gets up right when you take your seat, you try your best to look unaffected.

Hopefully, you're the only one who's noticed so far. If word reaches Secretary Mont, word will reach your father... That troubles you more than you can put to words.

Satoru doesn't show up for your scheduled wedding planning session with the rest of the staff. You're careful not to say that you'll speak with your betrothed, and thankfully no one mentions it even if it shows they wish you did. You're not even sure if he'll show up at your balcony tonight.

When the hour turns ten, the time he's usually here, he isn't. You sigh and can't help feeling a little disappointed.

Perhaps you said something wrong last night. Maybe you should apologize for something. Or he could just be busy, you tell yourself. You can't expect the Crown Prince to always have time to sneak away to you, can't you?

Something taps against the glass of the balcony doors. It breaks your train of thought, and causes your heart to leap just a bit.

But when you go to check, no one's there. You open the doors to find a single red carnation, just like the one he gave the first night.

You're only barely successful at hiding your relief. You reach for it and glance around once more, just to make sure if he left any other trace of him. There are none, but after you lock the doors and turn in for the night, two carnations in a glass vase calm you in a way you hadn't let yourself feel in a long time.

...

A maid knocks at your door a tad earlier than you're used to. When you ask about what's going on, she says she has to prepare you for the Crown Prince's departure.

“He's leaving?” You ask as you rise from bed, already headed for the bathroom to clean up.

“Yes, Your Highness.” She sifts through your wardrobe for your clothes. “He is to go on a business trip to settle trade agreements.”

“How long will he be gone for?”

“I cannot say for certain, Your Highness.”

Pausing in thought, you look to the balcony doors.

A rush of determination fills you as you ask the maid, “Could you prepare something for me?”

The head butler said that he could be gone for two or three weeks. Weeks before you see that face of his, which has a surprisingly forlorn expression on it.

“Thank you for seeing me off.” Satoru acknowledges you with a smile, but his eyes reveal how tired and troubled he truly is.

You say nothing at first, silently taking steps closer to him. You could practically feel the air freeze over as everyone watching holds their breath. This is the closest the two of you have appeared in public.

You reveal a white carnation held in the hand you hid behind you. The stem is cut short, just enough so that it fits into the pocket on his coat.

“I will take care of things here while you're gone.” You assure him, taking a step back to admire how the white flower suits him.

Satoru seems to be at a loss for words, but his eyes regain their usual spark when he addresses you again. “It seems I have nothing to worry about, then.”

You feel stares at your back as the carriage departs, but pay them no mind. You intend to keep your word and perform your duties while the prince is gone.

On your way to the library, you overhear the Imperial Princess and Sir Nanami speaking to each other.

They're in the next hallway, and you were just about to turn to it when you hear your name spoken. You press your back to the wall and listen.

“I'm glad Her Highness seems to have liked my brother.” The princess says. “And of course, I know Satoru would have been over the moon because of that flower.”

Sir Nanami hums. “His concerns were nothing to be worried about after all.”

The princess laughs. “Oh, what was it again that he said? That she friendzoned him?”

“It was that she companion-zoned him.”

You huff quietly. So that's why Satoru had been ignoring you yesterday.

“I look forward to their blooming relationship. I'm sure Her Highness will come around.” Is the last you hear of their conversation as they continue on their way, their footsteps fading further into the hall.

Come around? To what?

A grandfather clock chimes to signal the change of the hour, and you realize you've dilly-dallied for long enough. The rest of your way to the library has no people whispering about you and your betrothed or the flower you sent him off with.

But you would be lying if you said you'd forgotten about what the princess said.

...

Ever since Satoru left, he's been writing you letters. He said his sister gave him the idea.

You've given up on replying on every letter he sends. It seems as though he writes to you daily, and you simply can't keep up. He insists on writing no matter how busy he gets.

His fifth letter is so short that it should be called a note:

‘The flowers here are lovely. I had a bookmark made for you.’

That same bookmark, a dried pink carnation, sits between the pages of the novel you're currently reading. It makes you consider pressing the red carnations Satoru had given you so that they're not just left to wilt.

You write back once a week. But what you lack in quantity of letters you make up with the number of pages you write, and you tell Satoru as such. There are many things you want to report, so you don't hold back on anything.

Well, perhaps you don't quite tell him that you can't fall asleep until you spot the moon through the balcony glass. Or that you think of him whenever you're not distracted enough.

In Satoru's fifteenth letter, he brings the unfortunate news that his return will be delayed. He will have been gone for four weeks before he comes home, and the journey back will take three days at the latest.

Unable to express your disappointment outright, you instead imply that he should make haste for the wedding preparations. That he shouldn't miss the food tasting or the floral arrangements.

‘I trust my wife to make all the right decisions. Even if you don't, I'll consider them right anyway.’

There he goes again, calling you wife when you haven't married yet. It also dawns on you that Satoru has only ever called you by name, or addressed you as his wife. He's probably the only person who hasn't referred to you as Empress-to-be.

You're quickly learning that with Satoru, you're finding yourself again. It's rare for you to feel more than just a princess or Empress in training, but he makes it effortless with just a few words.

...

You begin counting down the days when Satoru writes that trade negotiations have finally concluded. He should be home in four days, and you can hardly wait to see his face again.

But of course, Satoru finds a way to bewilder you by arriving home early. In the middle of the night, no less. And naturally, through the balcony.

Wiping the sleep from your eyes, you try to decipher if his visage is a dream or a trick or the light. But when he laughs, and tells you he missed you dearly, you need no further proof.

Satoru clasps your hands with his, running his thumbs over your fingers and knuckles. Your eyes travel down to his boots, which are filthy with dirt and grass. His hair is ruffled and windswept.

“Did you,” The word settles on your tongue when you pause. “...Rush here on horseback?” You ask incredulously.

Satoru laughs again, and wraps his arms around you. “Are you complaining?”

You blink, and tentatively wrap your arms around his middle. “No. I'm glad you're home.”

Satoru is so warm compared to the night air that surrounds you. You almost complain when he pulls back, but the serious look in his eye makes you keep your mouth shut.

He clears his throat and rubs your shoulders before taking your hands again. You're completely shocked when he sinks to one knee.

“I know that we're already engaged.” Satoru begins. “I know that we've been preparing for this for years, but I just wanted to ask you properly. Because you deserve it.”

He pulls out a ring, a diamond shines at its center.

“Marry me, and I shall spend every moment of my life proving my love for you.”

“Yes. I will.” You respond, and he slips the ring onto your finger. How does he keep getting more and more lovely?

You place your hands on the sides of his face, pulling him up to you. You kiss him, and the air ignites like a spark brought to life.

It's tender, and careful, and carries all the things you wish to say to him. How you missed him. How you love the flowers he gives you. How excited you are to have him by your side for forever.

When you break apart, he seems surprised to find you reflecting his happiness back at him. He's about to speak, but not before he can resist the urge to kisses you again.

You smile into the kiss, but place a hand on his chest, pushing him to ask, “You were about to say?”

“...I've always known I would treat you right when we got engaged. That was always a given.” Satoru cradles your face gently, making you feel like the most precious in the world to him. “You were chosen because you're smart, and you worked harder than anyone else.”

“...But I saw you one day, when we were kids.” He speaks carefully. “You were trying your best to impress your father, but not at all happy...”

“From then on, I decided to make it my mission to make you smile.” To prove his point, he places his thumbs at the corners of your mouth to drag them up playfully. You laugh and swat his hands away.

“A real smile, just like that! None of those diplomatic half-smiles you always throw out to please people. That won't work on me.”

“Before you are the Empress, you are my wife. And I will love and treasure you as such.”

...

He says those same words at the wedding. You jest that he has no originality, but it brings you to tears just the same.

The wedding happens in the palace gardens, surrounded by countless beautiful flowers that dance and sway under the sun when the wind blows. Everything is, in every sense of the word, perfect.

For this moment, you are not the Empress. Not yet. The world can wait a day, you decide. Everything else can wait while you bask in the glowing warmth this man offers you.

As you leave the ceremony behind with your arms linked together, Satoru leans into your ear so you can hear him over the cheering crowd. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” Petals shower you both on your way, and you can't help but smile. “Just that we're perfect together.”

Satoru laughs in agreement. “Damn right we are.”

Several staff are positioned at the exit of the gardens, ready to escort you both to the carriages that will take you through the Empire to greet your subjects... But something makes you pause at the end of the aisle.

You pluck a red carnation from one of the floral displays before turning to your husband. You tuck the flower into the chest pocket of his suit, snug in front of his pocket square.

When you glance up to see his reaction, he's already beaming at you, looking indescribably happy.

“I love you too.” He says, taking your hand and pressing the softest of kisses on top of your wedding ring.

When you sent him away back then, you remember thinking how the white carnation matched well with him. Looking at him now, however, the red flower over his heart seems to overflow with all the love and all the words that need not be spoken. You like this one much better.

He leans down to pluck another identical flower, and gently tucks it behind your ear.

Satisfied, he holds your hand tight, leading you to the rest of your lives with the assurance that he will never let go.

© togenabi 2023 | see here to be added or removed from my taglist

taglist♡— @flowerjun @mellozhi

[scratchandfriends]

Shut Me Up (+18)

This is my formal application to join the Holy Rolan Empire. Who do I need to talk to about this?

Pairing: Rolan x Female Tav (human sorceress in mind because that’s my tav lmao)

WC: 3000 oops

Summary: All you do is save the day and yap. It drives Rolan up a fucking wall. He absolutely cannot stand you… or so he is trying to convince himself. This would be so much easier for him if you weren’t so damn cute. 

Content Warnings: alcohol consumption, angry sex, face fucking, teasing, oral m receiving, unprotected sex (don't), creampies, making out, aggressive kissing, hair pulling, PRAISE KINK GOOD BOY ROLAN (because somebody needs to tell him), he just has a big fat crush on you.

— — 

First, it was killing the goblins attacking the grove. 

Then, it was defending Last Light from the cultists. 

Then, it was rescuing the gnomes and tieflings from Moonrise Towers. 

And on top of all that, you just had to save his sorry tail from the Shadow Curse. 

Jaheira had given the go-ahead to dip into the extra supplies for a bit of fun to increase morale and celebrate the safe return of the captives… and of course, much to Rolan’s dismay, you were the belle of the ball. Even his own damn siblings were fawning of you and your rowdy companions, but he let his annoyance lie since you did save their lives after all. 

He should be grateful, shouldn’t he? You brought his family back together and saved many more from death or a lifetime of grief. You kept Last Light safe from the Shadow Curse and were planning on defeating Ketheric and the Absolute yourself. Your heroics were not lost on him, and judging by your behavior here at the party, they were not lost on you either. 

Rolan sat at the bar nursing another bottle of wine alone as he watched you with a scowl. You had discarded your usual robes for a glittering, light-blue party dress, no doubt stolen, Rolan thought. You danced energetically with that massive, brutish tiefling woman, both of you spilling wine all over yourselves and the floor. Your long, blueish silver hair cascaded down past your shoulders and just kissed the exposed skin above your lower back, the milky skin shown by your backless dress peeking out at him as your hair moved when you danced. 

“Enjoying the show, brother?” Cal’s teasing voice comes from behind Rolan’s barstool. 

“We could be killed at any moment, hardly a time for anyone to be enjoying anything.” Rolan remarked as he straightened his back and his eyes were peeled away from you. 

“Always such a stick in the mud. Would it kill you to have fun for once?” Lia appeared on the opposite side of Rolan and rolled her eyes. 

“In this situation? Perhaps. Someone should be aware of their surroundings at a time like this.” Rolan quips. 

“Judging by how much of that bottle you’ve drained, I wouldn’t say you’re entirely aware.” Cal says. 

“I have to tolerate the company somehow.” Rolan snorts and takes another sip. 

“Well I’d practice your manners, your favorite little sorceress is coming this way now.” Lia says with a smirk. 

“Come on, we’re missing you all on the dance floor! I’ve tipped Alfira greatly, I think my favorite song is coming up soon!” You sidle up to the bar across from the tieflings and put your elbows on the bar top. “Missing even you, grumpy.” You flash Rolan a cheeky smile. 

“I’m perfectly content here. Drunkenly frolicking like an imbecile isn’t relevant to my interests.” The wizard snips at you with a frown. 

“Aaah, I see! Makes sense. So you won’t be needing this anymore, then.” You say as you snatch Rolan’s bottle of wine off the counter in front of him and take a heavy swig. 

“Give that back.” Rolan says with a slight snarl, baring pointed teeth. Rolan reaches an arm out across the bar to grasp towards his stolen bottle. 

“Oh, this? You want it back?” You say with a giggle before taking another sip from the neck of the bottle. You smile and take the opportunity to wedge the bottle down the front of your dress, lodging it tightly between your ample, exposed cleavage. “Why don’t you take it?” You ask with a devilish grin. 

“Go on, then!” Cal goads with a laugh, slapping his brother on the back. 

“Hmph. Keep it.” Rolan sits back on his barstool, feigning disinterest in your antics. “I’ll just have the kids bring me another.” 

You sigh and pull the bottle from your chest. You lean onto the bar, pushing your breasts together in the process. It doesn’t escape you how Rolan’s eyes are glued to your tits resting on the countertop. 

“You’re no fun.” You lean in close to him and whisper in a sultry tone. 

You take your stolen bottle of wine and return to your friends who were still reveling in Alfira’s lute playing. 

“What in the hells did you say to the cranky bastard?” Karlach asks while pulling your hand and spinning you around in a twirl. 

“What do you mean?” You inquire with a bit of a smirk. 

“The poor sod’s tail is twitching! No doubt something else is too. You flash him or something?” Your large friend questions. 

“Almost!” You laugh. “Just trying to see if I can get him to crack… he’s quite handsome!” 

“Try complimenting his horns, male tieflings really like that. They pride themselves on those things almost more than their cocks.” Karlach adds. 

“Hmm… good to know…” You say as the intrusive thought of Rolan’s cock enters your mind. You’d never laid with a tiefling before and you were desperately curious. Something about this wizard’s unfriendly, pompous nature intrigued you and you wanted to see what was underneath his prickly exterior. You always liked a challenge. 

— —

Another hour or so of partying goes by and you find yourself both sufficiently drunk and sufficiently bored. You sneak a glance at the bar and find Rolan standing behind it, rummaging through the shelves no doubt searching for more booze. You slink up next to him and try to peek into the cabinet he’s looking through. 

“Need help?” You pipe up. 

“Agh!” In surprise at your sudden appearance, Rolan knocks his head on the wooden cabinet door. 

“Sorry! Didn’t mean to startle you!” You giggle and put your fingers to your lips. “Don’t want you hurting those horns of yours. They’re quite the handsome pair, you know. Best of anyone here-“ 

Rolan slams the cabinet door shut and turns to look down at your shorter figure. 

“What the hells is your problem?” Rolan seethes. “Every second of peace I have is somehow disturbed by YOU each time! You are positively infuriating!” 

“I’m just trying to be pleasant, Rolan.” You remark. 

“I am not interested in pleasantries. I’ve given you plenty of gold, I don’t know what other gratitude you want from me.” Rolan says, frustrated and annoyed. 

“Well…” You purr. “Just as you’re not interested in pleasantries, I’m not interested in gold.” You slowly move closer, your chests almost touching. You expected him to push you away, but surprisingly enough he stands in place. “Perhaps you can thank me in a different way…” You cock your head to the side flirtatiously and raise an eyebrow. 

You see Rolan’s Adam’s apple bob nervously. 

“Tav.. I.. ” He stutters. You cut him off. 

“If for whatever reason you find yourself unable to sleep tonight, I’ll be in room 104. Upstairs. Alone.. and my bed is always warm.” You wink before slinking off to the stairwell leading to the inn’s guest rooms. 

— — 

You had swapped your party dress for a short, white nightgown with lace trim and slits high up on either hip. You sat on the feather bed, brushing through your hair that had gotten tangled from the night of revelry. You had made sure to freshen up your perfume in the hopes that Rolan would take you up on your lewd offer of late night companionship. 

*knock knock*

You smirk at the gentle knock on your door. You waltz excitedly over to the door and open it. 

Sure enough, Rolan was standing in your doorframe. 

“I was hoping you’d-“

Your snarky comment was abruptly cut off by a clawed hand gripping the side of your head, tangling in your hair, while the other hand forcefully grabbing your waist to spin you around. The door slammed behind you and you were pushed against it roughly. 

Rolan pulls you by your scalp and smashes his lips on yours. 

There was no grace or eloquence in the kiss, much unlike his usual way of speaking. It was a gnashing of wet tongue and clacking of teeth as he ravaged your mouth, his grip on you never faltering. You froze at first, shocked by his boldness, but eventually you relent and open your lips further for him. You wrap your hands around his neck. 

Having had his fill from your lips, Rolan eventually moves his mouth to trail messy kisses and sharp nips from your jaw to your neck. 

“Wow, eager are-“

“Do you ever shut UP?” Rolan pulls back from your neck and growls, shoving his knee between your legs further, causing you to instinctively grind your bare sex onto his trousers. He brings his hand from your hair to grip your neck. 

“You’ll just have to shut me up, then.” You choke out with a smile, his clawed hand around your throat gently squeezing the sides. 

“It would seem so.” Rolan’s nostrils flare and he picks you up and tosses you on the bed with surprising strength for a wizard. 

You strip your nightgown over your head excitedly and lay back on the bed in as seductive of a pose as you could muster. Expecting to be either insulted or pounced upon, you sit up on your elbows in anticipation. Surprisingly, Rolan was standing at the foot of the bed, mouth agape, seemingly entranced by your nude figure laid before him. You take this opportunity to shift the tides in your favor. 

“What’s wrong, Rolan?” You say as you slowly spread your legs, exposing your swollen, dripping cunt to him. “Hellcat got your tongue?” 

This snapped him out of his daze. 

“Brat.” He scoffs before frantically shedding his own clothing. 

As he strips, you sit up on your knees on the bed so you can get a better look at your new lover. Geometric infernal ridges covered his chest and abdomen, almost guiding your eyes downward to his erect cock bobbing desperately in front of you. It was long and bright red, leaking tip more pointed than you were used to, but its most unusual feature were the prominent ridges decorating his shaft. You were dying to know how it felt in your hand… your mouth… your cunt… 

“Stop gawking, it’s not polite” Rolan says, less aggressive now than he previously was now that he was stark naked in front of you. Was he blushing? It was hard to tell. 

“How pretty you are… you have to let me play with it.” You purr as you lower yourself on your elbows, pushing your ass high in the air, wiggling it and successfully distracting Rolan from your advances towards his member. 

“Play? Is that how- shit!” Rolan gasps and curses as he feels you wrap your soft hand around his cock and stroke it slowly. 

You loll your tongue out of your mouth and place his hot tip on it, all while staring up at him lustfully. Rolan lets out a low growl and bucks his hips into your face, pushing his cock past your lips and into your eager mouth. You happily wrap your lips around his cock head and begin to slide up and down his ribbed length. His hand comes up to pull your hair into a makeshift ponytail and guides you along his cock. Drool pools in your mouth and dribbles out the sides and you groan in approval of his roughness. 

“Ah ah, no talking with your mouth full.” He smirks playfully down at you. 

You try to reciprocate the smile, but can’t manage much do to your mouth being forcefully stuffed full of cock. Rolan must have noticed they way your thighs were tensed and rubbed together impatiently. 

“Touch yourself. Get yourself ready to take me.” He commands. 

You spread your knees and bring one of your hands down your front to play with your wet sex. Supporting yourself on one hand, you circle your clit in time with your sultry bobs on Rolan’s cock. You slide two fingers into your soaking hole and moan around his length. You continue to work yourself up, pushing and pulling on that special spot inside of you, whimpering and sharply inhaling as you slobber all over Rolan. 

“What a sight… Gods, such a messy girl…” 

You nod happily, not removing him from your mouth. You can’t help but notice as the rough grip on your hair becomes… softer. His thumb began rubbing against your head soothingly, as if to gently encourage you to suck him off instead of demanding it. 

“That’s enough, I'm going to have you now.” He says as he cups your chin and pulls you off him, a long string of saliva still connecting the two of you. You eagerly push yourself onto your back and spread your legs wide to make room for him. 

Rolan climbs over you and teases your clit with the tip of his cock. 

“Pretty little thing you are…” He says as his eyes rake over your body. 

“Be careful, wizard, that almost sounded like a compliment.” You chide and buck your hips up into him, wordlessly pleading for him to penetrate you. 

“I would tell you to hush…” He positions himself at your entrance. “But I think now I’d like to hear every little sound that comes from those sinful lips…” 

Rolan presses into you finally and you gasp at the ridged intrusion, unlike anyone else you’ve ever laid with. You arch your back and rake your hands down the infernal ridges on his abdomen. Once you feel his hips flush with yours, you look up and see the wizards eyes screwed shut in concentration, clearly trying not to let this moment end too soon. 

You grind your pelvis into his, beckoning him to start moving inside you. 

“Nine Hells… so fucking wet…” Rolan remarks with a sigh as he starts thrusting shallowly. He grips your breasts as leverage, teasing your nipples with his thumbs. You wrap your legs around his hips, encouraging him to fuck you deeper. 

“Gods Rolan, you feel so good…” You moan out to the ceiling. 

“Y-yeah?” Rolan asks as he picks up the pace and intensity of his thrusts. 

“Yes! Fuck! You’re so good!” You cry out in pleasure as you feel those gorgeous bumps along his shaft caress your walls so deliciously. 

“I-I’m good? Say it again..” He asks shyly. “Please tell me again…” 

Suddenly, you feel his tail wrap tightly around your leg, squeezing it possessively. It was like he was holding on for his life...

“You’re so fucking good Rolan. Your cock feels so perfect inside me. Fuck me harder, you’re going to make me cum…” You feel his cock inside you twitch and you could have sworn you heard him whimper. He obliges your request and pistons his hips into you harder. You feel the familiar warmth of your impending release tingle throughout your lower half. 

Rolan slinks an arm underneath your lower back, leaning over you further in the process and cards his other hand into your hair splayed out on the pillow beneath you. 

“I’m so close, please Rolan, you’re such a good boy. I want to cum on you. Fuck, there!” You moan and pant up at him as you bring your hand up to cradle his face in your palm. You could barely keep your eyes open, but the sight above you was too delectable to miss. 

“I-I am a good boy.. please cum for me…” Rolan pathetically whines and pleads to feel your release coat him. 

“Yes Rolan, my good boy… I’m- shit!” You cry out and feel your walls begin to convulse in anticipation of your climax. With the next thrust against your sweet spot, your dam breaks and you let out a vulgar moan as your orgasm overtakes your body. 

“Fuck, yes, your good boy!” Rolan pants and fucks you through your high. “I-I’m close.. where should-?” 

“Inside. Make me yours.” You say breathlessly, still delirious from your powerful climax.  

Rolan could no longer hold back, groaning loudly as he spills himself entirely deep inside of you. He grinds himself into you as he continues to cum, seemingly endless ropes of spend decorating your wet walls. 

Once finished, Rolan gingerly slips out of you and collapses tiredly onto the mattress beside you. 

You spent the next few minutes catching your collective breaths, nothing being exchanged but soft pets and tender touches as you calmed yourselves. You were stroking Rolan’s cheek with your thumb gently when he finally spoke. 

“Nothing to say now, then?” He smiles softly, teasing you. You return the grin.

“That was incredible.” You giggle. “I didn’t know you had it in you, Rolan.” 

“Wizards are full of surprises.” He jokes, pulling your body into his, rubbing circles into your hip. “There’s certainly more where that came from…” You notice his glowing eyes dart away from yours with uncertainty. “… If you’d have me.” 

You place a tender kiss on his lips. 

“The night is still young, isn’t it?” You nuzzle your nose against his. 

“I don’t just mean tonight.. come see me in Baldur’s Gate. I.. I can show you around, if you’d like?” He still can’t bring himself to look you in the eyes again. 

“You won’t be too busy with your apprenticeship?” You question. 

“I… I can try to make time.. if it’s for you.” He says sheepishly. 

You press your chest closer into his and tilt his chin up to meet your gaze. 

“What a good boy you are.” You smirk and pull him into a deep kiss. 

— — 

[winniethewife]

This isn't goodbye, this is simply, "see you later" (Hunter x F!reader)

Warnings: Season 3 spoilers, Angst with a happy ending, time skips, pregnant!reader,

Words: 1838

“I don’t want to go.” Hunter whispered in her ear as he held her close, the hallway to the med-bay thankfully empty as he embraced her gently, wanting to savor the moments he has before he runs off on another series of missions

“I know, but we both have a job to do.” She insisted running her fingers through his hair, trying to comfort him, trying to be stronger for the both of them.

The never had enough time, that was the main problem. How much time could he reasonably linger in the med-bay without anyone asking questions. Hunter spent as much time as he could near her. There was a war going on, they were both needed. That was enough to help her wait, to keep her patience. Hunter pulls her in closer, his lips a whisper away from hers.

“I don’t want to say goodbye, I’m not ready.” His low voice tinged with sadness. She looks into his eyes and softly sighs.

“Then don’t…Don’t say goodbye.” She feels a tear run down her cheek. She presses her lips against his for a brief moment. “This doesn’t have to be goodbye, it’s just...See you later.” Her words against his lips are bitter sweet, the idea was sweet but the reality of the situation was a shadow over the moment. The fact was there was no guarantee that they would ever see each other again.  Hunter knows this, she knows this, but in the moment they choose to ignore it. He closes the distance one last time to leave a lingering kiss, taking in the moment in as much detail as he could. The way she felt, the way she smelled, the way she tasted, the sound of her breathing. Taking in every bit of her, to keep with him as long as he needed to be apart from her. After an amount of time that felt infinitesimal, he pulled away from the kiss and gave her a sad smile.

“See you later.”

“See you later.”

~

After the war was over and Hunter was on the run with the rest of the batch. He frequently thought back to the days he would regularly head to the medbay on Kamino in spent the days and nights with her in his arms. He often wondered if he should have actually told her goodbye the last time he saw her. That was what was on his mind as they left what was left of Tipoca city on kamnino. He thought about what Tech had told him AZI had said. That all the essential medical personal had been sent elsewhere, and those that had resisted were eliminated. She wasn’t one to follow orders, she wouldn’t have just gone with the empire, no questions asked. He couldn’t sleep, every time he closed his eyes he could picture her lifeless body lying in the perfectly white hallways of the cloning facilities. It was too much to bear. He had lost too much in the last few days he couldn’t imagine losing her too.

“Hunter?” The quiet voice of Omega reaches his ears and he turns to look at her. She looked worried, He couldn’t blame her, she had been through so much in the last day.

“Omega…Can’t sleep either huh?” He asks attempting to sound as supportive as he can, his own troubles pushed from his mind. Omega looks at him and shakes her head. “C’mere then…” He helps the smaller clone into his lap and they sit together. Hunter pets her head softly and keeps his breathing steady in an attempt to keep them both calm. He looks down at the young clone in his arms. He has to stay strong for her. Despite every urge to break down, he has to be strong.

~

As the Bad Batch walked into Cid’s parlor after another successful job done,  Hunter swore he sensed something familiar, a comforting scent, a melodic voice, his heart stopped when he saw her standing at the bar, chatting with one of the other patrons kindly. He froze for a second, this couldn’t be really happening. He feels her name leave his lips without a thought and as she turns to look at him he knows its really her, she’s here in front of him. There’s nothing that can keep him from her now. He quickly makes his way across the mostly empty room to take her in his arms, she’s there, she’s real. He looks into her eyes, speechless. She looks back at him, with love and affection in her eyes.

“Hello again.” She says softly reaching to touch his face, tracing the lines of his tattoo on his face, the corners of her mouth turned up in a slight smile. She looked exactly like he remembered, not a scratch on her, not a hair out of place.

“How- How did you know? How did you find us?” He had a thousand questions to ask but he wanted to start there.

“Rex told me where to find you. I ran into him while trying to get me and a few others off of Kamino and somewhere safe. He was very helpful.” She explained as Hunter pulled her in even closer, nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck, taking in her scent, never wanting to escape it, never wanting to leave it again, He was home again in her arms. She smiled softly and begin to run her fingers through his hair.  “It’s Okay Hunter…I’m here.”

“You’re here….you’re really here” He doesn’t care that the rest of the batch is watching this interaction, he doesn’t even care if the rest of the bar is watching, he just cares that she’s safe, and with him.

~

Settling in on Pabu was like a dream come true, as she tried her best to make their new home as comfy as possible. Home. That was new. She smiled at the idea, a home for her, the batch, Omega. She was busy cleaning up the kitchen when she felt a familiar pair of arms around her waist. She sighs, holding back tears, letting Hunter hold her while she works. He sighs. He knew they had to go investigate, find out what Crosshair’s message means. She knew that he had to leave, and she had to stay. Hunters hand grazes over the very beginnings of a bump on her lower abdomen, where their child grew inside her. He felt that familiar tightness in his chest. He rests his head on her shoulder.

“This isn’t goodbye.” He says softly, his low voice tinted with the recognizable sadness.

“No, this is not goodbye. Its…see you later.” She replies, tears starting down her face. Hunter turns her in his arms, using his thumb to gently wipe away her tears.

“We’ll be back before you know it….I promise.” He mutters softly trying to comfort her. She laughs quietly, shaking her head.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” She looks at him as a few more tears slid down her face. Hunter chuckled and leaned in to kiss her gently, holding her face in one hand and the other arm around her waist pulling her in close, taking in the feeling of her skin, her lips, her body, one more time. She pulls away and looks up at him.

“I love you Hunter.”

“I love you too Cyar’ika.” He meets her gaze and hope she knows how much she means to him. How much he wanted to keep the promise. His comm-link activates with a shrill noise shattering the silence.

“Hunter, its time.” Techs voice, interrupts the moment. Hunter sighs and turns to speak into the comm.

“Copy, I’m on the way.” He turns to her with a sorrowful sorrow on his face. “See you later.”

“See you later.”

~

The next months would be the hardest that they had ever dealt with. The loss of Tech, the capture of Omega, it would weigh on them heavily, trying every angle to try to find her. while Hunter and Wrecker were crossing the galaxy time and time again trying to find Omega, She was constantly at the makeshift communication center she had gotten together to try to reach out to anyone who might know anything. She was half asleep, resting her head on her palm as she rests her eyes, waiting for a message from someone…anyone. She jolts awake as she hears the sound of a ship coming in to land, a familiar sound, The Marauder. She stands up as quickly as she could. She hurried to the landing platform, thankful she wasn’t far from it. As she arrived she was quickly greeted by an enthusiastic Omega who rant to her, wrapping her arms as far around as she could with the growing belly in the way.

“Omega! I’m so glad to see you!” She exclaims as she manages to get down on one knee to let the smaller girl fully embrace her. As Omega held on to her, she looked up to see Wrecker and Hunter disembarking the ship, and shortly behind them…Crosshair. Her heart leapt at the sight. They were all together again. After Omega let go she carefully got to her feet Hunter quickly closing the distance to help her.

“Be careful, I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” He says helping her to her feet, and into his arms

“Hunter I’m pregnant, not incapable.” She jokes, He shakes his head as he laughs. they press their foreheads together, Hunter felt like he could breath, for now, everyone he cares about was safe, everything he needed was here, and for now that was enough.

~

She waited patently for Hunter to return from seeing Omega off. Their son now a teenager asleep in his bed in the other room, Wreckers snores coming in from the adjacent hut, Crosshair had just bid her goodnight and went home. She sighed, reading over the last message she had gotten from Echo, who was off helping the rebellion in his own way, the door creaks open and she looks up to see her husband. Tired from the walk from the cove. She sets the data pad aside and smiles at him.

“Did she do alright? She have everything she needed?” She asked him as he comes to sit by her side, letting out a soft groan as he moved.

“Yes, just like we taught her.” He said proudly. “I just wish she didn’t have to go.” She takes his hand in hers.

“I know…She’s so stubborn. I wonder where she got that from.” She looks him over. He lets out a chuckle.

“Yes, well, what else could we expect?” He sighs “I’m just not very good at saying goodbye.”

“Ah ah, it’s not goodbye…” She looks at him with a knowing smile and a glint of mischief in her eye, He shakes his head, putting his arm around her and pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

“I know, I know. It’s just simply see you later.”                                  

~

Masterlist

[rose24207]

Family Business

Summary: An evening where Lando and his wife recognise themselves in their children.

Genre: Mafia!Dad!Lando, fluff

TW: None

A/N: I have like so many stories in my drafts and just post them because why not? English is not my first language! I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Should I make a series out of this?

Masterlist

The grand villa was alive with laughter and warmth, an unusual sight for a house belonging to one of the most feared mafia families in Europe.

Lando Norris, heir to the Norris empire, sat at the head of the massive dining table, a glass of red wine in hand. The glow of the chandelier above reflected in his sharp eyes, but there was a softness to him tonight.

To his left sat you, his wife, the polar opposite of his ruthless world.

Where he ruled with strategy and precision, you led with compassion and kindness. You had a unique ability to bring light to the dark corners of his life, and tonight was no exception.

You were serving dessert yourself, much to the dismay of the staff.

“Madam, please,” Maria, the head of the kitchen, protested. “This is our job.”

“Oh, nonsense,” you said with a warm smile, placing a plate of chocolate cake in front of one of the guards. “You all work so hard. Let me treat you for once.”

Lando watched you with a mixture of amusement and adoration. The hardened men who feared his orders like gospel melted under your kindness, mumbling grateful thanks as you handed out plates.

Across the table, your children were mid-debate.

“No, no, you don’t get it,” Amelia, your ten-year-old daughter, argued, her small hands slamming the table for emphasis. “Papa’s the coolest. He’s strong, and smart, and everyone listens to him. I’m gonna be just like him!”

Lando smirked at that, leaning back in his chair. “Is that so, Amelia?”

“Yup!” She nodded confidently, her dark curls bouncing. “I’ll run the family business one day. Better than you, even.”

“Ambitious,” Lando said, raising his glass in mock salute. “I like it.”

Your eight-year-old son, Jacob, rolled his eyes. “You’re all so dramatic. Mama’s the best. She’s nice to everyone, and she doesn’t yell like Papa.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “I don’t yell.”

“You yelled at Uncle Carlos last week,” Jacob pointed out.

“That was a strategic discussion,” Lando replied, struggling to keep a straight face.

You laughed, shaking your head as you returned to your seat. “Jacob’s right. You do yell.”

Amelia crossed her arms, glaring at her brother. “You’re too soft, Jacob. How are you supposed to run the business if you can’t even scare anyone?”

“I don’t want to run the business,” Jacob said matter-of-factly, stabbing his fork into his cake. “I’m going to be a veterinarian.”

“A vet?” Amelia wrinkled her nose. “That’s boring.”

“Amelia,” you chided gently. “It’s not boring if it’s what Jacob wants. Besides, being kind is just as important as being strong.”

Amelia huffed, but your words sank in.

Lando observed the exchange quietly, marveling at the balance you brought to their lives.

Later that evening, after the kids had gone to bed, you and Lando sat on the terrace overlooking the gardens. The night air was cool, and the stars were scattered across the sky like diamonds.

“She’s got your fire, that one,” you said, leaning against Lando’s shoulder.

“And he’s got your heart,” Lando replied, lacing his fingers with yours. “We’re raising a mini us, you know.”

You laughed softly. “Is that a good thing?”

Lando kissed the top of your head. “The best thing.”

For a moment, the world outside the villa—his world of deals, betrayals, and shadows—felt far away.

Here, with you, with his children, he was simply Lando. A man who had everything he’d ever wanted, and more than he thought he deserved.

As the staff cleared the dining room below, they whispered among themselves, as they always did.

About how Mr. Norris was terrifying, yes, but also fiercely devoted to his wife.

About how Madam Norris made their lives better with her warmth and generosity.

About how the children were growing into reflections of their parents—Amelia, bold and determined, and Jacob, gentle and kind.

It wasn’t a typical mafia family, no. But it was theirs. And that was more than enough.

Thank you for reading!

[goosewriting]

Glad to hear requests are open! I just wanted to say I love your inquis!cal fics :D

I was wondering if you could write something with Cal? Lovesick Inquis!Cal hunting an in-denial-of-feelings-for-him Jedi!reader is always a favorite of mine. Literally just Cal pinning the reader down and insisting how they’d make such a great team if only reader would join him. Just anything really, being at his mercy- ugh.

Feel free to write it or not, I don’t mind, just figured I’d put it out there :)

Loth-cat and Mouse

summary: as reader escapes from an inquisitor, old sparks might reignite despite the danger.

relationship: Inquisitor Cal Kestis x gn!Jedi!reader

warnings: mentions of death and murder 

word count: 3.6k

A/N: top tier request anon, tysm! writing the whole force shenanigans was my favourite part tbh. i’ve been meaning to explore that aspect for so long, battle of the will and all, and i’ll definitely be doing it again! tell me what you think pls c: 

[all masterlists] 🪶 [star wars masterlist] 🪶 [ao3]

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Living in hiding when the galaxy thinks you’re dead is easy. It comes with the privilege of being virtually invisible in a galaxy that seeks to oppress and exploit every living soul.

Ever since escaping the Clones turning on the Jedis as a Padawan, and the rise of the Empire, you’ve lived in hiding, as most of the surviving Jedis did. And for a long time, you were successful. That is, until an Inquisitor picked up your scent and started hunting you down.

This went on for two years, and you somehow managed to evade her, always being a step ahead. You only came face to face with the Inquisitor twice: the first time, when you looked the purplish skinned Mirialan in her yellow eyes for the first time, and the second when you knew what you had to do.

Sitting in the dusty booth of a run-down tavern somewhere in the Outer Rim, your shoulders slump forward as you remember how you had felt her life essence vanish through the Force like a cloud of spores disappearing, carried away by the wind. You knew you couldn’t get through with it with your own hands, so you rigged an old warehouse with so many explosives that not even the strongest Jedi Master would be able to escape. Using yourself as bait, standing by the entrance to the building, that was the last time you’d see her. Your plan worked, and the whole thing came down on her. So much so that it almost took you out as well, but you survived despite the injuries. You hope that in the eyes of the Force, you had freed her from her pain. Maybe somewhere deep inside she was thankful.

Or that was what you’d keep telling yourself to be able to sleep at night. 

It’s been a couple of months since then, and you’ve doubled your efforts at staying hidden, as you don’t think you can take another Inquisitor hunt. Not because you can’t win against them. You already did, and that’s the problem. When you first realised an Inquisitor was trailing you, you were afraid. But now, after defeating her, the thought of going out there and turning around the hunter and hunted roles suddenly seems… exhilarating. But that would make you no better than a Sith, would it? Your face contorts in discomfort as you can practically hear your Master’s disappointed voice at what has become of you.

“I thought I taught you better.”

You sigh. Yeah, you did. But you trained me to be a peacekeeper, not an outlaw. It’s a kill or get killed world out here. It probably always has been, but we were shielded from it, had a roof over our heads, clothes to wear and food on our plates. You smile bitterly to yourself, the hood of your cape casting a shadow over your face as you twirl a toothpick between your fingers. Who’d have thought that we had it better during the war than afterwards. 

Your motions come to a sudden halt and you involuntarily snap the thin piece of wood in two as you feel the air in the tavern change, turning impossibly cold. The constant chatter doesn’t stop though, the few customers currently in the tavern continue on unaware of the shift. 

Rising up to your feet quickly but without making a noise, you beeline towards the bar, turning a sharp corner into the kitchen and then towards the back exit you know of. You can hear some modulated voices back in the main room; Purge Troopers. And where there are black armoured troopers… you don’t need to look to know what else is there. 

Once out of view from the main area, you quicken your pace, exiting the place with one goal in mind: getting as far away as possible. With your mind reeling, you skilfully evade every person and droid in your way so as not to make a fuss or cause noise by something falling to the ground. Mentally, you go through every interaction from the last several weeks, trying to find where you did something careless that gave you away. But you’ve been so thorough with your recons, moving every few days, never staying in one place too long. 

How did they find me? 

This question echoes through your mind over and over as you take step after step. The destination of your brisk walk doesn’t really matter, you just need to put as much distance as possible between yourself and whatever hound they’ve sent after you. 

It isn’t until you suddenly feel your burning lungs and aching legs asking for a break that you realise how far you’ve walked, and at what speed. You ran all the way back to your hideout. Agh, stupid! you reprimand yourself, smacking your hand to your forehead. it must have been an automatic response to come to your current “safe spot”, but if they find you here, you wouldn’t be able to come back to retrieve your supplies. In the few days you’ve been here, you’ve collected several machinery parts that you were planning on selling, but that plan just went down the drain. So you pack up whatever you can carry, mentally saying goodbye to not only the place and everything you’re leaving behind, yet again, but also the potential money you could have made which you desperately needed. With a sigh and a mental promise to do better next time, you head out to the port. Not the nearest one, though; the troopers probably have that one surrounded and monitored. You’re going to the one two towns over. It will take a while to get there, but it’s the safer choice. 

The whole way there, you do your mental meditation exercises to keep your Force signature hidden. The familiarity of it also helps you calm down a little and recentre yourself. 

After what felt like half an eternity, you’re finally at the port, and you go to buy a ticket off the planet. You’re relieved that at first glance there don't seem to be any Stormtroopers doing patrols out here. There is a bit of a line at the ticket shop though, so you stay a little further back by some crates and equipment waiting to be loaded into the cargo ships. Hiding out of sight, you wait until you can approach the window directly. 

One by one you watch the people in the queue leave, and when there’s only one person left, you take a quick look around to make sure no Imperial has arrived. The coast is clear, and you take a step in that direction. Except that your boots remain stuck to the ground. All at once, you’re surrounded, no, enveloped in that cold, eerie aura from the tavern earlier, which holds you in place. You take a gulp of air much like a fish out of water, and you try to turn your head around when you hear a modulated chuckle behind you, but you’re frozen in place.

“Going to the port further away even though it cost you more time. Bold choice,” the modulated voice of a man says, and your heart feels like it’s about to leap out of your throat. 

This is it. They found me, you think to yourself, trying your hardest to slip your hand to your belt underneath your robe to reach your weapon, but to no avail.

“Don’t worry. All the troopers are probably still by the tavern searching the whole village,” he says, and you can feel yourself slowly being turned towards him. You were ready to spit in his face and curse him out, but the image before you catches you completely off-guard. While the red visor of his sleek helmet is practically unmistakable regarding his line of work, he threw on some sort of poncho to cover his armour. It’s almost comical, and were it not for the imminent danger you find yourself in, you probably would have laughed a bit.

“Everything has been so boring lately,” he continues, rolling his head back and to the side to make his point. Then, his visor locks onto your face, and he stays silent for a moment. “When I read what you did to the Eleventh Sister, though, I knew I had to come check you out for myself.”

“W-why,” you manage to croak out. His Force grip is starting to get tighter and it's getting harder for you to breathe.

He slightly shrugs, one of his shoulders leaning onto the big supply crate that shields you both from view. “As I said, I was bored. And you get a head start, so…” He pulls the poncho over his head, letting it fall down to the ground unceremoniously. “Entertain me.” 

As he turns on his heels, he finally lets go and you can fill your lungs again. You don't know what just happened, but you’re not about to waste this chance to escape, so you beeline to the ticket shop and buy your way off the planet. Before boarding the ship, you take one last look over your shoulder; the Inquisitor is nowhere to be seen. Or felt. 

From then on, a strange game of Loth-cat and mouse starts. You’d escape, the Inquisitor somehow following your trail, even though you took great care to stay anonymous. Only days after arriving at a new location, you’d find his Purge Troopers looking for you. Every time you thought you might be able to get a break and rest at one place a little longer, the Inquisitor would reach out in the Force, poking at you ever so slightly, just as a reminder that he’s still there. 

You’re exhausted.

People who aren’t Force-sensitive emit a certain aura, while those who are able to tap into and manipulate it, manifest in different ways. Most seem to have an extra set of long, immaterial limbs, able to scan their surroundings. Sometimes it’s like a flowy cape, fluttering around the person with grace; sometimes it’s more like thick and heavy vines, dragging themselves around and scratching everything with their thorns. 

Inquisitors have a very strong and rather aggressive presence in the Force, but you’ve never quite felt a signature as distinctly intense as the one currently hunting you. His whole essence feels like an icy mist, spreading quickly around him and seeping into every corner, looking for his victims. It starts out slow, unnoticeable at first, but by the time you realise what’s surrounding you, it’s too late. Once the victim is found, the mist solidifies into ice, sticking their feet to the ground, rendering them unable to move. The Inquisitor stretches out his arm in their direction, and the mist becomes more dense, constricting their airways, squeezing out every last drop of oxygen agonisingly slowly. 

At some point, his presence starts haunting you at night. In the few hours of restless sleep you allow yourself while on the run, you find him to be there more and more often. Worn down by how long the chase has been going on, your guard starts to fall. Suddenly you don’t dread it anymore, the cold shudders as you walk through a market, and the icy mist following you into your dreams. Not just his Force signature but his whole presence as a whole, it’s so strong, it’s almost intoxicating. The more he keeps finding you, the more you keep catching yourself almost looking for his presence.

Much to your surprise and not delight, you realise his manipulation game is working.

It doesn’t take much longer until you finally come face to face with the Inquisitor. You know it’s too late to escape him, and you don’t know if you can hold your own against him in your current state, but you have no choice.

As if the exhaustion wasn’t enough, you’re currently stuck in a tropical forest, and you can feel the dirt and debris after running through the thick vegetation sticking to you, a thin sheen of sweat on your skin. The only sound you hear is your ragged breathing and the sounds of the jungle. You know the Inquisitor is not far behind you, but he’s been moving surprisingly silently given his armour. More than ever, he feels like a predator. 

Arriving at a clearing in the forest, you stop. Deep in your gut you can feel it: it’s time. Whatever happens, only one of you will walk out of here. So, after taking a deep breath and wiping off your face with the back of your sleeve, you turn around. 

All this time, you’ve tried not to imagine what he looked like underneath his helmet, as you knew it would only humanise him and make it harder for you to fight the man. So when you’re met with a face instead of a red visor, you’re surprised. Whatever mental image you might have had of him, you were not expecting him to look as handsome and young as he did. There’s also a strange air of familiarity which you can’t place, but decide to ignore for the time being.

Sizing each other up from either side of the clearing, you merely stand there, looking at each other. He moves his hand and you instinctively reach for your sabre, but he casually adjusts his gloves, weapon stil sheathed.

“You know,” he says with a slight chuckle. “I only ever came after you because I recognised your name. I personally requested to pick up where the Eleventh Sister left off.” 

Your brows furrow at his confession, which feels very much misplaced. He talks like he’s expecting you to be flattered or honoured at his words.

You deny ever having seen him, and he seems a little dejected at that. Kneeling down, he picks a little blue flower from the shrubs, and takes a couple steps in your direction. Offering it to you, he calls you by a nickname that you haven’t heard in what feels like several lifetimes. 

That’s when you suddenly remember: you had met him once, on Coruscant, when Padawans from all over the galaxy would go to the temple and be shown the archives. You were from two different home planets, there was no reason for you to have ever crossed paths, yet fate would have you attending the tour through the archives on the same day. All Padawans got to spend some time together, mainly to train and spar with each other. You can’t really remember anyone else you met that day, and the events are pretty blurry as is, but you do distinctly remember a Padawan with wild copper hair and freckles that looked like the constellations the Jedi taught you about. You and him would steal glances at each other the whole day, until finally he approached you, offering you a little white flower he picked somewhere. Where exactly, you had no idea, given the lack of green spaces on the planet. 

“Cal. Cal Kestis,” you say as his name comes back to you, like it’s always been on the tip of your tongue, dormant. 

“Ah, so you do remember,” he smiles a little at that. You don’t take the flower from his hand though, so he flicks it away without a second thought.

”What did they do to you…” You shake your head in disbelief.

You mentally compare the sweet little boy with fiery hair that you had met that day, and try to superpose that image with the man now standing before you, and it’s just not possible. It’s not the same person any more. His eyes, once the colour of oceans and clear skies, now glow an angry yellow, his gaze piercing right through your soul.

Since coming face to face in the clearing, Cal’s presence in the Force has been as unmovable and strong as ever, so you had no choice but to mentally and emotionally shield yourself, like hiding behind a rock in a snowstorm, trying to avoid the relentless icy wind clawing at your exposed skin. But now that you know who he is, you’re certain there has to be something left, even if very deep within him. So you dig deep in your own heart for that short connection you had felt with him that day on Coruscant, and bring it back to the surface, holding onto it for dear life. You dig out the warmth, the safety, the certainty that those days used to have, using them as a shield to part the cold wind as you take step after step in the metaphorical snow towards Cal. 

Feeling the shift, Cal straightens up.

“What are you doing?” he questions.

You don’t answer immediately, holding his harsh gaze the best you can.

“I’m reaching out to you,” you say after a moment, the light of your Force finally strong enough to allow you to approach him without being knocked back by his icy aura. The dry leaves crunch under your feet as you take a step towards the Inquisitor.

To an outsider, this interaction would have looked like an intense staring contest. But if you allowed your dynamics in the Force to have an impact on the physical world, you two would have flattened the terrain around you both in an instant. 

During this battle of will and determination, which seems to go on forever, you shorten what little distance separates you from Cal. His whole body is tense, trying to keep his wits as you’re blinding him with your light. You wonder if there is a part in him that wants to give in, and that’s exactly what you’re trying to find within him. Stretching out your hand, you carefully cup his face. He flinches slightly in surprise, but doesn’t pull away.

“It’s not too late, Cal,” you say. Your voice is soft, contrasting the intensity in both your gazes. “Please come back.”

Now that you’re so close, you decide to drop the metaphorical shield you were holding up, exposing the warmth and joy from before to him. His icy wind almost knocks you back a couple of steps, but you let it wash over you. You inhale sharply as you let everything he’s throwing at you bounce off; his hate, his  anger, his pain. 

“Stop,” he demands almost breathlessly.

But you bring your other hand to his face too, holding him, as you cling onto the memory of your first meeting with him and try to emanate that light through his own shield wherever you find cracks. And you succeed, feeling how, for a split second, all his walls come crumbling down and all you’re left with is just a boy, scared and alone.

“Stop!” he yells, as his own hand reaches out this time, swatting yours away and harshly grabbing you by the throat. Pushing you back several steps until your back hits a tree, he holds you there, your own hands clawing at his wrists in an attempt to ease the pressure of his grip.

“Stop,” he repeats, much more collected this time. 

“You’re so deep in that dark cave, you forgot there’s an exit at all,” you say. “You don’t have to stay there, you know. Let me help you get back to the light.”

“Why would I want to leave?” He chuckles darkly. “Let me show you the way into the dark instead. There’s more here than you could ever know, so much power to be tapped into that you’re missing.”

He takes a moment to study your face, loosening his grip on you ever so slightly, which allows you to take a gulp of air. 

“Come with me,” he offers. ”You’ve already proven how powerful you are. Imagine how much more we could both accomplish if we joined forces.” 

“Me? Become like you?” You scoff. “I’d rather you kill me now.”

Cal hums, as if considering your suggestion for a moment. But he remains silent, with you still pinned to the tree. He doesn’t let go of you nor does he tighten his grip, leaving the next move to you instead. Your head spins, trying to figure out what to do.

He raises a brow at you, urging you to do or say something. You frown, conflicted.

“All this time I thought you were just playing a twisted game, coming after me until you got bored. And then you’d kill me. Now you’re trying to recruit me?”

“If I wanted you dead, you never would have even seen me coming,” he retorts with a bit of a snarl.  

Then he reaches out for the lightsabre at your belt, and one of your hands protectively grabs onto it before he can. Cal gives you a smug look as that’s exactly what he wanted, and placing his hand over yours, he guides your weapon up, pressing the unignited end into his ribcage. He’s essentially saying, ‘if you don’t want to come with me, you’ll have to kill me right now, right here.’

“Quite the conundrum we find ourselves in, huh,” he says after a moment, giving your hand a squeeze. “What’s stopping you?” 

“…Hope,” you answer rather unconvincingly, cringing at how corny it sounds.

He scoffs and lets go of your hand, which falls to your side still holding onto your weapon.

“Don’t worry, I can fix that.” 

Cal suddenly leans in, placing a lingering kiss on your cheek. 

“I’m looking forward to our next encounter,” he whispers into your ear, and a shudder runs down your spine. 

He lets go suddenly, your legs giving in, and you fall to the ground with a grunt as you take a couple deep breaths now that your airways aren’t constricted anymore.

As he walks away, Cal doesn’t turn back once. He picks up his helmet where he discarded it earlier, putting it on and disappearing amongst the trees.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

A/N2: part 2 anyone? 👀 let me know how you’d like the story to unfold!

A/N3: the amount of times i’ve written reader getting choked by inq!cal…….. i think i need to unpack something there

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

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[motherroam-rs]

Wrap Me in Your Skin and Bones

NSFW - 18+

Warnings/Tags : Cockwarming, Nightmares, Mentions of Trauma and PTSD, Angst, Comfort, Love Confessions

Relationship: Crosshair/Fem!Reader

Summary: After solitary confinement on Mount Tantiss, Crosshair is plagued by nightmares that lead him to seek comfort in your body.

A/N : Wrote and posted this to AO3 before season 3 but wanted to put it here too 🫡 I just had this angsty lil thing in my head about how a touch starved Cross would deal with physical contact after the empire 🫶 (even though I firmly believe Tech survived the fall - he’s dead for the purpose of this I’m SORRY)

NSFW BELOW THE CUT

The sharp hit to your ribs has you springing into a sitting position, eyes wild and scanning the room for a threat. Muscle memory from years in the war has you reaching for the blaster and pointing it towards various shadows in the room.

You would be a lousy shot with the way your hand shook from the adrenaline in your veins. But, there are no imperial agents hiding in your room, no battle droids under your bed, the source of the attack lays next to you, writhing against imaginary forces in his nightmare.

Crosshair.

Abandoning the blaster on the floor, you work on tearing the bedsheets away from him before he can tangle himself any further in the restrictive fabric. Every muscle in his body seems to be rigid, even once you manage to free him, but he still thrashes, as if fighting against invisible restraints.

The sight of his struggle has your stomach forming knots.

“Crosshair, wake up,” your pleading hands press to his shoulder, thankful that the prominence of his collarbones has eased over the last few weeks, but he’s still nowhere close to as healthy he was the last time you saw him before the war had ended.

Unlike the rest of the batch, you hadn’t seen Crosshair during his time under the empire, and although during his absence you were thankful for it, this only made it worse the day his brothers brought him home.

Crosshair had always been the leanest of them, you had even joked with him on several occasions that he resembled the toothpicks which always hung from his lips, but the breath had been stolen from your body when Echo half-carried him down the walkway. Crosshairs face was almost as hollow as Echo’s had been after Skako Minor, and it was now flecked in silver stubble, with a large scar that stretched across the side of his head where patches of hair were entirely missing.

Just as the pair passed you by, Crosshairs eyes had met your own. You were used to a range of emotions in them, from heated glares and desire filled gazes, occasionally there was even an amused look that framed his eyes with a hint of laughter lines. However, what you didn’t prepare yourself for was for them to be entirely void of any emotion, it was if you were just one of the stone pillars that lined the streets.

After a week in the infirmary, it became evident that Crosshair couldn’t sleep alone. With Hunter preoccupied with Omega, the responsibility fell to Echo the first few nights, he was the closest to understanding Crosshairs situation after all.

On the third day after the rescue, Hunter had told you although Omega was kept somewhat safe with another female clone, they had found Crosshair in solitary confinement. Something deep in your chest broke at the unsaid weight of the information. Despite his aversion to most people, Crosshair had spent years of being in tight living spaces with his brothers, only to be thrown in a cell alone for maker knows how long.

Maybe this was why he gravitated towards you once he was finally in good enough physical condition to be released from the infirmary.

Between Echo’s own complicated relationship with sleep, Wrecker’s inability to not snore and wake everyone in the immediate vicinity, and Hunters responsibility for Omega, it was you who took him in.

If Tech was still here, he would have been the one to stay with Crosshair. You push that thought down, but the pain still resonates in your chest.

You give Crosshair another shake, and the second your other hand presses to the bare skin of his face, his eyes snap open. He lashes out like a snarling animal trapped in a snare, gripping both your wrists and pinning you beneath him with a speed that causes the room to spin around you.

“It’s just me, Cross.” You speak in a hushed tone, attempting to calm him as you fight against his grip.

Reality bleeds into his eyes, momentarily easing his pained expression, but then he’s choking on the air, collapsing onto you.

“I need,” although his face is buried in your neck, you hear the emotion crack his voice, and you already know the broken look that on his face. “Please, I need you.”

“It’s okay, Cross.” You nod and widen your legs, allowing his hips to settle between them. Your bodies act on the familiar routine you had both fallen into over the last few months since he moved into your spare room - which he has still never spent a night in. Crosshairs shakes have already begun to ease with the contact, his hands have at least stilled enough so he can effectively rid you both of the few items of clothing until you were bare against each other.

He coils himself around you at first, as if he were a snake trying to suffocate its prey, but you only wrap your arms around him in return, welcoming his touch. You aren’t certain if it’s the solitary confinement that made him need the contact, or if it’s some lingering effect of the chip, but either way you still offer yourself to him.

Seemingly unable to wait for his heart to settle, he chases the comfort only you can provide, and begins the slow push of himself inside you. Crosshair’s breaths are escaping him in desperate pants and he’s pressing as much of himself to you as possible, seeking the warmth of your body to drive away the sensation of the cold interrogation table that plagued his mind.

The stretch burns with the little preparation you have, and Crosshair senses your silent discomfort. He draws his hips back with a mumbled apology, so only the tip remains inside you, and draws slow circles on your clit with his thumb. It doesn’t take long for the resistance to ease with your wetness, and soon enough he’s rocking back into you with a groan, allowing you time to adjust.

He doesn’t attempt to bring you to the precipice, or anywhere close to it. Once he fully settles into you, his hand withdraws and instead tangles itself in your hair.

Right now Crosshairs need for you isn’t sexual, despite what it seems.

Some nights it will delve into more once his body relaxes, and he’ll take his time to have you come undone beneath him with more care and attention than he had ever possessed before the rise of the empire. But tonight, as he does most nights, he stills once fully seathed inside you, his only desire being your embrace.

“Where was it this time?” Sometimes he would answer, but other times he would give a slight shake to his head in response.

“Barton-4, then the interrogation room.” His voice is strained, and you recall everything he’s already told you about these places, specifically the haunting memory of Mayday’s death.

“You’re safe, we’re both safe, Crosshair.” You press a kiss to his temple as if it would help the promise sink into his mind. One of your hands moves to the back of his head, cradling him against your neck as the other traces patterns on his back.

It takes a few minutes of silence for his breathing to fall in sync with yours, and despite his cock being inside you, the light exhale against your neck has your face heating at the intimacy. His shakes have entirely ceased now, and you think he’s fallen asleep, until you hear the broken whisper.

“I love you.”

Your body freezes at the admission, both hands stopping their comforting movements. His throat bobs against your neck with a dry swallow, and you wonder if it’s his body trying to subconsciously take back the words.

You had been somewhat together during the clone wars, but it was never emotionally intimate. He had a physical need for you in a way that led to fucking you from behind against almost every surface on the marauder. And yet, true to his cold nature he never faced you, or even kissed you. Once he finished, he would neaten his armour and leave without a goodbye, yet you would still allow him back every time he gave the word.

“Crosshair-“ you start, but he’s cutting you off before your mouth can form another syllable.

“I know it’s not the right time to say it, but I do, I always have.” He rasps, trying to force the confession out in one breath, as if ripping the bacta patch off a wound.

Always have?

Your mind begins unravelling years of your self-imposed torture during the clone wars from biting down your feelings, pretending not to care when some pretty girl inevitably threw herself at him in a bar.

“You need to sleep.” He bites out, hurt evident in his tone at your lack of response, but he doesn’t dare peel himself away from you. Despite the hurt seeping into him, he’s too selfish to let you go unless you ask him to leave.

“Crosshair.” There’s no response, but something possesses you to reach out anyways, and you’re pressing your hand to his face, craning your neck to meet his stare. His eyes are open, but still avoid your own.

Your brush your nose against his, and your thumb traces over the sharp angle of his jaw, memorising the way he ever-so-slightly leans into your touch.

“I love you too.”

His eyes close, a shaky breath of relief escaping his lips. Crosshair had never needed a helmet to mask his emotions before his brothers brought him back to Pabu, back to you. His face had always been set in an ever cold smirk, whether it be when he was taunting a reg, on a stealth mission, or when you caught glimpses of him in mirrored surfaces in the marauder as he fucked himself into you. However, at your words, something akin to peace washes over his face, allowing it to morph into a rare expression of something softer, like that of a soldier returning from battle finally setting eyes on his home.

When the morning comes, you half expect the bed to be cold, or at least as cold as it can be in the climate of Pabu, but when the midday sun casts its warming rays over your skin, he’s still inside of you. Slender limbs have tangled with your own and his face is nestled against your neck, but you can tell from his breathing that he’s already awake.

“Stay.” It’s a whispered prayer against your skin, a desperate plea to some deity that seems to have abandoned him long ago in that cell on Mount Tantiss. But you don’t think the gods, the Empire or even the force could keep you apart now, and you don’t want them to. You press your forehead to his, a wordless answer to him that you aren’t going anywhere, that he’ll never have to be alone again.

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Dj! I‘m so glad I just found our your doing cuddle requests! As I‘m in a terrible Crosshair phase atm, may I request 2 or 14 with him? The boy needs lots of hugs.

Thank you!

I'm Right Here.

A/N: My beloved @somewhere-on-kamino! 🖤❤️ Please accept deepest thanks for your patience while you waited for me to fill this request! This fic stands alone, but it is the same Reader from “I Know,” so there’s a brief reference to a prior breakup. Reader also still experiences the fallout of unspecified trauma, as they did in “I Know.”

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader (GN; has hair)

Rating: T (but as always, minors DNI)

Wordcount: 2.1k

Warnings and tags: angst; Reader has a brief dissociative episode and the beginnings of a panic attack; hurt comfort; cuddles; implied/fade to black sensuality

Summary: Crosshair has returned to the Batch, and it’s kriffing weird. The prompts are getting the greatest feeling of safety from cuddling/cuddles after being touch-starved.

Suggested Listening:

This fic smells like: Indigo by Nest (citrus, tea, fresh figs)

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This is weird. 

You glanced across the cockpit of the Marauder toward Crosshair, who stared out the viewport, carefully avoiding eye contact. 

This is kriffing weird.

In all the time that had passed since the last time you’d seen him, all the times you’d dreamed and fantasized about reuniting, it was never like this. When Hunter set up a rendezvous to collect Omega on a desolate moon, the last thing you expected was to see Crosshair walk down the ramp behind her. The shock of it had punched the air from your lungs and left you reeling. 

And he’d seen it. Of course he’d seen it. He saw everything. The way your joy at being reunited with Omega had morphed into confusion, surprise, and inevitably, anger. It was gone in a flash, but the damage was done.

And now you sat on opposite sides of the Marauder, deliberately not looking at each other.

Omega was confused. She didn’t know. You’d never told her the truth about your history with her brother, and neither, apparently, had he. For some reason, that stung. You knew it made you a hypocrite, but at that particular moment, you didn’t care. 

There had been a brief instant, all those months ago, when you thought you were finally going to get him back. Discovering that he’d turned on the Empire had sent a fierce, hot stab of hope through your chest. And then… Eriadu. Ord Mantell. Hemlock.

Tech.

There had been no hope after that. Just months of endless, fruitless searching: crisscrossing the galaxy more times than you cared to think about, watching the faces you held dearest grow haggard and worn with grief and desperation, ignoring the way your reflection revealed the same about your own. 

And then, a miracle. You almost hadn’t believed Hunter when he told you Omega had commed him. But it had been true, and as she crashed into your arms, you’d felt nothing but unadulterated, transcendent joy. 

All of which collapsed like a puppet with cut strings the second he stepped off that ship.

So yeah, it was kriffing weird.

The jump to Pabu took a lifetime. Omega and Wrecker’s conversation filled the awkward silence, granting you a respite, at least for now. You glanced toward the cockpit, where Hunter piloted the ship silently. He, too, was wary of Crosshair, but the relief and elation of having Omega back was evident on his face, and it eased the ache in your heart to have your little family back together—at least, as much as possible. 

After several hours in hyperspace, Omega and Wrecker fell asleep, and the ship descended into silence. You took over for Hunter in the cockpit so he could get some rest, and for a time, piloting the ship pulled your thoughts away from the confrontation that you knew was inevitable. You just hoped it would wait until everyone else was off the ship.

A shadow moved at the edge of your vision, and you turned to see Crosshair settling into the copilot’s seat. He said nothing for a long while, and you refused to be the first to speak. The tension stretched like a thread of spider silk between the pair of you, binding you together: always on the verge of snapping, but never releasing either of you from its tangled bonds.

It had always been like this. Even when you were running for your life on the opposite end of the galaxy, you could feel the connection. Tenuous, frayed, but unbroken. And now he was here, sitting less than a meter from you, and it was unbearable.

Kriffing weird.

His voice, low and bitter, splintered the brittle stillness of the cockpit. “Gonna give me the silent treatment for the rest of your life?”

“Thinking about it,” you replied.

“It wasn’t like this last time.” 

He spoke quietly, barely loud enough for you to hear him over the hum of the hyperdrive. Wrecker and Omega slept on, but you had no doubt Hunter could hear, and you mentally cursed Crosshair for doing this in front of him.

“That was different.”

“Why?” he asked. “Because last time, you were the one who left?”

Stung, you gritted your teeth and punched in a minor adjustment to your route. “Because I never tried to kill you.”

“If I’d wanted that blaster bolt to hit you, it would have.”

“Cocky,” you muttered.

“Realistic,” he corrected.

You refused to answer, instead gazing out the viewport at the endless swirl of hyperspace. He was right, gods damn him, and you both knew it. But that still didn’t change the incontrovertible truth that he’d chosen the Empire over his own family. 

Over you. 

You’d made excuses for him, defended him to his brothers, pointed out that even Wrecker—even Rex—hadn’t been immune to the effects of the inhibitor chip. And then, when he had the chance to choose of his own free will, he picked them. How could he ever expect things to go back to the way they had been between you?

The cockpit descended once again into silence. Within minutes, Hunter’s deep, regular breaths that revealed he, too, had fallen asleep, leaving you and Crosshair alone in a fragile soap bubble of privacy. He waited for a response that never came. With a scoff, he turned away from you to watch the viewport, absently picking up his mug. His hand trembled, sloshing the hot tea on his skin, and he cursed under his breath. 

That was new. What the hell happened to him?

Before you could voice the question, he stood abruptly and stalked out of the cockpit, leaving you alone in the dim, flickering light.

It was midday on Pabu when the Marauder touched down, and a small crowd had gathered on the landing pad to welcome Omega home. You watched from the ship as Shep and Lyana, Phee, and several other islanders swarmed around the batch. Even from the distance, you could see the discomfort on Crosshair’s face, and you let out a grim, inaudible laugh. It wasn’t justice, but it was a start.

You remained on the ship to complete the post-flight protocols, and before long, the raucous sounds of the crowd faded away as the celebration migrated elsewhere—presumably to Shep’s home for one of his legendary feasts. You’d join them soon. For now, you just… couldn’t. Not yet. You finished your tasks and dropped into the pilot’s seat. With a heavy sigh, you leaned forward to rest your forehead in your palms, bracing your elbows on your knees and tunneling your fingers through your hair.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that. It could have been minutes or an hour. A soft footstep on the ramp brought you back into your body, and without looking to see who it was, you spoke.

“Not now, Crosshair.”

“Not Crosshair,” Hunter replied.

Surprised, you sat up. “I figured you wouldn’t let Omega out of your sight for the next… I don’t know… fifty years or so.”

“I can see her from here.”

You laughed. “Of course, you can.”

“She’s asking for you,” he said quietly. “You all right to come out?”

“I’m fine,” you snapped, not bothering to suppress your surge of irritation as he treated you like some breakable thing.

For everything that Crosshair had done, at least he’d never looked at you with that expression of concern, like he was afraid you were going to disintegrate in front of him. He knew you were more resilient than that, even when you didn’t believe it yourself.

Hunter’s jaw firmed. “You know you don’t have to—” He broke off with a sigh. “Fine. Yeah.”

Dank farrik, you wanted to needle him. You wanted to start a fight, to give yourself an excuse to vent the grief and the rage, the exhaustion and the frustration, the fear that had become your ever-present shadow over the past months. You wanted to see those eyes fill with anger instead of worry when he looked at you. But he didn’t deserve it. And he wasn’t the one your rage was truly directed at, anyway.

With a final, deep exhale, you stood and followed him down the ramp. The walk to Shep’s home was uncomfortably silent, but by the time you arrived, you’d wrestled your emotions sufficiently under control that you were able to muster an overly bright smile and shift into charming social butterfly mode. 

Crosshair hovered on the perimeter of the group, alternately keeping watch over Omega and glancing at you from the corner of his eye. Aware of his scrutiny, you allowed a few locals to get flirtier than you normally would as you mentally flipped him the bird.

The party went on for hours, stretching late into the night, until eventually, the crowd began to dwindle. Wrecker appeared to be exceptionally cozy with one of the locals who’d been his dance partner all night, while Hunter and Shep settled into a corner for a quiet chat. Omega and Lyana had long since passed out on their laps. 

You were kriffing exhausted.

Hunter’s eyes followed you as you slipped away. You could feel them on your back, and they only spurred you to walk faster as you made your way back to the Marauder. The night breeze off the ocean was cold, and you’d been too distracted and upset when you left the ship to remember to put on a jacket. Hugging your arms around yourself, you hurried through the dim streets of Pabu up the hill to the landing pad. Once you were safely inside the ship and the hatch sealed behind you, you slumped against it, then slid gradually down to the floor.

The Marauder was dark and blessedly silent, and you stared vacantly into the shadows, waiting for the chaos in your mind to settle. Inhale, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. Exhale, two—

WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!

A murky shape loomed in front of you, and you flinched away with a hoarse curse, curling in on yourself protectively as your heart thundered and your lungs seized in terror.

“It’s me,” Crosshair said, resting his hand on your wrist. “It’s just me.”

“Cross.” His name tore out of you with a sob, and you buried your face against his shoulder, clinging to him while the galaxy tore itself to pieces around you.

His arms wrapped protectively around your body as he cradled the back of your head in his hand. You could feel him shaking, but then again, you were shaking, too—trembling so hard it felt like your skin couldn’t contain you. 

Breathe, breathe, just breathe, it’s all right, you’re not back there again, it’s not real.

“I have you,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”

“I know,” you choked out. “I have you, too.”

His arms tightened around you, and very slowly, you began to relax as your panic ebbed, and a feeling of safety you hadn’t experienced since the end of the war settled over you. How long had it been since you’d allowed anyone to hold you like this? Since he’d allowed anyone to hold him? How long had you ached to feel him again, to have him in your arms, to breathe his familiar scent and listen to the beat of his heart? 

Too long. Far too long. 

You wanted to crawl into him, to press yourself against his body until not a molecule of air separated you from him. It was impossible to be close enough. 

“You’re freezing,” he murmured.

“I’m all right,” you lied through chattering teeth.

He exhaled a silent laugh. “Of course you are.”

He didn’t bother to argue, just gathered you up, stood, and guided you to the nearest bunk. He stole the blankets off the rest of the bunks and climbed in after you. The space was narrow, but it wasn’t the first time you’d shared it, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world for him to lie on top of you and wrap his arms securely around your body. 

Tucking your cold nose into the crook of his neck, you whispered, “You know I’m still gonna yell at you, right?”

“Obviously,” he replied, his lips brushing softly on your earlobe. “Tomorrow.”

The warmth of his breath, the touch of his lips—stars, it’s been so long. You found yourself softening beneath him, not intentionally, but without hesitation. His mouth moved lower to taste your skin as his hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt and grazed up your side. 

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Tomorrow.”

---

Want more Crosshair? Here’s some spice and some fluff.

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[milolunde]

So, Sonic Forces! … again. Posts like this will be put under Forces!RW from now on, just so I can keep things together.

Following this post, I’ve been thinking about my reimagined Sonic Forces a lot. It’s high up on my list of things to rewrite, but… that list is quite long and is made up of stories that, for the most part, will live exclusively in my head. However, I had so much fun making my last post that I wanted to make another.

I wanted to touch on an aspect of the Phantom Ruby: how it’s able to make hordes of copies at Infinite’s will.

In my mind, the Phantom Ruby makes clones with the same attributes as any other illusion. Those made to witness the illusion will be unable to control feeling, despite reason, what they are witnessing is real. This enhances the Phantom Ruby’s powers, making its illusions able to affect the world as if they were real.

However, copies are different as they can perform most of the abilities their source can, but only if Infinite has a solid grasp on what those abilities are. For example, Chaos remains in his base state because Infinite does not understand his evolution, but he does understand chaos energy and chaos manifestation, so Shadow’s copies is able to harness Chaos Spear (though its nowhere on the scale of a true Chaos Spear. It gathers available chaos energy and turns it into a weapon, but without an emerald the copy has to draw upon the natural chaos energy around it). This is also one of the reasons Zavok is so… lame, for lack of a better word, and why Infinite resigns his copy to being Sonic’s jail keeper.

Why, then, would Eggman have Infinite stop at making copies of Zavok, Chaos, and Shadow? Of course, it’s because he finds them worthy allies as they have all put Sonic in close life or death situations and all have beaten Eggman himself at least once. If they worked together, they would undoubtedly be able to take Sonic out without the need for more manpower.

But… why not copy Sonic himself after his capture? Eggman chooses to copy Metal Sonic so, with Sonic himself imprisoned, having Sonic’s speed and agility on Eggman’s side would be a valuable resource.

————

vvv Continuation + Close Ups/Textless Art vvv

————

Eggman told Infinite they should make copies of Sonic to torment the world they were conquering. Having their precious hero, or at least his likeness, working with Eggman would destroy their moral… Infinite proposed, instead, not only was it too soon to show their cards in Infinite’s full abilities, but that tormenting the world with their hero acting against them would be nothing compared to the psychological play of allowing the world to believe Infinite, a hand in the Eggman Empire, had taken him out for good. Letting a likeness of their hero wander around could work against them, influencing people to gain a “hope against all odds” approach.

While Eggman agreed, it wasn’t until after he had Infinite show him the Ruby could, in fact, make a copy of Sonic. Despite not wanting to, having the copy ended up working in Infinite’s favor. After commenting on the pest Sonic was, the Doctor agreed that, yes, looking at that hedgehog for too long was giving him a migraine; he didn’t want to imagine what having hundreds of him would do… Good. Because Infinite thought Sonic was too annoying to waste his power forging copies of him, anyway.

Infinite looked at the copy. He could appreciate the hedgehog’s indomitable spirit and his ability to ruin things. He could even acknowledge that, yes, he was enough to be the world’s hero.

Until now.

————

Five, closing in on six months after Sonic’s defeat, Tails found himself miles from his live-in workshop, the last one left after Eggman’s takeover. He managed to gather supplies before his home was invaded and made it out by his scruff on the Tornado, but she hadn’t gotten them out without taking severe damage. Still, she flew, and she landed, and Tails could start repairing her to the best of his ability. He didn’t need a plane since the sky had been put under lockdown, but the Tornado was Sonic’s. He’d hate for Sonic to find out he had wrecked the Tornado and done nothing to fix it.

While sorting out the damaged parts, Tails heard something scuff behind him… He tensed before he moved, much too caught up with the Tornado to remember he should defend himself first, worry later, when his eyes caught the source of the sound.

Impossible.

Tails didn’t think it was possible, but he tensed more at the sight of his brother, his big brother, the sight of Sonic walking idly past him. Something slipped past Tails’ lips, maybe it was supposed to be words, but he didn’t know which ones. His big brother stopped. And turned towards him…

————

Gotta cut myself off from my more story-writer way of telling this before I get carried away. Apologies! But, if I’m able to work on this more, maybe there will be a full scene in a full chapter in a full story for this? Perchance…

Shadow would appear and, before Tails could process it, would be fighting the copy down the street. Shadow’s been dealing with Phantom copies since day one of Eggman’s invasion, and he knows Sonic well enough to be able to spot a fake from anywhere.

Tails would, of course, chase after them, leaving behind the Tornado and all of his supplies. As far as he knows, it was Shadow who helped take Sonic down in the first place and he’s ready for answers as to why, and answers on how Sonic got back, and why they’re fighting again, and…! Well, a lot of answers!

By the time Tails gets there, Shadow would have already taken the copy down; it’s on the floor, lifeless, and starting to disappear. Tails would launch himself at Shadow, claws and teeth bared, kicking and scratching out of everything he’s thought and felt about Shadow for the last five months, but Shadow would easily subdue him. Tails is tired, and hungry, and most of all he’s devastated.

Once Tails is able to hear anything Shadow tries to tell him, he would tell Tails about the fact Eggman is generating copies. Shadow has a certain soft spot for Tails, especially in his current situation, so while the scene would be to get information about the Phantom Ruby to Tails, it would also serve to give him the comfort he needs, and closure that no, Shadow didn’t hurt Sonic and, no he’s also not looking for him but, if he hears anything, he’ll let the kid know.

————

I don’t know if I’ve said it, but I’ve got a biiiiig list of media I’ve rewritten entirely in my head for fun and that usually means I have the most barebones chapter layout for them and even some ‘first drafts’ for certain chapters; like this hypothetical chapter!

That’s it, really. I had fun talking about Forces and showing how I would do things! I tend to get carried away a lot when I’m writing about the things I like. I really didn’t plan to write this post out the way I did. Hopefully the difference between my presenting the concepts and writing them out for a more entertaining read of what I would do wasn’t too confusing.

[carmyberzattosjournal]

Entry 14: A Portrait of Exhaustion

Screenshot Credit: @neverscreens

Bearblr Promptober Day 14: Somnophilia (Sub: Sleeping)

Summary: Carmy can't sleep after his panic attack, but his girlfriend can't sleep alone. She's more convincing than he is.

Warnings: Swearing, mentioned panic attack (no active panic attack in this one), insomnia, sleepy bean fem reader who is a trauma surgeon, snuggling, Carmy comforting reader, she/her pronouns, fluff.

Notes: All journal entries will be titled as such and tagged with #cb journal.

This is a two-parter. The first part is here.

Reblogs appreciated. Thank you to @carmenberzattosgf for putting together this prompt list.

14 Oct 2024

How the shit was I supposed to sleep after a panic attack?

It came in fits and bursts. Reality frayed apart between my apartment in Chicago, Michelle’s place in New York, The Bear and, Empire. I became aware of Darling’s attempts to soothe me several times, and, not wanting to plague her with awful sleep after such a long shift—and incoming work the next day—I crawled out of bed. Shuffled to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face, to push away the roiling memories of that broiling fucking kitchen. I was in Chicago, dammit. Chicago, my apartment.

My own reflection looked more dead than alive.

I was pale as shit. Maybe even a little green. The shadows around and under my eyes were deeper, had a blue or purple tone to them, made the blue in my eyes look dull, like it’d been through the wash ten too many times. Fuck, my hair was a mess. It didn’t even look curly anymore, it just looked fried. What did Darling say at the pumpkin patch? Crispy? Yeah, it looked crispy, wiry, reminiscent of a frayed line of twine or fucking pork floss. Might not have felt like it, but I needed some fucking sleep.

To the couch, then.

Terrible idea with a bad back anyway, but even worse when the only thing asserting any presence of reality was Darling’s hand between my shoulder blades. My stomach turned over repeatedly as I failed to fall into unconsciousness. I was both too sweaty and too cold at the same time, there was this strange burning sensation on my chest—bit like a bee sting, kept rubbing at it through my tank top. I’d drifted off a thousand times on that same couch over the last year-ish, but this time, I couldn’t find any way to be comfortable. First, it was my back, then the edge of the couch cushion digging into the very top of my hip, then my shoulder felt crunched up, then the pillow put my neck at a weird angle. The bedroom door creaked.

“Carmy?” she said from the hallway.

Well, now I just felt like an asshole for waking her up.

“Couch,” I croaked.

“Come back to bed.” She whined it. She was frustrated.

I thought about how I would convince her to go back to sleep without me. I could say I was wired. It wasn’t false—sleep was so far away I’d need a fucking map and compass to find it—but then, she’d just try to soothe me. Fucking hell, I get that I’m a fucking disaster, but do you have to burn yourself out over me? For what purpose? I feel shitty enough as a human as-is, I don’t need a fucking caretaker running herself into the ground on top of it.

“Come back to bed; I’m freezing.”

In retrospect, I find it both funny and intensely frustrating how fast I leapt off the couch and skittered to her after she said that. I’m over here thinking about how I don’t need a fucking caretaker, yet my girl mumbles once that she’s cold, and I completely forget every-fucking-thing happening with me because I gotta go take care of her. I have to make sure she’s okay, because if I do that, then I don’t have to think about any of my problems.

I’m a fucking hypocrite.

“I’m sorry, baby girl. I’m coming.” I rounded the hallway to see her slumped against the bedroom doorframe, a portrait of exhaustion in every sense of the word. Her knees were knocked together, foot toe-down and pressed into the rug to stretch the muscles in front of her shin, her shoulders were hunched, her arms hung limp at her sides. Her hair was in her face—almost completely obscuring it—and her eyes were closed. She swayed on the spot, and I darted forward to catch her.

“Woah, woah, hey! Hey.” She half-righted herself, half-leaned into me, resting her forehead against the crook of my neck. Her nose was cold. “Shit, you really are freezing…”

“Fuckin’… landlords…” She reached for the bedroom door for some reason. I don’t know, instinct to close it or something. I swung it shut and set her down on the bed. Swept her hair out of her face.

“Sorry, I kept waking you up. I just-I just wanted you to get some good rest.”

“Yeah, well. You’re the space heater right now,” she pouted.

Something twisted in my stomach. Fucking landlords. “I’m sorry, baby girl.”

She scooted back in bed to make room for me, patted the pillow. “And it scares me when you disappear like that.”

Scared her?

I crawled into bed, tucked her head under my chin, hooked her leg over my hip so I could rub her shin. Her cold little nose pressed against my skin as she kissed my collarbone. I tucked her arms between us to help her warm back up. Gathered the blanket up around her tighter.

“This is so comfy,” she mumbled, tightening her leg around me.

I couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, it is.”

“No leaving again, please, sweetheart?”

I nodded. “Okay. Yeah, no leaving again. Why-why does it scare you when I go?”

She yawned again. “Sometimes, I have to remind myself that you’re real.”

Huh? “Wh-what do you mean?”

“I love you so much that you don’t feel real. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m going to wake up, and all of this will have been a dream.”

It must’ve been because I was still fried from freaking out—I don’t know. I can’t know. I won’t know. But whatever the reason, I asked, “Why do you love me?”

What kind of fucking question is that? Who asks that? And why would you ask that to someone whose mind is going numb from sheer fucking exhaustion? She should’ve told me to shut the fuck up and go to sleep, I’ll be honest, it’s what I fucking deserved. But no. No. She innocently delivered the kind of silent devastation that only words whispered into your skin when you’re seconds from shattering can. Her words didn’t hit me like a bullet to the heart, knife to the back, blow to the head, or a freight train, a semi, or a pickup truck. No, they sunk into my skin like a needle, only stinging for a fraction of a second before sleep mercy-killed me for the rest of the night. Left no marks the next day or the day after or the day after but had planted something deep in my soul that would fester, macerate, unearth gaping, open wounds in need of debridement and suturing. Darling didn’t know it yet—I didn’t know it yet—but she’d signed my death warrant with those words.

“What’s not to love?”

What’s not to love?

I change my mind about God. He does exist. And he’s a sadist.

[lunardragon00]

Pretty Woman

Choi San x Reader

A straitlaced CEO hires a spirited, streetwise prostitute to be his companion for a weeklong series of business events. But what begins as a job proposition takes a turn toward the romantic.

Warning: Prostitution // talk of past SA // angst // drug transactions // semi-smut // derogatory remarks // Physical confrontations // fighting

A/N: So this ended up being way longer than I anticipated, can't say I've written a 34k story before. But this is one of my favorite movies and I had a lot of fun writing out this story. I hope you guys enjoy!!

Choi San sat alone in the penthouse suite, his gaze fixed on the glass of whiskey in his hand. The room around him was pristine, every surface spotless, every piece of furniture carefully chosen for its clean lines and understated elegance. It was a reflection of his life—controlled, orderly, and completely under his command. But tonight, as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass, he felt an unease creeping in, a crack in the carefully constructed facade.

The day had been long, filled with meetings that stretched his patience thin. This latest merger was proving more complex than he'd anticipated, and the board members he needed to sway were proving to be tougher than expected. They weren't just interested in numbers; they wanted to see the man behind the empire, the one who could charm them as easily as he could close a deal.

But charm was never San's strength. His reputation in the business world was built on precision, not pleasantries. He was known for being direct, sometimes to the point of intimidation. It worked in the boardroom, but in social settings, it was a different story. These were circles where charisma often outweighed competence, and where the right companion could make all the difference.

He took a sip of his drink, the burn of the whiskey grounding him in the present. He hated this part—the games, the false smiles, the endless small talk. But he couldn't afford to let personal discomfort jeopardize the future of his company. Not now.

San placed the glass down and glanced at the portfolio on the table, filled with profiles of potential business partners and socialites he might have to charm over the coming week. He pushed it aside, a sense of restlessness growing within him. The walls of the suite felt like they were closing in, the quiet too suffocating.

Without another thought, he grabbed his keys and jacket, needing to escape the suffocating atmosphere of his own success. The penthouse, with its panoramic views and luxurious trappings, suddenly felt like a gilded cage. A drive—that's what he needed. Something to clear his mind, to escape the pressure, even if just for a little while.

The piercing sound of the alarm cut through the darkness, dragging Y/N from the fragile grasp of sleep. She groaned, reaching out to silence the shrill noise, but the weight of exhaustion clung to her like a heavy blanket. It was late—too late, by any normal standard—but this was her reality. Her work didn't start until the sun went down, and tonight, like so many others, she would have to push through the fatigue and face it head-on.

She sat up slowly, the dim light of the small apartment casting long shadows across the room. The space was modest, almost bare, with only the essentials to fill it. A single bed, a rickety table with two mismatched chairs, and a small kitchenette that had seen better days. The walls were thin, the paint peeling in places, and the constant hum of the city outside was a reminder of just how close the world was, yet how far out of reach it felt.

Y/N rubbed her eyes, trying to shake off the lingering sleep. The truth was, she was tired—tired of the late nights, the endless hustle, the constant worry about whether she could make rent this month. The bills were piling up, and the money she made barely stretched far enough to cover the essentials. The landlord had been patient so far, but she knew that wouldn't last. Sooner or later, the demands would come, and she'd be out on the street if she couldn't pay.

She hated this life. It wasn't what she had dreamed of, not by a long shot. But dreams didn't pay the bills, and right now, this was the only job she had. The streets were unforgiving, and while she had learned how to navigate them, the cost was steep—her dignity, her peace of mind, her sense of self-worth.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet touching the cold floor. The weight of reality settled heavily on her shoulders as she stood up, forcing herself to move, to get ready. There was no time for self-pity. She had to make it through another night, like all the nights before, and hope that somehow, things would get better.

In the bathroom, she caught her reflection in the cracked mirror. The woman staring back at her looked older than her years, the stress and strain etched into her features. She had learned how to paint on a smile, how to project confidence and allure, but it was all a mask. Beneath it, she was just trying to survive, one day at a time.

She sighed and turned away from the mirror, focusing instead on getting dressed. The clothes she wore for work were another layer of armor, a way to protect herself from the harshness of the world outside. But tonight, as she prepared to step back into that world, the weight of it all felt heavier than usual.

With a final glance around the apartment, Y/N grabbed her coat and headed for the door. The night awaited her, as it always did, with the promise of more struggles, more compromises. But she pushed the thoughts aside and forced herself to move forward. She had no other choice.

The night air was cool against her skin as Y/N stepped out onto the street, pulling her coat tighter around her. The city was alive with noise and movement, even at this hour, a mix of neon lights and shadows playing across the cracked pavement. She walked with purpose, her steps quick and determined, though the heaviness in her chest made each one feel like a struggle.

As she moved through the city, the sights and sounds of the underbelly surrounded her. She passed by an alley where two men huddled close, exchanging cash for small, wrapped packages. Their eyes darted nervously, their voices low and hurried. Further down the road, a couple of men were shouting at each other, the tension between them palpable as they squared off, fists clenched. She kept her distance, not wanting to get caught up in whatever was brewing.

Y/N had learned to navigate these streets, to keep her head down and her wits about her. She wasn't new to the dangers that lurked in the shadows, the unseen threats that could emerge at any moment. But that didn't make it any easier. Each night was a test of survival, a gamble she was forced to play.

The shouts and hollers of drunken revelers echoed across the road, mingling with the sounds of traffic and the occasional blare of a horn. Groups of men and women, some dressed in flashy clothes that reflected the city lights, others looking more worn down by life, wandered along the sidewalks. Y/N kept to herself, her eyes scanning the area, always aware of her surroundings.

She turned a corner and spotted a familiar face waiting for her beneath a flickering streetlamp. Seoyeon. Her friend's expression was a mix of impatience and irritation, a cigarette hanging loosely from her lips. Seoyeon's appearance was sharp and eye-catching, but her demeanor was far from friendly tonight.

"About time," Seoyeon snapped as Y/N approached, her tone sharp and dismissive. "I've been waiting forever. Did you forget we had a deal?"

Y/N forced a smile, trying to mask the frustration that bubbled beneath the surface. "I'm here now. What's going on?"

Seoyeon rolled her eyes, exhaling a cloud of smoke with a dramatic sigh. "I'm in trouble again. You know how it is—always something. I need you to cover me this time. Can't have another mess on my hands."

Y/N's jaw tightened, the familiar resentment flaring up. "Seriously, Seoyeon? Every time it's the same story. You get into trouble, and I'm the one who has to clean up your mess."

"Hey, don't get all high and mighty," Seoyeon retorted, her voice defensive. "I didn't ask for this, alright? But you're the only one who can help me out. Just this once, okay?"

Y/N clenched her fists, struggling to keep her temper in check. She cared about Seoyeon, had been dragged into this industry because of her, but it didn't make the constant reliance any easier to bear. "Fine. What do you need?"

Seoyeon's face softened slightly, though there was still a hint of manipulation in her eyes. "I owe some guys money. I was supposed to meet them earlier, but I messed up. Can you go and sort it out? I'll make it up to you, I promise."

Y/N sighed, rubbing her temples. "You always say that. When's the last time you actually followed through?"

Seoyeon's gaze shifted, a flicker of guilt passing over her features before she masked it with a smirk. "Look, I'm in a bind. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. You know I wouldn't."

The unspoken history between them—how Seoyeon had been the one to introduce Y/N to this world, how she had promised it would be a temporary solution—hung heavy in the air. Y/N had hoped for something better, but now, each promise felt like a broken record, spinning endlessly without resolution.

"Alright," Y/N said finally, her voice resigned. "I'll take care of it. But we need to talk about this. Soon."

Seoyeon nodded, her expression a mix of relief and annoyance. "Sure, sure. Thanks, Y/N. You're a lifesaver."

Y/N watched as Seoyeon turned and walked away, the cigarette still dangling from her fingers. She felt a pang of anger mixed with sympathy, a complicated cocktail of emotions that never seemed to resolve itself. 

The night had grown colder as Y/N walked through the winding streets to the rendezvous point, her breath visible in the crisp air. The alley was dimly lit, illuminated only by the flickering light of a broken streetlamp and the occasional passing car. She approached a group of men leaning against the graffiti-covered brick wall, their faces half-hidden in the shadows.

"Hey, guys," Y/N called out, trying to keep her voice steady. "I'm here about the money."

The men looked up, their expressions shifting from casual to curious as they recognized her. One of them, a taller man with a more approachable demeanor, smiled and pushed off the wall.

"Ah, Y/N. We've been expecting you," he said, his tone friendly. "Glad you could make it."

Y/N managed a relieved smile, stepping closer. "Yeah, sorry I'm late. Seoyeon was supposed to cover this, but she's in a bit of a mess. I can sort it out—just need one more night."

"Of course she is," the man said, his demeanor relaxed. "Well then, let's get this over with. We've got other matters to handle."

Y/N nodded, trying to remain calm. "I get that. Look, I don't have anything one me right now, but I'll have the cash for you tomorrow night, I swear."

The men exchanged glances, clearly unimpressed. "Look, Y/N, you're a sweet girl but tomorrow night? You think that's gonna cut it?" the burly man shot back, his voice edged with anger. "We need the money now."

"I understand," Y/N said, her voice growing more desperate. "Just give me one more night. I'll have it for you, I promise." The man's smile turned into a smirk. "Well, there's an easy solution. How about you spend the night with us, huh?" He gestured to himself and the main guy, a heavily tattooed man with a menacing presence. "For free. We'll call it even."

Y/N's blood ran cold. "No, I can't do that. I told you, I'll pay you back tomorrow. C'mon you know me, you know I'm good on my word."

The atmosphere turned hostile as the men's smiles vanished, replaced by harsh glares. The wiry man with the predatory look stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "You think you can just waltz in here and make promises? We're not in the mood for games."

Y/N took a step back, her pulse quickening. "I'm not trying to play games. I'm serious about paying you back. Just please—"

Before she could finish, the wiry man grabbed her arm roughly, pulling her toward Tony. "You're coming with us. We're not waiting another night."

Y/N struggled, trying to pull away, but their grip was firm. "Let go! Hey, this isn't right!"

The situation escalated quickly as the men began to surround her. The taller man's initial friendly demeanor had vanished, replaced by a predatory gleam in his eyes. The burly man moved in closer, clearly intent on making good on their threat.

Just as the situation seemed to reach a breaking point, a new figure appeared from the shadows—tall, well-dressed, and entirely out of place in the gritty alley. His presence commanded immediate attention. He moved with purpose, his demeanor confident and authoritative.

"Hey!" the newcomer called out sharply, his voice cutting through the tension. "Let her go."

The men turned to face him, surprise and irritation evident on their faces. The newcomer stepped forward, placing himself between Y/N and the group. His gaze was cold, his stance unyielding.

"Who the hell are you?" the wiry man demanded, his voice laced with hostility.

The well-dressed man didn't respond immediately. Instead, he gently but firmly placed a hand on Y/N's shoulder, guiding her away from the group. "We're leaving."

Y/N glanced at him, her eyes wide with a mix of relief and confusion. She followed his lead, her heart racing as they moved away from the men and into the safety of the streetlight's glow. Behind them, the group of men muttered angrily but made no move to follow.

Once they were at a safe distance, the well-dressed man stopped and turned to Y/N, his expression softening slightly. "Are you alright?"

Y/N nodded, though her voice was shaky. "Yeah, thanks to you. I didn't expect anyone to come along."

The man's gaze remained steady, his demeanor calm despite the tension of the moment. "You shouldn't have to deal with that kind of situation. Where do you live, let me give you a ride."

Y/N hesitated, the events of the night weighing heavily on her. She glanced back at the alley, then at the man, unsure of what to do next. "I don't want to impose..."

The man's look was firm yet kind. "It's not an imposition. You look like you've had a long night, just let me help."

With a grateful nod, Y/N followed him to his car, the warmth of the interior a stark contrast to the cold night air. As they drove away from the city's shadows, Y/N couldn't help but wonder about the man who had come to her aid.

The interior of the car was a world apart from the grimy streets Y/N had just escaped. The leather seats were plush and inviting, the dashboard gleaming with high-tech controls that she had only ever seen in movies. As they drove through the city, Y/N's gaze wandered around the cabin, her eyes wide with curiosity.

San's focus remained on the road, his hands gripping the steering wheel with practiced ease. Occasionally, he glanced at Y/N, amused by her fascination with the car.

"Is it far?" San asked, breaking the silence as he navigated through the night traffic.

Y/N snapped back to the present, momentarily disoriented by the question. "Oh, um, no, not too far. Just a few more turns up ahead."

She then turned her attention back to the interior of the car, her fingers lightly brushing the leather seat beside her. "I've never been in a car like this before. It's... wow. Everything is so sleek and shiny. The seats are so soft, and look at this dashboard! I don't even know what half these buttons do, but they look so cool."

San chuckled softly, his eyes still on the road. "Glad you like it."

Y/N nodded vigorously, her eyes sparkling. "I do! I mean, I've seen fancy cars in magazines and on TV, but this is different. It's like being inside a work of art. I bet you have a lot of these kinds of things, huh?"

San shook his head, still amused. "Not really. This is just one of the nicer ones I use."

Y/N's eyes widened. "Oh, so you have more cars like this? That's cool! You must really enjoy them."

San gave a noncommittal shrug. "I suppose you could say that."

Intrigued, Y/N leaned forward a bit, her curiosity piqued. "So, what do you do? I mean, you must be pretty important to have a car like this. Are you like, a businessman or something?"

San glanced at her briefly. "Something like that."

Y/N tilted her head, her curiosity getting the better of her. "You don't talk much about yourself, do you? It's like you're all mysterious and stuff. I bet you've got some fascinating stories."

San's lips curled into a slight smile. "Everyone has their stories."

Y/N's eyes sparkled with a mix of admiration and amusement. "You're like one of those enigmatic figures you read about in books. I bet you've had all sorts of adventures and high-stakes meetings. You probably have to deal with all sorts of dramatic stuff, huh?"

San's expression remained steady, but his eyes held a glint of amusement. Y/N laughed softly, her gaze drifting back to the sleek dashboard. "I can't help but imagine you're the type who has a secret lair or something, like in those spy movies. Is that why you're so good at keeping things vague?"

San chuckled, the sound low and pleasant. "Maybe I just prefer to keep things simple."

Y/N grinned, her mood lightened by the conversation. "Well, whatever your secrets are, I'm just grateful you were around tonight. It's not every day someone gets saved from a rough situation and ends up in a car like this."

"You always talk this much?" San asked, his tone teasing.

Y/N laughed, a genuine sound that carried a hint of relief. "Well, I do like to keep the conversation going. It's better than sitting in silence, don't you think?"

San raised an eyebrow, glancing over at her with a smirk. "I suppose so. But you do have a lot to say."

Y/N's eyes twinkled with mischief. "What can I say? I like to make the most out of any situation. And besides, it's not every day I get to ride in a car like this with a mysterious, enigmatic gentleman."

San chuckled, the sound warm and easy. "I'll take that as a compliment."

They shared a moment of comfortable silence as the cityscape glided past outside the windows. Y/N's mind raced with thoughts, her nerves settling into a curious excitement. She had never been in a situation like this before—driving through the city with a wealthy stranger who had come to her rescue. As the car continued its smooth journey, Y/N decided to seize the opportunity.

Turning towards San, she shifted her posture slightly, leaning in with a playful glint in her eyes. "You know," she began, her voice taking on a softer, more flirtatious tone, "it's really kind of you to help me out tonight. I'm sure a guy like you doesn't get to meet people like me very often."

San's eyes flickered with amusement, though he kept his focus on the road. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

Y/N's smile widened as she toyed with the hem of her jacket. "Well, I'm just saying, a man of your... caliber must have a lot of exciting things going on. And I'm pretty good at making a night memorable."

San's expression remained guarded, but there was a faint, intrigued glimmer in his eyes. "Is that so?"

Y/N leaned a little closer, her voice dropping to a more intimate pitch. "Absolutely. I mean, I could make this night unforgettable in more ways than one. I'm available for, let's say, special services. And considering how you're such a great guy, I'd be happy to give you a special rate."

San glanced at her with a raised eyebrow, his lips curling into a half-smile. "You're quite the charmer. But I think I'll have to pass on that offer."

Y/N chuckled softly, her cheeks tinged with a hint of embarrassment. "Just thought I'd ask. Can't blame a girl for trying, right?"

San's tone softened, his gaze returning to the road. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm not looking for anything like that. Just helping someone out."

Y/N nodded, a mix of relief and disappointment settling in. "Fair enough. Thanks again for the ride and for stepping in back there. It really meant a lot."

San's expression relaxed into a genuine smile. "No problem."

As the car continued its journey through the city, the atmosphere between them remained light and easy. Y/N felt a newfound sense of comfort in the company of her mysterious rescuer, and despite the night's earlier chaos, the drive had become a small, unexpected adventure of its own.

When they finally reached her apartment, Y/N turned to San with a grateful smile. "This is me. Thanks again for everything."

San nodded, his expression sincere. "Anytime. Take care."

With a final wave, Y/N stepped out of the car, her mind still buzzing with the events of the night. As she watched the sleek vehicle drive away, she couldn't help but feel a mix of gratitude and curiosity about the man who had come to her aid. 

San leaned back in his chair as the last of the meeting's participants filed out of the conference room. The air was thick with the residue of business discussions and deal-making, but the tension had eased. He rubbed his temples, feeling the weight of the upcoming week settle heavily on his shoulders.

Sung-Ho, his assistant, approached with a stack of files in hand. "Good meeting, sir. I've got the agenda for the week and a few other updates for you."

San nodded, accepting the files and flipping through them briefly. "Great, let's hear it."

As Sung-Ho outlined the key events and gatherings San would be attending, he made a subtle but pointed comment. "You know, San, with all these formal dinners and social gatherings coming up, it might be a good idea to find a date. You've been turning down every candidate I've sent your way."

San sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I've been busy. Besides, I don't see the need for a date."

Sung-Ho raised an eyebrow. "It's not just about having someone to accompany you. You need someone who can help you make the right impressions and navigate the social intricacies. Your presence alone won't be enough to charm the people you need to win over."

San leaned back in his chair, contemplating the week ahead. Formal dinners, high-profile events, and social gatherings—each one demanding a perfect blend of charm and sophistication. He knew Sung-Ho was right. His sharp intellect and business acumen were only part of the equation. The social finesse required to win over his targets was something he needed to address.

"I'll find someone," San said dismissively, waving off the concern. "I've got a few ideas."

Sung-Ho nodded, though his expression was one of mild frustration. "Alright, but don't wait too long. The events are just around the corner."

As Sung-Ho left the office to handle other tasks, San's thoughts drifted back to the girl he had encountered the previous night. Despite his best efforts to focus on the pressing business matters at hand, she lingered in his mind—a vivid memory of her wide-eyed curiosity and her desperate yet hopeful demeanor. The way she had spoken about his car, the brief but genuine connection they had shared—there was something about her that struck a chord.

San's gaze drifted to the window, his thoughts a whirl of the week's demands and the unexpected encounter. He found himself wondering if she might be the very person he needed. Not just for her charm, but for the unique spark she seemed to possess. A companion who could navigate the social scene with ease, who could stand by his side and play the perfect partner—she might just fit the bill.

San sat in his penthouse, a glass of whiskey resting in his hand. The room around him was vast and sleek, filled with an understated luxury that perfectly matched his quiet intensity. He swirled the amber liquid, his mind still racing with thoughts of the week ahead, and more importantly, of the girl who had occupied his thoughts all day. His phone buzzed on the table, breaking the silence.

San picked it up, already sensing what was coming.

"There's a guest waiting for you downstairs," the voice on the other end said smoothly.

San didn't need to ask who it was. "I'll be down shortly."

Hanging up, he stood and straightened his jacket, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips. The intrigue of it all had him moving with a certain energy, a curiosity that he rarely indulged. It wasn't every day that someone broke into his carefully calculated world, and the prospect of seeing her again—her wide-eyed wonder, her unabashed honesty—brought an unexpected thrill.

Descending to the lobby, the elevator's soft chime announced his arrival. The grand, marble-clad space of the hotel's entrance greeted him, bustling with guests coming and going, the soft hum of activity filling the air. His driver stood by the entrance, a tall figure dressed in black, as composed and professional as ever. But San's attention wasn't on him.

Near the towering glass doors, she stood, her figure slightly hunched with nervous energy. Her gaze darted around the opulent lobby, eyes wide and mesmerized by the splendor of it all—the chandeliers glittering above, the golden accents that adorned the room, the polished floors that gleamed beneath her feet. She seemed out of place but not in a way that detracted from her; if anything, she stood out even more vividly against the backdrop of wealth and luxury.

She wore a simple outfit, nothing flashy, but her nervous fidgeting gave away her uncertainty. Her fingers twisted the edge of her coat as she anxiously glanced around, trying not to seem overwhelmed.

San paused for a moment, watching her from a distance. Her wide-eyed fascination was endearing, and the vulnerability she carried with her was unlike anything he had seen in the circles he usually moved in. He almost found it amusing—how she couldn't stop gazing at the grandeur surrounding her, like a tourist stepping into a whole new world.

Finally, he stepped forward, his movements purposeful yet unhurried. As he approached, Y/N's gaze flicked towards him, and her eyes widened slightly when she recognized him. For a moment, she looked as if she didn't know what to say, her mouth opening slightly in surprise.

"Enjoying the view?" San asked, his voice calm but with a hint of amusement.

Y/N blinked, realizing she had been caught staring. A small, sheepish smile tugged at her lips. "Yeah... this place is incredible. I've never seen anything like it."

San offered her a brief smile. "It has its charms."

Y/N shifted on her feet, still unsure of how to handle the situation. She opened her mouth again, words tumbling out in a hurried string of sentences. "I, uh... I didn't know you were the one asking for me. Your driver... Jungwoo, right? Yeah, real good guy, super nice. He, uh, didn't say much, just kind of looked at me all serious-like. But you know, he did open the door for me, so that was nice. And this place... wow, it's like something out of a movie. Do you live here? Like, is this your everyday life?"

Her words came out fast, her nervous habit of talking when she was anxious taking over. She fidgeted with her coat, her fingers constantly moving, twisting the fabric as if seeking some sort of comfort. San observed her with a quiet amusement, noticing how her fidgeting seemed to mirror her thoughts—fast, unpredictable, a little scattered.

San found the habit unexpectedly charming. In his world of poised confidence and carefully chosen words, her raw nervousness was a rare thing. She was trying to navigate the moment, not with the smoothness of someone accustomed to such luxury, but with an open curiosity and honesty that made her stand out even more.

"I live here when I'm in town," he replied, his voice even and measured, doing little to hint at the thoughts running through his mind. "And yes, Jungwoo's a good man. Been with me for years."

Y/N nodded rapidly, her eyes flicking between him and the grand interior of the lobby. "That's nice. It's nice to have someone you can rely on, you know? I don't really have that kind of thing, but... anyway, this place is just... I mean, do you ever get used to it? Like, walking in here every day and not getting lost in all the marble and the chandeliers?"

San's lips twitched into a faint smile. "You'd be surprised how quickly it becomes normal."

Y/N laughed nervously, her fingers still twisting at the edges of her coat. "I bet. You probably don't even notice the fancy stuff anymore, huh? Meanwhile, I'm over here trying not to bust my ass on the shiny floors."

The words left her mouth before she even realized how loud she had spoken, and in that instant, an older couple walked past them, their heads turning sharply toward her. The woman gasped, her eyes widening in shock as though she'd just overheard something scandalous.

San caught the reaction out of the corner of his eye and tried his hardest to suppress the laugh bubbling up in his throat. His lips twitched as he glanced back at Y/N, who was blissfully unaware of the couple's disapproval.

"Did... did she just—?" the woman whispered loudly to her husband, her voice brimming with disbelief.

"Yes, I think she did," her husband replied, equally scandalized.

Y/N blinked, realizing something was off. She looked at San with wide eyes, and he nodded subtly toward the retreating couple. When she saw them, her face flushed red in embarrassment.

"Oh, no..." Y/N muttered, clearly mortified. "I didn't mean to—ugh, this is why I shouldn't talk so much."

San bit back a chuckle, raising a hand to his mouth as if clearing his throat. "Come on," he said smoothly, placing a gentle hand on the small of her back to guide her. "Before you scandalize anyone else."

Y/N couldn't help but let out a sheepish giggle as she hurried along beside him. "Right."

As they approached the entrance, Jungwoo was still standing dutifully by the door. He gave a respectful nod to both San and Y/N. "Good night, sir. Miss," he greeted.

"Good night, Jungwoo!" Y/N chimed back cheerfully, waving at him in a way that made San smile. The driver's stoic expression softened ever so slightly at her enthusiastic farewell.

San nodded at Jungwoo before ushering Y/N towards the elevators. She hadn't quite stopped fidgeting, still nervously twisting her coat in her fingers as they walked.

"Stop fidgeting," San said, his tone gentle but firm.

Y/N blinked up at him, momentarily surprised by the command. She opened her mouth to apologize, but instead, she found herself laughing. "Sorry! I didn't even realize I was doing it. It's like a nervous habit or something."

San smiled faintly, though his tone remained steady. "I noticed."

She grinned back at him as they entered the elevator. "You know, for a guy who doesn't talk much, you sure notice a lot."

The elevator doors slid shut, and the gentle hum of the machinery filled the silence. San glanced at her, his eyes flickering with quiet amusement. "I like to observe."

Y/N's grin widened. "So what do you observe about me, huh?"

San chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You talk too much."

Y/N gasped in mock offense, playfully nudging him with her elbow. "Hey! You saved me, remember? The least you could do is pretend you enjoy my rambling."

San's smile deepened, a warmth in his expression that hadn't been there before. "I don't mind it," he said, his voice softer now. "At least it keeps things interesting."

Y/N looked up at him, surprised by the admission, but before she could respond, the elevator dinged, signaling their arrival. She stepped out into the hallway, still buzzing with nervous energy, but now there was a touch of excitement in her eyes.

Y/N stepped out of the elevator, her footsteps light as they moved through the quiet hallway. Her nerves still hummed, but now there was a noticeable shift—an underlying excitement that had taken root. As they reached the end of the hallway, San led her toward a grand set of double doors, and with a slight twist of his wrist, he opened them to reveal the vast expanse of his penthouse.

The moment Y/N crossed the threshold, her eyes widened in disbelief. Her gaze swept across the enormous open living space, the floor-to-ceiling windows framing the city lights in the distance, the pristine furniture that looked like it had been plucked straight from a high-end design magazine, and the endless stretch of the space itself. The room seemed to go on forever, each corner revealing something more extravagant than the last.

"Holy shit!" Y/N blurted out, her voice echoing through the room before she could stop herself. "You could fit a whole school in this place!"

San turned to her, momentarily caught off guard by her outburst. His brows lifted slightly in surprise, though a hint of amusement lingered in his expression. He hadn't expected such an unfiltered reaction, but with Y/N, perhaps he should have known better by now.

He said nothing, simply watching her as she continued to take in the grandeur of the penthouse. There was something refreshing about her genuine amazement, so different from the poised reactions he was used to seeing from others.

Y/N, realizing her own words, glanced sheepishly at him. "Sorry, I... guess I got a little carried away. But seriously, this place is insane! Do you live here alone?"

San merely nodded, his hands casually slipping into his pockets. "Yes. It's quiet. I like it that way."

"Quiet?" Y/N repeated, her voice tinged with disbelief. "How could it not be quiet? You'd have to scream just to be heard on the other side of the room!"

San's lips twitched as if suppressing a smile. "That's not entirely true."

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. "Right. I'm guessing you don't throw a lot of parties in here, huh?"

"Not exactly," San replied, a rare touch of humor in his tone. He turned toward the sleek kitchen area, gesturing subtly. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Yeah, sure," Y/N answered, her eyes still roaming the expansive space in awe. "I'm guessing whatever you have in here is way fancier than the two-dollar wine I usually get."

As San moved toward the kitchen, Y/N continued to take in the penthouse, her wide-eyed curiosity unable to be contained. It wasn't just the sheer size of the place—it was everything about it. The sleek surfaces, the high-end appliances, the subtle but expensive décor. It was a far cry from anything she had ever experienced before.

San opened a cabinet, pulling out a bottle of wine and pouring two glasses. He handed one to Y/N, who took it with a small nod of thanks, still looking somewhat out of place in the lavish surroundings. She eyed the glass cautiously before taking a sip, pleasantly surprised by the smooth taste.

"So," she started, trying to sound casual despite the obvious confusion in her voice, "I still don't really get why I'm here." She glanced over at him, waiting for some sort of explanation. "I mean, I get the whole 'driver showing up' thing and all, but what's the deal? Why'd you bring me here?"

San leaned back against the counter, his expression unreadable as he regarded her. He was silent for a moment, as though considering his answer carefully. "I need a companion," he said at last, his voice steady. "For a few business events happening this week."

Y/N blinked, clearly not expecting that. "A companion?" she echoed, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Like... arm candy or something?"

San's lips quirked into a faint smile, but his eyes remained serious. "In a manner of speaking, yes. These events are important—networking opportunities, meetings with influential people. They require a certain... presence."

Y/N stared at him for a moment, trying to process what he was saying. "So, you're saying you want me to be that presence?" she asked, still somewhat incredulous. "Why me? I'm not exactly the type of girl who mingles with the high and mighty."

San shrugged, his calm demeanor unruffled by her questioning. "You stood out to me," he said simply. "There's something about you that's... different."

Y/N narrowed her eyes slightly, clearly unconvinced. "That's it? You just decided I'm 'different' and figured I'd make a good companion for your fancy events?"

San's smile deepened, but he didn't offer any further explanation. "It's more complicated than that," he said, deftly avoiding the heart of her question. "But I think you'll do just fine."

Y/N opened her mouth to press him further, but something in his gaze stopped her. He wasn't going to elaborate, and for now, it seemed like that was all she was going to get. With a sigh, she leaned back against the kitchen island, swirling her wine in her glass.

"Alright," she said, finally giving in. "I guess I'll roll with it. But don't expect me to suddenly become some glamorous socialite. That's not really my thing."

San's eyes twinkled with amusement. "I'm not asking you to change who you are. Just be yourself."

Y/N raised an eyebrow at that. "You sure about that? Because 'myself' tends to stick out like a sore thumb in places like this."

San met her gaze evenly. "That's precisely why I asked you."

Y/N let out a soft laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. "Alright Mister, but how's this gonna work? Do I have to blow you or something to get paid?"

San blinked, momentarily caught off guard by Y/N's bluntness. He hadn't expected her to be so direct, but then again, he was quickly learning that Y/N wasn't the type to shy away from uncomfortable topics. Still, he handled it with the same calm he always carried.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he set his glass down on the counter. "No," he replied smoothly, his voice steady. "That's not part of the deal."

Y/N looked at him skeptically, leaning against the kitchen island with her arms crossed. "So, you're telling me you just want me to hang out with you, look pretty at some fancy events, and that's it? No strings attached?"

San met her gaze, his expression unreadable. "That's exactly what I'm saying. I'm not asking for anything else from you. You're here for one reason: to be my companion at these events. Nothing more."

Y/N studied him for a moment, as if searching for any sign of deceit in his words. But his expression remained unwavering, his gaze steady. It was almost unsettling how calm and composed he was, like he'd thought this through a hundred times already.

She finally let out a breath, feeling some of her tension melt away. "Alright, then," she said, though there was still a hint of doubt in her voice. "If that's all you want, I guess I can handle that."

San's lips quirked up in the faintest hint of a smile. "Good," he said, pushing himself off the counter and picking up his glass again. "Tell me, how much do you guys usually make?"

Y/N shifted on her feet, her eyes drifting to the floor as she considered his question. It wasn't exactly something she liked talking about, but at this point, everything was already out in the open. She lifted her gaze back to San, her voice casual but tinged with a hint of bitterness. "I typically charge about a hundred an hour."

San nodded thoughtfully, swirling the liquid in his glass as if he were deep in contemplation. "A hundred an hour," he echoed, almost to himself. "Well, I think we can do better than that."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, taken aback by his matter-of-fact tone. "Better than that?" she repeated, unsure if he was being serious or if this was just some kind of joke.

San met her gaze directly. "You're not here for one night," he stated calmly. "This will be for the entire week. I'll pay you for your time, your presence, and your ability to keep up with what will likely be some of the most boring social events you've ever experienced. So... let's make it worth your while."

Y/N blinked, still trying to process what he was offering. "Wait, so how much are we talking about?"

San tilted his head slightly, his eyes calculating for a moment before he spoke. "Let's start with five thousand," he said evenly. "For the week."

Her eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. Five thousand? That was more money than she had ever seen in one place. "Five thousand," she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

San nodded, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "Do we have a deal?"

"Before I agree, I at least need to know who you are. I don't even know your name." San's gaze lingered on her for a moment, the intensity in his eyes softening slightly. He realized that amidst all their interactions, he had never properly introduced himself. It was a simple request, but her words reminded him of the strange nature of their encounter.

He set his glass down on the counter and turned to face her fully, extending a hand in a formal gesture. "You're right. I should have started with that." His voice held an air of professionalism, but there was an undertone of warmth that hadn't been there before.

"My name is San," he said, his eyes meeting hers. "Choi San."

Y/N glanced at his outstretched hand for a moment, before reaching out and shaking it, her grip firm but a little hesitant. "Y/N," she replied. "I guess you already knew that."

San smiled faintly. "Yes, but it's good to hear it from you."

She let out a small laugh, pulling her hand back. "Alright, Mr. Choi San. Now that we're formally acquainted, I'll give it a shot." Her expression turned a little more serious, though there was still a glimmer of curiosity in her eyes. "

Y/N's lips parted, her curiosity still bubbling up, but before she could say anything further, a sharp ring cut through the air. San glanced down at his phone, his expression shifting ever so slightly—businesslike and composed.

"Excuse me for a moment," he said, his tone polite but firm. "Make yourself comfortable."

Y/N watched him move to the side, the sudden shift in his demeanor catching her off guard. He walked away with purpose, phone in hand, already engaging in a low conversation. The warmth that had filled the space between them seemed to dissipate for a moment as his focus was pulled elsewhere.

Left standing there, Y/N took a deep breath and glanced around the penthouse again, trying to ease her nerves. She wasn't sure what she had expected, but things felt a bit... surreal. The walls seemed to close in slightly as the reality of the situation set in once again. She was in this world of luxury, where she didn't quite belong, yet here she was.

With a shrug, Y/N wandered over to the plush sofa, sitting down gingerly, feeling the soft fabric under her fingers. She glanced back at San, who was deep in conversation, pacing slightly by the large windows that overlooked the city. Something about him was still an enigma to her, his duality between warmth and aloofness keeping her on edge, but also intrigued.

Not knowing what else to do, she pulled her feet up onto the couch, allowing herself a moment of quiet as she took in the space around her. Her gaze drifted to the art on the walls, the polished furniture, the view beyond the windows. Despite her initial discomfort, there was something oddly calming about the environment.

Y/N exhaled, trying to relax, though she still couldn't shake the sense of wonder that lingered at the edges of her mind. San returned from his phone call, his demeanor relaxed but focused. He looked over at Y/N, who was still seated on the plush sofa, her eyes wandering around the opulent room.

"Have you eaten?" he asked, his tone casual.

Y/N shook her head, a faint hint of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. "No, not yet. I didn't have time before I came here."

San nodded, moving toward a nearby door that presumably led to the bathroom. "I'm going to take a quick shower. Feel free to order anything from room service if you're hungry. It's all on me."

Y/N's eyes widened slightly, her gaze shifting to the small menu card sitting on the coffee table. "Oh, thanks. I might just do that."

San paused, a half-smile tugging at his lips as he looked back at her. "Make yourself at home. I'll be out in a few."

With that, he slipped into the bathroom, the door closing behind him with a soft click. Y/N was left alone in the vast, elegant space, the soft hum of the city outside mingling with the gentle sounds of the penthouse.

She took a moment to herself, considering her options. The menu was extensive, and she felt a pang of hunger as she scanned the offerings. The idea of ordering a meal seemed almost like a luxury she wasn't quite used to, but it was a welcome change from her usual routine.

Deciding to take advantage of the opportunity, Y/N picked up the phone and dialed the number for room service. As she placed her order, she couldn't help but feel a mix of anticipation and nervousness about the evening ahead.

When she finished, she set the phone down and looked around again, feeling a strange sense of calm settle over her. The penthouse was quiet, and the luxurious surroundings made her feel both at ease and out of place. As she waited for the food, she found herself contemplating the unexpected turn her night had taken and the enigmatic man who had brought her here.

San had just settled into the living area of his penthouse, dressed casually in a short-sleeve shirt and baggy sweatpants. The change from his usual formal attire made him feel more relaxed, but his mind was still occupied with the details of the evening.

He was about to head to the door when the chime of the doorbell interrupted his thoughts. Just as he was about to get up, he heard the distinct sound of running feet and a cheerful shout of "I'll get it!"

Y/N appeared from the hallway, her hair damp and styled loosely, and wrapped in a plush robe that seemed to swallow her whole. The casual look was a stark contrast to her earlier appearance, but it was charming in its own way. San's gaze lingered on her as she hurried to answer the door.

The room service attendant, carrying a cart laden with a selection of dishes and a bottle of champagne, greeted Y/N with a professional nod. Y/N's face lit up with an enthusiastic smile, clearly excited about the meal.

"Hi there!" she said, her voice warm. "This looks amazing!"

San watched with mild amusement as Y/N chatted with the attendant, her robe slightly askew as she gestured towards the food. The attendant glanced around the luxurious penthouse with a hint of curiosity before focusing back on Y/N.

"Where would you like us to put the bottle of champagne?" the attendant asked.

Y/N looked over at San, who had taken a seat on the sofa, observing the scene with an appreciative smile. She raised an eyebrow playfully. "Uh, San, where would you like it?"

San met her gaze, his smile widening slightly. "Just set it on the table, please."

Y/N relayed the instructions to the attendant, who efficiently placed the bottle on the coffee table, then began arranging the food with practiced ease. As the attendant finished setting up, Y/N continued to chat amiably, her enthusiasm for the food evident in her animated expressions.

Once the attendant left, Y/N turned back to San, her face flushed slightly from the exertion. "Thanks," she said, her eyes sparkling with genuine appreciation. "I was starving."

San leaned back, watching her with a thoughtful expression. "You're welcome. I'm glad you're enjoying it."

Y/N moved to the sofa, dropping onto it with a sigh of relief. "I wasn't sure what to expect tonight, but this is definitely a nice surprise. I hope I'm not overstepping my welcome."

San shook his head, the corners of his mouth curving up. "Not at all. I'm glad you're comfortable."

Y/N's eyes lit up as she started to explore the food, her excitement palpable. "I'm definitely taking you up on that. This spread looks incredible!"

San watched her, his gaze lingering as he admired her natural charm and easygoing demeanor. In that moment, he felt a sense of contentment, realizing that having Y/N around was turning out to be a more pleasant experience than he had anticipated.

San's morning had been a whirlwind of back-to-back meetings and tense negotiations. As the hours dragged on, he found himself yearning for a brief respite, something to lift his spirits. In the midst of his busy day, a thought occurred to him—Y/N. He decided to check in on her, if only to break the monotony.

Leaving his office, he strolled over to the receptionist desk, where he picked up the phone and dialed the hotel room he knew Y/N was staying in. He leaned casually against the desk, a small smile playing at his lips as he awaited her response.

The phone rang a few times before Y/N answered, her voice coming through the receiver with a hint of casual nonchalance. "Hello?"

San decided to tease her a bit. "Never answer the phone for anyone."

Y/N scoffed softly. "Good Morning San, what do you want?"

San chuckled lightly, leaning back against the desk as he spoke. "Just checking in. How's your morning been so far?"

Y/N let out a relaxed sigh. "It's been pretty good, actually. I explored a bit and got used to the place. And you? Still drowning in meetings, I assume?"

San's expression softened. "You're not wrong. It's been one of those days. But hearing your voice is a nice change."

Y/N laughed lightly, a sound that lifted San's spirits even more. "Well, I'm glad I can be of service. So, what's up?"

"Just wanted to let you know that I left my card on the dining table," San said. "Feel free to use it for shopping today. We've got a formal dinner tonight, and I thought you might like to pick out something nice."

Y/N's voice brightened at the suggestion. "Wow, really? That's so thoughtful of you. Thanks, Mr. Choi."

San grinned. "Of course. Enjoy your shopping."

After hanging up, San's mood had notably improved. He felt lighter, more energized. As he returned to his office, he glanced at his receptionist, who was watching him with a hint of curiosity.

"I need you to call the hotel room again," San instructed, his tone light but purposeful.

The receptionist nodded, picking up the phone and beginning to dial. Just as the call was connecting, one of San's coworkers approached with a stack of documents.

"Mr. Choi, the meeting is about to start," the coworker said, glancing at his watch.

San held up a hand, his expression focused. "I'm in the middle of a very important call."

The coworker gave him a puzzled look but stepped away, leaving San to his call. The phone rang a few times before Y/N's voice came through again.

"Hello?" Y/N answered, sounding slightly amused.

San's tone took on a mock-serious edge. "I thought I said not to answer the phone anymore."

Y/N's laughter was evident in her response. "Well then stop calling me!"

San's smile widened at her playful retort. "Fair enough. Enjoy your day, Y/N."

"Thanks again," Y/N replied, her voice warm and genuine. "And don't worry, I'll make sure not to answer the phone again. Unless it's you, of course."

San chuckled, shaking his head as he ended the call. He turned back to his coworker, who was watching him with a raised eyebrow.

"Ready for the meeting?" San asked, the earlier tension in his demeanor replaced by a newfound sense of ease.

His coworker nodded, and together they headed toward the meeting room. Despite the busy day ahead, San felt a renewed sense of optimism, buoyed by the light-hearted interaction with Y/N.

Y/N hung up the phone, her face still lit up by the playful conversation she'd just had. As she moved away from the phone, her eyes fell on the dining table where San's card lay in plain sight. She approached it, her fingers grazing the elegant script embossed on the surface.

The card was sleek and simple—black with silver lettering. It had San's name and contact details neatly printed, along with a generous credit limit. Y/N couldn't help but admire the opulence of it all. She picked it up, turning it over in her hands as if it were a precious artifact.

Her thoughts drifted to San's earlier offer. She was both excited and a bit apprehensive about the shopping spree he had suggested. On one hand, it was an opportunity to dress up for the evening and perhaps blend in with the high society that seemed so foreign to her. On the other, it was a reminder of just how different her world was from his.

Determined to make the most of it, she decided to start her day with some retail therapy. Y/N quickly got dressed, opting for something comfortable yet stylish enough for a shopping trip. After a quick glance in the mirror to make sure she looked presentable, she grabbed her phone and the key card to the hotel suite before heading out.

The hotel's lobby, with its glittering chandeliers and polished floors, greeted her once again. This time, she was more composed, but the awe she felt was still evident in her wide eyes. As she walked toward the front desk, she noticed the hotel staff moving around with practiced efficiency. She couldn't help but smile at how everything seemed so perfectly orchestrated.

Y/N approached the concierge desk, where a young woman with a friendly smile awaited her. "Hi, I'm looking to pick up some recommendations for shopping. Could you help me with that?"

The concierge nodded enthusiastically. "Of course! We have some wonderful boutiques and high-end shops nearby. Would you prefer something more classic or trendy?"

Y/N's eyes twinkled with excitement. "Surprise me! I'm open to anything."

The concierge handed her a brochure with a list of recommended stores and pointed out a few key locations. "Here's a list of places you might enjoy. They're all within walking distance."

Y/N thanked her and headed out, clutching the brochure tightly. The day was shaping up to be an adventure, and she was eager to dive into the world of luxury shopping.

As she walked down the bustling streets, she marveled at the high-end shops and their elaborate window displays. Her mind buzzed with possibilities, imagining the various outfits she could choose for the evening.

She decided to start at the most luxurious boutique on the list, where the displays were an art form in themselves.  Y/N entered the boutique, the plush carpet underfoot and the faint scent of luxury surrounding her. The store was everything she had imagined: sleek, elegant, and filled with high-end garments that sparkled under the soft lighting. Her heart raced with excitement as she made her way past rows of designer dresses and tailored suits, each more exquisite than the last.

She was still in awe of the place, taking in the details—the rich fabrics, the intricate designs, the careful arrangement of accessories. Y/N felt like she was in a different world, one that was both mesmerizing and intimidating.

As she browsed through the racks, she couldn't help but notice the occasional sideways glance from the shop staff. Their subtle expressions ranged from puzzled to dismissive, and it was clear they weren't used to someone like her wandering through their pristine aisles.

Y/N tried to ignore the looks, focusing instead on the clothes and the thrill of trying on something new. She picked out a stunning dress—a deep, midnight blue number with delicate beading along the neckline. It felt like a perfect choice for the evening.

When she finally made her way to the fitting rooms, she had high hopes that this would be her chance to feel truly transformed. But when she emerged from the fitting room, feeling more confident in the dress, she realized she needed it in a different size.

With a hopeful smile, Y/N approached one of the sales associates—a tall, impeccably dressed woman who seemed to be in charge. She held up the dress and asked, "Excuse me, do you have this in a size smaller? I also noticed it didn't have the tag on it, could you tell me the price?"

The sales associate looked her up and down with a mixture of disdain and disinterest. "Oh, you probably won't be able to afford it," she said, her tone dripping with condescension. "Maybe you should try another shop further down the road."

Y/N's face flushed with embarrassment and hurt. She had hoped to find something beautiful for the evening, but instead, she was met with a judgment that stung deeply. She tried to muster a polite smile, but her spirit was already deflated.

"Thank you," Y/N said quietly, turning away from the associate. She felt her heart sink as she walked away, the weight of the encounter pulling her down. The boutique that had once seemed like a wonderland now felt like a cruel reminder of the gap between her world and this one.

The experience had shattered her earlier excitement. She left the store with a heavy heart, the brochure clutched in her hand now feeling like a burden. As she walked down the street, the luxury of the shops seemed to mock her, a world she felt she could never truly belong to.

Y/N strode through the luxurious lobby of the hotel, her pace quick and determined. The high ceilings and opulent decor only made her feel more out of place, but she was focused on reaching the elevator. The polished marble floor seemed to echo her footsteps, and she tried to ignore the lingering looks from the staff. Her mind was still spinning from the unpleasant encounter at the boutique, and she just wanted to get back to her room.

Seonghwa, the hotel manager, stood near the open door of his office, watching her with a keen eye. As Y/N approached, he moved with purpose, intercepting her with practiced ease.

"Excuse me, miss. May I help you?" Seonghwa's voice was smooth but firm, his gaze scrutinizing.

Y/N, her eyes fixed ahead, barely slowed her pace. "I'm going to my room," she said, her tone carrying a note of impatience.

"Uh, do you have a key?" Seonghwa asked, stepping closer.

Y/N halted, turning to face him with a sigh. "Oh. I forgot that cardboard thing. I'm on the top floor," she said, gesturing vaguely.

Seonghwa's brows knitted together. "You're a guest here?"

"I'm with a friend," Y/N replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

"And who would that be?"

Y/N hesitated for a moment. "San... oh, uh, Choi. Choi San."

Seonghwa's expression shifted to one of skepticism. "Mr. Choi?"

Y/N started to move toward the elevator again, but Seonghwa was quick to follow, placing a hand gently but firmly on her elbow. "Oh, God! What now? What? What?" she muttered, her frustration evident as she was guided away from the elevator.

Seonghwa's demeanor remained calm, but his tone was assertive. "No, no. It's all right. Just come with me. We'll have a little chat." He led her behind the reception desk and into his office, her shoulders slumping slightly as she followed.

The office was neatly arranged, with a green plant sitting in a metal pot by the window. The sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting soft patterns on the carpet. Seonghwa walked over to the plant and began watering it, his movements deliberate. "Uh, what is your name, miss?" he asked as he put the watering can aside.

"Y/N," she said quietly.

"Thank you. Y/N," Seonghwa replied, placing the pot down on the desk and taking a seat on the edge, facing her directly.

"Well, Miss Y/N," Seonghwa began, his tone softening but still authoritative. "Things that go on in other hotels don't happen here. Now, Mr. Choi is a very special customer, and we like to think of our special customers as friends. As a customer, we would expect Mr. Choi to sign in any additional guests. But as a friend, we're willing to overlook it. I'm assuming that you're a..." Seonghwa bent his head slightly, and Y/N mimicked the gesture, her voice barely above a whisper as she replied.

"Relative," she said, her voice tinged with shame.

"Mm-hmmm. I thought so. Then you must be his... cousin," Seonghwa continued, maintaining the same tone.

Y/N nodded, her gaze dropping as she felt the weight of the situation. "Yes," she confirmed.

"Of course. Naturally, when Mr. Choi leaves, I won't see you in this hotel again. I assume you have no other relatives here?"

Y/N shook her head, looking weary. "No, I don't."

"Good. Then we understand each other." Seonghwa's tone was more conciliatory now. "I would also encourage you... to dress a little more appropriately. That'll be all."

Y/N's frustration boiled over. She threw her hands up, her voice rising. "No, that's not all. That's what I was trying to do! I went out to get a dress today, and the women at the store wouldn't help me. And I have all this money now and no dress! Not that I expect you to help me, but I have to buy a dress for dinner tonight. And nobody will help me!"

Seonghwa's expression softened slightly. He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket, pulling out a white handkerchief. He handed it to Y/N with a small, sympathetic nod. "Here. Use this."

Y/N took the handkerchief, loudly blowing her nose in a mixture of relief and frustration. Seonghwa walked back to his desk and picked up the telephone.

"Oh, man, if you're calling the cops... You know what, yeah, call the cops. That's great. Tell 'em I said hi," Y/N muttered, still miffed.

Seonghwa didn't seem fazed. "Women's clothing," he said into the phone, his voice calm and authoritative. "Hongjoong, please."

Y/N glanced up, a mix of surprise and hope in her eyes. "Hongjoong?"

Seonghwa continued speaking into the phone, detailing Y/N's situation. "Yes, Hongjoong. Hello. This is Park Seonghwa here at the hotel..... Well, thank you. Yes, but I'd like you to do a favor for me, please. I'm sending someone over. Her name is Y/N. She's a special guest. She's the cousin of a very special guest."

As Seonghwa ended the call, he looked at Y/N with a reassuring smile. "You'll have someone to help you find a dress shortly."

Y/N nodded, feeling a mixture of relief and lingering anxiety. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."

Seonghwa gave a nod of acknowledgment. "You're welcome. And try to stay calm. We'll get this sorted out."

With that, Y/N left the office, feeling a bit more hopeful. She headed back to the lobby, ready to wait for Hongjoong and hopeful that the day would end on a positive note after all.

Later in the day, the luxurious ambiance of the hotel lobby buzzed with activity. The sun was casting a warm, golden glow through the high windows. Y/N, now feeling a bit more refreshed and composed, settled into one of the plush armchairs by the reception area. The comforting hum of the lobby's ambiance was a stark contrast to her earlier frustration.

Her phone buzzed with an incoming call, and Y/N saw it was from San. She took a deep breath, trying to push aside the remnants of her earlier worries. She answered with a cheerful, if slightly forced, tone.

"Hello?"

"Y/N," San's voice came through, smooth and warm. "How's the shopping going? Did you find a dress?"

Y/N hesitated for a moment, memories of the boutique's cold reception still fresh. But she decided to keep her frustration to herself, not wanting to dampen the mood. "Oh, actually, yes! I found a really nice dress. It's perfect."

"Really?" San's voice held a note of genuine interest. "I'm glad to hear that. I was worried you might have trouble finding something."

Y/N smiled, relieved to have diverted the conversation from her earlier difficulties. "No trouble at all. I think you'll like it."

"Excellent," San said with satisfaction. "I'll come by to pick you up around six o'clock then. Be ready by then, alright?"

"Got it," Y/N replied, her spirits lifting at the prospect of spending the evening with San. "I'll be ready."

"Great. See you soon," San said before ending the call.

Y/N set her phone down and leaned back in the chair, allowing herself a moment of relaxation. The brief conversation with San had lifted her spirits, and she felt a renewed sense of excitement for the evening ahead. The day's earlier frustrations began to fade, replaced by anticipation for the night's events.

As she prepared for her evening out, she felt a mix of nerves and excitement. The luxury of the dress and the promise of a pleasant evening with San were the highlights of her day. With a final glance at the clock, Y/N began to get ready, determined to make the most of the evening.

San strode into the opulent hotel lobby, his sharp suit slightly rumpled from a meeting that had run longer than anticipated. The grandeur of the space seemed to dim slightly as his gaze swept across the seating area, searching for Y/N. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he was about to pull it out to call Y/N when he felt a light tap on his shoulder. He turned, half-expecting to see a hotel staff member, but instead was greeted by Y/N's familiar voice.

"You're late," she said with a playful lilt.

San's eyes widened slightly as he took in the sight of her. She looked stunning, the dress she had chosen clinging to her figure in all the right ways, the deep color contrasting beautifully with her skin. Her hair was styled simply but elegantly, and her makeup accentuated her features without overwhelming them.

He managed a smile, momentarily caught off guard by her appearance. "I'm sorry about that. The meeting ran over. You look fantastic."

Y/N beamed at the compliment, her eyes sparkling with a mix of relief and excitement. "Thanks. I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me."

San chuckled softly. "I wouldn't forget. I was just held up longer than I expected. But now that I'm here, let's get going."

Y/N nodded, and San extended his arm towards her in a gentlemanly gesture. She took it with a smile, and they began to make their way towards the exit. As they walked through the lobby, San glanced over at her, his curiosity piqued.

"So," he said, "how did the rest of your day go? You seemed a bit frazzled earlier."

Y/N gave a small shrug, trying to play down her earlier frustration. "It was... a bit of a rollercoaster. But I'm just glad we're finally heading out."

San nodded in understanding. "Well, I'm glad you found a dress you're happy with."

They continued towards the hotel's grand entrance, the crisp evening air welcoming them as they stepped outside. San guided Y/N to the sleek car waiting by the curb, the driver already standing by with the door open.

As they settled into the car, the interior's luxury cocooned them, offering a momentary escape from the day's earlier stresses. San turned his attention to Y/N, his expression relaxed and attentive.

"So," he said, his tone lighter, "any particular plans or places you've been dying to visit?"

Y/N looked out the window, the city lights reflecting in her eyes. "Not really. I'm just excited to enjoy the evening and see where the night takes us."

San smiled, feeling a sense of anticipation himself. "Sounds perfect."

With that, the car pulled away from the hotel, carrying them towards the evening's destination, the promise of an enjoyable night ahead hanging in the air.

The sleek car came to a smooth stop in front of a luxurious restaurant, its grandeur evident in the elegant façade and the soft glow of ambient lighting that cascaded over the entrance. San stepped out first, holding the door open for Y/N, who followed with a graceful step onto the polished stone path leading up to the restaurant.

San adjusted his suit jacket and offered a reassuring smile. "Alright, here's the rundown for tonight. We're meeting with Min Yoongi, a potential business partner. He's quite the tough nut to crack—very discerning and reserved. The dinner is crucial for our negotiations, and I need you to help me make a positive impression."

Y/N nodded, her eyes scanning the impressive exterior of the restaurant. "Got it. What exactly do you need me to do?"

San glanced around, ensuring their arrival hadn't drawn undue attention. "I need you to help keep the atmosphere lively and engaging. Yoongi can be a bit standoffish, so it's important to create an environment where he feels comfortable and willing to open up. Be yourself, and don't hesitate to bring some energy to the table."

Y/N grinned, feeling a surge of confidence. "Sounds like a plan. I'll do my best."

San led her towards the entrance, where a well-dressed host greeted them with a warm smile. After a brief exchange, they led them inside, past the bustling dining area filled with clinking glasses and murmurs of conversation. The restaurant exuded sophistication, with its rich, dark wood paneling and soft, ambient lighting casting a warm glow over the tables.

They arrived at a semi-private dining area, set apart from the main floor by a discreet partition adorned with lush greenery. At the table, Min Yoongi was already seated, his posture relaxed but his expression carefully neutral. He looked up as San and Y/N approached, his gaze flicking over Y/N with a hint of curiosity.

San offered a friendly smile and extended a hand. "Yoongi, it's good to see you. This is Y/N, a good friend of mine. Y/N, this is Min Yoongi."

Yoongi shook San's hand first, then turned his attention to Y/N, offering a polite nod. "Nice to meet you, Y/N."

Y/N smiled warmly, her demeanor friendly yet poised. "It's a pleasure, Mr. Min. I've heard great things about you."

Yoongi inclined his head slightly, his eyes lingering on Y/N for a moment before he glanced at San. "Thank you. I'm looking forward to the evening."

San gestured for Y/N to take the seat next to Yoongi, while he settled into his own chair. The dinner began with light conversation, the initial exchanges polite but somewhat formal. As the evening progressed, Y/N made an effort to weave into the conversation, her lively energy providing a welcome contrast to the otherwise reserved atmosphere.

She spoke with enthusiasm about various topics, from recent trends to intriguing anecdotes, her genuine interest and charisma slowly drawing Yoongi out of his shell. San watched with a mixture of relief and satisfaction as Yoongi's demeanor began to shift, his responses becoming more engaged and animated.

By the time the main course was served, the conversation had become more relaxed and engaging, with Yoongi participating more openly. San occasionally exchanged knowing glances with Y/N, appreciating her ability to bring a sense of warmth and approachability to the table.

As the evening continued, the atmosphere at the table became more congenial. San felt a sense of optimism about the potential outcomes of the meeting, grateful for Y/N's invaluable contribution to the evening's success.

As they arrived back at the penthouse, the atmosphere was noticeably lighter, the evening's successful negotiation casting a glow over both San and Y/N. The luxurious elevator ride to the top floor seemed to pass in moments, San's mood visibly buoyed by the evening's success.

Stepping into the penthouse, Y/N kicked off her shoes and shook off the last of the evening's formalities. The expansive space felt even more welcoming in the soft light of the late hour, the grandeur of the earlier day now settling into a cozy elegance.

San moved with a renewed sense of ease, his earlier intensity replaced by a relaxed confidence. He made a beeline for the living area and pulled out his phone, quickly placing an order for a bottle of champagne. The sound of his voice, usually so authoritative, now carried a hint of elation.

Y/N watched him with a laugh, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Look at you, grinning like a Cheshire cat. You must be pretty pleased with how the night went."

San chuckled, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "You have no idea. That went better than I could've hoped for. Yoongi was actually quite receptive, thanks to your help."

Y/N's laughter was light and infectious. "I'm just glad I could help. I'll admit, I was a bit nervous at first, but it turned out to be fun. And it looks like you're enjoying the victory!"

San waved a hand dismissively, though his smile didn't waver. "It's not every day you have a successful business dinner. Plus, you were fantastic tonight. Couldn't have done it without you."

As he placed the phone back into his pocket, he caught Y/N's eye and winked. "Now, let's celebrate a little. How does champagne sound?"

Y/N grinned, her earlier fatigue forgotten in the warmth of the evening's success. "Champagne sounds perfect."

San poured two flutes, the bubbles rising swiftly to the top. He handed one to Y/N, raising his glass in a toast. "To a successful evening and to great company."

Y/N clinked her glass against his, her smile broad and genuine. "Cheers to that."

They settled into the plush seating area, the clinking of their glasses and the faint pop of the champagne adding a celebratory note to the room. The ambiance of the penthouse, paired with the relief of a successful negotiation, created a moment of relaxed luxury.

San settled comfortably beside Y/N, the earlier tension of the night melting away. As he sipped from his glass, his gaze softened, his eyes never leaving hers. "I really have to thank you again, Y/N. You were absolutely incredible tonight."

Y/N's cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment, but she couldn't suppress the pleased smile that curved her lips. "Thank you, San. I'm glad I could help."

San leaned in a bit, his voice warm and genuine. "No, seriously. You were amazing. Not only did you look stunning tonight—" he glanced at her with admiration, "—but you also handled the whole situation with such grace. I was genuinely impressed by how effortlessly you adapted. It made a world of difference."

Y/N laughed softly, a hint of modesty in her tone. "Well, I had a great teacher. You made it easy to feel at ease."

San shook his head, still smiling. "It's not just that. You were a natural. The way you engaged with everyone, how you kept the atmosphere lively—it was like you were born for it. And that dress was perfect."

Her heart fluttered at his words, and she looked down, toying with the rim of her glass. "You're making me blush. But I really did enjoy the evening. It was something different."

San's gaze softened further, his eyes reflecting the genuine appreciation he felt. "Well, I'm glad you did. And you know, you don't have to do this just for tonight. If you ever want to join me for any future events—or just for a good conversation—I'd be more than happy to have you around."

Y/N met his gaze, a warm smile spreading across her face. "I'd like that. Thank you for the offer."

As they continued to chat, the conversation flowed effortlessly, the champagne enhancing the ease between them. San's compliments and Y/N's laughter filled the room, creating an intimate and enjoyable end to their evening. The luxurious surroundings seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the two of them and their shared sense of connection and accomplishment.

San and Y/N continued to bask in the afterglow of their successful evening, their conversation a blend of easy laughter and heartfelt compliments. As the champagne glasses were emptied and the conversation began to lull, a comfortable silence settled over them.

San leaned back, his gaze fixed on Y/N with a soft, appreciative smile. "You know," he said, his tone taking on a more intimate quality, "tonight wouldn't have been the same without you." 

Y/N's eyes met his, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to fade away. She felt a flutter in her chest, a mix of warmth and anticipation. "I'm glad I could be a part of it," she replied, her voice just above a whisper.

An idea sparked in her mind, and a playful yet determined glint appeared in her eyes. "Actually, I have an idea," she said, her tone light but tinged with purpose.

San raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? And what might that be?"

Without waiting for a response, Y/N shifted closer and straddled his lap, her movements confident but tender. She settled herself comfortably, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders. "You've done so many nice things for me tonight," she said, her voice soft but firm. "And I want to pay you back."

San's smile widened, his hands instinctively finding her waist to steady her. "You don't have to do anything, Y/N. What you did for me at dinner was more than enough."

Y/N shook her head, her gaze steady and sincere. "It's not about your business, San. It's about what I want to do for you."

There was a moment of stillness between them, charged with unspoken emotions. Y/N's heart raced as she leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his. The kiss was gentle at first, exploratory, but quickly deepened as she pressed closer, her hands finding their way to the back of his neck.

San responded with a warmth that matched the intensity of her kiss, his hands moving to cup her face as he pulled her gently against him. The kiss became a dance of emotions, each movement a reflection of the connection they had forged throughout the evening.

When they finally pulled away, their foreheads rested against each other's, their breaths mingling in the quiet space between them. Y/N's eyes fluttered open to meet his, a shy smile playing on her lips. "I've been wanting to do that," she said softly, her voice filled with a mix of vulnerability and contentment.

San's smile was tender, his eyes filled with affection. "I'm glad you did," he said, his thumb gently brushing her cheek. 

They lingered in the moment, savoring the closeness and the warmth between them. The world outside seemed distant, their focus solely on each other. The silence was comfortable, filled with unspoken promises and shared emotions.

After a few moments, San's eyes sparkled with a playful glint. He broke the silence with a cheeky comment. "You know... I did do a lot of nice things for you recently. I think I'm going to need more payment."

Y/N's laughter bubbled up, a bright and genuine sound that warmed the room. "Oh, really? Is that so?"

San's smile widened, his gaze playful yet sincere. "Definitely. I think you owe me a bit more."

Without missing a beat, Y/N leaned in again, her lips meeting his in another kiss. This time, it was more intense, charged with a deeper passion. Her hands slid up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, while San's arms wrapped around her, drawing her firmly against him.

The kiss was a mingling of heat and tenderness, their movements synchronizing with an unspoken rhythm. San's lips moved against hers with a fervent urgency, as if savoring every moment, every touch. Y/N's response was equally fervent, her body pressing into his, their breaths quickening.

The intensity of the kiss grew, becoming a dance of passion and desire. Their movements became more insistent, more eager. The space between them seemed to shrink until it was almost non-existent, each touch and caress deepening the connection they felt. The room around them faded, leaving just the two of them lost in their shared moment.

Y/N woke up to the soft caress of morning light filtering through the curtains, casting a gentle glow across the room. Her eyes fluttered open, slowly adjusting to the new day. She shifted slightly, becoming acutely aware of the warmth and weight of San's arm wrapped securely around her waist. His legs were intertwined with hers, creating a cocoon of shared warmth.

The sensation of his steady breathing against her neck sent a delightful shiver down her spine, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest both comforting and intimate. As she turned her head slightly to face him, the early sunlight kissed his face, highlighting the relaxed features softened in slumber. His hair fell across his forehead, a few stray strands brushing against his brow.

Y/N couldn't help but smile, her heart swelling with affection. She carefully reached up and tenderly swept the hair away from his face, her fingers grazing his skin in the process. "He sleeps," she whispered softly, her voice a tender murmur meant only for him.

San's breathing was deep and even, his expression serene. The way the morning sun highlighted his features made him look almost ethereal, a calm and perfect moment encapsulated in the quiet of the morning.

Y/N savored this tranquil moment, a gentle contentment filling her as she lay there, wrapped in the comfort of both the morning and San's embrace.

San's phone buzzed insistently on the bedside table, breaking the serene silence of the early morning. The vibration seemed almost intrusive against the peaceful cocoon of warmth and closeness Y/N had found herself enveloped in.

San's eyelids fluttered open, his peaceful expression shifting to one of groggy realization as the ringtone grew more persistent. He stirred, his arm gently slipping away from Y/N's waist as he reached for the offending phone.

"Mmm..." he murmured, his voice rough with sleep as he fumbled for the device. The sunlight continued to bathe the room in a golden glow, adding a soft halo effect to his tousled hair and sleepy eyes.

Y/N, feeling the shift in the atmosphere, tried to ease herself back into a comfortable position. She turned onto her side, attempting to find solace in the residual warmth San had left behind.

San finally managed to answer the call, his voice still heavy with sleep. "Hello?" he said, his tone a mix of irritation and drowsiness.

The conversation on the other end was muffled and distant to Y/N, but it was clear from San's responses that it was work-related. He mumbled a few affirmations, his focus clearly shifting away from the intimate moment they had shared.

Realizing that San was now fully awake and engaged in business, Y/N sat up slowly, pulling the sheets around her. She glanced over at him, her expression a mix of amusement and reluctance to leave the comfort of their shared space.

San ended the call and placed the phone back on the table with a sigh, his eyes meeting Y/N's with a sheepish grin. "Sorry about that," he said, rubbing his eyes. "Work never seems to respect personal time."

Y/N smiled softly, her heart warmed by his disheveled charm. "It's alright," she said, her voice gentle. "I was just enjoying the morning."

San's gaze lingered on her with a tender affection. He shifted closer, the warmth of his body inviting. "I hate mornings," he murmured, his tone almost wistful as he wrapped his arms around her once more.

Y/N snuggled back into his embrace, savoring the intimacy of the moment. The bed seemed to cocoon them in a world apart from the outside. San's arms felt secure around her, and his soft breaths against her neck added a soothing rhythm to the quiet morning.

He tilted her face gently towards him, his eyes searching hers with a soft intensity. Without a word, he leaned in, capturing her lips in a slow, lingering kiss. The contact was tender at first, but it deepened as the moment stretched, each kiss a silent testament to their shared affection and the newness of their closeness.

Y/N closed her eyes, losing herself in the sensation, her fingers resting lightly on San's chest. The kiss was a blend of warmth and promise, a shared heartbeat in the quiet of the morning.

Eventually, with a gentle push, Y/N broke the kiss, her eyes meeting his with a playful glint. "Don't you need to get ready for work?" she asked, her voice a mix of teasing and genuine concern.

San's smile was soft and relaxed. "I don't need to go in until later," he said, his tone almost as if he were reluctant to leave their cozy bubble. "I'd much rather spend this time with you."

Y/N chuckled, her heart swelling with affection. "Well, in that case, I suppose I can stay a little longer," she said, settling back into his embrace. 

As they lay together, San's fingers gently caressed Y/N's skin, his lips planting soft, lingering kisses on her neck. His touch was soothing, and the intimacy of the moment deepened with each affectionate gesture.

"Tomorrow should be fun," San murmured against her skin. "Yoongi's invited us to this horse racing event. We'll need to dress up a bit more, though. You might need to go shopping again."

Y/N's mood shifted slightly as she recalled her last shopping experience. "Oh, really? The last time I went out, they were quite rude to me."

San's fingers paused in their gentle exploration, his expression turning serious. He pulled back slightly to look at her, his eyes searching hers. "They what?"

Y/N met his gaze, sensing the sudden tension. "Yeah, they treated me like I didn't belong there. I just don't wanna deal with that again."

San's expression hardened, a flicker of anger crossing his face. "That's unacceptable," he said firmly. "No one should ever make you feel like that. Why didn't you tell me?"

Y/N's eyes softened at his protective tone, touched by his concern. "I just didn't want to make a big deal out of it."

San shook his head, his expression softening but still resolute. "No, it's not okay. I'll take care of it. You deserve to be treated with respect, no matter where you go."

He leaned in and pressed a comforting kiss to her forehead. "We'll find a better place for shopping, and I'll make sure of it." Y/N nodded, feeling reassured by his support. She nestled back into his arms, grateful for his understanding. 

"San, maybe we should just go back home. Really, it wasn't a big deal," Y/N said softly as they walked up to the entrance of the upscale boutique. Her hand rested lightly on his arm, trying to downplay the discomfort that lingered from her last shopping trip.

San glanced at her, his brows knitting together slightly. "No," he replied firmly but with a gentle tone. "You deserve to feel good when you shop, and you deserve to be treated right." He placed his hand over hers reassuringly. Y/N exhaled softly and nodded. She appreciated how San always seemed to know what to say to comfort her. Together, they stepped through the door of the boutique.

Immediately, several of the store's employees took notice of San. Their eyes widened with recognition, and within moments, a few of them rushed forward with welcoming smiles, eager to assist. "Mr. Choi! What a pleasure to have you here. How can we assist you today?" one of the women chirped, practically fawning over him.

San smiled politely but quickly redirected their attention. "Thank you, but we're shopping for her actually. You see, she's very important to me, and she needs a few outfits for the week. I'd appreciate it if you could give her the attention she deserves."

The employees' gazes shifted to Y/N, their demeanor subtly adjusting. The sudden shift in attitude was obvious, and Y/N couldn't help but feel a bit awkward under their scrutiny. But with San beside her, she stood a little taller, finding comfort in his presence.

"Of course," the woman said, smiling warmly at Y/N now. "We'll make sure you find something perfect. Here, take a seat and we'll pull some pieces for you."

San gave Y/N an encouraging nod, his hand lightly squeezing hers. "Take your time," he said softly. "Anything you need, we'll make sure you have it."

Y/N smiled up at him, her heart fluttering with gratitude. "Thank you," she whispered before turning her attention to the store, feeling a renewed sense of confidence. This time, things would be different, and it was all because of San.

As Y/N sifted through racks of elegant clothing, the employees diligently pulled out dresses, blouses, and skirts, eager to present her with the best of what they had to offer. They were attentive and eager to please, showing her pieces of every style and color. Y/N, though trying to focus, couldn't help but occasionally glance toward San.

He stood a little further back in the store, his phone glued to his ear as he juggled work calls and glanced over documents he'd brought with him. Despite his distraction, every few minutes, he'd look up, meeting Y/N's gaze as she tried on different outfits. When she caught his eye, she'd gesture towards the clothing with a subtle motion, silently asking his opinion.

Some outfits earned a simple shake of his head, others got a nod of approval. A few earned a raised eyebrow, and occasionally, a hint of a smile tugged at his lips as their silent communication flowed seamlessly. Y/N felt a warmth in her chest whenever their eyes connected, a quiet reassurance in the midst of the boutique's bustling energy.

The boutique's manager, clearly aware of San's presence and status, made several attempts to approach him. Each time she sidled up to him with offers of coffee, praise for his taste, and promises of exclusive deals, she seemed more focused on impressing him than helping Y/N.

After the third or fourth attempt, San, now slightly irritated, put down his phone mid-call. His gaze, though composed, was sharp as he looked at the manager. "It's her whose ass you need to kiss, not mine," he said plainly, nodding toward Y/N, who was engrossed in the selection in front of her.

The manager blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting the blunt comment, but quickly composed herself, offering a flustered but polite smile before scurrying back toward Y/N with renewed enthusiasm.

San picked up his phone again, his expression softening as he watched Y/N for a moment longer before returning to his business matters. As San scrolled through yet another email on his phone, his screen lit up with an incoming call from Sung-Ho, his assistant. He sighed and answered, already suspecting what the conversation would be about.

"San," Sung-Ho's voice came through, direct as always. "I hate to interrupt, but you're needed at the office before we can officially wrap up for the day. There's been a minor complication with the new acquisition deal."

San pinched the bridge of his nose, glancing over at Y/N, who was now trying on a deep emerald gown that perfectly accentuated her figure. He could tell from the way she admired herself in the mirror that she liked this one. She caught his eye again, gesturing for his opinion. He smiled, giving her an appreciative nod before turning back to the phone.

"Alright, I'll be there soon," San replied, trying to keep his tone calm, though there was a flicker of frustration. He ended the call and slipped his phone into his pocket before walking over to where Y/N stood, still examining herself in the gown. He reached out and gently touched her arm to get her attention.

"Hey," San said softly, giving her a small smile. "I need to head to the office for a bit. Something came up, but I'll pick you up in a little while, okay?"

Y/N turned to face him, her expression shifting from surprise to understanding. "Oh, okay," she replied, a hint of disappointment in her tone, though she quickly masked it with a smile.

San reached into his jacket and pulled out his sleek black card, handing it to her. "Here," he said, "take your time and pick whatever you want. Don't hold back, alright? And if you need anything at all—anything—just let them know. I've already made it clear that they should take care of you."

Y/N took the card from his hand, feeling the weight of it between her fingers. She looked up at him, warmth in her eyes. "Thank you," she said, her voice soft but sincere.

San turned to the manager, his expression shifting back to serious business. "Make sure she gets everything she wants," he instructed firmly, "and I mean everything."

The manager nodded eagerly, clearly flustered and eager to please. "Of course, Mr. Choi. We'll take excellent care of her."

San shot one last affectionate glance at Y/N before heading toward the exit. "I won't be long," he promised. "See you soon."

As he left, Y/N watched him go, a smile tugging at her lips. Despite the interruption, she couldn't help but appreciate how San made sure she was well taken care of. 

San and Y/N arrived at the horse racing field, the buzz of excitement in the air as people milled about, enjoying the lively atmosphere. Arm in arm, they walked past the entrance, their presence drawing attention from onlookers who whispered about the handsome businessman and the stunning woman at his side.

San, dressed in a tailored suit that perfectly accentuated his broad shoulders and confident stature, looked down at Y/N with a soft smile as they strolled together. Y/N, equally captivating in her new dress, moved with elegance and poise, her arm linked with his, making them appear every bit the powerful couple.

The field stretched out before them, lush green and vibrant under the afternoon sun. Colorful jockeys and sleek thoroughbreds paraded around in preparation for the race. The grandstands were packed with spectators, their chatter and laughter blending with the distant sound of galloping horses.

San leaned down slightly to speak to Y/N over the din of the crowd. "It's quite the scene, huh? I don't think I've been to one of these in years."

Y/N smiled, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "It's incredible," she replied, her voice filled with awe as she took in the grand spectacle around them. "I've never seen anything like this."

As they walked toward the VIP section, San's grip on her arm tightened slightly, a subtle sign of his protectiveness in the midst of the bustling crowd. They made their way through the people with ease, heads turning as they passed, but the two of them were wrapped up in their own world, the noise around them fading into a distant hum.

When they reached the exclusive seating area, San pulled out a chair for Y/N before taking his own seat beside her. The excitement of the upcoming race and the thrill of being there together settled over them, but there was also a certain quietness, a sense that they were enjoying just being in each other's presence.

As San and Y/N settled into their seats, the sound of footsteps approaching caught their attention. San looked up to see Sung-Ho, one of his most trusted associates, making his way toward them with a broad smile on his face. Beside him was a woman, elegantly dressed, her delicate features framed by soft waves of dark hair. She seemed the picture of poise and innocence, her eyes sparkling as she approached.

"San!" Sung-Ho called out, extending his hand for a firm handshake. "It's good to see you here. I didn't know you were a fan of the races."

San stood up, returning the handshake with a polite smile. "It's been a while, but Mr. Min invited us to join him," he replied smoothly, his tone warm yet measured. His eyes flicked briefly to the woman at Sung-Ho's side before returning to his associate.

Sung-Ho noticed the subtle glance and quickly gestured to his companion. "San, you remember my wife, Min-ji," he said with a light laugh.

Min-ji offered a graceful nod, her smile sweet and unassuming. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Choi. Sung-Ho always speaks so highly of you."

"The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Han," San responded politely, though his tone remained professional. He then turned slightly to include Y/N in the conversation. "Here, let me introduce you. This here is Y/N," he introduced, a touch of pride in his voice as he mentioned her name.

Y/N offered a warm smile and a polite nod, her demeanor effortlessly charming. "Nice to meet you," she said softly.

Sung-Ho's eyes widened slightly as he took in Y/N's appearance. It was clear that he hadn't expected to see San with someone so striking, especially since San had never mentioned anything about being involved with anyone. "Well, this is a surprise," Sung-Ho said, his tone light but laced with curiosity. "San, you never told me you'd found someone. Y/N, you must be very special if you've managed to capture his attention."

San chuckled, his arm subtly resting on the back of Y/N's chair as he looked at Sung-Ho. "Some things are better left as pleasant surprises," he said, his words carrying a dual meaning that wasn't lost on Sung-Ho.

Min-ji's gaze flickered between San and Y/N, her expression polite but observant. "It's always nice to meet new people," she said, her voice soft and almost demure. "I'm sure the two of you will enjoy the race today."

"Indeed," San replied, his smile unwavering as he glanced at Y/N, then back at Sung-Ho and Min-ji. "We're looking forward to it."

Sung-Ho nodded, though the surprise still lingered in his eyes. He exchanged a brief look with Min-ji before turning back to San. "Well, we won't keep you. We just wanted to come over and say hello," he said, his tone as friendly as ever, though there was an undercurrent of curiosity in his gaze.

"Enjoy the race," Min-ji added with a sweet smile, though her eyes held a subtle sharpness as she looked at Y/N.

"Thank you. We will," Y/N replied, maintaining her warm demeanor as the couple turned to leave.

As they walked away, San leaned in closer to Y/N, his voice low and amused. "I think we caught them off guard," he said with a grin, the subtle tension of the encounter now dissipating.

Y/N chuckled softly, her hand finding its way to San's. Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the lively atmosphere of the racetrack. "San!" Min Yoongi called out, his tone warm and welcoming.

San turned, his eyes lighting up as Yoongi approached, looking genuinely pleased to see them. "Yoongi," San greeted, standing up to shake his hand. "Good to see you."

Yoongi's smile widened as his gaze shifted to Y/N. "And you brought Y/N! I'm delighted," he said, his tone sincere. "I enjoyed her company so much at dinner the other night. It's nice to see you here, Y/N."

Y/N returned the smile, feeling at ease with Yoongi's friendly demeanor. "Thank you, Mr. Min. It's nice to be here."

The three of them exchanged easy conversation, Yoongi's natural charm making the interaction comfortable and lighthearted. He spoke animatedly about the races, adding a few anecdotes that made Y/N laugh.

After a few moments, Y/N glanced at San and said, "I'm feeling a bit thirsty."

San immediately stood. "I'll get us some drinks," he offered, his tone warm. "Anything specific you want?"

"Just some water would be nice," Y/N replied with a grateful smile.

San nodded and turned to Yoongi. "I'll be back in just a moment."

Yoongi chuckled. "Of course. We'll be just fine."

As San made his way toward the small bar set up on the field, the sun casting a golden hue over the lively crowd, Sung-Ho spotted him and walked over, his pace casual but his expression laced with curiosity.

"Hey man," Sung-Ho greeted again, his tone still polite but carrying an air of something deeper as he stopped beside him. "Got a minute?"

San raised an eyebrow but nodded, his usual composed smile never faltering. "Sure, what's up?"

Sung-Ho glanced back briefly toward where Y/N and Yoongi were still engaged in conversation before turning his attention back to San. "I wanted to ask you about Y/N," he began, his tone just a shade too casual. "You've never mentioned her before. How did the two of you meet?"

San gave a measured smile, keeping his response light. "We crossed paths a little while ago. Things just... clicked."

Sung-Ho hummed, his skepticism more apparent now as he leaned in a little closer. "She seems... different," he remarked, the subtle weight of his words hanging in the air. "Not exactly someone I'd expect to see with you."

San's expression didn't waver, but there was an underlying edge in his tone when he responded. "In what way?"

Sung-Ho raised his hands slightly in mock surrender, his lips curling into a smirk. "I wasn't implying anything. I'm just looking out for you, that's all."

San felt his patience beginning to wear thin as Sung-Ho's questions became more pointed, the subtle skepticism turning into something more intrusive.

 Sung-Ho's eyes gleamed with curiosity. "What does she do for a living anyway? Is she from around here?"

San clenched his jaw subtly, trying to maintain his usual composed demeanor, but the prodding was beginning to grate on him. "She's private about her life," San replied evenly. "And I respect that."

Sung-Ho didn't seem satisfied with the vague answer. "Come on, San," he pressed. "You can't just show up with someone like her and not expect people to ask questions. What's she hiding?"

San's frustration bubbled up, his lips tightening into a thin line. He knew this would happen sooner or later, but he wasn't prepared for how much it annoyed him—how invasive Sung-Ho was being about something that, frankly, was none of his business. Before he could stop himself, the words slipped out.

"She's a prostitute."

Sung-Ho blinked, momentarily caught off guard. The revelation hung in the air for a beat, San's voice almost surprising even himself. But once the shock registered in Sung-Ho's eyes, it quickly faded into something else—a gross sense of amusement and intrigue.

"Really?" Sung-Ho's tone dropped to something sleazy as he patted San on the back, a wide grin spreading across his face. "You sly dog. I didn't expect that from you, of all people."

San's stomach twisted as Sung-Ho leaned in closer, his voice lowering to something conspiratorial. "That must be quite the arrangement," he said with a chuckle, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of sleaze and curiosity. "I mean, what's she like? I always figured those girls would be... you know... pretty open to whatever."

San's hands clenched tightly into fists at his sides, but he forced himself to stay calm. Sung-Ho's disgusting comments made his skin crawl, and he fought back the urge to lash out. His voice, when he spoke, was tight and controlled, though anger simmered just beneath the surface.

"Sung-Ho," San said evenly, his voice dangerously low, "don't talk about her like that."

The shift in San's tone caught Sung-Ho off guard, and his grin faltered for a moment. "Hey, hey," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand, trying to backpedal, "I was just messing around. No need to get all worked up."

San's eyes hardened, his patience finally snapping. "She's not some joke for you to make disgusting comments about. If you can't respect that, then this conversation is over."

Sung-Ho straightened up, the tension between them palpable. For a moment, his expression was unreadable—caught somewhere between annoyance and surprise. But ultimately, he chose not to push further. With a small, insincere chuckle, he shrugged and backed off.

"Alright, alright," Sung-Ho said with a placating smile. "Didn't mean to offend you, man."

San didn't respond, just giving a curt nod before turning away. As he walked back toward Y/N, drink in hand, he couldn't shake the lingering discomfort in his chest. Sung-Ho's words stuck with him like oil clinging to his skin, but seeing Y/N's bright smile as she laughed with Yoongi melted some of that tension away.

San returned to Y/N with a composed expression, but the tightness in his shoulders betrayed the tension still clinging to him. As he handed her the water, his fingers brushed hers, and for a split second, he let his guard down just enough for her to notice.

Yoongi had shifted his focus to the race, the excitement building on the track as the horses were about to start. Y/N, however, wasn't as easily distracted. She stole a glance at San, noticing the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly, and the way his gaze seemed distant, unfocused. Something was wrong, and she could feel it.

Her hand slipped into his, resting on his lap, her thumb tracing gentle circles on his skin. "Is everything alright?" she asked softly, her voice low enough that only he could hear.

San's instinct was to lie. It was always easier to shield his emotions, to push them aside and pretend everything was fine. So, he offered her a small smile and nodded. "Yeah," he said, though his voice lacked conviction. "It's all good."

But Y/N wasn't convinced. She knew him well enough to catch the subtle signs—the stiffness in his posture, the way his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. She didn't push, though. Instead, she leaned in closer, her shoulder resting against his, offering quiet comfort without demanding an explanation.

San felt a rush of gratitude as her warmth settled beside him. Even though she didn't press him further, he knew she understood that something had bothered him. Her silent support, her presence alone, was enough to ease some of the weight that had settled in his chest. 

As the sun began to sink lower in the sky, casting a warm glow over the fading day, Y/N stood by San's car, idly fanning herself with a small floral fan she'd picked up earlier. The heat had clung to the air all afternoon, and though she was used to it by now, a gentle breeze would've been a welcome relief. She glanced over at San, still deep in conversation with a business partner, his usual composed expression in place as he wrapped up their day at the races.

Just as Y/N's attention began to wander, a shadow fell over her, and she looked up to see Sung-Ho approaching. His smile was easy, but there was a gleam in his eyes that made her uneasy. She held her fan a little tighter, though she kept her own smile in place, her polite mask never faltering.

"Y/N, right?" Sung-Ho greeted, his tone light, though it carried that same subtle weight as earlier. "Enjoying the day?"

Y/N nodded, keeping her voice pleasant. "It's been nice, thank you."

Sung-Ho stopped a few feet in front of her, his gaze sweeping over her as if appraising. "I didn't get a chance to speak with you earlier," he said, a note of casual familiarity creeping into his tone. "But I wanted to introduce myself properly. I'm Sung-Ho, one of San's longtime business partners."

Y/N gave a polite nod, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "Yes, I remember. It's nice to meet you."

Sung-Ho seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if considering his next words carefully. He glanced back briefly toward San, still deep in conversation, before returning his attention to Y/N. "You and San seem close," he said, his voice taking on an almost probing quality. "I didn't realize he was seeing someone new."

Y/N's brow furrowed slightly, sensing something off in his tone. She maintained her polite demeanor, though there was a growing discomfort in the pit of her stomach. "Yes, we've been spending time together," she said carefully, not offering more than necessary.

Sung-Ho's smile widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. He took a step closer, lowering his voice as if to share a secret. "I have to admit," he said with a sly grin, "I was surprised when San mentioned... what you do for a living. Not exactly what I'd expect from someone like him."

Y/N stiffened, the words hitting her like a sudden gust of wind. Her grip tightened on the fan, but she kept her expression steady, refusing to let him see the sting his words caused. "And what exactly did he say?"

Sung-Ho's smirk grew a little wider, his gaze almost predatory. "Oh, nothing too specific. Just... some insights." His voice dripped with insinuation, as if he were dangling something unsaid between them.

Y/N held his gaze firmly, refusing to let him intimidate her. "I'm not sure what you're getting at," she said, her voice calm, though there was an underlying edge. "But whatever you think you know, it's none of your business."

Sung-Ho chuckled, seemingly unbothered by her response. "Relax, I'm just curious," he said with an exaggerated shrug. "After all, I've known San for a long time, and I've never seen him with someone like you before."

Before Y/N could respond, a voice cut through the air. "Sung-Ho," San's tone was firm, controlled, but with a distinct edge. He had finished his conversation and now stood a few steps behind Sung-Ho, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked between them. "Is there a reason you're bothering her?"

Sung-Ho turned, startled, his easy smile faltering for just a moment. But he quickly recovered, giving San a friendly clap on the shoulder. "Oh, just chatting," he said casually. "Didn't mean to overstep."

San didn't smile. He stepped closer to Y/N, his presence immediately protective. "Well, I'd appreciate it if you left her alone," he said, his voice even but with an unmistakable warning.

Sung-Ho held up his hands in mock surrender, his grin returning as if nothing had happened. "No harm done, right?" He winked at Y/N before turning to walk away, leaving an uncomfortable tension hanging in the air.

San watched him go, his jaw clenched. When he finally turned back to Y/N, his expression softened. "Are you alright?" he asked, concern lacing his voice. San's gaze softened as he looked at Y/N, but before he could ask again if she was alright, he noticed the way her jaw was clenched, her body tense.

"Y/N?" he asked, his voice gentle but laced with worry.

Y/N pulled away slightly, her hand resting on her hip as she let out a quiet but sharp breath. "Why did you tell him?" she asked, her voice low, though it carried the unmistakable edge of hurt and frustration.

San blinked, caught off guard. "Tell him what?"

Y/N met his eyes, her own simmering with emotion. "About me. About what I do."

Realization dawned on San's face, and his stomach sank. He stepped closer, his hands reaching out instinctively, but she took a small step back. "Y/N, I—"

"No," she interrupted, her voice firmer this time. "You don't get to explain it away." She shook her head, trying to hold back the rising frustration. "It's no one's business, San. No one's."

San frowned, clearly not expecting this reaction. "I didn't mean to—"

"But you did," Y/N shot back, her voice quiet but heavy with emotion. "And now, every time someone finds out, they stop seeing me as... me. It's like I become this... thing to them. Sung-Ho looked at me like I was some new toy he couldn't wait to unwrap." She swallowed hard, her voice trembling. "And you're the one who told him. You're the one who put me in that position."

San's chest tightened with guilt. "Y/N, I'm sorry," he said, his voice filled with regret. "I didn't think he'd react that way. I just—"

"You just what?" Y/N snapped, her anger bubbling over now. "Thought it wouldn't matter? Thought he'd just ignore it? Well, it doesn't work like that, San."

San opened his mouth to respond, but the words didn't come. He wanted to fix it, to take back what he'd said, but he couldn't. He could only stand there, helplessly watching the pain in her eyes.

Y/N crossed her arms, her voice thick with a mix of anger and sadness. "I just want to go home," she said quietly, the fight leaving her as she looked away, her shoulders slumping.

San's heart ached seeing her like this, and all he wanted to do was reach out and comfort her, but he knew he'd messed up. He nodded slowly, his voice subdued. "Okay," he said softly. "Let's go home."

Without another word, Y/N climbed into the car, her silence louder than any argument they could have had. San followed, feeling the weight of her disappointment pressing down on him, and as they drove away from the racetrack, the tension between them lingered, unspoken but heavy.

The drive was quiet, both of them lost in their own thoughts. And as they pulled up to the apartment, San couldn't help but steal a glance at her, hoping for some sign that things would be okay. But Y/N didn't look at him. She stepped out of the car, her expression distant, and headed inside without waiting for him.

Y/N stormed ahead of San the entire walk back to the penthouse, her silence sharp and cutting. The moment they stepped inside, she made a beeline for the bedroom, throwing open the closet and dresser drawers with fury as she began stuffing her belongings into the small bag she had brought with her.

San followed closely behind, his voice desperate as he pleaded, "Y/N, can we just talk about this? Please."

She didn't pause, didn't even glance in his direction. "Oh, now you want to talk?" she shot back, her voice brittle with anger. "If you were going to tell everyone I'm a hooker, why didn't you just let me wear my own clothes, huh? At least then, when some creep like Sung-Ho comes at me, I know how to handle it. I'm prepared for it." Her hands moved frantically, shoving clothes into her bag, as if packing was the only thing keeping her together.

San winced at her words, guilt gnawing at him. "I'm sorry," he repeated softly, following her around the room as she paced. "I didn't think—"

"No, you didn't!" Y/N cut him off, her eyes blazing as she zipped up the bag with finality. "You think you can just pass me around to your friends like I'm some kind of toy? I'm not yours to flaunt!"

She swept past him, her fury palpable, and headed into the living room. San was quick on her heels, his frustration rising as she continued to shut him out. "You're not my toy, and I know that! But let's not pretend here, Y/N. You are a hooker. And, for now, you're my employee."

His words hung in the air, biting and cruel. Y/N froze, her hands clenching into fists as she faced him, tears welling in her eyes despite her best efforts to contain them. "You don't get to own me," she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of hurt and anger. "I decide. I say who. I say when. I... I say who..." Her voice faltered, breaking under the weight of her emotions.

San's frustration boiled over. "I refuse to spend the next few days arguing like this! I said I'm sorry. I meant it. Can't that be enough?"

Y/N stared at him, blinking away her tears, her voice quiet but filled with devastation. "I should never have gotten into your goddamn car."

Her words pierced through him like a blade. San could feel the walls crumbling around them, but before he could respond, Y/N turned back to the bedroom, retrieving her packed bags. She re-entered the living room with a determined stride, her eyes sharp despite the tears that still clung to her lashes.

"I've never felt as cheap as I did today," she said, her voice thick with emotion as she hoisted her bag over her shoulder. "And that's because of you."

San took a step closer, panic rising in his chest. "Where are you going?"

Y/N didn't hesitate, her eyes hardening as she spoke, "I want my money. I'm done. I'm going home."

San stood frozen, watching Y/N storm around the apartment with frantic determination, collecting everything she needed as if being near him for even a moment longer was unbearable. His heart pounded in his chest, each second ticking by, feeling like he was losing her piece by piece.

"I'm going down to the lobby," Y/N announced coldly, her eyes barely glancing at him as she slung her bag over her shoulder. "One of the bellhops will help me get all this shit out of here."

She moved swiftly toward the hall doors, her footsteps echoing in the space as she left the apartment. The sound of the door clicking shut behind her snapped San out of his daze. Panic surged through him as he rushed after her, his breath uneven, desperate to catch up.

He found her standing in front of the elevator, the numbers above the door slowly ticking down as she waited in stony silence. She didn't acknowledge his presence as he came up behind her, but he didn't care. He couldn't let her leave like this.

"Y/N," he called out, his voice strained and pleading. She didn't turn around. He swallowed hard, stepping closer, his heart in his throat. "I'm sorry."

She stayed silent, her eyes fixed on the elevator doors.

"I wasn't prepared to answer questions about us," San continued, his voice trembling with the weight of his regret. "It was stupid and cruel of me to say what I did. I didn't mean any of it. I was... I was caught off guard, and I reacted like an idiot."

The elevator dinged softly, but Y/N didn't move, her hand gripping the strap of her bag tightly.

San reached out, gently taking her hand in his, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "Please don't go. I don't want you to leave." His voice cracked, the vulnerability clear in his words. "I need you here with me. I'll do better. Just... please."

For a moment, Y/N didn't say anything, her eyes still focused ahead. Then, slowly, she turned to look at him, her expression unreadable as she studied his face. The elevator doors slid open behind her, but neither of them moved to step inside.

San waited, his heart pounding in his chest, hoping that this wasn't the end. Y/N's voice was soft, yet heavy with the weight of her emotions. She turned fully to face him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears as she finally spoke, her words cutting through the air like a blade.

"You hurt me," she whispered.

The depth of her pain, so clear in those few words, struck San like a blow to the chest. He felt his heart drop, guilt flooding every part of him. His grip on her hand tightened slightly, his eyes searching hers, desperate to find the right thing to say—anything that could undo the damage.

"I know," he whispered back, his voice thick with remorse. "I know. I never wanted to hurt you."

Y/N swallowed, feeling the tightness in her chest begin to loosen just a bit as she listened to the sincerity in his voice. There was still hurt, still the sharp sting of betrayal.

San stepped closer, lifting her chin gently so she could look him in the eyes. "I'm not perfect. I'm going to screw up, but I don't want to lose you, not yet. Not like this."

Y/N held his gaze, the conflict of emotions still swirling within her. She felt torn between the pain that lingered and the undeniable connection she had with him. The thought of walking away hurt just as much as staying.

She took a deep breath, the heaviness still there but with a flicker of hope. "This can't happen again."

San nodded, his thumb gently brushing her cheek. "It won't. I promise."

The elevator doors had long since closed, leaving the two of them standing in the quiet hallway, their hearts laid bare between them.

San and Y/N lay together in the tub, the warm water enveloping them in a soothing embrace. Y/N's back rested comfortably against San's chest, his arms wrapped securely around her, offering both warmth and support. Her fingers traced gentle patterns along his arm, the rhythmic motion calming them both.

The soft hum of the water mixed with their quiet conversation, creating a cocoon of intimacy and trust. San's voice was gentle as he spoke, his words barely more than a murmur. "How did you end up in the industry? If you don't mind me asking."

Y/N took a deep breath, her voice reflecting the vulnerability she felt as she opened up. "It's not something I like talking about," she began, her tone laden with regret. "But I guess you deserve to know. It all started when I was struggling to find a job. Seoyeon—she was a friend, though I use the term loosely now—she introduced me to it."

San's arms tightened around her slightly, a protective gesture as she spoke. His heart ached as he listened, each word from Y/N painting a clearer picture of her struggles. She continued, her voice growing softer, tinged with bitterness.

"She was having a hard time too, and she knew I was desperate. I didn't have many options, and she made it seem like it was just a temporary thing, a way to make ends meet until something better came along." Y/N paused, her fingers stilling on his arm. "But things didn't get better. The longer I stayed in it, the more I hated it. I hate everything about it—the judgment, the loss of dignity... It's not who I am, not who I want to be."

San's heart ached for her, the weight of her confession settling heavily on his chest. He held her closer, his chin resting gently on her shoulder as he absorbed her words. The empathy in his eyes was palpable, a silent testament to the pain he felt for her.

"You don't deserve any of this," San said softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "You're so much more than what you've had to go through. I see so much potential in you—so much more than what this world has given you."

Y/N's eyes fluttered closed as she listened, the warmth of his words washing over her. "Thank you, San. For everything."

San kissed her temple softly, his arms tightening around her in silent reassurance. “You don’t have to thank me,” he murmured. 

Y/N smiled faintly, though the sadness still lingered in her eyes. “I do,” she whispered. “You've been so kind to me. I don't know how I can every repay you. ”

San shook his head gently, his expression soft and full of care. “You don’t owe me anything, Y/N. This isn’t about repayment.”

She turned slightly in his arms, her eyes searching his face as if looking for something deeper. “But you’ve done so much,” she said quietly. “You didn’t have to help me, but you did. I... I’ve never had anyone treat me like you do.”

San gently cupped Y/N’s face, his thumb tracing delicate circles over her cheek as his gaze held hers. The intensity in his eyes was soft yet profound, like he was baring his soul without needing to say more. “That’s because no one has ever truly looked at you the way I do,” he whispered, his voice warm and tender. His hand slid down to rest at the nape of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair as if he needed to keep her close. “I want you to see yourself the way I see you—strong, beautiful, worthy of every good thing.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, the raw emotion in his words unraveling something inside her. She brought her hands up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. That connection, that grounding warmth, sent a surge of emotion through her, making her feel both vulnerable and cherished.

She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breathing sync with her own. "San..." she whispered, her voice thick with emotion she didn’t yet have words for.

San's arms wrapped around her more tightly, pulling her against him as though he could shield her from every painful memory that had weighed her down. He pressed his lips to her forehead, letting them linger in a slow, affectionate kiss. “You deserve the world,” he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. 

Y/N felt the words sink in, and for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to believe it. She tilted her head up slightly, her lips brushing softly against his in a kiss that was more than just a meeting of lips—it was a promise, a shared moment of understanding that bound them closer.

San deepened the kiss, his hand coming up to cradle her face as though she were something precious and fragile. The kiss was slow and unhurried, filled with affection that made her heart swell and flutter. When they finally parted, both of them breathless, Y/N smiled up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears—but for the first time, they were tears of hope rather than sorrow.

With San’s arms still securely around her, she felt safe, loved, and for once, as though maybe she truly could have more. She let herself melt into his embrace, nuzzling into the curve of his neck as she whispered, “Thank you for seeing me.”

San rested his cheek against her hair, his voice soft and full of affection. “Always, Y/N. Always.”

San had endured an exhausting day at the office—one of those relentless stretches of time where the hours bled together, filled with endless meetings, negotiations, and phone calls that left his mind buzzing. By the time he returned home, he felt utterly drained, craving nothing but the solace of solitude. The weight of the day clung to him like an invisible burden, pulling at his shoulders as he slipped out of his jacket and loosened his tie. Without a word, he made his way out to the balcony, the cool evening air offering some respite from the heaviness in his chest.

The night sky stretched above him like an endless canvas of stars, their soft twinkling somehow calming. He let out a long breath, allowing the tension to ebb as he listened to the quiet hum of soft music playing from his phone—a gentle tune that matched the serenity of the moment. It was exactly what he needed—no conversation, no obligations. Just a few stolen minutes to himself, where the world outside could fall away.

Unbeknownst to him, Y/N had been waiting in the bedroom, eager to surprise him. She had slipped into something sultry and elegant, hoping to catch his eye and offer him some relief after his long day. But as the night wore on and still no sign of him, she began to wonder if something was wrong. She sighed, slipping on a robe to cover the revealing outfit she had chosen. She tried not to let the disappointment settle in, reminding herself that he’s probably held up at work.

Hoping to distract herself, Y/N wandered into the kitchen in search of a snack. The quiet hum of the refrigerator and the low lighting created a peaceful ambiance, but it didn’t stop her mind from wandering. She munched on her snack absentmindedly as she wandered back down the hall, but something made her pause as she passed by the living room. The soft glow of the night sky outside caught her attention, and when she looked toward the balcony, she saw San there—sitting alone, staring up at the stars.

He was leaning on the railing, his gaze cast upward to the stars, the soft strains of music reaching her ears. He looked so still, so serene—but there was a weariness in the set of his shoulders, a weight she could almost feel from where she stood. She paused for a moment, her snack forgotten, watching him quietly.

Her heart squeezed as she realized how much he had on his shoulders. His job, his responsibilities—everything seemed to press down on him, demanding more and more of his time and energy. He looked so strong, yet in this quiet moment, he seemed vulnerable, as though he needed the night sky to keep him grounded.

Y/N slowly approached the glass doors, her hand resting lightly on the handle as she watched him, unsure whether to disturb him or leave him to his thoughts. She knew he needed this time to unwind, but a part of her couldn’t help wanting to comfort him, to be close to him.

After a moment of hesitation, she softly slid open the door and stepped outside. The cool breeze kissed her skin as she stood there for a beat, waiting to see if he would notice her presence. San didn’t turn around, still lost in his own world, but she could tell by the slight shift in his posture that he sensed her nearby.

Quietly, she moved closer, her bare feet barely making a sound against the balcony floor. She wrapped her arms around herself, the robe falling loosely around her as she came to stand beside him, her eyes tracing the same stars he had been gazing at. Neither of them spoke for a long moment, the night air carrying with it a peaceful silence.

Finally, Y/N turned her head to look at him, her voice soft when she broke the stillness. “Hey,” she whispered, as if not wanting to disturb the tranquility of the moment. “Are you alright?”

San turned his head slightly, meeting her gaze. His eyes were tired, but they softened when they landed on her. He took in the sight of her standing beside him, her robe falling open just slightly to reveal a glimpse of the outfit she had planned for him. Despite everything, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he said, his voice low and calm, though she could hear the exhaustion beneath it. He reached out, his hand finding hers and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Just… needed some air. Needed to clear my head.”

Y/N nodded, understanding. She slipped her hand into his, her fingers threading through his as she leaned into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. They stood like that for a moment, wrapped in each other’s presence, the stars twinkling above them like silent witnesses to their connection.

“I was waiting for you,” she admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper. 

San’s grip on her hand tightened slightly as he turned to face her fully, his expression softening even more. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, bringing her hand up to his lips and pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

Y/N smiled faintly, shaking her head. “It’s alright. I just—wanted to see if you were okay.”

San looked down at her, a flicker of warmth passing through the haze of his exhaustion. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer as they stood in the quiet intimacy of the balcony. The city below hummed with distant noise, but up here, in this moment, it felt like the world had paused just for them.

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” he said softly, his lips brushing against her temple. “I just needed some time to unwind.”

Y/N tilted her head up to meet his gaze, her eyes filled with understanding. “I get it,” she whispered. “Do you need anything?”

San's eyes softened even more at her question, the sincerity in her voice reaching him deeply. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he thought about how to respond. “Just you,” he murmured, his voice carrying a tenderness that contrasted with the weight of his day.

Y/N smiled gently, her hand coming up to rest against his chest. “You’ve got me,” she whispered in return, her touch soothing him more than any words ever could.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “I know,” he whispered back, his lips lingering there for a moment as if drawing comfort from her presence. For a moment, they simply stood together, wrapped up in each other as the night air swirled around them. Y/N could feel the tension slowly draining from San’s body as he held her close, his breathing becoming steadier.

“Come inside,” Y/N coaxed gently, her voice soft but insistent. “Let’s get some rest.”

San hesitated for a moment, glancing up at the stars one last time before nodding. He turned toward her, his hand still in hers, and together they walked back into the warmth of the apartment, leaving the worries of the day behind them.

San allowed Y/N to guide him back into the apartment, her hand never leaving his. There was something soothing about her presence, like she could absorb all the tension he carried and replace it with calm. As they reached the bedroom, Y/N suddenly pulled away and gave him a playful push toward the bed.

"Alright, mister, you’re going to lie down and let me take care of you," she said, her voice filled with mock sternness as she bustled around the room.

San chuckled softly, watching her with amused eyes. "Oh? And how exactly do you plan to do that?"

Y/N flashed him a mischievous grin before walking over to the dresser, where she grabbed the remote. She switched on the TV and started flipping through the channels until she landed on his favorite show—one he'd only mentioned to her once in passing during a random conversation.

San blinked in surprise. "Wait, you actually remembered that?"

Y/N shrugged nonchalantly, but there was a hint of pride in her smile. "Of course, I did. I pay attention, you know. Now, you relax and watch your show."

San laid back against the pillows, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "So bossy."

Y/N turned to grab her phone, already pulling up a food delivery app. "I'm also ordering dinner, your favorite."

San raised an eyebrow, his smile turning into a teasing smirk. "Oh, so you’re pampering me by spending my money? I see how it is."

Y/N shot him a playful glare as she tapped her phone, confirming the order. "Hey, taking care of you isn't cheap. And besides," she added with a cheeky grin, "it’s your money, might as well put it to good use."

San laughed, shaking his head. "Touché."

Y/N sat down beside him on the bed, crossing her arms with a satisfied look. "Exactly. Now, let me spoil you for once."

San reached over and pulled her into his side, pressing a light kiss to the top of her head. "Alright, alright. But don't get too used to this—I'm the one who's supposed to be spoiling you."

Y/N snuggled into him, a content smile on her face. "We'll see about that."

Later in the night, after their food was long gone and the remnants of a few glasses of alcohol sat on the nightstand, San and Y/N found themselves tangled together under the covers. The TV droned on in the background, but neither of them paid it much attention. San, still dressed in his business attire—minus his tie, jacket, and shoes—held Y/N close, her head resting on his chest, her robe still wrapped tightly around her.

As they lay there, San shifted slightly, glancing down at her with a curious look. “Why are you still wearing that robe? Aren't you hot?” he asked, his tone teasing but laced with genuine curiosity.

Y/N shrugged, keeping her face nestled against him. “I’m comfortable,” she replied nonchalantly, trying to brush it off. She knew he’d had a long day, and the last thing she wanted was to start anything now.

San’s lips quirked up in a playful smirk. “Comfortable, huh? Or hiding something?” His fingers danced along the edge of her robe, tugging at it lightly as if testing her resolve.

Y/N swatted his hand away with a mock stern expression. “Stop it,” she said with a chuckle. “You’re tired, San. Just relax.”

But San, despite his exhaustion, wasn’t about to let it go. He grinned at her, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Tired or not, I want to know what’s underneath this robe.” He tugged at it again, only for Y/N to bat his hand away once more.

“San!” she giggled, squirming as he playfully tried to pull the robe open. “I’m serious! There’s nothing to see!”

“Oh, I highly doubt that,” San teased, shifting his weight so that he could get a better angle, his hands now sneaking around her waist as he pretended to pry her robe open.

Y/N laughed and rolled onto her side, keeping the robe tightly closed, her cheeks flushed from the playful battle. “You’re relentless,” she huffed, trying to wriggle out of his grasp, but San wasn’t having it. He playfully tackled her back onto the bed, holding her in place with a triumphant grin.

“Come on, baby,” he whispered, his voice soft but teasing as his nose brushed against her cheek. “Just show me.”

The pet name caught Y/N off guard. Her laughter faded, replaced by a quiet moment of vulnerability. The way he said it, with such warmth and tenderness, transformed the playful banter into something more intimate. For a moment, it felt different—more meaningful than the casual nicknames she had grown used to from others.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. The sincerity behind his words, the way he made her feel special rather than objectified, was something she hadn't experienced before. It stirred something inside her, a blend of surprise and warmth. She realized that with San, these names didn’t just carry the weight of discomfort—they held meaning, an affirmation of their bond.

A soft smile tugged at her lips as she met his gaze. “Alright,” she said softly, her voice tinged with affection. Slowly, with a teasing glimmer in her eyes, Y/N slipped her robe open to reveal a light purple lingerie set—his favorite color. The delicate fabric contrasted beautifully with her skin, and the sight of it made San’s breath catch in his throat. The lingerie clung to her curves just right, accentuating her figure in a way that was both elegant and alluring.

San’s eyes widened with appreciation, his earlier exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “Wow,” he breathed, his gaze traveling over her with a mix of admiration and desire. “Beautiful.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed with a soft pink, her heart racing at the intensity in San’s eyes. The air between them seemed to thicken with a new, palpable energy. She felt a delicate thrill of anticipation, the kind that whispered promises of closeness and shared moments.

San reached out, his fingers grazing her arm lightly as he pulled her closer. The touch was gentle but filled with a quiet urgency. “You’re stunning,” he murmured, his voice low and husky.

Y/N’s breath hitched as she allowed herself to be drawn into his embrace. The tenderness in his touch, the warmth of his body against hers, created a cocoon of intimacy around them.

With a playful smile, Y/N straddled his waist, her robe slipping just slightly to reveal more of her lingerie. San’s hands roamed over her sides, his impatience palpable as his fingers traced her curves.

“Do you like it?” Y/N asked softly, her voice carrying a teasing undertone. San’s eyes were fixed on her, unable to find the words. He simply nodded, his gaze filled with a mixture of desire and admiration.

Y/N chuckled softly, her fingers moving to the buttons of his dress shirt. “Oh, you’ve had such a long day,” she said, her voice sweet and almost sing-song. “You work so hard all the time.”

She worked methodically, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, each button revealed with deliberate slowness. Her fingers brushed against his chest, and she took her time, enjoying the contrast of his warm skin against her cool touch.

San's breathing grew more ragged, his hands gripping her hips with a gentle but urgent pressure. All he wanted was to kiss her, to lose himself in the soft, intimate space between them. His eyes followed her hands, the slow disrobing making him yearn for her touch.

Y/N’s hands slid the shirt off his shoulders, revealing his bare chest. She leaned in, her lips brushing lightly against his collarbone. “You deserve to be pampered,” she whispered, her voice filled with affectionate mock-seriousness. 

San’s hands tightened on her waist, his desire evident in the way he pulled her closer. He turned his head, his lips seeking hers, but Y/N pulled back slightly, her eyes dancing with playful defiance.

“Patience,” she murmured, her fingers dancing over his bare skin, drawing soft, teasing patterns. “I’m not done yet.”

San let out a low groan, his frustration mixed with pleasure as he fought to keep his composure. “I can’t wait,” he admitted, his voice thick with longing.

Y/N smiled, her eyes glinting with mischief and affection. “I know,” she said softly. “But for now, let me take care of you.”

Sung-Ho strolled through the office, his eyes scanning the rows of desks and the bustling activity of the staff. He spotted San’s secretary, who was tidying up her desk. Approaching her, he raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

“Hey,” Sung-Ho greeted casually. “Do you know where San is? I was hoping to catch him before lunch.”

The secretary looked up, her expression thoughtful. “Oh, Mr. Choi? I saw him heading towards the elevators not too long ago. He should be on his way out for the day.”

Sung-Ho nodded, a frown settling on his face. He made his way to the elevators, catching sight of San just as the doors were closing. He quickened his pace, slipping into the elevator before the doors shut completely.

“San,” Sung-Ho called out as the elevator doors opened on the ground floor. He stepped out and caught up with San, who was heading towards the exit. “Hold on a minute.”

San turned, his expression a mix of surprise and mild annoyance. “Sung-Ho. What’s up?”

Sung-Ho’s gaze was sharp, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What's up? What's up with you, huh? You're leaving early today? You’re usually the first one in and the last one out. What’s going on? Where are you headed?”

San shrugged nonchalantly, his tone dismissive. “Look, I’ll be back first thing in the morning. Whatever it is you're needing I'll handle it tomorrow.”

Sung-Ho’s frustration grew. “Why are you in a rush? Come on, what’s really going on?”

San sighed, rubbing a hand over his face in a tired gesture. “I've got a date.”

Sung-Ho’s eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and irritation flickering across his face. “A date? Don't tell me it's with that hooker?”

San’s jaw tightened at Sung-Ho’s words. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure. “Careful Sung-Ho,” he said, his voice steady but edged with frustration. 

Sung-Ho’s face flushed slightly at the warning in San’s tone, but he pressed on, unable to mask his disdain. “Come on, San. You’re seriously letting a hooker distract you from your work? You’ve been distracted lately, and now you’re letting this affect your performance.”

San’s eyes narrowed, his patience wearing thin. “Frankly, I don’t need you judging my personal life. I’m perfectly capable of handling my work and my relationships.”

Sung-Ho shook his head, his frustration evident. “I just don’t understand why you’re settling for someone like her. You’re better than this, San.”

San took a deep breath, his jaw clenching. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me. I’m making my own choices, and I’m happy with them. If you have an issue with that, then maybe you should look elsewhere for answers.”

Sung-Ho’s mouth opened in a mixture of surprise and frustration, but he didn’t have a retort. He watched as San turned on his heel and walked briskly towards the exit, his posture rigid with determination.

As San exited the building, Sung-Ho stood in the lobby, his mind racing with a mix of confusion and irritation. He had always seen San as a workaholic, dedicated to his career above all else, and seeing him so absorbed in his personal life was jarring.

“So... what do we think?” she asked, her voice bubbling with excitement and a hint of nervousness. Y/N twirled in front of the mirror, adjusting the hem of her elegant dress. The fabric shimmered softly under the light, a deep sapphire blue that contrasted beautifully with her skin. 

San looked up, his eyes traveling from her hair down to her shoes. The expression on his face softened into a genuine smile, his gaze filled with admiration. “You look incredible,” he said, his tone warm and approving. “Absolutely stunning.”

Y/N's cheeks flushed with a delighted pink, and she beamed at him. “Thanks! I’m so excited for tonight. It’s been ages since I’ve seen a musical, and this one has been on my list forever.”

San nodded, his smile widening. “I remember you mentioning it. Besides, I've been dragging you around to all these places with me, I thought it’d be nice to surprise you with something.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, and she took a step closer to him, her expression touched. “You remembered? I didn’t think you’d go through all that trouble.”

San shrugged casually, though the glint in his eyes betrayed his pleasure at her reaction. “I wanted to make sure you had a great time.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered with a mix of happiness and appreciation. She reached out, taking his hand in hers, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You’re making this night really special for me. I can’t wait to see the show.”

San’s fingers tightened around hers, his eyes locking with hers. “I’m glad you’re excited. I’ve heard this performance is supposed to be incredible.”

They both glanced at the clock, noting they needed to leave soon to make it to the theater on time. Y/N grabbed her clutch from the dresser and turned to San with a playful grin. “Ready to see what all the fuss is about?”

San laughed softly, a genuine, carefree sound that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. “Absolutely.”

As they walked out of the apartment together, the evening air was crisp and refreshing. They strolled hand in hand to the car, the city lights casting a warm glow over the streets. San opened the car door for Y/N with a courteous smile, and she slipped inside, feeling a wave of contentment.

During the drive to the theater, Y/N chatted animatedly about her past experiences with musicals, her excitement bubbling over as she shared her favorite moments and performances. San listened intently, occasionally glancing at her with a fond smile.

When they arrived at the theater, the anticipation in the air was palpable. The marquee lights shimmered, announcing the night’s performance in elegant script. Y/N’s eyes sparkled with joy as she looked up at the sign, then at San, her excitement evident.

“Thank you, San,” she said softly, her voice filled with heartfelt gratitude. “This means so much to me.”

San squeezed her hand gently, his expression sincere. “I’m glad to see you so happy."

They made their way inside, the theater bustling with patrons and the buzz of anticipation. As they took their seats, Y/N settled in comfortably, her hand still clasped in San’s. The lights dimmed, and the curtain began to rise, revealing a dazzling stage.

Y/N’s eyes widened with awe, her heart swelling with joy. She turned to San, catching his eye and offering him a radiant smile. “It's starting.”

San smiled back, his gaze warm and affectionate. The performance began, and the magic of the musical enveloped them, creating a night filled with laughter, music, and shared moments of wonder. Y/N leaned into San, savoring the experience and the closeness they shared, knowing this was a night she would remember for a long time.

After the performance, Y/N and San walked out of the theater, the cool night air brushing against their faces. The city streets were bustling with people, but Y/N was glowing with happiness, her excitement palpable. She practically bounced as she walked beside San, her hands animatedly gesturing as she spoke.

“Okay, so remember that big number at the end? I was convinced they were going to do a tap dance routine. I was practically holding my breath!”

San laughed softly. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Oh my god, and then! Did you see that part when the lead actress—” Y/N's voice was practically bubbling over with enthusiasm. “She did this incredible flip! I’ve never seen anything like it. And the set changes were so seamless. One minute, they’re in a grand ballroom, and the next, they’re on a moonlit terrace. It was like magic!”

San chuckled, clearly amused by her energy. “I’m glad you enjoyed it so much. You were pretty wrapped up in it.”

Y/N’s laughter was infectious, and she reached out to give San a quick hug. “I did! It’s just been such a great night, and I can’t wait to tell everyone about it.”

As they made their way to the car, Y/N’s excitement didn’t wane. She continued to recount her favorite moments, her voice animated and full of joy. San listened intently, his heart warmed by her happiness. The night had been a success, and seeing Y/N so delighted made every effort he’d put into arranging it worthwhile.

When they finally reached the car, Y/N turned to San with a grateful smile. “Seriously, thank you for tonight. It was more than I could’ve asked for.”

San opened the car door for her, his smile tender. “You’re welcome. I’m just glad I could make you happy.”

Y/N slid into the passenger seat, her eyes sparkling with appreciation. “Well, you definitely did. I’m already looking forward to our next adventure.”

As San settled into the driver’s seat, he looked over at her with a warm, satisfied smile. “Me too.”

They drove home together, Y/N’s cheerful chatter filling the car with an infectious joy that made the night even more memorable.

Back in the apartment, the energy between Y/N and San was electric, the afterglow of the evening still shimmering brightly. Y/N, still buzzing with excitement, practically skipped into the living room, her eyes sparkling with a lively enthusiasm that made San smile.

They settled down on the floor in front of the coffee table, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light over them. Y/N poured two glasses of wine, handing one to San before they began shuffling the deck.

“So,” Y/N began, her fingers deftly mixing the cards, “what’s your game of choice? I’ve got a few up my sleeve.”

San took a sip of his wine, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Surprise me. I’m game for anything.”

Y/N’s grin widened as she began dealing the cards. “Alright, how about we start with poker? A classic. I’m feeling lucky tonight.”

San chuckled, taking his hand and inspecting his cards with a mock-serious expression. “Poker it is. But be warned, I don’t play nice.”

The two began playing, their laughter and light-hearted banter filling the room. Y/N’s competitive spirit came out in full force, and she teased San relentlessly whenever he made a misstep. San, in turn, was more than happy to dish out playful retorts, his laughter mingling with hers.

“Ha!” Y/N exclaimed triumphantly as she won a hand. “Looks like my lucky streak is holding!”

San raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a teasing smirk. “Beginners’ luck. I’ll have you know I’m just letting you win to make it more interesting.”

Y/N scoffed playfully, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, is that so? I think you’re just afraid of my superior card skills.”

San leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a mock-serious tone. “Careful, or I might have to show you just how skilled I really am.”

As the game continued, the competition grew more animated, their playful banter creating a comfortable, intimate atmosphere. They laughed, joked, and occasionally leaned in close, their shoulders brushing as they tried to conceal their hands or strategize their next move.

Eventually, as the night wore on, their card game devolved into a series of silly bets and challenges. Y/N had dared San to perform a dramatic monologue from one of her favorite movies, and he, with a good-natured grin, obliged with exaggerated flair.

Y/N clapped and laughed, thoroughly entertained. “Bravo, Bravo!”

San laughed, taking a theatrical bow. “Thank you, thank you. I’ve always wanted to be a performer.”

The two continued to enjoy their wine and each other’s company. By the time they decided to call it a night, both were still riding high on the joy of their evening together.

Y/N stretched, her eyes full of contentment. “Wanna do another round? Or we can move to another game?”

San glanced at the clock and realized it was past midnight. He looked back at Y/N, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Why don’t we finish this tomorrow? It’s really late, and I have to work.”

Y/N’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Why don’t you just take the day off?"

San looked at her, a hint of confusion in his eyes. “Take the day off? No, I’ve never done that.”

Y/N tilted her head, a playful grin on her lips. “Exactly. You’re always pushing yourself. Just one day won’t hurt. Besides, you deserve a break.”

San raised an eyebrow, considering her words. He had always been so dedicated to his work, it felt almost foreign to think of taking a day off without a pressing reason. Yet, the idea of spending a full day with Y/N, without the usual pressures of his job hanging over him, was tempting.

Y/N reached out, placing a hand on his arm with a reassuring squeeze. “Come on. Just this once. Let’s enjoy the day together, no work, no stress.”

San hesitated, his internal conflict clear. He had always felt a sense of responsibility to his job, but Y/N’s enthusiasm and the promise of a carefree day with her were hard to ignore.

Finally, he let out a resigned sigh, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Alright, you win. I’ll take the day off.”

Y/N’s face lit up with a delighted grin. “Great! I’ll make some fun plans for us. Trust me, you won’t regret it.”

San chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “I’m sure I won’t." 

The next day dawned bright and warm, and Y/N had successfully dragged San out to the city’s public park. It was a beautiful day, and the park was buzzing with life. Families gathered at the playground, their children’s laughter filling the air as they swung on jungle gyms and dashed through the open spaces. Nearby, food trucks and stands lined the sidewalks, offering everything from ice cream to gourmet sandwiches. The smell of freshly popped popcorn mingled with the scent of blooming flowers.

San sat on the blanket Y/N had brought with them, his suit jacket left behind in the car but still looking somewhat formal compared to the relaxed atmosphere. He was on the phone, his brow slightly furrowed as he discussed something work-related with one of his employees. Despite being physically present, his mind seemed anchored to the office.

Y/N, on the other hand, was completely in her element. She had already kicked off her sandals and was enjoying the feel of the grass under her feet. Glancing at San, she rolled her eyes playfully. Without saying a word, she knelt down in front of him, her hands working to remove his shoes. San barely registered what she was doing as he continued his conversation, his attention focused entirely on the voice on the other end of the phone.

Once she had successfully unfastened his shoes and slipped them off, Y/N pulled off his socks, tossing them aside with a smirk. She could feel his eyes flicker toward her in mild confusion, but he still didn’t interrupt his phone call.

That was until Y/N made her next bold move.

With a mischievous grin, she leaned forward, yanked the phone from his hand, and tossed it to the side onto the blanket—well out of his reach but safe from any damage. San’s eyes widened in surprise, his sentence cutting off mid-word as he stared at her in disbelief.

“Y/N, what the—” he began, but she cut him off with a firm but playful look.

“You’re supposed to be taking the day off, remember?” she said, her tone light but teasingly scolding. “No work, no phone calls. Just us.”

San blinked, processing the moment. “But that was important.”

“Not as important as this,” Y/N replied, pointing toward the park, the families, the sunshine, and the two of them sitting together. “You promised me a day with no work. So, I’m holding you to that.”

San sighed but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. The seriousness in his demeanor slowly melted away, replaced by a relaxed warmth. He shifted on the blanket, glancing at his phone sitting uselessly beside them before turning his full attention to Y/N.

“Alright,” he said, his voice softening. “No more work. Just us.”

Y/N beamed, satisfied with her victory, and she leaned back on the blanket with a contented sigh. The playful atmosphere wrapped around them like a warm breeze as the sounds of the park filled the air. It was a rare, carefree moment—one that she knew San needed more than he realized.

She gave him a quick wink, her eyes dancing with mischief. "See? You’re already doing better."

San chuckled, leaning back onto the blanket beside her. “I guess I am. But you’re a dangerous influence.”

“Someone’s got to remind you how to live a little,” Y/N teased, nudging his side playfully.

San’s hand found hers on the blanket, their fingers entwining easily. As they sat together, surrounded by the life and laughter of the park, it felt as though time had slowed down, giving them the space to simply be with each other—no work, no stress, just them.

Their day had been packed with activities, and the joy of it all still lingered in the air as they drove through the city. After a morning at the park and an afternoon spent at the horse ranch, Y/N was radiating happiness. She had begged San to take her back to the ranch they visited a few days earlier, eager to try horseback riding for the first time. Though San had done it before, he was more than happy to oblige her excitement. Watching her carefully learn the ropes, laugh at her clumsy moments, and eventually grow more confident on the horse had brought a lightness to his own heart.

They spent hours riding through the trails, the sun warming their backs as they explored the scenic landscapes together. By the time they returned to the ranch, both of them were glowing with the thrill of the experience. After that, Y/N had insisted they stop by a food truck on their way back into the city, pointing out a stall she had tried once that sold the best street tacos. San had never tried food from a truck before, but seeing her eyes light up at the sight of something so simple, yet meaningful to her, made the new experience worth it.

Now, with the sun setting and casting golden light across the cityscape, they were cruising through the same part of town where they had first met. The coincidence of it wasn’t lost on San—he glanced out the window, recalling that fateful night, and wondered at the strange pull that had led him down these streets again.

Y/N, who had been quietly watching the city lights pass by, suddenly sat up straighter. Her eyes fixed on a familiar spot up ahead, a small bar tucked away in a corner.

“That’s it!” she exclaimed, pointing toward the bar. “That’s where I used to hang out with Seoyeon.” Her voice held a mix of nostalgia and eagerness.

San slowed the car, pulling over to the side of the street as she had asked. Y/N was already unbuckling her seatbelt. “I’m going to see if she’s in there,” she said, her tone light but determined. “Wait here. I’ll be quick.”

San’s eyes flickered with hesitation. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Y/N stepping into that old bar, especially given what he knew of her past with Seoyeon, but he didn’t want to dampen her enthusiasm. He trusted her, after all, and if she wanted to check on her friend, who was he to stop her?

“Alright,” he said with a small smile, though his gaze lingered on her for a moment longer. 

Y/N flashed him a grateful grin before hopping out of the car and walking toward the bar’s entrance. The neon lights of the bar’s sign cast a faint glow on her as she pushed open the door and disappeared inside.

San watched her go, his hands resting lightly on the steering wheel as he waited. The city hummed with activity around him, cars passing by, people walking along the sidewalks, and the familiar sounds of urban life filling the air. Despite the casual atmosphere, a small flicker of unease crept into his chest as the minutes ticked by.

It was strange, being back in this part of town—the place where it had all started for them. He glanced around at the quiet streets, a nostalgic memory of their first encounter surfacing in his mind. The way she had stood her ground against those men, the fierce determination in her eyes, and the way fate seemed to have aligned to bring them together—it all felt like a distant dream now, yet so vivid at the same time.

San leaned back in his seat, waiting patiently but keeping a watchful eye on the bar’s entrance, hoping Y/N wouldn’t be long.

As Y/N stepped into the familiar bar, the smell of liquor and old wood washed over her, tugging at memories she had tried to leave behind. The dim lighting and worn-out stools felt the same, but something inside her had changed since the last time she was here. She no longer felt that deep sense of suffocation, like the walls were closing in on her. She was free—free from the weight of everything that had held her back for so long.

Before she could make it far, a voice called out from behind the bar. “Well, well, if it isn’t Y/N.”

She turned to see Lila, one of the bartenders she used to know well. Lila was leaning against the counter, her eyes scanning Y/N up and down with curiosity. “Where have you been? You look… different.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the comment. “Different?”

Lila smiled knowingly. “Yeah, you do. Healthier. Happier. Like, your skin’s glowing, your hair looks amazing,”

Y/N glanced down at herself, trying to see what Lila meant. She hadn’t really noticed the changes before, but now that Lila mentioned it, there was something different about her. Her skin, which used to be sallow and tired, now had a warmth to it. Her hair, once dry and brittle, had a healthy sheen, and she could feel the difference in her body too—stronger, more at ease. It was as if all the tension and exhaustion she’d carried around with her for years had started to melt away.

She smiled softly. “I guess I’ve been taking better care of myself.”

Lila grinned and crossed her arms. “Whatever you’re doing, keep it up. It suits you.”

Before Y/N could respond, another figure joined the conversation—a tall, older gentleman with graying hair and kind eyes. Pops, the owner of the bar, had always been a friendly presence, looking out for the girls who came in and offering them a safe space when things got rough.

“Y/N,” Pops greeted warmly, his voice gruff but affectionate. “I heard you landed yourself a new job. That’s what’s behind this new look, huh?”

Y/N chuckled lightly, a bit embarrassed. “Something like that.”

“Well, good for you, kid,” Pops said, clapping her on the shoulder. “You look better than I’ve seen you in a long time. Whatever it is, you’re doing alright now.”

“Thanks, Pops. It’s been… different,” Y/N admitted, feeling a wave of gratitude for the people who had once been part of her old life. She glanced around, her smile fading slightly as she remembered why she’d come here. “Actually, I was hoping to run into Seoyeon. Have you guys seen her around?”

Both Lila and Pops exchanged glances, then shook their heads. “Haven’t seen her in a while,” Lila said. “She stopped coming in earlier this week. Must be with some new guy.”

“Yeah,” Pops added. “Last time I saw her, she was in a bit of a rough patch, but nothing since then.”

Y/N’s heart sank a little, though she tried not to show it. Seoyeon had always been unpredictable, but this time, something felt off. She dug into her bag and pulled out a small piece of paper, scribbling down the phone number for the apartment. “If you see her, or if she shows up, could you tell her to call me? I just want to make sure she’s alright.”

Lila took the note and nodded. “Of course, Y/N. If she shows up, we’ll let her know.”

Pops smiled gently. “Take care of yourself, alright? It’s good to see you like this. Don’t let anything pull you back down.”

Y/N smiled gratefully, feeling the warmth of their concern. She thanked them both and made her way back toward the exit. As she stepped out into the night, she couldn’t help but glance back at the bar, the place where she had spent so many nights lost and uncertain. Now, she was walking away from it, back to a life that felt more like her own.

As she approached the car, San looked at her questioningly, his expression softening when he saw the calm determination in her eyes. Without saying a word, she slipped back into the passenger seat, offering him a small smile. The past was still there, lingering in the shadows, but now she had something brighter to look forward to—something worth holding onto.

The dim glow from the bathroom lights spilled into the bedroom as Y/N finished getting ready for the night. She smoothed down her sleeveless nightdress, the soft fabric brushing against her skin as she released her hair from its bun, allowing it to fall in loose waves around her shoulders. Stepping out of the bathroom, she paused at the doorway, her gaze falling on the bed.

San was there, half-sitting, half-leaning against the pillows, his bare chest rising and falling in the soft rhythm of sleep. He looked peaceful, the hard edges of his usual composed demeanor softened in slumber. Y/N smiled to herself, the sight of him like this warming her heart. She stood there for a moment, simply watching him, letting the stillness of the moment settle between them.

“He sleeps,” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible.

Quietly, she walked toward the bed, the floor cool beneath her feet as she approached him. She sat down gently on the mattress, careful not to disturb him too much. Her eyes traced the contours of his face, the strong lines of his jaw, the way his lips were slightly parted as he breathed. He looked so different when he slept—unguarded, relaxed, vulnerable in a way she wasn’t used to seeing.

Y/N smiled softly and pressed her index finger to her lips, kissing it gently before placing the same finger against San’s lips. The lightest of touches, tender and affectionate. She hesitated for just a moment, feeling a flutter of nervous excitement, then leaned down closer to him.

Her lips brushed his cheek, soft as a whisper. She paused, her heart skipping a beat, before leaning in again—this time pressing her lips against his. The warmth of his skin sent a shiver through her, and for a moment, she thought he hadn’t stirred. But then, his lips responded, returning the kiss with gentle pressure.

San blinked his eyes open, the hazy fog of sleep fading as he registered what was happening. His gaze found hers, and a slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he met her kiss more fully, his hand instinctively reaching up to touch her face. He lifted himself from the bed, the kiss growing deeper, more passionate as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer.

Y/N’s hands slid up his chest as they kissed, feeling the heat of his skin beneath her fingertips. She let herself get lost in him, in the moment, her body responding to the tenderness and desire in his touch. San’s hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer still, the connection between them electric, the room around them fading away.

When they finally parted for breath, San gazed at her, his voice husky and low. “Hi,” he murmured, his lips curving into a soft smile.

Y/N grinned, brushing her thumb along his cheek. “Hi handsome,” she teased softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Y/N's teasing grin lingered as she held San’s gaze, her heart racing with anticipation. The room felt charged with a new kind of energy, the air thick with the unspoken tension between them. Slowly, her hands left his face, fingers trailing down his chest before finding the hem of her nightdress. With a quiet confidence, she slipped it off, letting the soft fabric pool at her feet.

San’s eyes darkened with desire as he watched her, his breath catching in his throat. The sight of her standing before him—bare, vulnerable, and breathtaking—sent a surge of heat through him. He couldn’t look away, utterly captivated by the way she moved, the way her skin seemed to glow in the dim light.

Y/N leaned back down, her lips finding his again, the kiss deeper this time, more urgent. San responded immediately, pulling her close as their bodies pressed together, his hands roaming her skin, exploring the curves of her waist and the dip of her back. Each touch felt electric, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through them both.

She climbed back into the bed, straddling his lap, and San’s hands instinctively gripped her hips, his thumbs tracing slow circles against her skin. They kissed like they had all the time in the world, savoring the moment, letting the passion build between them. There was a tenderness in their connection, a quiet intimacy that made the moment feel like more than just physical desire—it felt like a promise.

San’s hands moved up her sides, exploring the familiar and beloved lines of her body. His lips never left hers, matching her hunger with his own, the kiss deepening as his desire for her grew. Y/N moaned softly against his mouth, the sound sending a thrill through him.

Time seemed to blur, the world outside fading completely as they lost themselves in each other. Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, her breath hitching as he responded with equal fervor. Everything about him—his warmth, his strength, his touch—made her feel alive, wanted, and loved.

San shifted, rolling them both so that he was now hovering over her, his lips trailing from her mouth to her neck, then lower, each kiss leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Y/N arched beneath him, her body trembling with anticipation, her hands running over the muscles of his back as she whispered his name in the darkness.

Some time later, Y/N lay beneath San, his body resting comfortably on top of hers, his arms wrapped tightly around her in a protective embrace. His head nestled against her chest, the weight of him grounding her in a way that made her feel safe, even though her mind was anything but at ease. The warmth of his body, the soft sound of his breathing as he slept, wrapped them both in a cocoon of intimacy that felt like it could last forever. But Y/N knew better.

She let her fingers drift through his hair, brushing the strands back gently as she gazed up at the ceiling, her thoughts swirling. Their arrangement, whatever it had turned in to, had an expiration date. She knew this. He had never promised more than what they had now, and she had been content with that for a while. But lying here, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against hers, she couldn’t help but acknowledge the truth she had been avoiding.

This wasn’t just some temporary thing for her anymore.

Y/N bit her lip, the realization hitting her hard as she continued to absentmindedly stroke his hair. She hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected him to worm his way so deeply into her heart. What had started as an unlikely connection had evolved into something that scared her because it felt so real, so raw. She hadn’t planned on feeling this way, but here she was, her heart betraying her careful walls, crumbling every time he smiled, every time he held her like she meant the world to him.

She gazed down at him, her chest tightening as she took in the sight of him—so peaceful, so unguarded in his sleep. Her fingers paused in their motion for just a moment, lingering in his hair as if committing the feeling to memory.

Then, in the quiet darkness, with only the sound of his soft breathing and the thudding of her own heart, Y/N whispered the words that had been dancing on the edge of her mind for days now. “I think I’m falling for you,” she breathed, so quietly that the words almost disappeared into the night.

San stirred slightly but didn’t wake. Y/N swallowed hard, her heart racing as if speaking those words aloud had somehow made everything more real. She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to hear it yet or if she was ready to face the consequences of her feelings. But for now, with his weight grounding her, his warmth comforting her, she allowed herself to hold on to that small, fragile truth.

She wasn’t sure what the future held, but tonight, lying there with him in her arms, she was falling—and it was terrifyingly beautiful.

The next morning, Y/N stirred in the soft sheets, her hand reaching instinctively for the warmth beside her. But the bed was empty. Her eyes fluttered open, taking in the quiet room, sunlight streaming in through the curtains. She sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes before swinging her legs over the side of the bed. 

She got dressed quickly, slipping into something comfortable before making her way through the quiet penthouse. When she reached the dining room, she found him seated at the table, his usual business attire sharp and polished, a stark contrast to the ease and vulnerability of the night before. A tray of food sat in front of him, but San wasn’t eating much—he was lost in thought, his expression distant as he stared out the window.

Y/N lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching him. It felt as if a subtle shift had occurred overnight, a quiet tension that neither of them had addressed yet. She approached the table, her footsteps soft on the floor.

“Morning,” she greeted with a small smile as she sat down across from him.

San blinked out of his thoughts and looked up at her, his lips curving into a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Morning,” he responded, his voice calm but laced with something heavier beneath the surface.

Y/N helped herself to some of the breakfast laid out, but she could feel his gaze lingering on her, the silence between them feeling different than usual. After a few moments, she glanced up at him. “What are you thinking about sitting here all by yourself ?,” she noted softly, studying him.

San sighed, setting his fork down and leaning back in his chair. He offered her a faint, almost self-deprecating smile. “The fact that this will be our last night together...and you'll finally be rid of me.” He said it in a light, joking tone, but Y/N could hear the weight underneath it—the way the words seemed to carry more than just casual humor.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, smirking as she responded playfully, “Oh, what a relief! Finally, some peace and quiet.” She winked at him, trying to keep the mood light, though her own heart raced at the thought of this arrangement coming to an end.

San chuckled softly, shaking his head at her teasing. But then his expression grew more serious, his eyes searching hers. He hesitated for a moment before continuing, “I would like to see you again.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she just stared at him, her mind racing. She had convinced herself that everything between them had been part of the deal—that his touch, his kisses, the tenderness he showed her had been because that was what he had paid for. But now, hearing him say this, she realized that maybe...just maybe...he had wanted to be close to her. He had wanted to kiss her, to hold her, to be with her.

She felt a surge of excitement rise in her chest, her heart pounding with a mixture of disbelief and joy. “You do?” she asked, her voice almost hesitant, as if she didn’t want to get her hopes up too high.

San nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at her. “Yeah. I do,” he said simply, but there was an honesty in his voice that made her heart flutter. “I’ve realized I don’t want this to just end.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a smile, her eyes lighting up as she reached across the table, placing her hand over his. “I’d like that too,” she whispered, her voice full of warmth.

San’s fingers tightened around hers, a relieved smile spreading across his face. And in that moment, the tension that had been hanging in the air seemed to dissipate, replaced by something lighter, something hopeful. But then, as the joy settled in, San’s next words began to twist it into something else.

"Good," he said, relief evident in his tone. "Because I've already arranged for you to have an apartment, to have a car..." He continued, his words tumbling out easily as though he was sharing something wonderful. “And a wide variety of stores guaranteed to cater to you whenever you want to shop. Everything's taken care of.”

Y/N’s smile faltered. Her heart sank, and she felt the warmth from just moments ago cool into something that made her stomach knot. Her head dropped, and she brought her hands to her face, exhaling deeply as she tried to process what he had just said. She bent down over the table, her elbows braced against it.

"What else?" she muttered, her voice tinged with bitterness. "You gonna leave some money by the bed when you pass through town?"

San’s smile disappeared, the weight of her words landing hard. He shook his head slightly, his tone gentle but defensive. “Y/N, it wouldn’t be like that.”

Y/N straightened, standing up as frustration bubbled inside her. “How would it be, then?” she countered, her voice sharper, edged with hurt.

San looked at her, trying to explain, though his words were stumbling now. “Well, for one thing, it would get you off the streets.”

She scoffed, the dismissive sound cutting through the air between them. “That’s just geography,” she shot back, her voice growing quieter but no less powerful. She turned and walked toward the terrace, her steps steady but her heart aching.

San watched her go, the weight of his good intentions landing wrong, and his chest tightened with the realization that he might have misunderstood what she needed from him. Y/N walked out onto the terrace, the cool morning air brushing against her skin, offering a momentary escape from the tension that had gripped her heart. She leaned on the railing, staring out at the cityscape, trying to make sense of the swirl of emotions within her.

Inside, San remained seated at the breakfast table for a moment, his mind racing. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, hadn’t wanted to make her feel less than what she was to him. Realizing he needed to fix this, he stood up and followed her to the terrace, pausing at the door.

"What is it you want?" San asked, his voice softer now, tinged with uncertainty. "What do you see happening between us?"

Y/N didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she let out a sigh, her gaze still fixed on the distant skyline. "I don’t know, San," she began, her voice carrying a wistful tone. "You know... when I was a little girl, I loved hearing the story of Rapunzel. When I was bad, which was pretty often, I would pretend I was a princess... trapped in a tower by a wicked queen. And then, suddenly, this knight on a white horse with his colors flying would come charging up and draw his sword. And I would wave. And he would climb up the tower and rescue me."

Finally, Y/N turned to face San, her eyes meeting his as she walked toward him. The weight of her words hung between them, a longing she hadn’t even realized she still carried.

"But never in all the time... that I had this dream did the knight say to me, 'Come on, baby, I'll put you up in a great condo.'" Her voice was quiet, but the impact of her words hit San hard, making him realize how deeply he had misunderstood her needs.

As they stood there, the phone rang inside the penthouse, cutting through the silence like a jarring reminder of the world outside. San hesitated for a second before turning and walking back into the penthouse to answer it.

“Yes,” he responded curtly, his voice taking on a sharp edge. Y/N watched him from the terrace, knowing instinctively that the call was work-related. She couldn’t hear the conversation, but she knew the look on his face all too well. Business was pulling him away—again.

"No, it's no good. If he's really caving in, I don't want to wait until this afternoon. Have him meet me downtown this morning. Goodbye." San hung up the phone, his expression set as he grabbed his jacket from a nearby chair. He slipped it on as he walked back toward Y/N, who was now standing just inside the room.

"I have to go," he said, his voice laced with an urgency he couldn’t entirely mask. "But I want you to understand... I heard everything you said. This is all I'm capable of right now. It's a very big step for me."

Y/N nodded absently, reaching up to straighten his tie, the small gesture a contrast to the turmoil in her heart. "I know. It's a really good offer for a girl like me," she replied, her voice resigned, her eyes reflecting a sadness that cut deep into San’s heart.

He searched her face, the look of defeat and disappointment foreign and painful to witness. "I've never treated you like a prostitute," he said, his voice earnest, almost pleading. He wanted her to understand, to see that he was trying, even if he was failing.

But as he turned and walked away toward the front door, Y/N stood there, watching him go. Out of his hearing, she whispered to the empty room, "You just did."

San sat at his desk, the weight of the decision he’d made settling in his chest. The room around him hummed with the quiet efficiency of his team, all focused on the deal that had been the center of attention for weeks. They had poured everything into it—time, effort, resources. All of it for a partnership that San had now decided to pull away from.

He knew Song-Ho would be livid. The man had already sent him several messages throughout the day, trying to figure out why the deal had suddenly fallen apart. But San didn’t care. It was his company, and at the end of the day, the decision was his to make. He refused to associate himself with an organization whose values clashed so strongly with his own. The more he thought about it, the more he knew he had made the right choice.

His thoughts drifted, however, back to something—or rather, someone—far more pressing: Y/N. The memory of her standing on that terrace, her words still echoing in his mind, tugged at his chest. He had left her with little reassurance, unsure of what to say, but he couldn’t stop thinking about her. What was he going to do? How could he bridge the gap between them?

With a sigh, San stood from his desk, his decision made. There were still loose ends to tie up, but right now, they could wait. Without a word, he grabbed his jacket and strode out of his office. His assistant blinked in surprise as he passed, but she said nothing, only watching as he made his way to the elevator.

He got to his car and drove off, where to he hand't quite figured out yet. His mind was a tangle of thoughts, but all of them led back to Y/N. Before he knows it, he sees the park and moves towards it. When he finally arrived, San parked his car near the same grassy field they had spent time in just the other day. He slipped off his shoes before stepping onto the grass, feeling the cool earth beneath his feet. It grounded him, if only for a moment.

As he wandered through the park, he watched families laughing and playing, couples sitting close on blankets, their worlds narrowed down to just each other. The park was alive with the hum of life, and yet San felt like an outsider looking in. His mind continued to race. He had spent so much time in control of everything—his company, his life. But with Y/N, things were different. He wasn’t sure how to navigate this unfamiliar terrain, wasn’t sure what his next move should be.

He stopped walking and stood in the middle of the field, his eyes scanning the scene around him. Part of him longed for that same simple happiness he saw in the people around him, that unspoken ease of connection. It was something he hadn’t thought he wanted until now.

San’s gaze drifted to the horizon, his thoughts circling back to Y/N, wondering if he could really have something more with her. Something real. 

Meanwhile, Y/N moved to the penthouse living room. The doorbell rang, the sound sending a slight jolt through Y/N. She placed the large box she had been holding on the floor, already feeling a pit form in her stomach as she approached the door. When she opened it, her unease solidified into a deep, unsettling dread. Song-Ho stood there, a sneer twisting his features.

“Well, well. Hello again,” Song-Ho drawled, his voice slick with malice. Y/N’s grip on the door tightened as she tried to mask her discomfort. “I’m looking for San.”

Y/N stood firm in the doorway, unwilling to let him see the full effect his presence had on her. “He’s not here. I thought he was with you,” she replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

“No, uh, San is definitely not with me.” Without waiting for an invitation, he pushed past her, stepping inside as if he owned the place. The audacity made her skin crawl, but she closed the door behind him.

“No, if San were with me…” Song-Ho said as he put his briefcase down, his tone mocking as he walked deeper into the room, “...he wouldn’t be blowing off billion-dollar deals.” He made his way to the bar, helping himself to a drink. Y/N watched him with growing unease, knowing that he was here for more than just small talk.

“I think San’s with you. That’s what I think,” he said with a dark chuckle. He poured himself a generous glass of whiskey, raising it toward her as if offering her some.

“No, thank you,” she muttered, her voice tight. She moved away from him, her nerves on edge.

“Well, I’ll just wait.” Song-Ho settled himself on a stool by the bar, his gaze never leaving her. Y/N walked over to the sofa and sat down, crossing her legs beneath her and grabbing her notebook, trying to create some semblance of normalcy. But his eyes, sharp and predatory, followed her every move.

"San should be home soon," she didn't know who she was saying it to. Didn't know if it was meant for Song-Ho, or herself. 

Song-Ho stood up and moved toward her, the menace in his steps making her heart pound faster. He chuckled again, the sound sending a chill down her spine. “You know… this isn’t home. And you…” he gestured to her, a cruel smirk playing on his lips, “...you’re not the little woman.”

He sat down on the sofa next to her, too close for comfort. Y/N uncrossed her legs, trying to ground herself, but every fiber of her being was tense.

“You’re a hooker,” Song-Ho sneered, his tone casual but cutting. “Maybe you’re a very good hooker, huh?”

Y/N set her notebook down, her hands trembling slightly as she tried to remain composed. But he moved closer, his sneer growing as he sensed her discomfort. “Maybe if I do you, I wouldn’t care about losing millions of dollars.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as his hand reached for her bare leg, his touch invasive and unwelcome. She swatted his hand away, glaring at him with all the strength she could muster.

“I have to be honest with you, Y/N,” he continued, undeterred. His voice was low and venomous, and he leaned in closer. “I’m really pissed right now. So maybe if I screw you...”

His hand inched between her legs. Y/N shoved it away, panic rising in her chest. “Get off me!” she snapped, her voice shaking but fierce.

But Song-Ho didn’t stop. He grinned, leaning in closer. “Come on, I’ll take you out. Make you feel good, just like San.”

The situation escalated quickly. Y/N fought against his advances, her body twisting as she tried to push him away. Her heart raced, fear clawing at her as his hand came at her again. She bit down hard on his hand, drawing a curse from his lips.

“Goddamn it!” he snarled, the back of his hand connecting sharply with her face. Y/N gasped as the force sent her tumbling onto the floor. Dazed, she felt him grab her roughly, his voice leering over her as he pinned her down.

“Come on! I’ll pay for it!” he growled, his voice dripping with cruelty. “How much is it? Twenty bucks, thirty bucks?”

Y/N screamed, struggling against his grip, her voice cracking with desperation. “Get off me! Get off!”

“Fifty? You a fifty-dollar whore, Y/N?” he spat.

Before Song-Ho could say another word, he was ripped away from her with a violent force. San had entered the room silently, his face a storm of fury as he yanked Song-Ho to his feet and shoved him back, the sheer intensity of his anger vibrating through the air. Song-Ho’s smugness faltered instantly, fear flashing in his eyes as he realized the consequences of his actions were far from over.

San’s eyes burned with a cold, quiet rage as he held Song-Ho by the collar, his grip vice-like and unrelenting. He forced him up to his feet, the air around them charged with the tension of barely restrained violence.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” San’s voice was low, dangerously calm, but the fury behind it was unmistakable. Song-Ho’s bravado crumbled, his sneer replaced by a flicker of panic as he glanced nervously at San’s clenched jaw.

“San, man—” Song-Ho tried to speak, but San cut him off sharply, shoving him back another step.

“Shut up,” San hissed. His hands flexed as if he was fighting the urge to do something far worse to the man before him. “You come in here, into my place, and pull this shit?” His voice dropped even lower, lethal in its coldness. “Touch her again, and I swear to God, you won’t walk out of here.”

Song-Ho’s hands came up defensively, his eyes wide. “I didn’t—”

“You did,” San bit out, his grip tightening on Song-Ho’s shirt. For a moment, it looked like he might lose control, his anger crackling through the air like static electricity. But then, with a sharp exhale, he released Song-Ho, giving him a final shove that sent him stumbling back.

“Get out,” San said, his voice still dangerous but more controlled now. “Get out before I change my mind about letting you leave in one piece.”

Song-Ho, realizing the severity of the situation, straightened his shirt hastily and backed away toward the door. He cast a final, hateful glance at Y/N before scurrying out of the penthouse, his footsteps quick and unsteady.

The moment the door slammed shut behind him, the tension in the room shifted. San stood there for a long moment, his hands still balled into fists as he stared at the door, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. His anger was palpable, but beneath it, there was a deep well of concern.

He turned around slowly, his eyes searching for Y/N. She was still on the floor, her breath shaky as she tried to compose herself. Her face bore the red mark of Song-Ho’s slap, and her expression was a mix of shock and fear.

Without a word, San crossed the room and knelt down beside her. His expression softened immediately as he reached out, gently cupping her face in his hands. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and thick with worry.

Y/N nodded, though her body trembled from the adrenaline. She didn’t trust her voice to respond, so instead, she leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hands grounding her in the moment.

San’s thumb brushed over the reddened skin on her cheek, his jaw clenching again, but this time in sorrow rather than anger. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his gaze locking onto hers. “I’m so sorry this happened.”

Y/N shook her head slightly. “It’s not your fault,” she whispered, her voice soft but firm.

San sighed, pulling her into his arms. His embrace was strong and protective, a silent promise that he wouldn’t let anything like this happen again. He held her close, his chin resting on top of her head as her breath began to even out.

For a long moment, they just sat there in the quiet of the room, the remnants of the confrontation lingering in the air. But it was the comfort of San’s arms that eased Y/N’s tension, allowing her to feel safe again despite what had just transpired.

San pulled back slightly, looking down at her with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat. “I’m going to take care of you, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice full of sincerity. “You’re not just some woman I paid for. You mean more to me than that. You’re more.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat at his words, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. She could feel the depth of his emotions in every word, every look. San wasn’t just saying these things to placate her; he meant them.

San’s gaze softened, and he gave her a reassuring smile. “I’ll be right back,” he said, his voice tender.

He moved into the kitchen, and a few moments later, he returned holding a box filled with ice cubes. Y/N watched as he carefully removed the cubes, wrapping them in a white napkin. His movements were deliberate, his focus solely on the task at hand.

He sat beside her on the sofa, gently pressing the wrapped ice to her bruised cheek. Y/N flinched slightly from the cold, but the discomfort was outweighed by the tenderness of his touch.

“Why do guys always seem to know just how to hit a woman right across the cheek?” Y/N asked with a faint, pained smile. “Wham! It feels like your eye’s going to explode. Do they pull you aside in high school and teach you how to do this?”

San didn’t respond to her words, his attention entirely on the ice pack he was pressing gently against her cheek. The light touch was still a bit painful, but it was a relief compared to the sting from earlier.

“Is that... Ow!” Y/N winced slightly, the cold still sharp but soothing.

“Not all guys hit,” San said quietly, his voice steady and reassuring. Y/N gave a small, appreciative smile despite the discomfort, touched by his concern and care. As San continued to hold the ice gently against her face, the room seemed to settle into a new, more peaceful quiet—one filled with unspoken understanding and the promise of a better, safer future.

After a moment, Y/N gently moved his hand away from her face and began to sit up. “I think this is okay now,” she said softly. “I need to get going.”

San glanced around and noted her packed bags. “I see you’re ready to leave. Why now?”

Y/N sighed, standing up from the sofa. “San, there’ll always be someone, even someone you know, who’ll think they can treat me like Song-Ho did, that it’s somehow acceptable. What are you going to do? Beat up everyone who thinks like that?” She shook her head. “I know you can’t do that.”

San’s expression grew serious. “That’s not why you’re leaving.”

Y/N picked up her jacket and began to put on her shoes. “You made me a really generous offer. A few months ago, it would have been perfect. But things have changed, and you can’t undo that. I... I want more.”

San moved to stand beside her. “I understand wanting more. I’ve spent my life chasing more. But the question is, how much more?”

“I want the fairy tale,” Y/N said, a sad smile playing on her lips. As she fastened her jacket, she glanced at San, who had taken out his wallet and removed some money. He placed the wallet on a nearby table and sat down on the steps next to her, handing her the money.

“Thank you,” Y/N said, slipping the money into her jacket pocket.

“You're welcome,” San replied, holding out a business card. “If you ever need anything—dental floss or otherwise—just give me a call.”

They both shared a brief chuckle, and Y/N looked at him with a lingering sadness. “I had a good time,” she said softly.

“Me too,” San replied with a warm smile. Y/N stood up and started gathering her luggage.

“Do you want me to call a bellboy for you?” San asked as he bent down to pick up a bag.

“No, I’ve got it,” Y/N replied, heading toward the front door. San moved ahead of her and opened it, but then paused and closed it again.

“Stay,” he said earnestly. “Stay the night with me. Not because I’m paying you, but because you want to.”

Y/N paused at the door, her hand resting on the handle as she looked back at San. The room was filled with a heavy silence, the weight of his offer hanging in the air. Her heart pounded as she considered his words, the hope in his eyes mingling with the uncertainty in her own.

“San, I…” She hesitated, trying to find the right words. “I don’t know.”

San stepped closer, his expression earnest and vulnerable. “You don’t have to say anything. Just stay. Give us a chance to figure things out, without the pressure of all the expectations and the roles we’ve been playing.”

Y/N’s eyes searched his face, trying to read the sincerity behind his words. The vulnerability in his gaze, combined with the genuine concern he had shown her, made her heart ache. She had wanted more, but the idea of staying, of letting herself be vulnerable in a different way, was daunting.

“I want to stay,” she admitted quietly, “but I’m afraid.”

San reached out and took her hand, his touch warm and reassuring. “I understand. We’ll take it one step at a time. Just us, figuring it out together.”

Y/N looked at him, her resolve strengthening as she took in the earnestness in his eyes. She nodded slowly, a small, hopeful smile forming on her lips. “Okay.”

San’s face lit up with a relieved smile. “Thank you,” he said softly. He gently led her back into the living room, his hand still holding hers. As they settled back onto the sofa, the tension that had been there earlier seemed to dissolve, replaced by a new, more hopeful sense of connection.

They sat in silence for a few moments, the only sound the soft hum of the city outside. San reached out and took her hand in his, holding it gently as if it were something precious. Y/N leaned into his side, feeling the warmth of his presence and the comfort of his touch.

As the night wore on, they talked and laughed, their earlier sadness replaced by a sense of peace and possibility. For the first time, Y/N felt like she was truly seen and understood, and San felt a renewed sense of hope and connection. They had taken a leap of faith together, and it felt like the beginning of something new and promising.

The room was filled with a soft, warm light, casting gentle shadows on the walls. The city outside continued its rhythmic dance of lights and sounds, but inside the penthouse, there was a quiet intimacy that wrapped around them like a comforting blanket. And as they sat together, hand in hand, they both knew that whatever came next, they would face it together.

Epilogue:

Y/N was seated on Seoyeon's bed, the two women enjoying a rare moment of calm. Seoyeon was in the midst of preparing for her day, her movements quick and practiced. The room was filled with the soft rustle of fabric and the hum of their conversation.

"I’m starting college soon," Y/N said with a bright smile, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I’m finally going to get that degree I’ve always dreamed of."

Seoyeon paused in her preparations, turning to face Y/N with a warm smile. "That’s fantastic, Y/N. I’m really proud of you. If anyone deserves to get out of this life, it’s you."

Their conversation flowed effortlessly, a mix of laughter and shared memories filling the room. But the moment was abruptly interrupted by the distant sound of a car honking.

Seoyeon’s brow furrowed in irritation as she glanced toward the window. "Who the hell is that? It’s like a parade out there."

Y/N’s curiosity was piqued. She set aside the magazine she had been leafing through and moved to the window, peering out. As the honking grew louder, her expression shifted from curiosity to delight. A broad smile spread across her face.

Outside, a sleek, black limousine glided slowly toward the hotel. The roof of the car was open, and San’s familiar face appeared, his upper body visible. He was holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a black umbrella in the other. The car’s honking persisted, and the limousine finally came to a stop in front of the hotel.

Y/N’s laughter bubbled up, a mix of joy and disbelief. “Oh my God, it’s San!”

San was waving both the umbrella and the bouquet with exaggerated enthusiasm. His driver, stepping out of the vehicle, watched with a bemused expression as San continued his dramatic gestures. Y/N’s excitement was palpable as she waved back, momentarily forgetting everything else.

Seoyeon watched with an amused expression, shaking her head. “Your boyfriend seems like a psychopath.”

Y/N, still grinning, quickly moved to the emergency exit and stepped out onto the narrow balcony. She looked down at San, who was now standing confidently on the sidewalk, his eyes locked on her with a mix of affection and determination.

“What the hell are you doing?” Y/N called out, her voice carrying over the noise of the city.

San looked up at her, his grin widening. “Princess Y/N! Come down! I’ve got a surprise for you!”

Y/N’s heart raced with anticipation. “I’ll be down in a minute!” she shouted back, her excitement growing. She turned to head back inside, but not before giving San one last, joyful look.

Seoyeon chuckled from inside the room. “He’s definitely got a flair for the dramatic.”

With a final smile, Y/N hurried down the emergency stairs, her mind racing with what San might have planned. As she descended, her thoughts were filled with the promise of a new chapter, one that was beginning with a grand, unforgettable gesture from someone she had come to care deeply for.

Y/N descended the last ladder of the emergency exit with a mix of eagerness and anticipation. As her feet touched the ground, she found San standing there, his hands now empty after having passed the flowers and umbrella to his driver.

Without missing a beat, San extended his arms toward her. With a strong, reassuring grip, he hoisted her into his embrace, pulling her down gently but securely. His touch was warm, and his eyes sparkled with genuine affection.

"Hi, baby," Y/N said giddily, her voice bubbling with excitement as she looked up at him. The sheer joy of the moment made her heart race, and she could hardly contain her smile.

San’s face lit up with a tender, adoring smile as he held her close. “Hi there,” he replied, his voice soft and filled with warmth. He looked down at her with an intensity that made her feel like she was the only person in the world.

They stood there for a moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, the city bustling around them but feeling like a distant backdrop to their private moment. The world seemed to narrow down to just the two of them, and everything else fell away.

San finally set her down gently, but he kept his hands resting on her shoulders, his gaze never leaving hers. “I missed you,” he confessed, his tone earnest and filled with emotion.  San’s arms remained around Y/N as he leaned down to kiss her. The kiss was tender and full of longing, a moment that seemed to stretch on forever. Y/N melted into the embrace, her heart swelling with affection as she wrapped her arms around his neck, savoring the connection between them.

After a few blissful moments, they pulled away slightly, their foreheads resting against each other. Y/N’s eyes sparkled with a mix of happiness and curiosity. “You just saw me this morning,” she said with a teasing smile, her voice soft yet filled with wonder.

San’s eyes twinkled mischievously as he smiled back at her. “Ah, but you see, sometimes grand gestures are necessary to remind the people you love just how much they mean to you,” he said, his voice dripping with dramatic flair.

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. “And I had a feeling you might need an escape from Seoyeon’s endless chatter. I thought this would be the perfect way to sweep you off your feet.” His words were spoken with a blend of sincerity and affection, making Y/N’s heart flutter even more.

Y/N’s smile widened as she looked up at him, her eyes filled with gratitude and love. “You always know how to make everything feel special,” she said softly.

San gave her a playful wink and took her hand, guiding her towards the awaiting limousine. “Come on, let’s go. I have a whole day planned for us, and I want to make sure it’s unforgettable.”

Together, they walked towards the car, their laughter mingling with the city sounds as they stepped into the luxurious vehicle, ready to embark on an adventure that was as thrilling and unique as their love story.